by Colin Forbes
'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 exactl
y 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.
'Yo
u'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.