By Stealth

39

No one had felt like sleep: tension gripped them all as they sensed the battle against Dr Wand was moving towards a climax.

They were assembled in Tweed's room – Paula, Newman, Marler, Butler, and Nield, plus a sixth man. It was after midnight and the surprise arrival of the newcomer had happened a few minutes earlier.

There had been a discreet tapping on the door. Newman, his Smith amp; Wesson concealed in his right hand, unlocked the door with his left hand, turned the handle suddenly, and jerked the door open a few inches. 'Good God!' he had whispered. 'Come in quickly.'

Philip Cardon had walked in, wearing a business suit of German cut. The small man Paula had nicknamed 'the Squirrel' looked round as Newman closed and relocked the door. Cardon smiled impishly as they stared at him in astonishment.

`Good morning, everyone. I knew you'd never do the job without me.' He looked at Tweed. 'What is the job?'

`Sit down, Philip. Have a good rest? For this time of night you look amazingly fresh.'

`I'm a night bird.' Cardon winked at Paula, sat beside her as she patted the couch. 'I wake up when the rest of the world is sleeping. The best time to catch the opposition off guard.' He looked at Tweed again. 'Who exactly is the opposition?'

`I was just about to sum up the present situation, Philip. Briefly, we are faced with the most sadistic, ruthless, and cunning enemy we've ever confronted. The body count so far shows that – all murdered.' He counted them off on his fingers. 'Hilary Vane, Irene Andover, a cab driver in Brussels, Sir Gerald Andover, Lucie Delvaux, Joseph Mordaunt – which makes six.'

`Don't forget old Mrs Garnett at Moor's Landing, who vanished,' Newman reminded him. 'I doubt we'll ever see her alive again.'

`I agree,' Tweed said. 'I do have an idea where to look for her – but that will have to wait until we get home. I now come to data which is top secret…'

`Has this room been checked out?' Cardon asked quickly.

`Thanks to Butler, it has.'

Earlier, when Butler had been one of the first to arrive, he had insisted on using an instrument he always carried to 'flash' the room – to check it for listening devices. In his thorough way, he had taken thirty minutes searching for any planted devices. Then he had nodded to Tweed.

`Clean as a whistle…'

For the next quarter of an hour Tweed gave Cardon a terse account of events, starting with Paula's experience at the Lymington marina and ending with his encounter with Dr Wand in the lobby of the Four Seasons. He had just finished when the phone rang. Paula answered it, looked at Tweed.

`Otto Kuhlmann for you…'

`We missed your good friend, Hyde, by no more than half an hour,' Kuhlmann reported. 'He had been staying at a gasthof behind the waterfront. The old horror who runs the place positively identified him from one of your photos my man was carrying. He had stayed there for several days and suddenly departed this evening after receiving a phone call.'

`He keeps slipping out of my hands. An elusive villain,' Tweed commented.

`Wait! There's more. Hyde told the old bag he was flying to Dusseldorf, then going on to Belgium later. Too much detail. I didn't believe it. I sent patrol cars to the rail station. They had orders to show his photo to all ticket clerks. One had unfortunately gone off duty. An officer got his address in Altona and drove out there. This ticket clerk remembered Hyde well. Hyde was in a bad temper, abused the clerk for not giving him his ticket to Flensburg fast enough.'

`Flensburg? That's close to the Danish border.'

`It is. I alerted the Flensburg police but they were just too late. The train from Hamburg had arrived ten minutes earlier.'

`Checkmate, then…'

`No! I am like a bulldog with a bone. I never let go – you know that. I phoned a friend who is a member of the Danish frontier control – not that it amounts to much these days. I described Dr Hyde with the photo in front of me. He has a distinctive face. My friend remembered a car arriving at the frontier – with Hyde as a passenger in the back. He knows where the driver comes from. A small Danish town called Tinglev – not too far inside Jutland.'

`You really are a bulldog. I can't thank you enough. I may well have the last link in the chain I have been constructing.'

`My pleasure. Any time. Why not get some sleep? Come to that, why don't I…'

Tweed put down the phone, his expression grim. He faced his audience, told them what Kuhlmann had said.

`Denmark,' he concluded. 'I think I guessed right. Denmark is the key. To be precise, the lonely stretch of the west coast of Jutland between Esbjerg and the border with Germany. Denmark,' he repeated once more.

`Why Denmark?' Cardon queried.

`Point one, Westendorf told me Andover thought that part of Jutland was important. Point two, Dr Wand's pilot of his stand-by Lear jet has filed a flight plan for Copenhagen. Point three, Dr Hyde, Wand's creature, is now somewhere in the region of Tinglev, a small town in the south of Jutland and not too far from that coast, which in winter is almost deserted.'

`Adds up,' Cardon agreed laconically. 'So what do we do next?'

`We mobilize our forces – at the strategic points in Denmark. Marler, you have a hired car. Tomorrow I want you to drive to this place, Tinglev. Take Butler and Nield with yc – and you are in charge of the team. You have photos of Dr Hyde. Locate him, then tail him if he moves.'

`How can I contact you?' Marler asked.

`Probably late tomorrow I'll be flying to Copenhagen. I'll stay at the Hotel d'Angleterre. If I'm not there, call me here.'

`Weapons?' Butler asked.

`Kuhlmann has agreed to supply them – in return for those you purchased from your friend on the waterfront. He says those guns may have been used earlier for criminal purposes.'

`What about my Armalite?' Marler enquired. 'It's in perfect condition.'

`Kuhlmann is sending another one for you.'

`What about the rest of us?' Newman asked. 'We're not going to this Tinglev?'

`No. I'm dividing my forces into a pincer movement. Paula, you and Cardon will fly to Copenhagen with me. So both of you will have to give up your weapons – airport security.' He turned to Marler. 'You won't have any trouble with your weapons – driving over the frontier.'

`I'll tape them under the chassis. Not that we'll look at all suspect. We're three businessmen selling marine equipment.'

`You've built up a strong case for Denmark,' Newman commented, 'but you're still guessing.'

`Point four,' Tweed hammered home, 'one of those crosses marked on General Li Yun's war maps in Lop Nor is in the same area of Jutland

…'

It certainly is,' Cardon agreed amiably. 'Don't be so sceptical, Newman. I saw it with my own eyes before I took those photographs.'

`It does look like Denmark,' Newman assented.

`Plus the fact,' Tweed reminded him, 'that Andover said that in Jutland there is a new colony of houses, bought and furnished, but not yet occupied. I think Dr Wand is soon on his way to Denmark to supervise the arrival of a big team of so-called executives. Saboteurs and spies. We want to be waiting for them.'

Someone tapped on the door. Everyone except Tweed froze. He accompanied Newman to the door.

`That will probably be the second courier from Kuhlmann – the one with the weapons…'

Tweed peered out. He recognized one of the plain-clothes policemen Kuhlmann had introduced him to just before he had left Berliner Tor. He was carrying a large shabby hold-all, which Tweed took off him.

`Could you please come back in five minutes? Thank you.'

He opened the hold-all, took out an Armalite with spare ammo, and exchanged it for Marler's weapon. There were also two 7.65mm Walther automatics with spare magazines. He handed one each to Butler and Nield. Collecting Newman's. 38 Smith amp; Wesson and Paula's Browning, he put them into the hold-all with the spare ammo, zipped up the hold-all. When the courier returned he handed it to him and apologized in German for keeping him up all hours. The detective grinned, handed him permits for the weapons.

'My chief doesn't think clocks exist…'

`What next?' Newman enquired, suppressing a yawn.

`In the morning Westendorf is calling for us here at nine o'clock. Now, you all get some sleep, and that's an order. Lord knows what tomorrow will bring.'

It was a remark he was to recall with horror later.

At nine o'clock on the dot that morning the black Mercedes, with Westendorf at the wheel, pulled up outside the Four Seasons. Tweed sat next to the German while Newman and Paula climbed into the back. The fog had gone.

'How is Franz?' Tweed asked, as they moved into heavy traffic.

'He was brought home early. He's very fit – mentally and physically, shows no signs of his ordeal. We talked nonstop for an hour, then he fell fast asleep.'

`He's guarded at the villa?'

`The inside and the grounds are swarming with concealed and heavily armed police. Kuhlmann insisted on it.'

`But what about yourself? Shouldn't you also be guarded?'

`I am – against my protests.' Westendorf glanced in the rear-view mirror. 'Not far behind us are two unmarked police cars. Kuhlmann's work, I'm sure.'

`Very wise…'

Paula looked out as the car moved through the suburbs which gave way to the wealthy districts. By daylight – and with the sun shining – she could see clearly the magnificent villas in their generous grounds. Tweed gestured towards them.

`You have friends here, I suppose?'

`Not really.' Westendorf smiled. 'These rich – very rich – people keep to themselves. Many go back for generations. Some are in shipping, others own large breweries founded ages ago. They form a select club and mix only with each other. Nothing wrong with that. They have a right to preserve their own way of life.' He smiled again. `But if one of their daughters tries to marry outside their class all hell breaks loose. I do not expect Franz to find his fiancee round here…'

He fell silent, concentrated on his driving. Paula realized they were taking a different route from the previous evening. They climbed and then Westendorf pulled up at the edge of a grassy slope. He waved a hand.

`The Sullberg, the highest point in Blankenese. If you don't mind a short walk we can look down and see what is going on. Then we drive down to the harbour.'

They climbed a wide flight of steps leading to a restaurant at the summit. Westendorf opened a door and they followed him inside. Westendorf greeted a waiter carrying a tray piled high with clean dishes.

`They know me here,' he explained, 'so they won't mind us looking at the view.'

He led the way to a glassed-in terrace and Paula almost gasped at the extent of the panorama. It was a beautiful morning and the air was clear to the horizon. On the far side of the Elbe, which lay below, open countryside stretched away. Tweed pointed downwards.

At the edge of the harbour was anchored an enormous barge. Standing on its decks was a massive lifting crane, the chain disappearing below the water. Paula shook her head to clear her mind. It seemed unreal – the wonderful view and the nightmare of the previous evening. Westendorf pointed to the far shore.

`Over there they grow the largest cherries you will find anywhere in Germany. But perhaps we had better drive down now…'

There were crowds of sightseers held back a distance from the harbour by uniformed police. Several patrol cars were parked – cream Volvos with a blue trim and the word Politi in black on their fronts and sides.

Tweed was pleased there was a crowd. He had delayed the departure of Marler and his team for Denmark so they could check for signs of the opposition. As Kuhlmann, smoking a cigar, approached, Newman slipped away, donning a cloth cap he had taken from his trench coat pocket and a pair of glasses with plain lenses.

`Come with me,' Kuhlmann said. 'Whatever is down there is making its appearance shortly.'

Paula followed, puzzled by Newman's swift departure. She had already noticed that one of the unmarked cars had stopped, that plain-clothes detectives leaving the car were close to Westendorf. She had also seen Marler on the edge of the crowd and Cardon, in his German suit, walking round behind the sightseers.

Kuhlmann led them to the end of the shorter jetty, held up his hand, and waited. The lift crane was straining at something, like a fisherman hauling in a giant fish. The chain was taut, made a clanking sound as it slowly ascended. The crowd had gone quiet.

Two frogmen appeared from below the surface of the Elbe and climbed up steps along the jetty wall. They stood still while water dripped off them, staring at the water which was churning now, creating small waves which lapped against the wall. The crane's catch emerged suddenly. Paula sucked in her breath.

`My God!' growled Kuhlmann. 'What the hell could have done that?'

Shedding a small Niagara of water, the claw of the crane's lifting device appeared, clutching the prow, the bridge, and a section aft of the bridge of the Holsten. Half the hull and the stern were still at the bottom of the Elbe. But it was the clean-cut break in the vessel which had caused Kuhlmann's outburst.

There was not a loose splinter of wood visible. It was as though an immense axe had sliced straight through the vessel amidships. Holding on to Tweed's arm, Paula peered over the edge of the jetty. The stone wall had a deep fissure where something had rammed it with tremendous impact. She told Tweed what she had seen.

`I'm not too surprised,' he said.

`Why not?'

`I remember what Commander Noble said in London when he was listing the ships which have disappeared all over the world. His story about a crewman dropped from a helicopter with a cradle – when they found the relic of a small vessel belonging to a German fisherman called Vogel. Only the bow remained – sliced clean off with Vogel's decapitated head jammed in that relic.'

`How many of these Stealth ships do you think there are?'

He didn't reply because Kuhlmann came back to them. He looked grim.

`The frogmen – and one is ex-Navy – say they've never seen anything like this. What's your guess?'

`A ship with a knife-edged prow made of some sort of steel.' Tweed shrugged. 'And that is only a guess. Were there any ships moving on the Elbe last night?'

`No!' Kuhlmann was emphatic. 'I've been in touch with the Harbour Master. The fog was so dense nothing left its berth. A tanker was due to sail downriver but cancelled its departure. And the Coastguard reported the fog was dense at the mouth until dawn. No ship was at sea – their radar would have picked it up.'

`No, it wouldn't – they don't have the right equipment.' `If you say so. I have to get back over there. You'll keep in touch?'

`Of course.' Tweed waited until Kuhlmann had gone before he answered Paula's question. 'How many Stealth ships? A lot, I suspect. And maybe with vastly different tonnages. The one that sank the Ho! sten – and hoped to sink us – may well have been testing its skill in navigating up a major European river. It just happened to be handy and in radio contact with some of Dr Wand's thugs…'

He stopped speaking as Newman, who had removed his cloth cap and glasses, appeared by their side. He dropped his voice.

`Don't stare round, but I spotted our friend, Jules Starmberg, mingling with the crowd. Marler has photographed him three times with that second camera he always carries, the one that develops and prints automatically. And Starmberg hasn't a clue his ugly mug has been recorded. Paula, you haven't seen him – here is one of the prints.'

`Ugly mug is the right description,' she commented.

`Interesting,' Tweed said, 'that Wand's so-called butler is down here watching. Wand was pole-axed yesterday evening when I appeared alive and kicking. Keep quiet now…'

Westendorf, who had walked along the riverside jetty to get a closer look, returned. Like Kuhlmann's, his expression was grim.

`That really is awesome. Paula, we owe our lives to your swift action. I personally am in your debt for ever.'

`Nonsense.' She dismissed the subject with a smile. But she had flushed with pleasure at the eminent German's compliment. 'I just saw something in the nick of time.'

`And the radar screen you said was blank.' Westendorf shook his head as he looked at Tweed. 'This Stealth development is hideous. Now, if you're all ready, I'll drop you back at the hotel.'

`That would suit me admirably,' Tweed replied.

`You sound as though there's someone at the Four Seasons you want to interview,' Paula suggested as they followed Westendorf and Newman.

`Vulcan. When I can I'm going to talk to both Fanshawe and Burgoyne. And I want Newman to chat up Helen Claybourne.'

`You sound as though you know who Vulcan is.'

`I don't. But the field has narrowed,' Tweed replied.