Rhinoceros tac-18

by Colin Forbes

'There's a big shed next to it,' she called out. 'Maybe we could park the car inside.'

  'Provided it's empty,' Newman told her.

  'Hurry it up.' snapped Tweed, who had glanced back.

  There was still no sign of the Americans coming through the wood. But they would appear soon, he felt sure.

  'I'm going as fast as I can over this rough ground,' Newman retorted.

  It was a race against very little time, if this windmill was to be a refuge. Newman pulled up close to double wooden doors at the end of the shed. Tweed jumped out, followed by Paula. Running up to the heavy wooden front door he looked for a bell push. There wasn't one. He turned the handle, pushed the door inwards and there was a musty smell. Stepping a few paces onto a wooden floor he called out.

  'Anyone at home? We're English.'

  A brooding silence in the half-light. No sound of movement. And a place like this would creak if occupants started to walk about.

  'I think it's empty,' whispered Paula.

  'Everyone inside here. Move like lightning,' Tweed shouted from the doorway.

  As the team was piling inside Marler opened both doors of the shed. It was empty. He stood aside, motioned to Newman to drive forward. With the Mercedes inside they shut the doors, fastened the crude latch, ran into the mill and Tweed closed the front door.

  'Watch yourselves,' he called out. 'There's dangerous machinery in this place.'

  'We're going up to the top,' said Nield.

  With Harry at his heels, he began cautiously climbing a crude wooden staircase circling the wall of the mill. With no protecting rail on the open side it felt hairy the higher they climbed. Looking down was not a good idea.

  'Don't show yourselves by a window,' Tweed called up to them.

  Reaching a platform high up, again without a protective rail, Nield peered quickly through a tiny window covered with a net curtain. He nudged Harry.

  'See what I see?'

  What they had feared had appeared. Rushing into the open, from the end of the track through the wood, were American uniformed soldiers, holstered guns at their hips, led by the stocky civilian. One very big soldier had attracted Nield's attention. It was the American they had encountered back in Hamburg on the pavement not far from the Atlantic Hotel.

  'There's a soldier who could recognize Harry and me,' he called down the long drop.

  'Shut up. Keep still. Don't make a sound,' Tweed called up.

  He had seen them coming through a ground-floor window covered with a net curtain in need of cleaning. He picked up an old straw hat and crammed it on his head. Paula blinked as she looked at him taking off his jacket so he was in shirt sleeves.

  'You look like a peasant.'

  'That's the idea.'

  'What's that grim-looking thing?'

  She was pointing to a huge wooden wheel mounted parallel to the floor with savage-looking teeth at regular intervals and close together. A very thick wooden pole rose up from its centre and ascended vertically until it vanished from sight. Near it were several wooden levers.

  'That operates the grinding system if die sails are turned by a wind – once I've pulled one of those levers. Now keep quiet, for heaven's sake. Is everyone hidden?'

  He looked round and couldn't see a single member of his team. Near where Tweed had found the hat Paula saw an old pinafore. Obviously a woman had been here at one time. Swiftly she slid off her jeans, wrapped the pinafore round herself. Fortunately it had been used by a larger woman. Tweed peered out of the window again.

  They were almost here. The stocky civilian was leading the troop of soldiers as he approached the front door. Tweed opened it before he could reach it. Wearing his straw hat he stepped outside, gave a beaming smile. He began jabbering away non-stop and Paula understood not one word. He seemed to be uttering several words containing the letter 'k.' The stocky man stood still, held up an open folder.

  'FBI.'

  'What was FBI?' asked Paula, who appeared by Tweed's side.

  'You speak English, ma'am?' the FBI man demanded. 'What language was he speaking?' He pointed at Tweed.

  'Please?' Paula seemed confused. 'You say?'

  'What language was he speaking?' The FBI man worked his thick lips rapidly, as though speaking, pointing again at Tweed.

  'Ah!' Paula smiled. 'Speak? Him. He speak the Danish.'

  'Jesus!' The FBI man took a step back. 'We could be in Denmark. The border is just north of Sylt. The last goddamn' thing we want is an international incident -considering what is happening on Sylt.'

  He had looked up at the huge American soldier by his side as he said this. The soldier stared at Paula with interest and she had trouble maintaining her demure expression. She could see he was aggressive, used to pushing his way in anywhere he chose to.

  'I say we search the dump. We gotta find that piece of paper.'

  'Yo', said Tweed.

  'You've seen a piece of paper blowing round here?' the FBI man asked.

  Tweed started his non-stop jabbering again. He waved his arms in a friendly gesture, then opened the palms of both hands and made a pushing motion in the friendliest manner. He kept on jabbering.

  'I think he's telling us we ought not to be here,' the FBI man said.

  'I say we go in and rip the guts out of the place,' the soldier snarled.

  He took two steps forward and Tweed decided more drastic action was needed to get rid of them. His head and wide shoulders were three feet away from the tip of one of the sails. Tweed jabbered to Paula, disappeared inside the mill. Paula didn't know what he was going to do but felt she must stop the soldier entering the mill. She was still smiling when she spoke.

  'He work. Work. You know work?'

  'Yeah, baby,' the soldier told her. 'We work but we like a little fun too.'

  Inside the mill Tweed was crouched over the three wooden levers, trying to remember from his short stay in East Anglia which was the correct one. He couldn't remember. Closing his eyes, he reached out with his hand, grasped a lever, pulled it down.

  The wheel began to turn with an aching grind. He opened his eyes and saw the vertical column also revolving. Outside the sails, caught by the wind, began moving. The sail close to the soldier hit his head. He yelled, automatically lifted both hands, felt the sail, grabbed hold of it. He was lifted off his feet as the sail began its ascent, continued to rise higher and higher. Peering through the window Tweed saw what was happening. Right, you asked for this, he thought. He waited, then pushed up the lever he had pulled down. The wheel and the vertical spindle stopped. Outside he heard yelling, then laughter. He ran out.

  The sail had stopped at its uppermost height. The soldier was clinging to it, terrified, staring down. Below him the other soldiers were roaring with laughter, prodding each other, pointing up at the suspended soldier who was shouting in fear.

  'Get me down. Can't hold on much longer…'

  Tweed stared up, looked at the FBI man who was suppressing a smile. He began jabbering, waving his arms, as though to say why has he gone up there? Tweed looked amazed, ran back inside. Grasping the lever he had operated earlier, he rammed it down as far as it would go, then ran outside.

  The sail rocketed downward. The soldier hit the ground with a hard thump, let go and the sail continued its swift climb. Nobody helped him to get up. He was the bully of the unit. He clambered painfully to his feet.

  'Need first aid,' he gasped. 'Shoulder broken…'

  'No, it isn't,' snapped the FBI man. 'For God's sake get him out of here. He's caused enough trouble.'

  Two soldiers grabbed hold of the injured man, practically dragged him away towards the wood. As they did so, another man in civilian clothes appeared. He called out to the FBI man.

  'The fifth man hasn't come. Sent a message he can't be here.'

  'Then forget Number Five.' He turned to Tweed and Paula and for the first time had the ghost of a smile on his hard face.

  'OK. We're going. OK?'

  'Yes,' said Paula.

 
They watched the FBI man until he'd disappeared inside the wood. Paula gave a great sigh of relief.

  'What was that incredible language you jabbered?'

  'Incredible is the word. I've heard Finnish spoken and so I mimicked that. The language of Finland is a trainload of k's – without that letter there is no Finnish. And you put up a remarkable performance, backing me up. Couldn't have done it without you. Let's go inside.'

  Tweed adjusted the levers until the sails stopped spinning round at frantic speed and moved normally. They were met by Harry who didn't mince his words.

  'We have to get out of here fast. Let me show you something. This mill does have an occupant.'

  He carefully opened a large wooden drawer, sliding it open gently. They peered inside. There was a large black box of metal with a muddle of wires protruding.

  'That,' Harry told them, 'is a very powerful bomb with magnetic strips to attach it to something. Like a car bomb but much bigger. Then there's something else.' He closed the drawer with the same delicate care, opened a second deep drawer.

  'What on earth is that?' Paula wondered.

  'It's a mechanic's boiler suit, American model. Plus a baseball cap. I won't take it out again. I had to fold it back the way I'd found it. I also found a pretty fresh half-eaten croissant under that table. Don't you think we ought to move now?'

  'If not sooner,' agreed Tweed.

  They took trouble leaving the place just as they had found it. The front door to the mill was closed. When Newman had backed the car out of the shed they closed the double doors.

  Harry had returned from checking the track through the wood. He reported they couldn't go that way.

  'Maintenance men in boiler suits are swarming round the big chopper.'

  Inside the car Tweed had been studying the map. Newman looked over his shoulder.

  'Any other way out?'

  'Yes. Drive ahead and we'll find a little country road which will take us direct to Tender.'

  'And where is Tender?' asked Lisa.

  'Across the border in Denmark. I stayed the night there quite a while ago. It's one of the most attractive villages I've ever seen. The people are nice, too. It's the essence of peace and quiet.'

  'Famous last words,' said Newman.

  CHAPTER 32

  The light aircraft with a blue insignia on its tail swooped down to the landing strip at Tender airfield. Outside a small building Oskar Vernon stood, arms folded, as he watched it land perfectly. Skimming along the ground it came to a halt, propeller slowing, then stopping.

  'Barton is a good pilot,' Oskar said to himself, 'but then, he does belong to a flying club in Britain…'

  Barton, clad in flying gear, carrying his case and helmet, walked across as Panko followed him after dropping agilely from the cabin, also carrying a case. In his usual rough manner Barton said nothing to Vernon as he walked inside the building and checked that it was unoccupied. Panko went straight up to Oskar.

  'We arrive good time,' he greeted Oskar.

  'You're expected to.'

  'We lose Tweed team in Flensburg. Delgado gone.'

  'Do keep your trap shut,' snarled Barton who had come out of the small building in time to hear what he'd said. 'I do the reporting.'

  'Then report,' Oskar ordered. 'What's all this about "Delgado gone"?'

  'He insisted on searching Flensburg on his own. He was hoping to find one of Tweed's women on her own. He planned to torture her to get information. He never came back.'

  'Strange. Well, we can't waste time over him. Did you see Tweed in Flensburg?'

  'Yes,' Barton replied hesitantly. 'Walking on a street with some of his men. We slipped inside an alley so we wouldn't be seen. When we came out they had all gone. We never saw them again.'

  'You were supposed to kill them all on the way to Flensburg. I take it from what you've just said you didn't?'

  'They outnumbered us heavily,' Barton said quickly. 'We were ambushed and they killed all our men. Only Delgado and the two of us escaped.'

  'Really?' Oskar's tone was skeptical. 'Outnumbered. Now you're here, well out of the way as a reserve.' He tapped his mobile phone. 'I expect to hear tomorrow where to send you. I have booked rooms for you at the Hotel Tonderhus. That is my Audi in the road. I'll take you to your hotel.'

  'You'll be staying with us?' asked Barton.

  'I will not. I'm staying with a Danish friend who knows nothing about my activities. After a meal you can walk round the little town. It's quite pleasant. But get to bed early. Tomorrow will be a day of activity and you will need all your energy. Come on, let's get moving so I can drop you off at the Tonderhus.'

  Newman was driving inland and they had a panoramic view over vast flatlands. A short distance from the sea Paula saw a very large concrete structure like a long dyke close to the water.

  'What's that?' she asked.

  'Tender,' Tweed explained, 'is known as Capital of the Marshlands, although actually we'd call it a large village. Many years ago there was a great storm and the sea flooded inland. The Danes took measures – they built that dyke to prevent another catastrophe. Like the Dutch, they are good engineers.'

  'Looks like the biggest billiard table in the world. It just stretches away to the north as far as the eye can see.'

  As they drove on, Tweed took out the typed sheet of paper which had flown out of Gavin Thunder's case. Paula was watching him as he read it. His expression became very grim as he folded it and returned it to his pocket.

  'Trouble?' she enquired.

  'Catastrophe would be a better word. We're facing the most dangerous problem we've ever tackled, plus the fact we're up against incredibly powerful opponents.'

  'That's encouraging.'

  'I'll explain later.' Tweed was checking his map. 'Bob, we turn left just ahead. Another narrow lane, I expect.'

  Soon a number of woods appeared by the side of the lane, blotting out the view of the vast tableland which Tweed mentioned was the westernmost province of Denmark, Jutland. They came to a frontier post where a red-and-white-striped pole stuck up at an angle. There were no guards.

  'We're in Denmark now,' Tweed remarked.

  'I feel much safer,' said Paula.

  'We're fairly close to our destination. We shall have to find a hotel to stay the night. I prefer Hostrups Hotel – it overlooks a large stream. But it may be full up. If it is we'll stay at the Tonderhus.'

  'I wonder who Number Five is?' Lisa asked.

  'Number Five?' queried Tweed, his mind elsewhere.

  'Yes. When those Americans were about to leave the windmill a soldier came running out of the wood – no, it was a civilian – and he called out to the FBI man that the fifth man wasn't coming. So the FBI man told him to forget Number Five.'

  'You're right,' agreed Tweed, 'he did. So far there are four of them. Gavin Thunder, the American Secretary of State, the German Deputy Chancellor and the French Prime Minister at the secret meeting on Sylt. So who could be Number Five?'

  'Rhinoceros,' whispered Paula.

  Hostrups Hotel was a large three-storey white building of character facing a wide stream with banks of reeds. It was on the edge of Tender. Tweed got out with Paula to see if they had rooms.

  'If they haven't there is always the Tonderhus,' he reminded her.

  'I do like the look of this place…'

  The receptionist, who spoke perfect English, said yes, they did have enough rooms for Tweed's party.

  'We would not have normally,' she explained, 'but so many people fly abroad to crazy places like Thailand and St Lucia, wherever that might be. You would like a meal after going up to your rooms?'

  'Yes, please,' Paula replied. 'I'm ravenous.'

  When the others were brought in, Lisa asked if she could eat later.

  'I want to have the longest bath I've ever had.'

  Paula understood. After her experience with Delgado Lisa would want to wash every part of herself and change all her clothes. Everybody else voted for dinner.


  After being shown to their rooms and having a good wash they trooped down into a large and pleasant dining room. It had an atmosphere of hygienic cleanliness. The meal was first-rate and they ate almost in silence. Paula noticed that Tweed hardly took his eyes off his plate and had a very serious look. He first spoke as they were drinking coffee.

  'Do you think you could all stand coming to my room while I talk to you? Good.'

  Going upstairs they met Lisa coming down. She wore different clothes and carried a laundry bag.

  'The food's marvellous,' Paula said.

  'Great. I could eat a wild boar. Bet that's not on the menu. Bob, I've put everything I was wearing in this bag and I want to dump it.'

  'Give it to me. I'll find somewhere to get rid of it…'

  In Tweed's room some sat on chairs while others perched on the edge of the double bed. He closed the window, turned, began talking.

  'There are three major factors we must never forget. One is the Elite Club now meeting on Sylt. Plotting on Sylt would be a better way of putting it. To establish dictatorships in each of their countries. The second factor is the money – a huge sum – missing from the Zurcher Kredit Bank in Hamburg. I have little doubt they plan to use that to finance the enormous number of riot groups they are linking up with. The third factor is the Internet.'

  'What about the Internet?' asked Newman.

  'Someone has found out how to manipulate it, how to use it to communicate by weird codes with the riot groups. Maybe to inform them when and where to act.'

  'Can't do much about that, I'd have thought,' said Nield.

  'We'll see. There is a fourth element. Rhinoceros. Who is he? Where does he fit into the picture. Could he be Number Five? There are other factors but I've simplified the horrific danger down to the main ones.'

  'Don't see how it all fits in,' said Nield.

  'It will. Now I'm going to read extracts from the sheet Gavin Thunder lost from his executive case. It's clear, it's methodical. Gavin has a first-rate brain, unfortunately.' Tweed took the typed sheet from his pocket, unfolded it. 'One, to create iron governments in our countries there must be chaos on such a scale the people will accept any system which brings back peace. That has been arranged – the imminent arrival of chaos everywhere. Two, each country must be divided into large military areas, each area controlled by a strong Governor. Three, any opposition must be ruthlessly and immediately crushed. Special prisons will be established on remote islands off the mainland. In the case of Britain an Enabling Act will be rushed through Parliament overnight, giving the new Government supreme powers. The Governors of the six military areas in Britain will be commanded by a Supreme Governor, Brigadier Bernard, Lord Barford. That's it,' he concluded.