This United state

40

'We're nearly there, Moonhead,' Ronstadt said to the man beside him.

Ronstadt was behind the wheel of the third Audi, following the two cars ahead of him as they bumped over the wide track round the tip of the lake. The moon had temporarily been blotted out by a dark cloud and the cars had their headlights full on. He suddenly let out a belly laugh of pure pleasure.

'What is it?' asked Leo Madison.

'Moonhead, it's turnin' out great. No sign of Tweed and his miserable crew. Brad and his boys must have made hash browns of them back in Hollental. With ketchup for the blood.' He laughed again, a raucous sound. 'Think of the avalanche hittin' those two white Audis. Think of what the people inside look like now. Hope that Paula Grey was with 'em. It's great.'

'Funny Brad and his boys haven't caught up with us,' Madison commented.

'Takes time to cook a dish like that.' He laughed again. 'I like it. Cookin' a dish like that. The dish is Paula Grey.'

'I just hope you're right.'

'You know your problem, Moonhead?'

'I guess you're gonna tell me.'

'You ain't got no sense of humour. Better roll up your sleeves, feller. Lot of work to do.'

'What kinda work?'

'Loading cartons – heavy ones – on to three trucks. I guess Bernhard Yorcke will have loaded one truck ready for the go. Makes four truckloads. What's in 'em will destroy Britain.'

'Who is this Bernhard Yorcke?'

'Came from Luxembourg years ago. He's a printer. Moved on to Switzerland as a youngster. Stayed there ever since. Just where he shoulda gone, being a printer. Swiss, I'll give 'em that, are best printers in the world.' He peered up through the windscreen. 'Nearly there. Trouble with Bernhard Yorcke is he can be a very nasty piece of work.'

Coming from Ronstadt, Madison wondered what on earth this Yorcke could be like.

'What's he print?' he asked.

'See when we gets there, won't you?'

'There is a base,' Paula said, 'and that has to be it.' 'I agree,' said Tweed.

They had driven down and down from the point where Paula had surveyed Schluchsee through her binoculars. Newman's car had progressed first, with Marler's following close behind. The red light on Newman's screen had glowed so strongly he had driven at a slow pace. Gradually the red glow had dimmed. Newman had had his lights dimmed when he'd stopped suddenly for two reasons. They were now on the level and he'd caught sight of an open stretch of road running next to the lake. They parked the cars on the left-hand verge, under cover of a copse of trees. Then they had cautiously walked into the open.

To their right was a shoulder-high wall between the road and the lake. All seven of them had kept out of sight behind the wall, peering over it. Paula had perched her elbows on top of the wall and stared through her binoculars. Immediately opposite them on the far side of the lake was the base.

A very large and old two-storey building stood on top of a bluff at the lake's edge. It had huge and very steep gables, was built of wood as far as she could see. It appeared to be a cross between a farmhouse and a private residence. It had been masked from her previous survey, much higher up, by the fir forest which extended forward almost to the brink of the bluff. Tweed had borrowed Marler's binoculars and now Newman spoke urgently.

'Tweed, loan me those glasses for a minute.'

'Take mine,' said Paula and handed them to him.

Newman swiftly focused them. His target was not the house. He was aiming them at the string of red lights from the three black Audis retreating round the tip of the lake. As he spoke he followed them through the lenses.

'They're driving along a wide track which leads round the end of the lake. That's where we'll follow them when they've reached their base. I can drive along that track without lights.'

'And with luck,' Tweed commented, 'driving in white Audis they won't see us coming. We'll merge with the snow.'

'Is that why you asked me to get white cars?' Marler enquired.

'Yes. I'd heard about the first snowfall. It struck me white cars would be less visible, which might come in useful.'

'It will,' agreed Newman,, still staring through the binoculars. 'We'll just hope the moon stays the way it is now. Not too strong but with a bit of light. They've reached the end of the track, turning away from the lake. Now they're half-hidden so the track must lead up through a gulley.'

'Which will help us too,' Marler remarked.

Paula was standing with her arms folded, trying to keep in a bit of warmth. The well below zero temperature was gradually penetrating the extra clothing she was wearing. Her head was perched on the wall top as she crouched to keep hidden.

'It reminds me of that house in Psycho,' she said. 'It has a flight of railed steps leading up to the front door. The main difference is that large ramp to the right. Frightening.'

'It's just a house,' said Newman.

'That ramp is interesting,' Tweed observed, his binoculars still trained on the house, 'because it would be possible for two cars to drive down it at the same moment – or a very large truck.'

'Why would they want trucks?' Kent asked.

`To transport what I think they've produced inside that building. If I'm right, it's far more deadly than bombs. That edifice beyond the top of the ramp looks like a huge garage. I'd swear the door is modern – unlike everything else about the place.'

Paula was staring round the shores of the lake in the ghostly light. The moon came out from behind a cloud briefly and she saw she was right.

'There are sandy beaches here and there along the edges of the lake. But I can't see any sign of holiday chalets.'

'They all go to Titisee in the season.' Tweed told her. 'The convoy has almost arrived.'

'The track forks three ways when it gets close to the house,' Newman reported. 'One route up to the bottom of the flight of steps, another proceeds on to the foot of that ramp. The third leads to somewhere behind the house – and that's the route they are taking. Time to go?'

'Let's wait a little longer,' Tweed suggested. 'Give them time to settle in.'

'No lights at all in the place,' Paula pointed out.

'There are several,' Tweed corrected her. 'Difficult to see because they're low down – must be a basement. I think there are curtains drawn across them.'

'You mean there's someone there already?' Paula asked.

'I'm sure there is. In the basement. Now, I wonder? Yes, it might well be in the basement – if it's big enough.' 'What might?'

'What we've come to destroy.'

'Which is?'

'A fortune,' replied Tweed, and he smiled. 'Time to find out.'

The moon obliged. It cast no more than a half-glow as Newman, in the lead, turned off the road and down onto the track. Behind him Marler's Audi followed. They drove without lights and Newman, having studied the track, found he could see where he was going without difficulty.

'What were you and Tweed discussing with Marler before we left?' Paula, seated beside Newman again, asked him.

'We were planning tactics for the assault,' Tweed answered her from the rear of the car. 'We had several options.'

'Which did you choose?' she asked.

'I was just going to tell you when you spoke. It's important you know as much as the rest of us. Bob, do you want to start putting Paula in the picture?'

'There are seven of us,' Newman began. 'We thought there'd be eleven of the enemy but that light in the basement Tweed spotted means there will be at least twelve of them. At least,' he repeated. 'The obvious point of attack is to follow their cars round the back. Maybe a bit too obvious, wouldn't you agree?'

'Yes, I would,' replied Paula. 'I'd have thought we have to split up a bit – so we have the place surrounded.'

'Which is exactly what we decided,' said Newman. 'Keith, I'd like you to get out when we reach the house, so you can creep up that staircase to the main front door. I don't think this will happen, but they may all come out there. Marler gave you an extra Walther – you may not have time to reload. Shoot them down as they emerge.'

'I think I can manage that,' Kent said easily. 'Tweed must have told you I'm what they call a shooter back home. Belong to a club.'

'What about the rest of us?' Paula pressed.

'Marler and Butler take up the best positions they can find at the back of the house. Tweed and Nield follow Keith when we drop him off, then they go further along to take up positions on the ramp side of the house.'

'What about you?'

'I've got a roving commission. I'll be circling the house – as reinforcement wherever I'm needed.'

'You've left someone out,' Paula said coolly. 'Me.'

'No, I haven't. You'll come with me.'

'As protection?' she asked not so coolly.

'Of course not. As backup – for me.'

'The essence of our strategy,' Tweed intervened, 'is to entice them out of the house. By now they'll be getting to know its layout. We haven't the faintest idea of that. So we bring them out to us.'

'And how exactly do we do that?' Paula wanted to know.

'You've noticed lights are starting to come on inside the house. So we-'

'Shows overconfidence,' Newman interrupted. 'That's helpful.'

'I was going to tell Paula that Bob will throw grenades inside the house through the windows. That will shake them up, bring some of them outside where we'll be waiting for them.'

'That's clever,' Paula replied.

'We'll soon be there,' Newman warned.

The track had now entered the gulley, which was steep and wide. Newman felt relieved. There was no sign so far that the thugs inside had noticed their approach. He reached the top of the gulley and then the point where the track forked in three directions.

'They may not hear our cars coming,' said Paula. 'As you know, I have acute hearing, and I can hear machines whirring inside the place.'

'This is where Keith and Tweed drop off,' said Newman. 'In the rear-view mirror I can see Nield leaving Marler's car ready to join you.'

'Keith,' Newman called out, 'I suggest you crouch against the wall of the house – between the front door and the ramp. Less of a target.'

'I'm going to do just that,' Kent replied.

Both Tweed and Kent were careful not to slam their doors as they left the car. Tweed had his Walther in his right hand, spare magazines in his left. The moonlight did not reach the outside of the house and the two men disappeared like wraiths. As Newman drove on at a slow pace Paula bent down, picked up her machine- pistol.

'We'll make a good team,' said Newman.

'If you say so,' she snapped, still annoyed.

They were moving along the track which ran past the side of the large house. In the distance Paula could just make out the silhouettes of three parked black Audis. All of them were turned round for a swift getaway. They were crawling past the side of the house when she called out.

'Stop!'

'Why?'

'Stop! Damn you! There's a side door at the top of a flight of steps. I'm getting out. No bloody argument.'

Newman sighed, stopped. It was no use arguing with Paula once she'd made up her mind. And she had a point. They hadn't expected a side entrance. She opened the door, smiled at him, slipped out, closed the door. He drove on with Marler following him with only Butler in his car now.

The first thing that occurred to Paula as she stood for a moment, adjusting to the huge drop in temperature, was the extent of the flight leading up to a closed door. At least a dozen steps. Her eyes were becoming accustomed to the pitch darkness and she saw the ground was littered with boulders.

She crouched behind one, then decided crouching would restrict her movements. It would all happen so quickly if some of the thugs did emerge from the side door. She found a flat-topped rock in the shadows. She checked behind her, listening for the sound of someone prowling. Maybe they had posted sentries outside. No one had thought of that. Satisfied with the heavy silence, she perched on the rock, putting spare mags in her lap. Then she elevated the machine-pistol until the muzzle was aimed at the platform outside the door. She lowered it swiftly, repeated the exercise.

'This is a damned quiet forest,' she said to herself. 'No bird song. No sign of night birds.'

She had removed the glove from her right hand – her trigger hand. It would freeze but she'd have to put up with that. She kept flexing the finger round the trigger.

'Come on, you swine,' she said under her breath. 'Your lot has killed enough people with the bombs in London…'

More lights had come on in the house, Newman observed as he began circling the building. He had another reason for choosing his role. He wanted to check that everyone was in as safe a position as possible. He saw Paula sitting erect on her rock and he sighed. He was going to go to her to say something, decided not to. Paula had come a long way, knew what she was doing. He recalled how she'd dealt with Hank Waltz in the Eagle Street warehouse in London's East End.

He went in the opposite direction to the rear of the house. He found Marler behind a tree, his Armalite at the ready. Beyond was Butler, crouched behind a shrub. Both were watching yet another exit – this door level with the ground. He continued walking round the far side of the house.

Nield peered out from behind a small wooden hut.. He waved his Walther at Newman. Further on, closer to the ramp and under its slope, Tweed stood waiting, unconcerned, staring upwards. He didn't even look as Newman passed him and reached the front.

As he'd suggested, Keith was beyond the top of the staircase leading to the massive front door. He was crouched with his back to the wall of the house. He must have heard Newman. He suddenly swung round, Walther aimed. Then he lowered it. Time, he decided, to wake up the thugs inside, to throw a few grenades through the lighted windows.

When the three black Audis arrived at the parking place, Ronstadt was first out of his car. As he hurried towards the door at the back of the house he was accompanied by three men – Leo Madison, Chuck Venacki and Vernon Kolkowski. They had all travelled in his car.

'Moonhead,' he warned, 'you've seen a few tough guys in your time, but prepare yourself for Bernhard Yorcke.

'Guess I've seen all the tough guys,' Madison said dismissively.

'You keep your big mouth shut. I hadn't finished. Yorcke is about five foot three tall. He's a gnome – and a hunchback, and strong as an ox. He gets very nasty if you says the wrong thing. Admire his work. Tell him what a great guy he is.'

'OK. If you say so.'

Ronstadt pressed the door bell three times slowly, then twice, then three times again.

They waited. Madison shuffled his feet. Behind him the other three thugs stood back. Ronstadt liked men to observe the courtesies where he was concerned. Which meant he led the way and the others followed like hired lackeys.

'Where the hell is he?' snapped Madison. 'Friggin' cold stuck out herd!'

He had just spoken when they heard the door being unlocked from the inside. When it opened a strong light shone from the large room inside. Madison sucked in his breath. Standing crouched in the doorway was the ugliest, most evil-looking man he'd ever seen.

Bernhard Yorcke had a high forehead and lank, greasy dark hair. His nose was hooked and the dark eyes which stared out strangely were black and menacing. Below the nose a wide, thin-lipped mouth was twisted at an odd angle, which gave the impression he was smiling permanently in a sneering way. A most unpleasant smile. Clean-shaven, his long face tapered to a pointed chin which increased his gnomelike look. His fingertips were black. They would always be black – with printer's ink.

'You are late,' he said nastily.

'Sorry 'bout that,' Ronstadt replied, smiling. 'Difficult drivin conditions. A lot of snow and ice.'

'You're still late. You had better come inside with your men. There will be no food for them. I cannot waste my valuable time looking after strange visitors.'

Yorcke spoke English slowly, with great precision, emphasizing syllables. His voice was high-pitched, which added to the sinister aura of his personality. He stood to one side as Ronstadt's thugs filed in, then locked the door with his left hand. In his right hand he held a long black iron bar which terminated at one end in a sharp point. At the top a small bar extended at right- angles. It gave Madison the feeling of a vicious dagger.

'You are wondering what I am holding in my hand,' Yorcke said to Madison. This horrible guy misses nothing, thought Madison; who had been glancing at the bar. 'It is an instrument of my trade.'

'Bernhard is the greatest printer in the whole world,' boomed Ronstadt. 'He gives you a date and the work is finished by that date.'

'Everything is ready now, Ronstadt,' Yorcke confirmed. 'I have even printed a greater quantity. It is running on the machines now. For that, of course, I expect a bigger fee.'

As he spoke he advanced very close to Ronstadt. The spiked bar was raised to his chest level as though about to strike. He stared hard at Ronstadt, who answered quickly, trying not to look at the nearness of the spike.

'You'll get a big extra fee. And I won't pay you in what you've produced.'

'Don't do that,' purred Yorcke. 'Life can be short.'

'It was a joke, Ronstadt assured him hastily. 'Can we start loading the trucks?'

'One truck is already loaded. The driver is waiting to leave.'

'Tell him to get moving, please.'

His men were exploring different rooms as Yorcke went to an old-fashioned phone attached to the wall. He used a turn-handle to ring the bell in the garage.

'Dave, take the truck to its destination. Yes, now.'

Newman, with a holdall he had borrowed from Marler, was starting his tour of the house. He grabbed a grenade from the holdall, hurled it with great force through an illuminated window. Glass cracked as the missile landed somewhere inside. It detonated. The window shattered, scattering glass all over the snow outside. Newman had already moved on, hurled another grenade. He continued throwing the grenades almost non-stop as he ran.

Below the wide ramp Tweed was crouched against the wall, Walther in his hand. He suddenly heard the sound of a powerful engine starting. Looking up, he saw the huge door of the garage elevating swiftly, automatically. A large white Mercedes truck roared out, sped down the ramp. He aimed his gun, fired. A useless shot. The driver inside his cab was way past him, had swung the vehicle round at the bottom, accelerated, headed for the track and thundered down it. Nield was by his side.

'We've lost it. I fired but hit nothing. Where could it be going?'

'Tell you in a minute…'

He watched the truck rushing along the track. In no time at all it reached the road, swung left, heading back the way they had come. Then it was gone.

'Freiburg for starters would be my guess,' said Tweed. 'There may be a way of stopping it later.'

Newman dashed past them. He was running round the house, hurling more grenades from the holdall slung over his shoulder. He aimed one well clear of Kent, crouched by the front wall at the top of the steps. There was a fresh detonation. More glass sprayed the outside, none of it coming near Tweed and Nield. He didn't stop running.

Half a minute earlier, the door at the top of the steps at the side of the house where Paula waited, was thrown open. Three thugs rushed out, down the steps, firing at random. Paula elevated her machine-pistol. She fired one long burst, lowering the weapon. The thugs on the steps tumbled over each other, fell in a heap, very still. She was reloading, expecting more, when Newman rushed round the corner, took in the situation at a glance.

'Great work. Don't go inside!'

He ran on. Paula waited. No one else emerged. She laid her machine-pistol on the ground. It would be difficult to manipulate inside the confines of the house. Holding her Walther gripped in both hands, she walked to the foot of the steps. Slowly she began to climb them, threading her way between the strewn corpses. Then she disappeared inside.

At the rear of the house Marler waited well back at the edge of the trees, holding his Armalite. Butler was standing nearby, crouched low behind some wild shrubbery.

'Keep your eyes on that door, Marler called out. 'They're doing that.'

When the assault came it was in an unexpected way – and from an unexpected direction. Without warning -they had heard, had seen, no sign of activity – a hail of smoke bombs arrived from inside the shattered windows. Marler and Butler were lost in a dense, choking fog.

The door opened quietly. Ronstadt led the way out, followed by Leo Madison, Chuck Venacki and Vernon Kolkowski. They had guns in their hands but they did not fire them. Instead they ran for Ronstadt's Audi, now parked in front and facing the track. Ronstadt opened the driver's door quietly, sat behind the wheel as he was joined by Chuck at his side with Madison and Vernon in the back. He started the engine, accelerated.

Marler, coughing, emerged from the smoke. He saw Newman appear round the side of the house. Ronstadt drove the car straight at him. Newman jumped clear just in time. Then the car had gone, vanishing down 'the gulley.

Newman clambered to his feet, realized he had sprained his ankle. He stared at the flat-topped rock where Paula had been sitting. He looked quickly up at the open door at the top of the steps, beyond the piled bodies.

'Marler!' he shouted. 'Paula's gone inside. Up those steps. For God's sake go after her.'

'On my way.'

When Paula reached the open doorway she paused, listened, then peered inside. She was looking up and down a lighted corridor. Deserted. She frowned. She could hear a strange noise. Clatter… clatter… clatter…

It went on and on and was coming from an open door further down the corridor to her right. As she walked down the corridor the noise became louder and louder. A slab-like door was open, pushed back against the wall. As she came closer she saw it was made of solid steel. She peered round it and suppressed a gasp of surprise. She was looking down into a vast basement which must run under the entire house.

She understood the noise now. The basement was occupied by an array of machines working like mad. Illumination came from fluorescent tubes suspended from the ceiling. Beyond the door a flight of concrete steps led down into the basement, with a metal rail on one side. She scanned the area as far as she could. No sign of anyone. Step by step she began to descend the flight. The noise of the clattering machines was hellish, trapped inside the basement.

Walking down stealthily, she caught glimpses of the battery of machines. At one end large reels of paper were being fed in. They became perfectly flat sheets as the first machine carried them along. Then they passed under a series of huge revolving rollers. They emerged, still flat, but now printed with what, at first, she thought were outsize postage stamps. A moment later she realized they were banknotes, row upon row of them. They continued their journey until they reached a series of very large metal plates which jumped up and down, slicing them.

She had almost reached the bottom step when she slipped on some spilt oil. Her legs collapsed under her as she grabbed for the rail. The hand was still holding the Walther and she bruised herself, dropping the gun. Picking herself up, she flexed her hands and legs. No damage – she always fell limply. But where was the Walther?

The light was bright enough for her to see clearly but there was no sign of the weapon. It must have slid under one of the machines. She swore. Shaking her head to clear her mind, she began walking towards where the printing process started. Near the end was a concrete platform, elevated about a foot high. She assumed it was an observation platform so a printer could check to make sure everything was functioning properly.

Suddenly she sensed a presence behind her. She swung round and let out a gasp of fear. The most hideous man she had ever seen was close to her. A gnome with a hunchback, his evil face twisted in a leer of anticipation of a pleasure to come. In his right hand, raised high, he held a ferocious-looking black spike.

'I am Bernhard Yorcke,' he called out above the noise of the machinery. 'The greatest printer in the world. You have come to sabotage my beautiful work.'

'I think your work is the most beautiful I've ever seen,' she said quickly.

'No, you don't. You have been sent to destroy it. So I will destroy you.'

'You're a genius,' she babbled.

'I am the greatest genius of them all,' he said, coming closer.

'That's why I came here. To see your wonderful work.'

'You lie,' he snarled. 'You came to destroy. Instead, I am going to destroy you.'

She knew he was going to drive the dreadful spike into her face. As she backed away her right hand was feeling desperately inside her shoulder bag. Her fall had pushed it behind her back. She missed the special pocket sewn in which held her Browning. Her hand plunged deep, felt a canister of hair spray. He was very close to her as she brought out the spray, aimed it, her own eyes dosed, ejected the spray.

'You foul whore.'

She opened her eyes, then realized the spray had only hit his left eye. His right eye stared into hers as he lifted the spike higher to jab it forward. Backing away from him she had come up against the wall. There was nowhere to go, to escape.

Marler came bounding down the steps like a rocket, Armalite in his right hand. He hadn't been able to shoot from the top for fear of hitting Paula. He saw the oil on the step which had brought down Paula, leapt over it.

'You ugly deformed little bastard!' he shouted.

The insult had the effect he had prayed for. Yorcke, about to jab the spike forward, turned round. Marler used the barrel of his Armalite like a club,, smashing it across Yorcke's forehead. Yorcke staggered back, still clutching the spike. He felt his legs press against the concrete platform. With incredible agility he jumped up on to the platform to give himself extra height. He was waving the spike when the Armalite hammered into him again, catching him across the hooked nose.

He lost his balance, fell backwards on to the moving machine. Sprawled on the paper, he was carried along to the rollers. They had a safety device, jumping up when something large hit them. The large object was Yorcke's head. The roller came crashing down and Marler turned Paula away so she couldn't see. Yorcke let out a ghastly scream, heard clearly above the noise of the machinery. His shoulders reached the roller which jumped up again, then down. There was no further scream and the rest of his body swept under as the immensely heavy roller crashed down again. The paper was stained with a spreading pool of blood. Marler spoke quickly.

'Don't look.'

He heard someone call down from the top of the steps. Newman stood there with Tweed. Newman, followed by Tweed, hobbled down the steps, stopped when Marler warned him about the oil. Marler, his arm round Paula, guided her to Newman.

'Take her to the car. Stay with her.'

'You've hurt your foot,' Paula observed. 'I'll tend to it in the car. I've got a first-aid kit. Let's go. Take your time.'

Tweed stared at the printed sheets still proceeding along the battery of machines. Then he looked at Marler.

'British twenty-pound notes, ten-pound notes and fivers. It was Lenin who said, "If you want to destroy a 'country debauch the currency." Something like that. It's quite fiendish. The Americans were going to flood Britain with forged banknotes. We'd lose all faith in the pound. Then the Americans would persuade the population to switch to dollars. Then they would have taken us over.'

He looked up. At the top of the staircase Kent, Butler and Nield were gazing down. He shouted up to them.

'The three of you move as a unit. Check every room in this house. Make sure no one else is here. If it's all clear come back and tell me. But be careful.'

'I imagine you'd like all this to be wiped out?' Marler suggested.

'As soon as possible. Trouble is, the ceiling's concrete.'

'I think not.'

Marler climbed a ladder perched against a wall. Reaching up, he tapped at the ceiling. Looking down he shook his head.

'Not concrete at all. Some kind of polystyrene – to match the concrete floor. Above it will be wood flooring. And wood burns. I need to go back to my car for extra supplies. Don't go round the end of this battery of machines. Something very unpleasant will be there.'

When Marler had gone Tweed started to walk to the end of the conveyor belt of machines. He had a Walther in his right hand. Seeing what the last machine had spewed out onto the floor he skirted the remains of Bernhard Yorcke. His stomach churned. He walked on, past large packed bales piled to the ceiling, reaching a very wide door which was open. Beyond the door steps led up to a lighted area. He found himself inside the huge garage with the automatic door at the front still open.

It was freezing cold. He saw a switch on the wall, pressed it. The automatic door lowered swiftly. More fluorescent tubes lit the interior of the garage and three more white Mercedes trucks stood parked, replicas of the truck he had seen driven away. He looked inside the open backs. Empty. He went back down the steps into the machine room.

Inside a drawer he found a collection of knives. Selecting one, he bent down to rip open one of several bales on the floor. He stared at its contents – stack after stack of British twenty-pound notes, each neatly held together with an elastic band. He heard footsteps running down the steps from the house. Kent was in the forefront with Nield and Butler behind him.

'Come and look at this,' Tweed called out. 'But when you reach the end look at the wall.'

'All's clear,' Nield reported. 'No one else in the house.'

'Oh, my God…' gasped Kent. 'What is it?'

He had overlooked Tweed's advice. Now he was staring at what had seeped out of the last machine onto the floor.

'Don't ask,' Tweed snapped. 'I told you not to look. Instead, come and look at this.'

Kent came round the corner, bent down. He extracted a stack of the banknotes, took off the elastic band. His expression was grim.

'More forgeries. I don't need to use my eyeglass. They are very good, but once you know what to look for you can see at once they're fakes.'

'So once the knowledge spread like wildfire every bank teller, every shopkeeper, every shopper in Britain would know they were holding useless money?'

'That's how it would work,' Kent agreed. 'Then panic.'

Picking up the knife Tweed had used, he ripped open another bale. This one was brimful of stacks of fivers. He opened a stack, glanced quickly at several banknotes, shook his head.

'Again, at first glance they're the real thing, but they're not.'

Kent ripped open several more bales. He found stacks of ten-pound notes, fifty-pound notes. Tweed then led him up the steps into the garage. He pointed at one of the trucks.

'How much of the faked currency do you reckon that could contain?'

'Millions and millions,' Kent replied. 'It's a big truck. It would contain enough – if distributed – to start a run on the pound.'

'Worse than I thought. Much worse. One loaded truck got away.'

They returned to the machine room as Marler appeared, lugging a very heavy holdall. He dumped it on the floor, well clear of the spreading reddish pool. He glanced round the huge basement.

'I imagine you'd like me to lose this lot?'

'Yes. And the whole house. Can it be done?'

'Without difficulty. I've got thermite bombs which will turn the place into an inferno. Plus high explosive – just to make a professional job of it. If you've finished here, I suggest you leave me to it. Everyone returns to the Audis, then drive down to the end of the gulley. I'd appreciate it if you'd wait for me to arrive.'

'How does it work?'

'With this.' Marler took a small black object smaller than a matchbox from his pocket. It had a shallow depression on one side.

'I press that,' he explained, 'and the world blows up. It works rather like the gizmo you press when you drive home, pause at the end of your drive, press your gizmo. Hey Presto! The garage door lifts automatically. Based on a radio signal with a code. Same thing here. I've laced the rooms in the house with thermite and high-explosive bombs. All have a signal receiver. The whole shooting match goes up when I press this gizmo '

'Put it away in your pocket,' Kent suggested. 'We don't want an accident.'

'Then clear off now and leave me to it,' Marler repeated.

With their two Audis parked beyond the bottom of the gulley, they waited. They had a clear view of the strange house perched on its bluff. Also they were close to the road running alongside the lake. They seemed to wait for ever but, by Tweed's watch, it was only five minutes later when they heard two dull explosions.

'It's started,' said Paula. 'Oh, Lord, where's Marler?' 'Hasn't started yet,' Tweed assured her. 'And here comes Marler like a rocket.'

When he reached the two cars Marler was out of breath. He stood still for a moment. Then he took the small black object he had shown them from his pocket. He looked at Tweed.

'Ready for the fireworks?'

'We are.'

Marler pressed the device. They all stared fixedly at the weird house. They had left all the lights on. Paula could make out the broken windows. There was a simultaneous roar blasting out across the forest – accompanied by a searing sheet of fire. At first flames shot out of the windows, then the house began to come apart. The garage elevated. A truck rocketed into the air, on fire. It shot forward in an arc, descended into the lake. Flames fizzled, the truck sank. Within seconds there was an even more deafening roar. The house came apart. The front section elevated, was lifted bodily forward like the removal of a stage facade. It fell forward, dived off the bluff, landed in the lake. For a moment it floated, burning, a bizarre sight. Then it sank below the surface with a sinister sizzle. It created a small tidal wave which rushed forward, hit a long beach, sent up high a cloud of spray which settled.

'Those are banknotes,' shouted Paula.

She snatched up the binoculars she had focused on the house before Marler arrived. Above the crumbling side and rear walls of the house was a snowstorm. In her lenses she could see she was right. They were banknotes. Then a sheet of flame soared up, consumed the snowstorm. A strange large object was carried forward by the shockwave. She caught it in her binoculars. It was a huge section of a printing machine with a slab of concrete attached to its base. It dropped into the lake with a tremendous splash, sank instantly without trace. The flames, which had become an inferno had reached the nearest trees, setting them on fire.

'The forest is burning,' cried out Paula..

'Won't get far – not when they're saturated with snow,' Tweed remarked.

Slowly the wall of flames became less ferocious, suddenly no more than a series of flickers. They could see now that the house had vanished, reduced to a pile of ashes. The crackle of the flames had been loud as the wood burned but now there was a deathly silence. It was as though the Psycho-like house had never existed.

'We'll get moving,' Tweed decided. 'Back to Freiburg.'