by Colin Forbes
`And he phoned you from England earlier after Irene, his daughter, had been kidnapped.'
`But he didn't…'
`Say he did. It establishes an iron-clad reason for him to come and see you. There must be no mention of the real subject – Stealth. Have you got it?'
`Yes. It's simple – close to the truth. Only the timing was different,' Delvaux continued, whispering.
`And you tell him about me. About Paula and Newman. We suspected the same hideous technique was being employed on you. Luckily I was the one who found your letter to Andover – on his mantelpiece at Prevent. The letter in which you said you had solved the technical problem. By the way, how did you solve it?'
`Oh, from my researches, we built a Stealth light aircraft inside the works. I used the most advanced – at that time – radar and none of the available equipment detected it. So I analysed why – that involved complicated mathematical equations and the development of a theory. Laser is one element in the new apparatus you have in that case, but only one…'
`Now!' Tweed pounced. 'Repeat what you are going to tell Benoit. And not as though you've learned it by heart..
While explaining about the Stealth light aircraft Delvaux had spoken briskly. Paula found it pathetic to hear him relapse into his broken state as he repeated the story he had to tell. Tweed had the same reaction, but was also relieved – his story would be that much more convincing.
`Everybody else keeps quiet until we're out of the chateau,' Tweed warned again.
He switched off the radio, turned off the running water.
Paula had already cleaned and put away the crockery they had used, leaving out only Delvaux's. Otherwise Benoit might wonder why they had spent so much time there.
Delvaux phoned Benoit's headquarters in Brussels. He was told that as it was an urgent matter his call would be passed on to Chief Inspector Benoit immediately. It was possible he might arrive at the chateau very quickly.
Tweed patted the Belgian on the shoulder to indicate he had done well. To his surprise, as they walked across the hall Delvaux, snatching a coat from a cupboard, followed them outside.
`I can't wait in there alone.'
`You must get back inside soon. Benoit might fly here by helicopter.'
Tweed was worried, knowing that Benoit was in the vicinity. It was a fact he thought it best Delvaux did not know. They walked down the drive and Newman, remembering what had happened to Andover, put out an arm to make them stay still.
`I'll just check,' he said.
Holding his Smith amp; Wesson in both hands, he darted across the road, paused on the grass verge, listening, looking both ways. Then he approached the Mercedes cautiously. Only when he had checked the underside of the chassis with a pencil flashlight and looked at the engine was he satisfied. He went back and beckoned for them to cross.
He started the engines and switched on the heaters – the interior of the car was like an icebox. Delvaux sat in the back with Tweed while Paula occupied the front passenger seat next to Newman.
`Something very important I forgot to tell you,' Delvaux said suddenly. 'Hugo Westendorf in Germany was a member of INCOMSIN. Somehow the refugee problem is mixed up in all this.'
Two uniformed policemen were patrolling the dubious Marolles district of Brussels. Marolles lies behind the immense bulk of the Palace of Justice and is only a five-minute walk from the Hilton.
Both men were alert: it was not an area to go to sleep in. They peered into a bar. Marc, the younger, swivelled his eyes swiftly over the customers. No one 'known' to the police. They walked on, came to the entrance to a narrow cobbled street.
Armand, the older, paused, frowned. A few paces into the street a black Mercedes taxi was parked. He unfastened the flap of the holster on his right hip, making it easy to grab the butt of his pistol.
`Marc, might as well take a look. I think that cab is empty. Taxis don't park round here.'
His colleague had a pair of handcuffs and a truncheon slung from his belt on his left hip. His right hand was holding a walkie-talkie. They approached the car in the usual tactical manner – one man taking the right-hand side, the other the left. It was Armand who approached the driver's seat.
Marc noticed the sticker advertising a restaurant plastered across the rear window. Armand aimed his flashlight at the dashboard, saw the key in the ignition. He called out quietly to his colleague.
`Very odd. An empty cab and the key in the ignition.' `Except it isn't empty.'
Marc had opened the rear door. The cab driver was bent over in a huddled position so he couldn't easily be seen by a casual passer-by. Armand opened the other rear door, aimed his flashlight. The driver's head rested on the floor, sightless eyes staring up in the beam of the flash.
`Call headquarters,' Armand ordered. 'We have something here which is going to raise all hell… And that sticker is covering a bullet-hole in the rear window…'
Inside the parked Mercedes across the road from the Chateau Orange Delvaux was shivering despite the fact that the heaters were quickly warming up the interior. Tweed knew he was on the verge of another collapse.
`What is this about the refugee problem being mixed up with this whole strange affair? Andover used the word `catastrophe' to me. And how does Hugo Westendorf fit in?'
Tweed was hugely intrigued, although his manner was casual. Hugo Westendorf was – had been – a major player in the world of Western politics. He had been known as the Iron Man of Germany and – until recently – had held the post of Minister of the Interior. Suddenly, to everyone's surprise, he had resigned, pleading reasons of ill- health.
`Andover,' Delvaux continued, 'told us that a major part of the menace facing Western Europe was the tidal wave of refugees waiting on Poland's border to flood across the Oder-Neisse river line into Western Europe. He said they were being organized by the enemy.'
`You just said "us",' Tweed reminded him. 'Who does that mean?'
`Oh, Westendorf was here several times when he was Minister. He travelled to Herstal secretly – incognito – to attend meetings with Andover and myself. Westendorf was very strong on stopping those refugees, employing drastic methods.'
`You will have to leave soon and get back to the chateau before Benoit arrives,' Tweed warned.
Delvaux wasn't listening. 'And the terrible mistake the Americans have made is not to protect themselves against the Stealth threat. A move to save money – to help their economy. They are wide open to a horrendous attack.'
`I have heard that,' Tweed assured him. 'Now, you must go. At once, please. And remember, Benoit will be discreet.'
Delvaux opened the door slowly, as though reluctant to leave. He stood outside with the door still open while he pulled up his coat collar. Tweed leaned over to speak to him.
`Gaston, one important thing you haven't told me. That is, if you know the answer. Who is the new enemy?'
`Didn't I tell you? I thought I had. Andover – with his expertise on global power – had worked it out. And Westendorf agreed with him, completely.'
`Who?' Tweed pressed urgently.
The most menacing force we have ever faced. Forget Hitler, forget Stalin. They were small beer, as you say in England. The new enemy is the People's Republic of China. Over a billion people, one-quarter of the world's population. Andover called them Fortress China – Communism which is economically successful. They read history.'
As he walked away, shoulders bowed, feet dragging, across the road back to the chateau, Tweed looked at Paula. She had twisted round to stare at him.
`Yes, I had wondered,' Tweed said grimly. 'And Dr Wand is Director of Moonglow Refugee Aid Trust International. It is all coming together, the vague pattern which has been building in my mind. You remember the extracts from Andover's file I read out to you?'
`Which bit?'
Tweed quoted from memory. 'In 1214 Genghis Khan, the leader of the Mongol confederation… turned westward, conquered Western Turkestan, Persia, Armenia… and south Russia as
far as Hungary and Silesia… His successor, Ogdai Khan, continued this astonishing career of conquest… a mixed army of the Poles and Germans was annihilated at the battle of Liegnitz.." And I pointed out Liegnitz is no more than two hundred and fifty miles from Hamburg.'
`So the Mongols are coming?'
`The People's Republic of China this time…'
21
`There's been a murder of a cab driver in Brussels.'
Chief Inspector Benoit made the statement as he was driving Tweed and Paula from the chateau to Liege railway station at breakneck speed. Paula sat beside him while Tweed was occupying the rear with the unmarked police car's driver.
`We can just catch the express,' Benoit had decided after spending half an hour with Gaston Delvaux on his own. He had earlier been intercepted by Tweed when he arrived and before he could enter the Chateau Orange.
Tersely, Tweed had explained the situation. He had told Benoit about the kidnapping of Lucie, Delvaux's wife – but had omitted all reference to Stealth and Hugo Westendorf.
`I'll be discreet,' Benoit had promised before following the ambulance up the drive. 'And hand-picked men will watch the chateau from a distance..
This outcome had been inevitable: Andover's murder on Belgian soil dictated that the police must take over the case. Benoit had checked train times, had shown relief when he realized they could return by fast train.
`I've had enough of travelling in a car for one day,' he explained.
`So why are you behind the wheel now?' Paula chivvied him mischievously. 'When you have a perfectly good driver behind us?'
`Oh, Jean is cautious. I drive like a madman – I used to do a bit of race-driving.'
`I can see that,' she commented as he swung round one of the bends practically on two wheels.
`What about this murdered cab driver they informed you about over your car phone?' Tweed called out.
`Well, you said this car which mowed down Andover was a black Mercedes taxi. Two uniformed men found his body inside the same type of vehicle abandoned in Marolles – behind the Palais de Justice. Paula told me she fired one shot through the rear window. The cab they found has one bullet-hole in the rear window. Draw your own conclusions.'
`Would it be possible for me to have a word with the policemen who found it? And even see the body?' Tweed suggested.
`You and I can go to the morgue where they've taken the body. The policemen have been told to wait there for me.'
`I'd like to come too,' said Paula.
Benoit grinned at her. 'A moment ago you suppressed a yawn. Now the lady wants to see a corpse.'
`I've been with Tweed since this business started. I'm not going to miss anything now.'
`The lady has stamina,' Benoit said, and grinned again. `Flattery will get you nowhere,' Paula shot back.
`Have you any idea how this cab driver was murdered?' enquired Tweed.
`It was only a brief message. Maybe we'll know when we get there…' Benoit shrugged.
`If we do reach Liege station alive,' Paula needled him.
Which was not entirely fair. It was only on traffic-free stretches that Benoit rammed his foot to the floor. Now they were threading their way through the dank gloomy streets of Liege Benoit was driving slowly, despite his frequent glances at the dashboard clock. The cobbled streets had a greasy, sweaty look, and as Benoit pulled up in front of the station and Paula stepped out the same appetizing smells of cheap fast-food stalls assailed her nostrils.
Benoit collected their bags from the boot, his portly figure moving at great speed as they rushed for the train. The express was standing by the platform and moved off the moment they had jumped aboard into an empty first- class coach.
Benoit sat opposite Paula while Tweed sat alone, also in a corner seat, staring out into the night as the express raced west. Glancing across at him, Paula guessed his mind was racing as fast as the express. Benoit leant forward.
`I have arranged for a car to meet us at Midi station. First stop, the morgue. Are you sure you want to come with us?'
`Quite sure. But thanks for asking again. Later we can go back to the Hilton.'
`Which is not so far from where the cab driver's body was found,' Benoit said thoughtfully.
`I presume,' Tweed called across, 'that Andover's remains will eventually be sent home to the address I gave you?'
`But certainly,' the Belgian agreed. 'That is, after the pathologist has examined the body. It is the law.'
`Was that all the ambulance contained?'
`No.' Benoit paused. Delvaux showed me his wife's hand in the chest freezer. I persuaded him it must be sent to the pathologist in the same ambulance. What sort of people are we dealing with? Psychopaths?'
`We are dealing with a man of exceptional intelligence and not even an atom of humanity – a man working to a plan, if my theory is right.'
`What plan is that?'
`The elite of Western Europe are being targeted. The plan is to break their spirit, to remove them from any position of influence – to use fiendish psychological methods to turn brilliant men into useless wrecks – both mentally and physically. Especially mentally. How long ago is it since Hugo Westendorf resigned as German Minister of the Interior?'
`About three months or so,' Benoit replied. 'Surely you don't suspect..
`I don't suspect anything. Like you, I deal only in facts. But the timing is right.'
`I could get in touch with Chief Inspector Kuhlmann of the Criminal Police in Wiesbaden.'
`I would greatly appreciate it if you didn't do that under any circumstances,' Tweed said.
`Then I will not do it..
`But what I would like you to do is to ask your pathologist to concentrate first on examining Lucie's severed hand. As a matter of top priority.'
`I can – will – do that. May I ask why?'
`You just did.' Tweed smiled. 'I want to know whether your pathologist considers only a top-flight surgeon could have carried out that amputation.'
`You're going to track them through him,' Paula said.
`I am going to work night and day on every possible lead. There is something enormously menacing behind all this. It could well be a race against time.'
`What about Newman?' Benoit asked. 'He said he would see you in Brussels.'
`He has the car. At this moment he will be driving at top speed through the night. He drives like you, Benoit. So, he might just be waiting for us at Midi.'
`I doubt that,' Benoit said.
They fell silent and Paula closed her eyes as the train stopped at Leuven, then thundered on west again. Tweed had his eyes wide open. He seems tireless, thought Benoit. The pace of his investigation is accelerating.
The morgue was noticeably colder than even the outside world. A white-coated man with greying hair and an authoritative manner, introduced as Dr Leclerc, glanced at Paula and then at Benoit.
`It's all right,' Benoit reassured him in French, 'Miss Grey has seen dead bodies before. You might say it is part of her job.'
Behind Benoit and Paula stood Tweed and Newman, who had been waiting for them in his hired Mercedes when they'd arrived at Midi. Leclerc, a small, well-built man wearing rimless glasses, pulled out one of the rows of large metal drawers. A sheet covered what lay inside. Tweed and Newman stood on one side while Paula joined Benoit on the other. Leclerc drew back the sheet. Paula stifled a gasp. She looked across at Tweed, spoke in French.
`Cyanosis.'
`The lady has had some experience,' Leclerc remarked. `I have not started work yet but the cause of death does appear rather obvious, subject to my examination.'
The cab driver's lips were blue. His whole bony face had a bluish tinge. Paula bent forward, peering at the side of the neck.
`Come round here, Tweed. I think you can see where the fatal needle was inserted.'
`Again the lady is correct,' Leclerc agreed.
Tweed bent down alongside Paula. A small reddish bruise disfigured the side of the neck. Paula was frown
ing. Tweed caught her expression.
`Yes?'
`That's an odd place to reach easily. I suppose from the back seat his passenger could have inserted her instrument, but it seems unlikely. The driver would see it coming. On the other hand, suppose she pretended to take a liking to him, put her arms round his neck, one hand concealing the needle – in whatever form it is disguised. During the embrace the driver would be off his guard. Then would be the moment she could press in the needle.'
`You think the murderer was a woman?' Leclerc sounded surprised.
`Just an idea,' Paula replied evasively.
`But possibly the right one,' Benoit intervened. `Tweed, you wanted to interview the two policemen who found the cab driver. They are in the next room.' He noticed Leclerc had raised his eyebrows at the suggestion. `Tweed,' he explained, was once the youngest Superintendent of Homicide at Scotland Yard.'
`That was a little while ago,' Tweed said wryly. 'Now, I would like to see those two men…'
Benoit took them all, leaving behind Leclerc, into a small office further along the corridor leading to the morgue. Two uniformed men stood up. Benoit made introductions, using the men's first names, Armand and Marc, and told them to answer Tweed's questions.
`Have you had time,' Tweed asked, addressing Armand, who seemed to be the senior, 'to contact the cab company, to check the mileage on the clock?'
`Yes, sir. It was my first thought. Most cabbies spend their time doing local jobs – to one of the stations, to a restaurant or hotel. Short distances. This cab had been driven a long distance.'
`Could it have travelled to the Liege area and back?'
Armand thought for a moment. 'Yes, sir, it could. The gas tank was almost empty – but I'm going by the company records and the clock mileage.'
Tweed looked at Benoit. 'To me it seems conclusive. It was this cab which the murderer used to kill Andover. And there was a bullet-hole, you said, in the rear window which Paula fired through.'
`We found that bullet, sir,' Armand informed him. 'It was embedded in the rear of the front passenger seat. And it was within millimetres of penetrating the seat. If only it had struck the back of the driver's seat it might have got him…'