Rhinoceros

CHAPTER 40

Thunder, in his suite in Inselende, on the island of Sylt, was becoming angry. He had tried four times to call Barton without getting any response. In desperation he called Oskar on his mobile.

'Is that Oskar?'

'Yes.'

'What is your surname?'

'Oskar Vernon, for God's sake. I can recognize your voice so why can't you recognize mine?'

'All right, all right. Has anything happened to Tweed? I can't contact Barton.'

'You sound worried. Quite unnecessary. I saw him go aboard a ship with his whole team. The ship is sailing to an island far out in the Baltic. It will be his last voyage.'

'Are you sure?'

'No, I'm not sure.' Oskar paused, to let Thunder sweat. 'I am absolutely certain, positive. The world will never see him again. He will simply disappear.'

'You mean he will be dead?'

'How many ways do I have to explain it? He will be dead – kaput, as the Germans say. I can phrase it in French and Spanish, if you like.'

'That won't be necessary…'

Thunder closed the conversation. He wished that Oskar would show him more respect. But he felt like celebrating. He poured himself another large tot of brandy.

Inside the saloon aboard the steamer Paula was sitting on a leather sofa with its back to the beautiful panelled wall. She sat close to Tweed and they were on their own. As Tweed would have instructed, his team was spread out in the large saloon.

A distance away Lisa was talking animatedly to Nield. He seemed to hang on her every word. Newman was chatting to Butler and Rondel at the far end of the saloon. Marler, typically, sat by himself close to the door, gazing round, apparently idly.

'I saw Oskar on the quayside as we were leaving,' Paula said in a low voice. 'He looked very pleased with himself, as though everything was going according to plan. As I was turning away he even gave the steamer a little wave of his hand. I didn't like that.'

'Well, at least we know where he is. And he's not on the ship,' Tweed replied reassuringly.

Paula lapsed into silence. She had an awful feeling that they were trapped. She found it difficult to keep still. Getting up, she stared out of a window. Rondel joined her.

'When do we see Berg Island?' she enquired.

'Soon after we can no longer see the German shore. It is very distant now.'

'Can we see any shore from the island?'

'No. Perhaps I should explain to Tweed and yourself how Milo came to buy the island.'

He guided her back to the sofa where Tweed was sitting, placed himself between them. On tables there were the remains of sandwiches, coffee pots and cups, buckets of ice containing champagne bottles. Paula had eaten a few sandwiches and had drunk only water.

'Many years ago,' Rondel began, 'Berg Island was disputed, that is, its ownership, by Germany, Sweden, Denmark, Finland and even Norway. The trouble was, it is so far out it wasn't near the coastal waters of any of those nations. They just didn't want one of the others to have it. Milo heard about the dispute, visited each capital, put a plan to them. He suggested paying each of them just enough to make them feel agreeable. The island would pass into his hands. At their request, he agreed tourists could visit Berg – but only about a quarter of the island. And they would have to board the steamer at Travemunde. He even paid for the steamer – to give him more control. Hence the tourists who came with us.'

'How long does the agreement last?' asked Tweed.

'Until the end of next month. Then no more tourists and Berg is ours for ever.'

'Milo is clever,' Tweed commented. 'Do any shipping routes pass near here?'

'None.'

Rondel stood up, smiled down at Paula, asked her to come with him.

'Why?' she wanted to know.

'To see the island. Look out of the window. Germany is gone, can't be seen. Follow me.'

Tweed, although not invited, accompanied them. Rondel led them out into the enclosed corridor outside the saloon, walked a short way, turned into a passage crossing to the port side. He gestured towards a large window, stood back.

Paula gazed in awe. Less than half a mile away a mountain seemed to rise out of the placid sea. It was unexpectedly green and near the summit was p'erched a massive castle. Beside it and rising higher than the summit was a large square chimney-like structure of stone. As they came closer she saw palm trees and huge cacti. Nearby were large cones of glass.

'It looks like a tropical paradise,' she said dreamily. 'But how do tropical things survive the winter?'

'Milo's idea. Those cones of perspexhave heaters inside them. When the temperature drops the guards lift the cones and place them over the palms and cacti. Then we turn on the heaters.'

'The guards?' she queried, looking at him.

'Vandals occasionally try to come ashore. The guards have loaded rifles, fire over their heads.'

'Where do you get guards willing to live such a lonely life?'

'They're Slovaks. They know just enough English for us to give them orders. I'd better go – we'll soon be landing.'

'Paula,' Tweed said quietly when they were alone. 'You must always stay by my side from now on. Always.'

'This island worries you?'

'Just a precaution…'

When the steamer had berthed at a quay they had to wait as the tourists were escorted ashore. In several languages they heard Rondel giving them instructions. They must keep to the paths marked with arrows. On no account must they wander into areas marked Verboten.

He led them off the steamer up a flight of steps that ended at the face of the mountain wall, rising sheer up above them. Paula looked up and felt a twinge of vertigo. With a flourish Rondel showed them wide double doors let into the base of the cliff. He pressed four figures in a combination box. She watched carefully. The doors opened and revealed an elevator the size of a cargo lift. All the walls were covered with mirrors, the floor had a deep pile carpet. It reminded her of the elevator in a five-star hotel. They all went inside and had plenty of room. The doors closed, the elevator began a slow ascent.

When the doors opened they walked into a spacious living room. Rondel guided them to another door, knocked on it, opened it and they walked into a long oblong study.

At the far end the wall was a sheet of glass with a panoramic view across the intense blue of the empty Baltic. Behind a desk within yards of the window sat Milo Slavic. He rose to his feet.

'Mr Tweed, welcome to Berg Island. You and I must talk. Do you mind if we go outside now?'

'I would like to do that. But may I bring Paula, my assistant, with me?'

'Miss Grey will also be welcome. If you will follow me.' He turned round just before they left the study. 'Blondel, please entertain our guests.'

Blondel. Paula saw a flash of annoyance cross the Frenchman's face. He quickly suppressed it and bowed his assent.

'This is it,' Paula said to herself.

Milo Slavic, heavier built than Tweed, seemed taller standing up. He wore a smart pale linen jacket and trousers, buttoned up at a high collar which circled his neck. It reminded Paula of pictures she had seen of commissars.

Leaving the study by another door, which clicked locked when he closed it, he guided them along a wide corridor with large rooms on either side and windows which allowed you to see inside. He paused before one window and, looking beyond it, Paula saw a huge room. Inside, girls in white smocks sat in front of computers.

'My decoding room,' Milo explained. 'They constantly surfhorrible word – the foul Internet, searching for coded messages, which they decode and bring to me. We are on the edge of a catastrophic disaster across the West unless we act quickly. I gathered from our earlier conversation that you don't agree with powerful dictatorships – of the kind that Iron Fist Thunder plans for the key countries in the West.'

'No, I don't.'

'A lot of sensible people feel we need more discipline -in schools, in the medical systems, on the streets. I agree. Thunder is exploiting this feeling to seize total power. It is all about power. It has to be stopped and I have worked night and day to establish a weapon which will destroy the insidious Internet. Come with me, both of you.'

He walked further down the corridor, stopped at a closed door on the other side. It was made of steel and had a combination box like the one at the bottom of the elevator, but much larger. He looked at Tweed, at Paula.

'Watch me carefully. Memorize the code.'

Paula repeated it to herself inside her head as Milo slowly pressed numbers. 8925751. Taking out a notepad she wrote it down. Milo raised his thick bushy eyebrows. She showed him the pad. She had recorded the code backwards.

'Very clever,' he said with a smile.

The door opened automatically. He immediately pressed a red button set into the door jamb, only visible with the door open.

'When we really operate the system loud buzzers go off in the coding room. The staff immediately evacuate so they do not suffer from what happens to the screens. But by pressing that red button I have turned off the buzzers. Let me show you…'

It was a small room, occupied only by a strange circular machine with three levers projecting from it. The door had closed behind them. They walked over to the machine.

'Watch again carefully. But before I forget, here is a duplicate key to gain access in here.'

He handed it to Tweed, who held it in his hand. He asked a question.

'Why do I need this?'

'In case something happens to me.'

Milo had spoken the words calmly, as though it was something which didn't really concern him. But the words chilled Paula. She studied his large, granite-like lined face. It reminded her of something. Then she remembered. It reminded her of pictures she had seen of Old Testament prophets.

'But where do you use this key?' Tweed asked.

'I am about to demonstrate.' He gazed at Tweed. 'Come closer, both of you.' He walked the few paces to the circular machine. 'Again, watch carefully. The sequence is important.'

Instead of pulling down the first lever on the left, as Paula expected, he pulled down the lever on the extreme right, then the lever on the extreme left. The lever in the centre was the only one with a red handle. He told them to look up as he carefully pulled the centre lever only halfway down.

Paula looked up. She saw for the first time a huge glass dome above the ceiling. Looking through it, she could see the chimney-like structure she'd noticed as they'd approached the island on the steamer. A thick steel pole emerged from the chimney's top, extended itself higher, stopped. At the top of the pole was an incredible array of dishes, facing in different directions. Each dish had a complex of wires protruding from it.

'Now look here, please,' Milo said.

He pointed to the central lever, which remained at right angles to the floor.

'When I pull that lever right down, the system operates and every Internet system in the West is destroyed. Also many further east. Have you understood?'

'Yes. It is quite clear how it is set in motion,' Tweed assured him.

Milo was returning the levers to their original positions. Paula, looking up again, saw the pole and its dishes slide down out of sight inside the chimney. She looked at Milo, who had closed the machine's door, had locked it, pocketed the key. Tweed, still holding the duplicate key in the palm of his hand, looked at it.

'You really want me to keep this?'

'I insist.' He took hold of Tweed's arm, squeezed it warmly. 'You are one of the very few people I can trust. I have had you thoroughly investigated for several years. Now, let us go into the garden and enjoy a little chat, the three of us.'

He had just closed the outer steel door, after pressing the concealed red button again, when Lisa appeared. Milo took her by the arm.

'You will join us. We go for a short walk. How are they getting on in my study?'

'Enjoying themselves. Rondel keeps telling jokes and has us all in stitches.' She paused. 'Oh, Harry Butler said he needed some fresh air. He went outside.'

Ah, Tweed thought, there is something in the atmosphere Harry doesn't like. He's positioning himself so he can intervene if necessary. I wonder why?