By Stealth (26 page)

`I know,' Delvaux nodded. 'Andover told me.'

`What he couldn't tell you — and thankfully I delayed telling him — is that his daughter's body was later dragged out of the sea. Who are these murdering swine?'

`I don't know...'

`But you must know what it is about.'

`I think it's about Stealth...'

Dr Wand sat in his luxury suite on the third floor of the Bellevue Palace Hotel on the equivalent of Park Lane in Brussels — the Avenue Louise. The only other occupant in the spacious room was his dark-haired, uniformed chauffeur, who still work dark glasses and sat behind a desk. He had just poured his employer a good measure of Napoleon brandy. Wand was swirling the liquid in the glass when the phone rang.

`Be so good as to answer that,' Wand requested.

The chauffeur picked up the gold receiver. He asked the caller to identify herself and she gave him a code-name.

`It's her,' the chauffeur reported.

`Then perhaps' — Wand checked the time on his Rolex — 'you would pass the phone to me, please.

`Yes,' he said into the mouthpiece, 'you have progress to report?'

`The first consignment has been dispatched to its ultimate destination,' the woman's voice told him. 'I emphasize ultimate.'

`And there were no problems, I trust?'

`Nothing I couldn't handle,' the woman assured him.

`Splendid. I congratulate you. What a pleasure to know someone who is always reliable. I will see you then. At the agreed time, at the agreed place. So, thank you for calling.'

The chauffeur was on hand to take away the phone. Wand swirled the liquid in the glass he had continued to hold in his large, right hand. Cognac needed warming and Wand was a very particular man. He glanced up at the chauffeur through his gold pince-nez, pursed his lips, twisted them into his cold smile.

`Very satisfactory,' he remarked. 'Most satisfactory indeed.' He swallowed some of the brandy. He had been referring to the execution of Sir Gerald Andover.

Not a dozen yards from the entrance to the Bellevue Palace Marler sat parked in his hired Mercedes. He was eating the last of three ham rolls purchased from a nearby café. Perched on the small platform beside him behind the gear lever was a cylindrical carton of coffee.

Marler felt pretty sure that would be the extent of his dinner for the night. Earlier he had used the car phone to call a Brussels number. A rough voice had answered in French. Speaking the same language, Marler had indicated in a roundabout way that he required one Armalite rifle and plenty of ammo.

There had been the usual haggle over price after Marler had identified himself as Charlie — the name known from previous transactions to the illegal supplier of guns. Marler had explained where he would wait for five minutes at an agreed time. No point in letting such a character know he expected to be staying there for hours.

He had the engine running when a shabbily dressed hulk of a Belgian appeared carrying a large, equally shabby, briefcase. Marler lowered the window but kept the door — which was locked — closed. The Belgian giant looked round the deserted street, leaned down, and his breath smelt of garlic as he spoke in French.

`The money first, my friend.'

Not until I've checked the merchandise.'

Marler had shown the Belgian a handful of notes rolled up in his left hand.

`Then switch off your engine.'

`I'm in a hurry,' Marler snapped.

But he switched off the motor, held up the key, and dropped it on the seat beside him. The briefcase was passed in through the window. Inside was a dismantled Armalite rifle. With expert and swift movements Marler assembled the weapon. Keeping it below the level of the window he pulled the trigger. It was in excellent shape and there was a generous supply of ammo in the case. He counted out a large number of thousand-franc notes, rolled them into a wad, passed them to the Belgian. The roll disappeared inside a pocket as the giant slouched off, vanishing down an alleyway.

Marler had then started up the engine, had driven to the end of the Avenue Louise where it met the Place Louise. He performed a complicated manoeuvre and drove back the way he had come, glancing down the alley, which was deserted. It was just a precaution in case the giant had taken it into his head to spy on him.

He had then parked in the same place. It took him no time to dismantle the rifle, to put it back inside the briefcase. He was glad he'd taken care to buy a carton of coffee with a tight lid. It was rolling on the floor.

That had taken place some time before. And earlier still he had followed Dr Wand's limousine from Zaventem Airport to this extremely expensive hotel. What had puzzled him then — and still did — was that the chauffeur had handed over the car to a porter to drive it into the underground garage.

The chauffeur had accompanied Dr Wand into the hotel and had not reappeared since. Which made Marler wonder whether the chauffeur was far more important than he had thought him to be.

`Can you explain in layman's language how this Stealth technique works?' Tweed asked in the kitchen of the Château Orange. 'An American scientist was going to tell us but she became unavailable.'

`I had one of the top American scientists working on the project here to visit me about three years ago,' Delvaux recalled. 'A brilliant man — Professor Crown from the Northrop plant at Palmdale, California. He was not only applying the technique to aircraft but also to ships. I found we were working on exactly the same lines.'

`How did you know about each other's work?' asked Paula.

`Oh, there's a confidential international grapevine. We co-operate with each other. But I'll come back to that later.'

`How does Stealth
work
?' Tweed prodded.

Absorbed in his own subject, Delvaux became positively voluble. Words tumbled out and his eyes were glazed in concentration.

`Have you got some English coins? I need one to demonstrate my point.' Paula opened a section of her purse, handed him a collection. 'That's the one I was after,' Delvaux continued. He held up a gleaming five-penny coin. 'I hear it's not liked — so easy to lose. Now take the American B2 Stealth bomber. It's quite enormous — a wingspan of one hundred and eighty-nine feet, seventeen feet high. Normally a plane with such a huge wingspan would show up on radar about the size of this five-penny piece. Which is a very big image. Flying towards hostile territory it would be picked up immediately. Now guess the size of the radar image of the Stealth bomber. I'll tell you. About the size of a pin-head, if that The B2 could slip through any radar defence, under any satellite system on earth. We are talking about a bomber which is totally
invisible
.'

`Sounds deadly,' Newman commented.

`It is. No defence against it. No antidote. Imagine the payload of bombs a machine that size can carry.'

`But why can't it be spotted?' Tweed insisted.

`Partly a question of shape. It looks like a gigantic manta ray — so thin. But that is backed up by applying special coatings to the machine of a certain material. The coatings create fake reflections back to any radar, breaking up those reflections into tiny waves which are meaningless to the radar. Its own radar uses a laser device to make it undetectable by other planes. On top of that the jet engines are concealed inside the slim structure. And on top of that a diffuser mingles cool air with the exhaust gases — so the plane can't even be detected by satellite heat sensors. There's just nothing in the design any defence system can lock on to. I repeat, this enormous machine is invisible.'

`Sounds frightening to me,' Paula commented. 'But why does Stealth affect what happened to Andover, what is happening to you?'

`Let us take Andover first,' Delvaux went on precisely. He seemed to have forgotten temporarily the terror of his own situation. 'We must be logical, take the factors in their correct sequence. Andover is the great world authority on geopolitics — a global outlook on politics and warfare. His mentor was Professor Haushofer...'

`Who?' Paula queried.

`Professor Haushofer was the expert on geopolitics in his time. The close confidant of Adolf Hitler. And Hitler absorbed his views. By mentor, I mean Andover studied the views of Haushofer, long since dead. He then developed his own theory adapted to present world conditions today. He predicted the new great menace to the West would come from the East — and not Russia.'

`But how does this link up with Stealth?' Tweed asked.

`The new enemy — potentially the most powerful Europe and America have faced yet — has, Andover suspected, acquired through devious means the know- how to build a fleet of Stealth bombers...'

`Three American scientists working on the project — including Professor Crown — have been kidnapped,' Tweed told him. 'About three years ago. It is believed they were taken to Hong Kong.'

`Which confirms Andover's theory... Delvaux was in full flood. 'I have little doubt that those three American scientists, forced to direct a team of reasonably competent technicians, could supervise the building of a Stealth bomber fleet. Three years ago, you said? They probably have Stealth bombers now...'

`You mentioned Professor Crown was adapting the Stealth technique to ships,' Tweed intervened.

He was anxious to obtain every item of information as swiftly as possible. It was only a matter of time before Delvaux's sudden burst of energy ran out of steam.

`Yes,' the Belgian agreed, 'Crown was a marine specialist. Oddly enough he was working on the same research aspect as me. How to adapt Stealth to ships.'

`And how is that done?' asked Newman.

Perched on a stool, he had a notebook in his lap below the level of the counter. He was surreptitiously recording what Delvaux was saying.

`Again there are basically two problems to overcome. The shape of the average ship — easily registered by radar. And the exhaust from the vessel's engines — exhaust easily detected by satellite heat sensors. So we have designed a ship with a very low profile — almost like that of a semi- submerged submarine, but without the prominent conning tower. You want the details — in simplified language?'

`Yes, we do,' urged Tweed.

`The propellers at the stern have an exceptionally low noise level. The funnel is constructed so it hardly projects above the low deck level. In addition, it is equipped with a cooled exhaust system — like the bomber. It has a retractable mast — like the automatic radio aerial on a car which retracts completely inside the chassis of the vehicle. Its radar system is also constructed so it hardly projects above the surface of the deck. The hull has a rounded profile to reduce to nothing the normal radar and infrared signatures it would emit. And missile launchers can be built inside the bow.'

`An ordinary ship needs a bridge,' Tweed pointed out.

`That also has been dealt with. A Stealth ship has both command and weapons control centres below decks. So, we have an invisible ship. A fleet of invisible ships — if the enemy establishes a conveyor-belt system of production like that American shipbuilder did on the West Coast of the States during the Second World War. What was his name? I have it. Kaiser. The Liberty ships.'

`You're scaring the daylights out of me,' Tweed commented. 'And I think you said there was no antidote earlier. No way of detecting Stealth bombers and ships. While I remember it, why is your plant working non-stop, apparently at all hours?'

`You are quick, Tweed. Very quick. I said there was no antidote. Past tense. So why do you think I take the risk of working my factories on three shifts twenty-four hours a day?'

The phone was ringing again in Dr Wand's suite at the Bellevue Palace. The chauffeur answered it, handed the phone to his boss.

`It's the lady again, sir. Anne-Marie...'

'It always gives me pleasure to hear from you,' Wand began. 'Such an enchanting voice. You have a problem?'

`I am sorry to disturb you. Could you take down this phone number?'

`Of course. One moment.'

Wand extracted a thin morocco-bound notebook from his pocket. He held a slim gold pencil poised.

am ready.'

`The number is—. A public phone box, Place Louise. May I call you there in fifteen minutes?'

`I will most certainly be there waiting...'

Wand understood exactly what that meant. Some information his caller did not wish to pass through a hotel switchboard. Night operators were notorious for passing the boring hours by listening in.