By Stealth (41 page)

`What is that for?' Monica asked.

`Commander Noble told me another vessel has vanished off the Cape of Good Hope. The
Texel
, an 8,000- ton Dutch freighter. Blown a long way south off course and then it disappears like a puff of smoke.'

`By a gale? I suppose it could happen.'

`Then the gale died out as suddenly as it had blown up.' Tweed paused. 'And was succeeded by a dense fog. And again no Mayday signal reported by other shipping further north.'

`It does sound strange.'

`Even stranger when you know the Texel was due to call at Port Elizabeth, three hundred miles or so from its last reported position on its way to Indonesia. When it didn't arrive planes were sent out immediately to search. Not one piece of wreckage was found. No survivors...'

After his long walk home to Walpole Street Tweed should have slept like a log. Instead he tossed and turned the whole night long: at the best he slipped into a brief doze. He came wide awake, a vision of Dr Wand in his mind at the moment when Newman's lighter had flared at the Waterloo villa. The satanic expression behind those glinting gold pince-nez.

Over a thousand miles off the African coast of Angola — and midway between two shipping lanes — the refuelling operation with the Chinese tanker had been completed.

The
Mao III
was still proceeding on a north-westerly course to sail well clear of the huge bulge of Africa at Dakar. Inside the low-level bridge Captain Welensky checked his chart, then ordered the engine room: 'Full speed ahead!'

`You should have checked with me before giving that order,' reprimanded Kim.

Welensky turned his large bulk to stare down at the small Chinese. He was beginning to lose patience with what he privately referred to as 'the Chinks'. His tone of voice was gravelly.

`I was under the impression that I am skipper of the ship. You want me to slow down? It's still night but soon it will be dawn. We want to be a long way from that tanker when day breaks.'

`I do not wish you to slow down,' Kim replied smoothly. 'Neither do I wish you to try and read my mind.'

Welensky shrugged, turned away. He pressed the button which would emit the signal indicating to the smaller Stealth vessel following in their wake his position. In Welensky's opinion he had done well. He was still on schedule for the ultimate rendezvous, which had to be reached during the hours of darkness.

He had now completed roughly two thirds of their long voyage from Cam Ranh Bay, the great anchorage in Vietnam. And without incident — except for that crazy and totally unnecessary encounter with another vessel south of the Cape of Good Hope.

Behind the
Mao III
the smaller Stealth vessel,
Yenan
, continued to keep pace with the larger ship. Aboard, in the spacious living quarters, fifteen more Danish- speaking passengers, all between the ages of twenty-five and thirty, passed the time watching videos, playing games, or reading. Every man had undergone the very special training carried out at secret camps on the mainland of the People's Republic of China.

Some had become highly skilled saboteurs, others spies. But every man had a second skill — in advertising, accountancy, radio, or the television industry. Every man could merge into the European way of life as a normal member of the community. His reward? Money.

They were the vanguard of the revolution planned to sweep the world.

At Park Crescent the call from Benoit came through in the middle of the night. Monica was still at her desk — trying to disentangle the finances of Moonglow Refugee Aid Trust International.

They were complex. A certain amount of funds came in from subscriptions to the cause, but nothing like the money needed to keep up a house in The Boltons, let alone a millionaire's villa at Waterloo. Through certain mainland contacts Monica had obtained confidential information. Which all led back to Liechtenstein, the toy state on the eastern borders of Switzerland. Liechtenstein — which prided itself on its secrecy where bank accounts were concerned. The phone rang.

`Benoit here...' Sounded in a hurry. 'Is Tweed available?'

`He's fast asleep at his Chelsea pad.'

`Monica, I must try that some time. Sleep. And you can tell him I said so. Our friend Dr Hyde has been staying in Brussels.'

`That's quick work, Chief Inspector.'

`Oh, we got lucky. One of my men called at the Hermitage Hotel. Sounds very grand. Over there you'd call it a run-down boarding-house. He stayed there for the past two months. Under the name Dr Hyde.'

`Past tense, Chief Inspector?'

`I am afraid so. He left a few days ago. No forwarding address. But it was him. The slattern who runs the place identified his photograph after a little gentle persuasion from my man.'

`Tweed will be interested. Very.'

`Monica, I'm now spreading the net — concentrating on Liêge. Since that is where Sir Gerald Andover was murdered. Will report any further developments. Tell Tweed I hope he slept well …'

Tweed was up late in the morning. As the light of a grey dawn filtered through the curtains he had thought about getting up, making a mug of tea. While he was thinking about it he fell into a deep sleep.

Cursing, after he'd put on his glasses and checked the time, he forced himself to get out of bed. Feeling like nothing on earth he went into the kitchen, put on water to boil for the coffee. Returning to his bedroom he dressed slowly.

It was eleven o'clock when he mounted the staircase to his office, step by step. Like climbing Everest. He opened the door. The first thing he noticed was Monica, almost beside herself with joy. He opened the door further and stood still, stunned. A small man wearing a crumpled suit of American clothes jumped up.

Philip Cardon.

31

`We thought you were dead,' Tweed said as he shook Cardon's bony hand. 'The plane crash. The bomb...'

`I didn't travel aboard that flight. As you suggested, I took a flight to Hong Kong which was leaving almost immediately. Thailand can be hopelessly inefficient. Clearly they must have left my name on the passenger manifest.'

`I didn't think you'd obeyed Monica,' Tweed said. `I thought you'd decided to board that plane.'

He sat behind his desk as Cardon sagged into the armchair again. Philip Cardon had a bony face, narrow alert eyes, was of slim build, and with a nervous energy which made his movements swift and agile. He reminded Monica of a squirrel.

`I heard her all right,' Cardon explained. `What worried me was that someone else might be listening in — even when I was in a public call box at the airport.'

`Sounds unlikely, I'd have thought.'

`Not in Thailand. Corruption is universal. Information is bought everywhere. From Hong Kong I caught another plane to San Francisco, then straight across the States to New York. That was the only delay — they wouldn't let Concorde take off for several hours. Ten-tenths fog. Which is why I scared Monica out of her wits when I rolled in here a few hours ago...'

`I tried to phone you,' Monica told Tweed.

`Thor couldn't have woken me. Philip, don't you need some rest? You must be jet-lagged out of your mind.'

Cardon had dark circles under his eyes. His face had a drawn look. He swallowed black coffee from the mug Monica had provided, shook his head.

`I can keep going a while longer. I must. Things you've got to hear. The adrenalin is roaring. Start at the beginning, shall I?'

`Go ahead then. But only until the fatigue catches up with you. Then I'm packing you off to your flat.'

Tweed, suddenly thoroughly awake, relaxed in his chair. He perched one elbow on his desk, his knuckled hand supporting his chin as he studied the man back from the dead.

I managed to reach Lop Nor,' Cardon began in a casual way.

`Lop Nor!' Tweed was astounded. He jumped up, walked to the wall map of the world, pointed to a certain position. 'You can't mean Lop Nor in Sinkiang where the Chinese have their atom-bomb plant? That's a vast distance.'

`Yes, that Lop Nor,' Cardon agreed as Tweed returned to his chair. 'I was disguised as a peasant. I hopped on board a plane in Chungking bound for Lop Nor. I'd made friends with a dubious individual who wanted me to carry a package for a small sum. He sat in the opposite seat as though we were strangers. A rocky old crate it was. Lord knows how it crossed the mountains, and breathing was difficult for a while. Just before we landed I got up to go to the loo and slipped the package back into my so-called friend's coat. On landing we were searched. He was arrested by the security service for carrying drugs.'

He paused to drink more coffee. Monica stared at him in amazement.

`You make it sound so easy,' she commented.

`Oh, it's like anywhere else in the world. Security is lousy. You need cheek, bags of self-confidence — plus the ability to look like a Chinese and a knowledge of the lingua franca. Mind you, the Chinese can travel for hours without saying a word, which helps. They just sit there liked stuffed dummies.'

`What happened after you got off the plane?' Tweed asked, fascinated. 'You said the security service was present.'

`Easy again. They were so taken up with grabbing the drugs smuggler they didn't look at anyone else. He was shot, of course. But there were other peasants on the plane. Coolie labour for building more underground hangars for Stealth bombers. They enlarge caves in the mountains, then erect huge doors the same colour as the rock. I mingled with the crowd, listened to them chattering once they were back on Mother Earth.'

`And Security didn't check them?' Tweed queried.

`Lord, no. It's chaos up there. So many coolies earning a pittance. Rather like they built the pyramids. Men with muscle – thousands of them. Amazing what they can achieve with an endless supply of cheap labour.'

He drank more coffee from the mug Monica had refilled, thanked her, resumed his report. He spoke in a sing-song English and Tweed realized his way of talking was still reflecting his use of Cantonese.

`You mentioned Security,' Cardon went on. 'Seeing them was a lucky break. I recognized the uniform. I went into a drinking shop. A lot of the customers were gambling. Never cure the Chinese of that pastime.'

`I thought it was forbidden,' Monica observed.

Cardon grinned. 'It is. But Lop Nor is a long way from Beijing. And out there all they care about is keeping the work force happy. I saw a uniformed man sitting at a little table by himself. Security. Had a special badge attached to his breast pocket and some insignia of rank. He's as drunk as a lord. I buy some more of the local liquor – pure poison – keep filling up his glass. When I first went in I'd heard him shouting for more – in Cantonese.'

`You took a big chance,' Tweed remarked.

`Not really. Not yet. This prat starts boasting about what a big man he is. Head of Security to General Li Yun. The name struck a chord. He tells me he's in charge of security at the War Room. To cut a long story short, we end up outside and I have to hold up my new friend. We walk arm in arm.'

`Wasn't it cold up there?' Monica asked, to make Car- don pause.

`Cold enough to freeze a brass monkey's whatnots. But I'd piled on the clothing at Chungking. That helped. You know me – all bone and muscle. The clothes made me look like a typical stocky Chinese. Where was I?'

`Arm in arm with—' Tweed began.

`I'm there. We walk past the entrance to a military HQ built of rock to conceal it from the air. Drunky says that's where he works, that he'd better get back on duty. I say you'd better sober up a bit first. He agrees and we leave the town and walk into the wilderness. Huge bare mountains, no one about, have to watch your footing. Big deep fissures and ravines in the ground. Drunky does the job for me. Sits down on a rock and falls asleep. I pick up a small rock, tap him on the skull to keep him that way. He's about my height and build — with all the clothes I'm swaddled in. Guess what comes next.'

`We'd sooner hear it from you,' said Tweed, who didn't want to miss a word.

`I change into his uniform and peaked cap. He has Security passes and identification in his pocket. I lower him into a shallow fissure. At least I thought that it was shallow. He disappears and I never hear him hit bottom. Can't be helped. I hurry back to the HQ. His shoes hurt, but you can't have everything. Then I walk inside past all the checkpoints.'

`You did what?' Tweed enquired. 'Just how did you manage that one?'