by Colin Forbes
As he walked over the flattened street door Marler arrived with Paula and Lisa. Tweed had the car door open for them to get inside. Lisa looked up at the hook at the end of the chain swinging just above her head.
'What's that?'
'Don't ask silly questions,' Harry said quietly. 'Get in the car. We're leaving Flensburg.'
Guided by Tweed, who had the street plan open on his lap, Newman drove round the end of the hafen – or harbour – and along Hafendamn. They had entered a new world. The town was across the water from them and there were hardly any buildings on this side of the water. Instead, they had a view of little old houses across the water, houses freshly painted and well looked after.
'The body's in the boot, isn't it?' Lisa suddenly asked.
Tweed turned round and looked at her. She seemed to be her normal self. Her brain was ticking over very well. 'Yes, it is,' he said. 'We lowered it, using an old hoist, into the boot. Inside a canvas sack. Then I couldn't manage to haul the chain back up again, the one you saw hanging over the street.'
'How are you going to get rid of it?'
'Dump it in the harbour, which is why we drove round here.'
'So it will be gone.' She sounded relieved. 'For ever…'
A little further on they passed a cluster of fishing craft, then some pleasure boats. No one was about on the barren shore. Newman drove on and then slowed. A group of ramshackle huts and sheds stood just off the road on the harbour side. He stopped behind them, masked from the houses on the distant shore opposite.
'Did you see what I saw?' he asked.
'Yes,' Harry replied. 'A large old rowboat. Ideal for the purpose. Let's get on with it…'
At Tweed's suggestion Paula left the car with him and they strolled further along the road. Behind them Lisa followed with Nield. It gave a reason for the car stopping, just in case someone across the water had noticed. Marler had stayed behind to help Newman and Harry.
They first inspected the rowboat, lying behind the first hut.
'Looks pretty ropy,' Newman observed. 'The bottom could fall out.'
'We'll have to risk it,' replied Marler, opening the boot.
Between them they lifted the heavy weight out of the boot, transferred it to the inside of the boat. Harry checked the top of the sack. When the sack had been lowered to within six feet of the boot it had ripped itself away from the hoist's hook. That was when the hoist stopped working. Harry decided the top of the sack was very secure.
'It's a narrow beach,' Newman reported, 'but it's made up of pebbles and stones. They could rip the bottom out before we reach the harbour.'
Harry had found a pair of old rubber boots behind the hut. He managed to get them on. He got back to the others in time to hear Newman's remark.
'So,' he told them, 'we carry the boat to the water. I'll take the stern, one of you takes the port side, the other the starboard. Do let's get on with it.'
In the blazing heat it was a physical ordeal as the three men slowly carried the boat with its cargo towards the water line. When they reached it and the prow was in the harbour, Newman and Marler, still holding on, moved further back. The boat was in the water when Harry, in his boots, kept pushing, then gave it a mighty shove. He nearly went under as the slope shelved steeply. He stepped back quickly, joined the others on the shore as they watched.
'Lord,' said Newman, 'it's keeping going, heading for the far shore. This harbour leads out into the Baltic. There could be a current keeping it moving.'
It was another nerve-racking experience as the boat drifted steadily across the harbour. Newman took out a pair of binoculars and scanned the opposite shore. No one was in view in front of the neat little houses but there was a restaurant with people sitting outside at tables. Luckily a deep blind obscured their view. Not that this would make any difference if the boat reached the shore.
'Sink, you devil. Sink,' Harry growled.
It must have heard him because at that moment, watching the boat through his binoculars, Newman saw the bottom give way, the sack plunging down out of sight. With no bottom, the boat began to break up and soon was no more than shards of driftwood.
'I vote we move off,' said Harry. 'Where has Tweed got to?'
He looked along the road and the four strollers were quite a distance along it. Paula turned round and Harry waved frantically for them to come back fast.
The strollers changed partners for the walk back. Tweed joined Nield while Paula and Lisa followed a distance behind them. Tweed had diought one advantage of walking away was that Lisa wouldn't see what happened to the body. Despite her outward calm he felt sure it would take several days for her to get over her hideous experience with Delgado.
'Lisa,' Paula said quietly, 'there is something I've wanted to ask you and this is a good opportunity. If you don't mind.'
'Ask away.'
'When you were badly concussed and in the clinic back in London you tried to tell us something. You made such an effort I really admired you. What you said was Ham… Dan… 4S. We eventually worked out Ham meant Hamburg and 4S meant the Four Seasons Hotel. But what did Dan mean?'
'I said that? I've got no recollection of this.' Lisa looked at Paula. 'I can see the Hamburg bit and the hotel. Even though it's all gone from my memory.'
'Could Dan have been Danzer, the chauffeur to one of the partners controlling the Zurcher Kredit Bank?'
'Never heard of Danzer. Chauffeur to which partner? The one with the gold-rimmed spectacles?'
Paula almost missed a step. Lisa had, they thought, no knowledge at all of the partners. And the only time Paula had seen Milo wear gold-rimmed spectacles was when he had paid the bill at the Fischereihafen restaurant down by the Elbe docks. She had to say something.
'I don't know which partner he's chauffeur to – Danzer, I mean. It's a detail.'
But as they walked back all Paula's earlier doubts about Lisa flooded back into her mind. She was badly shaken.
The Sikorsky helicopter was within half an hour of taking off from its remote location at Hamburg's airport. All four VIP passengers were aboard. They were waiting for permission from the control tower to start their flight. The aircraft was luxuriously equipped with leather armchairs and the armed guard had brought down the wide aisle a trolley of every kind of drink imaginable. Gavin Thunder had asked for a stiff brandy.
He was seated next to the American Secretary of State, squat and with a high-domed forehead and a hard face expressing great intelligence. Not surprisingly, the Prime Minister of France and the Deputy Chancellor of Germany sat together several rows ahead.
'You seem nervous, Gavin,' the American remarked.
'I'm not too keen on helicopters.'
'Use them frequently. Useful for short urgent trips in the States. Something important in that case in your lap?'
'Only the complete operational plan.'
Thunder had the executive case open and inside were sheaves of typed papers, clipped together so there were seven copies of the document. He extracted one sheet and the rest came loose from the clip and scattered. He handed the sheet to his colleague.
'That's the important one. The rest are details.'
The American read the close-typed page divided methodically into sections. He was a fast reader.
'I like it. We're thinking on similar lines. You've divided up your country into six control areas, each commanded by a Governor with wide powers. And a secret apparatus of informers to report to the governor any dangerous protesters. Plus a Bill for Parliament which declares martial law without appearing to do so. Who is this Supreme Governor – Brigadier Barford?'
'A very experienced soldier who has also run Special Branch, our equivalent to your FBI. His views coincide with ours.'
'So all we need, which will happen soon, are riots such as the world has never seen. Then the Elite Club will take over. I presume preparations for the outbreak are well advanced. I have been informed they are.'
'Very well advanced. They are an essentia
l element in our plan – to scare the populations of our countries witless to such an extent they will accept anything. Rather like the way Hitler came to power because the German middle classes were desperate to stop the Communists assuming power. I have replaced the man in charge of the earlier riots. A man I have great faith in witnessed them and thought they were feeble. I have put him in sole charge.'
'Anyone I know?'
'I doubt it. A man with a brilliant brain called Oskar Vernon. With Vernon and Brigadier Barford running the operation we cannot fail.'
CHAPTER 31
'There's a windmill,' Paula said, 'and the sails are turning.'
'That's because for the first time since we arrived in Germany a wind has blown up,' Tweed told her. 'It's a south wind so it will be warm. Don't expect any relief from the heat.'
'You're so encouraging. Now we're leaving Flensburg behind where are we heading for?'
'As close as we can get to the island of Sylt in the North sea – or the Nordsee as the Germans call it. Sylt is the last in the chain of German Frisian Islands. Immediately north of there and you're in Denmark.'
'Why Sylt?'
'Because I want to see if there are signs of preparations for a rendezvous of international statesmen.'
'You mean politicians, don't you?' suggested Newman behind the wheel of the blue Mercedes. 'There aren't any statesmen these days.'
'I stand – or rather sit – corrected. We're now on Route 199. In a while we move on to small country roads. I'll continue guiding you.'
Paula was staring out on to the sun-scorched countryside. Its character had changed from the monotony of the endless maize crops. It was becoming hilly, with copses of trees often growing by the roadside. More intimate and varied. Again the road was free of any other traffic and she welcomed the atmosphere of peace, the feeling that nothing awful could happen here. Tweed turned round to look at Lisa.
'You really are back to normal, I'd say.'
'Shall I tell him why?' Paula wondered and giggled.
'Go on,' Lisa urged her. 'Why not? It was funny.'
'We went into a restaurant in the Grosse Strasse after the incident,' she explained tactfully. 'We ordered coffee but Lisa was, naturally, dying to have a real wash-down. So she pretended to be ill and I escorted her to the ladies'. Then I stood on guard outside to stop anyone getting in. One unpleasant middle-aged woman tried to push past me. In German I told her the position and said she'd have to find somewhere else. She stormed off.'
'In the meantime,' Lisa took up the story, 'I'd stripped off, used up four flannels washing myself all over. I felt tons better when I'd dried myself even though I had to put on the same clothes.'
'That was a good idea,' said Tweed.
'Oh, there was something else,' Paula recalled, her tone of voice serious. 'I'm sure that while I was standing there looking through the windows into the street I saw someone we know. You're not going to believe this.'
'Try me.'
'I'd bet a lot of money I did see him. Striding down the street. It was his walk which caught my attention. You can always tell a person by his walk.'
'Who, for heaven's sake?' asked the exasperated Tweed.
'The Brig. Bernard Lord Barford.'
'What on earth is that gigantic aqueduct thing?' Paula wondered.
They had travelled quite a distance when the massive structure came into view. At the bottom of a slope leading up to it stood a stationary train.
'That,' Tweed said, 'is the famous Hindenburg Dam which carries the railway – the only access to the island – to Sylt. The train appears to be waiting for something, which is odd.'
'I can hear a machine flying in the air a long way off,' remarked Lisa.
'Bob!' Tweed's instruction was urgent. 'Take this turning to the right. We're nearly on it.'
Newman slowed, swung the car skilfully just in time to drive up a hedge-lined lane which climbed steeply. Ahead of it was the summit of a small hill with a dense copse of trees to the left. On top of a slightly higher hill behind the copse stood a windmill, its sails motionless.
'Keep it moving,' Tweed urged.
'Which way now?' shouted Newman as he came to a fork.
'Take the right turn.'
Paula leaned forward. As far as she could tell this lane would lead close to the windmill. They topped a rise and saw a smaller copse very close to the windmill on the edge of the road.
'Get under those trees, then stop,' Tweed ordered.
'Like me to turn a somersault?' asked Newman.
He drove along a track under the trees, came to a glade, turned the car round so they faced the way they had come but were still sheltered under the trees. They could all now hear the sound of a large aircraft beginning its descent. Tweed grabbed his binoculars, looped them round his neck, dived out of the car. He called out to Paula to bring her camera.
Out in the open they were hidden but perched high up, looking down on the other copse. Paula stared, then whipped up her own binoculars, pressed them against her eyes. She was aiming the lenses at the edge of the larger copse below. She sucked in her breath.
'Look at the edge of those trees down there. A tall man. Not in uniform but I'm sure it was Danzer.'
'Where?' asked Tweed.
'He's gone now. I just caught a fleeting glimpse. He's slipped back out of sight inside the wood.'
'Pretty unlikely that Danzer would be in this part of the world.'
'I know it was Danzer,' she said stubbornly. 'The same dark hair, the same figure, the same way of standing very erect, the same way of moving. What more do you want?'
'A photograph would help…'
'If we'd damned well got up here earlier I might have been able to take a shot of him with my camera.'
'Cool it,' Newman advised. 'There's a lot more to watch if you'd just look.'
The large helicopter was landing very slowly on a round pad. Then from nowhere a horde of Americans came running to the pad, some in uniform, some in civilian clothes. They were careful to stand well back while the rotors slowed, stopped. Then the wind returned, blowing strongly. Paula could feel its warmth on her face. Now the Americans were moving forward to the landing pad.
'I don't know that the Germans would be pleased at having a load of uniformed American troops on their soil,' Newman remarked. 'Unless they've got permission. And they're all carrying automatic rifles. We'd better stay just where we are.'
Tweed and Paula had their binoculars focused on the machine. A door opened, a staircase, electrically operated, descended. The wind was blowing Lisa's hair all over the place. A man, carrying an executive case, walked gingerly down the steps. As he did so the lid of his case fell open. A paper flew out, was caught by the wind, carried up the hill close to where they stood.
'Get that if you can,' snapped Tweed.
Harry took off. Close to the road they had driven up was a gully, which looked as though water flowed down it during wet weather. He slid down the gully, out of sight, reached the errant sheet, grabbed it, worked his way back up the gully. He handed it to Tweed who, holding his binoculars with one hand, took the paper with the other, folded it once and put it in his pocket.
'That was Gavin Thunder who lost a sheet from his case. Here, behind him, comes the American Secretary of State, followed by the German Deputy Chancellor and the French Prime Minister. The gang's all here. The Elite Club has arrived.'
'A limo's driven up,' Newman reported, 'to take them to Sylt. At the back of the train there's a ramp the limo can go up to put them aboard the train. Hang on…' He paused. 'Before getting into the limo Thunder's giving some instructions to a small stocky man in civvies. He's pointing up this way.'
The limo drove off, heading for the ramp. A crowd of men in boiler jackets and wearing baseball caps had flooded out of nowhere. The stocky civilian went to meet them, pointed up the hill to the wood where Tweed and his team were sheltering from view. Several of the men in boiler suits, accompanied by uniformed troops, started climbi
ng up the hill. At that moment the pilot of the helicopter started up his rotors – checking the engines prior to maintenance. The engine row was deafening.
'They're coming up here,' warned Newman. I'm going to back the car out of the other end of this wood. The track goes right through it…"
'He's chosen the right moment to move the car,' Paula said, her mouth close to Tweed's ear. 'The roar of the rotors will drown the sound of the engine – and we'd better get moving…'
The Americans, with the stocky man in the lead, were coming up the hill fast. Tweed and the others ran deeper into the wood, following the Mercedes which was backing at speed. Reaching the end of the track they emerged into the open, dived inside the car.
'Head for that windmill,' Tweed ordered. 'There's nowhere else to hide,'
Paula agreed. Below the hill a vast flat area spread out, a plain which went on and on and which she felt must be Denmark. To the left they could see the brilliant blue of the North Sea stretching away to a distant horizon.
'That windmill may be occupied,' Newman objected. 'The sails aren't moving and there's a strong wind.'
'Just do it,' ordered Tweed. 'They'll be here in a minute and won't like our presence.'
The windmill, very large, was six-sided and on the ground floor were windows. Tweed imagined they were the living quarters. The tips of the giant motionless sails were suspended only a few feet above the ground – at least two of the sails were in this position. The front door was closed. Tweed thought the mill looked deserted.
'The ground floor is where people live,' he told Paula. 'It also has the machinery which operates the sails in a wind.'
'You sound as though you've been inside one.'
'I have. Once stayed twenty-four hours with a friend in a mill he owned in East Anglia.'