By Stealth (54 page)

There were crowds of sightseers held back a distance from the harbour by uniformed police. Several patrol cars were parked — cream Volvos with a blue trim and the word
Politi
in black on their fronts and sides.

Tweed was pleased there was a crowd. He had delayed the departure of Marler and his team for Denmark so they could check for signs of the opposition. As Kuhlmann, smoking a cigar, approached, Newman slipped away, donning a cloth cap he had taken from his trench coat pocket and a pair of glasses with plain lenses.

`Come with me,' Kuhlmann said. 'Whatever is down there is making its appearance shortly.'

Paula followed, puzzled by Newman's swift departure. She had already noticed that one of the unmarked cars had stopped, that plain-clothes detectives leaving the car were close to Westendorf. She had also seen Marler on the edge of the crowd and Cardon, in his German suit, walking round behind the sightseers.

Kuhlmann led them to the end of the shorter jetty, held up his hand, and waited. The lift crane was straining at something, like a fisherman hauling in a giant fish. The chain was taut, made a clanking sound as it slowly ascended. The crowd had gone quiet.

Two frogmen appeared from below the surface of the Elbe and climbed up steps along the jetty wall. They stood still while water dripped off them, staring at the water which was churning now, creating small waves which lapped against the wall. The crane's catch emerged suddenly. Paula sucked in her breath.

`My God!' growled Kuhlmann. 'What the hell could have done that?'

Shedding a small Niagara of water, the claw of the crane's lifting device appeared, clutching the prow, the bridge, and a section aft of the bridge of the
Holsten
. Half the hull and the stern were still at the bottom of the Elbe. But it was the clean-cut break in the vessel which had caused Kuhlmann's outburst.

There was not a loose splinter of wood visible. It was as though an immense axe had sliced straight through the vessel amidships. Holding on to Tweed's arm, Paula peered over the edge of the jetty. The stone wall had a deep fissure where something had rammed it with tremendous impact. She told Tweed what she had seen.

`I'm not too surprised,' he said.

`Why not?'

`I remember what Commander Noble said in London when he was listing the ships which have disappeared all over the world. His story about a crewman dropped from a helicopter with a cradle — when they found the relic of a small vessel belonging to a German fisherman called Vogel. Only the bow remained — sliced clean off with Vogel's decapitated head jammed in that relic.'

`How many of these Stealth ships do you think there are?'

He didn't reply because Kuhlmann came back to them. He looked grim.

`The frogmen — and one is ex-Navy — say they've never seen anything like this. What's your guess?'

`A ship with a knife-edged prow made of some sort of steel.' Tweed shrugged. 'And that is only a guess. Were there any ships moving on the Elbe last night?'

`No!' Kuhlmann was emphatic. 'I've been in touch with the Harbour Master. The fog was so dense nothing left its berth. A tanker was due to sail downriver but cancelled its departure. And the Coastguard reported the fog was dense at the mouth until dawn. No ship was at sea — their radar would have picked it up.'

`No, it wouldn't — they don't have the right equipment.' `If you say so. I have to get back over there. You'll keep in touch?'

`Of course.' Tweed waited until Kuhlmann had gone before he answered Paula's question. 'How many Stealth ships? A lot, I suspect. And maybe with vastly different tonnages. The one that sank the
Ho!sten
— and hoped to sink us — may well have been testing its skill in navigating up a major European river. It just happened to be handy and in radio contact with some of Dr Wand's thugs ...'

He stopped speaking as Newman, who had removed his cloth cap and glasses, appeared by their side. He dropped his voice.

`Don't stare round, but I spotted our friend, Jules Starmberg, mingling with the crowd. Marler has photographed him three times with that second camera he always carries, the one that develops and prints automatically. And Starmberg hasn't a clue his ugly mug has been recorded. Paula, you haven't seen him — here is one of the prints.'

`Ugly mug is the right description,' she commented.

`Interesting,' Tweed said, 'that Wand's so-called butler is down here watching. Wand was pole-axed yesterday evening when I appeared alive and kicking. Keep quiet now ...'

Westendorf, who had walked along the riverside jetty to get a closer look, returned. Like Kuhlmann's, his expression was grim.

`That really is awesome. Paula, we owe our lives to your swift action. I personally am in your debt for ever.'

`Nonsense.' She dismissed the subject with a smile. But she had flushed with pleasure at the eminent German's compliment. 'I just saw something in the nick of time.'

`And the radar screen you said was blank.' Westendorf shook his head as he looked at Tweed. 'This Stealth development is hideous. Now, if you're all ready, I'll drop you back at the hotel.'

`That would suit me admirably,' Tweed replied.

`You sound as though there's someone at the Four Seasons you want to interview,' Paula suggested as they followed Westendorf and Newman.

`Vulcan. When I can I'm going to talk to both Fanshawe and Burgoyne. And I want Newman to chat up Helen Claybourne.'

`You sound as though you know who Vulcan is.'

`I don't. But the field has narrowed,' Tweed replied.

40

`Paula Grey was at Blankenese this morning with Tweed,' reported Starmberg. 'One of my men watching the Four Seasons confirmed they returned to the hotel.'

`I would much appreciate it, Jules, if you could guarantee this second attempt to obtain the company of Miss Grey will be successful.'

Dr Wand sat in the large study of his villa at Othmarschen, the district which adjoined Nienstedten where Hugo Westendorf lived. As at Waterloo, even though it was daytime, all the curtains were closed. The same applied to every other room in the villa, both downstairs and upstairs. The furniture was swathed in dust sheets. There were six of Starmberg's men in the villa but from the outside it appeared unoccupied.

`This new plan is so original it will succeed,' Starmberg assured his chief. He ran a hand over his thick well-groomed hair. 'It is organized for execution some time this evening. Well before midnight Miss Grey will be our guest in Denmark.'

`I would hope so.' Wand peered at Starmberg over his pince-nez. The Luxemburger stirred uneasily under the piercing stare. 'And,' Wand went on, 'I have finally decided I will let Tweed enjoy three sleepless nights.'

`And then?' Starmberg checked.

`Then? Why, Mr Tweed will receive a part of Miss Grey as a keepsake. Prior to that you will tell him he must resign his position immediately if he ever wishes to see Grey alive again. Our contacts in London will tell us if he has obeyed our demand.'

`So, we will scoop up Miss Grey within a matter of hours.'

`And I will call Dr Hyde. He will have preparations to make for the treatment.'

Near the bleak stretch of coast in southern Jutland Dr Hyde was returning from a short walk by himself. He had not enjoyed it — the area was deserted and the monotonous scrubland stretching to the beach and the sea beyond depressed him. Even more depressing was the eternal wind blowing off the sea, causing wispy sand to fly in the air. He might be on the moon, he thought — except for the house.

An ancient gabled two-storey structure built of wood, it stood on its own and at one time must have looked picturesque. But it had remained empty for a long time before Dr Wand had bought it through a holding company.

The once bright red paint of the main façade and the white trim round the windows was peeling away, eroded by the salt air. It still had a derelict, unoccupied look. With his long neck poked out of his stiff collar Dr Hyde resembled some vile bird. He cast one look back before inserting the key: a mournful desert where nothing grew except tussocks of stubby grass amid the powdered sand.

He heard the phone ringing as he closed the door, hurried to the back room. The caller could only be one person and Hyde knew he would be rebuked.

`If I may be so bold as to enquire, where have you been? It seems unlikely you would find any feminine company in that part of the world,' Wand commented sarcastically.

'I have been for a brief walk. I have to keep fit for my work,' Hyde responded waspishly.

`How very commendable of you. I should apologize for what always appears to be my ill-timed calls.'

`I am at your service,' Hyde replied in an oily tone, regretting his outburst.

`Excellent! You will not be idle for long. A patient, a lady, will arrive soon. I foresee that treatment will be required within three days. Not before, you understand. Now, this is what I suggest, subject to your own diagnosis ...'

Wand put down the phone as soon as he had completed his instructions. They had been phrased carefully in words Hyde understood but so their sinister significance would mean nothing if an operator had listened in. Starmberg, who had left the study, returned at the moment the call had ended.

`Eight more of my men have arrived,' he reported. 'The whole team is ready to carry out this evening's operation.'

`I trust there was no chance that the vehicles were seen entering the grounds?'

`None at all. The same method was used as when we came in. A vehicle parks near the entrance, waits until no other traffic is about, the gates are opened, the vehicle races down the drive, the gates are closed behind it. I was wondering — what do we do now about Westendorf?'

`Nothing. And you really must, if I may suggest it, rid yourself of this habit of wondering. As you have raised the matter I will explain briefly. Westendorf was not a complete success and for some months he will undoubtedly be heavily guarded. After some time has passed we may eliminate him.' Wand leaned forward into the light thrown by his desk lamp, the sole illumination. His expression was unpleasant but he spoke in his normal detached tone.

`Concentrate your mind now, Jules, on Miss Grey. I will not tolerate another fiasco. She must be in Denmark before midnight — I repeat,
before
midnight.'

Before leaving Blankenese Tweed had given Marler orders via Newman to drive immediately with his team across the Danish frontier. That left him only Paula, Newman, and Cardon to accompany him to Copenhagen. He felt sure it would be more than enough.

He had a stroke of luck when they arrived back at the Four Seasons. Saying goodbye to Westendorf, who drove off in his limo, he climbed the steps and the first person he saw was Willie Fanshawe.

`Leave me alone with him,' he whispered to Paula and Newman.

`I say! Am I glad to see you,' Willie began. 'Hate being on my own. Look, we're only three paces from the Sambri bar. Be a good chap. Join me in a glass of champers. Bit early for a sundowner, but what the hell. Oh, your friends have gone off. They'd have been more than welcome ...'

`They had an appointment,' Tweed said, edging his way into the flood of words which went on.

`Well, we can have just a man-to-man conversation. I love the ladies, God bless 'em, but sometimes it makes a change to have a nice chat on our own. Champers, of course!'

Tweed reluctantly agreed. They were already inside the empty bar under Wilie's enthusiastic impetus. He ordered two glasses from the barman and they sat down on the banquette furthest from the door.

`What's happened to Brigadier Burgoyne?' Tweed asked casually as he raised his glass, took a sip., put down the glass.

`Oh, the Brig.'s off haggling over some little deal, I'm sure. He loves it. Always on parade, is his motto. What he doesn't love is the present state of England.'

`Indeed? What's wrong with it?'

`Everything . . .' Willie became emphatic. 'According to the Brig. No self-discipline any more. Morale has collapsed. The welfare state has undermined the strong fibre we were once noted for. Everyone's holding their hands out for a freebie. They have a slight headache and rush to the doctor because it's supposed to be something for nothing. According to the Brig., that is. Half the country wants to be nannied. The young, instead of struggling to make a career on their own, want it all handed to them on a plate. And now the cranks want to break up the old UK into separate bits. A good dose of iron government is what is needed — so the Brig. thinks. Shock treatment is the only answer, he keeps saying.'