By Stealth (20 page)

`The next move is for us to hurry to Belgium to have a talk with Professor Gaston Delvaux of Liège. A fresh link in the chain, I hope. Monica has tickets for the three of us. But first I must speak to my old friend, Chief Inspector Benoit of the Brussels police. A man who knows everything going on inside his country.'

`Let's hope he doesn't give us a shock,' Paula said. `Why should he?' Newman demanded.

`I just have a feeling.'

`More intuition?' Newman asked ironically.

Monica phoned the Brussels number and requested the call to be put on a scrambler phone. She was told they would call back. Several minutes later the phone rang.

`Benoit?' Tweed enquired. 'Tweed here.'

`Ah, my old friend has at long last remembered me,' a warm voice greeted him in English. 'How are you? Good. So you must have a problem. Always a problem when you contact me. Shoot, as the vulgar Americans say.'

`I am coming over very shortly..

`Tell Monica to phone me the flight details. I will meet you with a car at Zaventem Airport.'

`A more pleasant welcome to Belgium I can't imagine.

Thank you. I need to visit a M. Gaston Delvaux..

`Are you also on scrambler?' Benoit interjected quickly. `Yes.' Tweed's grip tightened on the phone. 'Why?' `Delvaux the armaments genius in Herstal outside Liège?'

`That's the man,' Tweed confirmed.

`You may have difficulty seeing him, I fear. There is a mystery there. Very strange.'

'What kind of mystery?'

`I don't know. Yes,' Benoit stated, 'I agree that sounds a peculiar thing to say but it is the truth. We are banned from going anywhere near his château.'

`What on earth is going on?' Tweed pressed.

`I am not making myself clear. Let me try. But it will not be easy to describe the indescribable.'

The cold facts would help.'

A sigh. 'Gaston Delvaux, so active all his life, and in his fifties still, has withdrawn from all public and commercial activities. He has become a recluse. Possibly a nervous breakdown? Why then has no doctor been to see him as far as I know?'

`How much of a recluse?' Tweed probed. 'And for how long?'

Paula had leaned forward. At the mention of the word `recluse' her eyes gleamed. She watched Tweed closely. Newman, previously drumming his fingers quietly, had stopped and sat upright, also staring at Tweed's expression, which gave nothing away.

`For three to four months. Apparently his wife has left him, ran off with an American millionaire. I find that a little hard to believe.'

Tweed had a jab of memory. His own wife had left him for a Greek shipping magnate. So far as he knew they were living somewhere in South America. He was surprised how little the reminder affected him. It had happened, after all, quite a few years ago. All this flashed through his mind as he immediately responded to Benoit.

`I also find it hard to believe that about Lucie,' Tweed said grimly. 'Gaston brought her to London once for a meeting of INCOMSIN. I had dinner with them. His wife struck me as a very stable woman, very attached to Gaston.'

`My impression also,' Benoit agreed. 'Of course, you cannot always tell with women. But it still does not sound like Lucie. Not at all. But that's what Delvaux has told people.'

`That's the extent of the mystery then?'

`By no means. There is more. I said he had become a recluse. He suddenly resigned all his posts — Scientific Adviser to NATO, Defence Consultant to the EC, etc. All thrown up overnight.'

'How long ago?'

`Three to four months.'

`Which must have just about coincided with the disappearance of his wife, Lucie?'

`That is so. It was assumed here that caused him to withdraw from public life. Myself, I think the psychology is wrong. To cushion the shock of losing his wife he would have immersed himself in his work. I repeat, a mystery.'

`Monica will let you know when we are coming, Benoit.'

'We? Is the delightful Paula coming with you?'

`She is.' Tweed smiled to himself. Benoit had a soft spot for Paula. 'We'll see you soon …'

The phone rang on Dr Wand's desk. He picked it up, glanced at his Rolex watch.

`Yes?'

`I'm phoning from a call box,' a woman's voice informed him. 'I have completed the assignment at London Airport. The job is done.'

`Did anyone see you?'

`Of course not. Conditions were perfect. A large jostling crowd. Ideal atmosphere for the operation.'

`Excellent, my dear,' Wand purred. His pursed mouth smiled with satisfaction. His eyes gleamed behind the pince-nez. 'We shall soon be leaving for Brussels, where I may have another assignment for you. Come here in your usual guise.'

`I'm dressed as a cleaning woman now. I'm on my way...'

Dr Wand put down the phone. He rubbed his large hands together. Everything was proceeding satisfactorily. The next target to check on was in Belgium.

`This is all so weird and disturbing,' Paula said when they had heard Tweed's résumé of his conversation with Benoit. 'It sounds like a repeat performance of the experience with Sir Gerald Andover.'

`It does indeed,' Tweed replied. 'I find it most sinister. Which is an added reason for going to Brussels.'

He handed her Andover's file as Cord Dillon came back into the office with Howard. The Director of the SIS was a tall pink-faced man, clean shaven and immaculately clad in a blue chalk-stripe Chester Barrie suit from Harrods. He also wore the obligatory fashionable striped shirt and his accent was upper crust.

`Most unfortunate — to say the least — this incident at London Airport,' he began.

`To say the least,' Tweed repeated drily, wishing he would go away.

`An appalling welcome for our distinguished visitor,' Howard went on. 'And all the information was inside the dead woman's head..

Tweed glanced at Dillon. His expression was poker-faced — clearly he had not said one word about Stealth to Howard, a man he had never liked.

`... so I suppose we'll never know what she was going to tell us,' Howard waffled on. 'I really find this all most regrettable. As you know, Tweed, I'm just back from a visit to Washington.' He looked at Dillon. 'Your Director said there was nothing much going on now. Except the chaos in Russia.' He turned his attention again to Tweed. `So what about the home front..

Huddled over files on her desk Monica groaned inwardly.
The home front
. Howard would keep using his out-of-date phraseology. His club language.

`Anything startling to report? Any new activity during my absence?' Howard continued.

`This and that,' Tweed replied off-handedly. 'Too early to draw any conclusions. Much too early.'

`Ah!' Howard removed a speck of dust from his lapel, glanced at Dillon, 'Mum's the word?'

Tweed nodded. Howard had assumed that Tweed didn't wish to reveal anything in front of Dillon. A reaction Tweed had stage-managed to avoid telling Howard anything yet.

`I'd better delve into my files,' Howard decided. 'And if you can find the time, Dillon, do come and have dinner at my club one evening. Welcome to the old UK.

Dillon waited until he had gone. He sat in a chair Paula brought for him, started speaking in his usual abrasive manner.

`What the hell I can't understand is how they had someone waiting at London Airport for Vane to arrive. Had to be planned in advance to have an assassin on the spot.'

`Cord, understandably you're probably suffering from jet lag or you'd have seen it yourself,' Tweed said diplomatically. 'This has to be a big, international, organization we're up against. Your flight from Washington was delayed by five or six hours with a bomb scare — which turns out to be a hoax. You must have been seen with Vane at Dulles Airport. The hoax held up your plane's arrival long enough for the assassin to get to London Airport. Diabolically simple.'

`So we listen to a voice from the dead,' Dillon said.

He took out of his pocket a thick velvet sleeve. From it he extracted a slim container and look at Paula. Opening the plastic container he took out a CD disc.

`Paula, that looks like a machine over there that takes CDs. It is? Good. We recorded Vane's edited statement on CD because it's so easy to conceal. Would you mind playing it? I said edited because I want you to hear the guts...'

Paula inserted the CD after switching on the machine. She pressed the 'play' button and sat down to listen. It was eerie to hear the soft-spoken voice of the dead Hilary Vane.

`I spent six years working with Boeing in Seattle on the Stealth project. Two of the most brilliant researchers in this field were Professors Bauer and Rockmann. Both were married and had children. Three years ago I was due to be transferred to Palmdale, California. Just before I left, Bauer and Rockmann were about to have their contracts renewed. Their specialty was aircraft — Stealth. A third equally brilliant researcher, Professor Crown, believed the technique could be adapted to ships and submarines. Crown had been working on his own for some time. Just before I left for Palmdale Bauer and Rockmann disappeared. They left notes behind at their homes in Seattle saying they were moving to another company. Agents from Washington couldn't find any trace of the two men — or their families. Professor Crown came with me to Palmdale. He was married but had no children. He also disappeared with his wife, leaving behind in his Seattle home a note saying the pressure was proving too much, that he'd taken a long holiday with his wife...'

There was a pause. Everyone waited expectantly and Dillon explained.

`Soon you'll hear me ask her a question. Not much more.'

He stopped speaking as the dead woman's voice continued. Paula thought she now detected a shakiness in her tone.

`Again the agents came from Washington and couldn't find any trace of them — Professor Crown and his wife. All three men with their loved ones had vanished into thin air. I found it most disconcerting, made it difficult to concentrate on my work...'

Another pause. Then Cord Dillon's voice asking the question.

`Ms Vane, about three years after Crown vanished, did you suddenly remember something you'd forgotten to mention in statements taken from you at the time?'

`Yes, Mr Dillon. I feel so stupid. It had completely slipped my mind. But Professor Crown went on what I thought was a holiday trip to Belgium before settling down at his new location in Palmdale. When he came back he told me over a drink late at night that he'd found confirmation of his marine Stealth theories from another source. He was very excited...'

Dillon stood up, strode briskly to the machine, switched it off. He removed the CD disc and replaced it in its velvet cover.

`That's it, Tweed. It was only one week ago Vane recalled that conversation with Crown over a late-night drink. Only a week ago that Belgium was mentioned. I come here direct from the President. His orders were that I contact you — he knows your track record.'

`And that's it?' Tweed asked.

`Not quite. We guessed no one would try to disappear from the States by plane. We knew the disappearance dates so we checked on shipping which left the ports of Seattle and San Francisco. When Bauer and Rockmann vanished we found a freighter — which has never returned — left San Francisco. Same with Crown. A freighter — which again never returned to the States — left Seattle just about the time he vanished with his wife.'

`You checked the registration of these two ships?' `Sure. Some obscure outfit we couldn't find anything on Moonglow Trading and Mercantile International.'

`And the destination of those freighters?' Tweed asked. `Hong Kong.'

15

It turned out that Cord Dillon was not only suffering from jet lag. He was also recovering from a bout of flu. He had been glad to leave Tweed's office for his room at the Inn on the Park. Shortly after his departure the phone rang. Monica picked it up, listened, put her hand over the mouthpiece and looked at Tweed.

`A Commander Noble is waiting to see you downstairs.' `Wheel him up,' Tweed ordered.

Newman stood up. He was looking dishevelled and washed out.

`I think I'll get back to my flat and have a bath. That is, unless you think I ought to wait to hear what the Commander has to say?'