By Stealth tac-9

by Colin Forbes

  Had he – within the past ten minutes – been talking to the murderess?

  34

  In Liege Dr Hyde returned to the obscure 'hotel' where he was staying. He had just sampled the local offerings of feminine companionship. The quality was way below that available in Brussels. The nosy woman, who ran what was no more than a lodging house, met him as he entered.

  `You have had a phone call,' she said in French. 'They wouldn't leave a name or a number,' she went on regretfully, tut they said it was urgent.'

  `It will have to wait,' Hyde said quickly. 'I have just remembered something I forgot to buy. Be back soon.'

  He hurried to the nearest public phone box. The only person who knew where he was staying was Dr Wand.

  He dialled the number and, to his surprise, it was Dr Wand who took the call. Normally he spoke first to the man called Jules.

  `Are you packed and ready to leave, my dear sir?' Dr Wand asked after checking where he was calling from.

  `I'm always ready to move on at a moment's notice,' Hyde assured him.

  `Then that is what I would much appreciate your doing. If you would be so good, leave Liege at once. Catch the first express to Cologne. From there you fly to Hamburg. As soon as you have found a suitable resting place, be so good as to leave an anonymous note for me at the Four Seasons Hotel. A note which simply gives me your phone number. Dr Hyde, I would earnestly advise you to go now without losing a minute. I am most concerned for your safety. And be ready to treat a new patient. A German who is seventeen years old…'

  When Newman arrived in his room he found Pete Nield seated on a couch, staring out of the window at the lights of Brussels, a blaze of cheap neon on the far side of the Boulevard de Waterloo. Benoit was sitting at a desk, a large sheet of paper in front of him covered in his neat handwriting. Paula sat beside him.

  `We have been working,' Benoit said with an impish grin, 'while you go off with the first curvy blonde who catches your eye. Why, I can't imagine, when you have the delightful Paula in your room.'

  `I thought I'd leave you to enjoy her company for a while,' Newman retorted. 'What work?'

  `She has been making a statement about what she saw in the Parc d'Egmont, about her earlier lunch with the victim. Now I want one from you…'

  Ten minutes later Newman signed his own statement. Benoit countersigned it, as he had done after Paula's signature.

  `Strictly speaking,' he explained, 'I should have asked one of my men to witness these statements. But I am, after all, the chief of police. Anyone who questions the procedure will get my boot up a tender part of his anatomy.'

  `You had news for me,' Newman reminded him. 'Grim, you said.'

  `Would you like the good or the bad to start with?' The bad.'

  `Then I think I'll give you the good first. I phoned Tweed recently, told him we'd traced this Dr Hyde to a boarding house here in Brussels. But the bird had flown. So now we are concentrating on Liege. A team is checking every low-down dump in that beautiful city.' He looked at his watch. 'They will be starting about now.'

  'I can't make out why Mordaunt was murdered,' Newman ruminated. 'And just after lunching with Paula – so if by chance he was leading up to luring her away to be kidnapped… Although that's a pretty wild theory.'

  `Maybe not so wild,' Paula said quietly. She sat down next to Nield, looking depressed. 'He was playing up to me to start with, turning on the charm. Then, during lunch, his attitude changed. He' – she searched for a wording which would not sound conceited – 'seemed to genuinely like me. Was going a bit overboard, I thought. Supposing he decided not to go through with it?'

  `Then, remembering our interview with Dr Wand, I'm sure he became expendable. If that is what happened it really is alarming – the speed with which Wand moved.'

  `No proof.' Benoit threw up both hands. 'And Dr Wand is a man of great influence in high places. I would need a cast-iron case before I dared approach him.'

  `So what is the bad news?' Newman asked.

  `They dragged the dead body of Lucie Delvaux out of the Meuse. Killed by a cyanide injection. Gaston Delvaux has gone to pieces.'

  Tweed travelled to catch his flight at London Airport by taxi. At his suggestion, Butler had taken a different taxi and would not sit anywhere near Tweed on the plane. It did no harm to conceal from the opposition the team he was building up against them.

  He was walking towards Passport Control when he saw Jim Corcoran, Chief Security Officer and his old friend. To his surprise Corcoran looked away, started walking in a different direction. Tweed caught up with him.

  `Something on your mind, Jim? You looked right through me.'

  `Sorry. I was miles away. You're off somewhere again?' `Brussels.'

  `Have a good flight…'

  `Thank you.'

  Tweed moved on, holding his boarding pass. Corcoran had seemed distinctly uncomfortable. Three-quarters of an hour later he was in his seat aboard the aircraft. Butler sat two rows behind him.

  As the plane took off and climbed, Tweed settled back to think. He preferred travelling on his own: no phone calls to interrupt his flow of thought. Refusing all refreshment, he concentrated on the pattern of events now taking definite shape in his mind.

  His last act before leaving Park Crescent had been to get in touch with a powerful contact at Special Branch. He'd given them specific instructions – to be put on hold – about Moor's Landing. He'd emphasized they mustn't go near the place. Not until they received his signal.

  Vulcan. His brain had switched to another tack. Philip Cardon had been very confident that the unknown Vulcan existed, that he was an Englishman, that he had long ago left Hong Kong for Britain. Vulcan – a key figure in the elaborate preparations for Operation Long Reach. Who was most likely to be Vulcan? Because Tweed was convinced he had already met him.

  The executioner. The killer of Hilary Vane, the American woman who had been murdered at London Airport when Cord Dillon had arrived. It had been a woman who'd done the job. Cyanide poisoning. Paula had seen her bump into Vane just before the victim died so unpleasantly. A woman in a wide-brimmed hat which hid her face.

  Then there was the cab driver found dead inside his own vehicle in Marolles. After it had been driven to Liege where the woman using the cab had driven down – killed – Sir Gerald Andover. Paula had sworn that had been a woman. It was a new and deadly idea – a woman who was a professional assassin.

  Stealth. Tweed began to think about all that involved, and fell fast asleep.

  Latitude 37.50N. Longitude 21.50W. The Mao III, with its sister ship, Yenan, was sailing at thirty knots – over nine hundred miles west of the Straits of Gibraltar.

  The sea was an oily calm and another heavy mist was forming. Captain Welensky was relieved to be alone on the bridge. Kim had gone below decks to check something. As he stared at the radar screen, about to issue an order, Kim suddenly appeared, padding silently in his cloth shoes. He took Welensky by the arm with an iron grip and shook him.

  `There is a small fishing vessel…'

  `I know. Dead ahead…'

  `Dead. Ram it! Now!'

  `I was about to alter course to avoid-'

  `I said ram it! I have just returned from the radio room. That vessel is beginning to send out a Mayday…'

  `It's cold-blooded murder.'

  Welensky regretted the outburst the moment after he had uttered the words. Kim's grip tightened.

  `I am beginning to think your efficiency is impaired, Captain. Do I have to give the order myself?' he purred.

  Welensky was frightened. Kim's voice had shown no sign of emotion. But he was quite capable of thrusting his knife into Welensky, weighting the body, and throwing it overboard. Welensky gave the order.

  It was a small vessel. Proceeding on the same course, Welensky watched the radar. He hardly felt the tremble as the Mao sliced clean through the fishing vessel amidships. Kim, his night glasses raised to his eyes, went first to port.

  He saw two men flail
ing in the water. One raised his arms as though in a desperate plea for mercy, then the arms vanished under the waves with the head. The other fisherman had already disappeared. Kim walked swiftly to starboard, raised his glasses again. The bow of the fishing vessel had already sunk. He watched the stern slide below the waves. No heads floated on the surface of the ice-cold sea. No survivors. He went back to stand alongside Welensky. think you require a lesson in seamanship, Captain. If a vessel sends out a repeated Mayday signal the chances are other vessels will detect it, will change course to hurry to the scene. The object of this voyage is to avoid any risk whatsoever that our presence will be discovered. Do you grasp the meaning of my little lecture, Captain?'

  `It is quite clear,' Welensky replied, staring ahead.

  `Good. We are on course. We are on schedule. Now we shall proceed west of the British Isles and Ireland. We shall then turn south between the Shetland Islands and Norway and descend on the west coast of Denmark. To be precise, on Jutland.'

  `I studied geography at school,' Welensky remarked. Kim made no reply, but by now Welensky had realized he had no sense of humour.

  Tweed had asked Monica to leave a message at Benoit's HQ giving him his flight number and ETA. He didn't expect the police chief to be waiting for him but, as he walked out of Zaventem Airport, Benoit appeared, smiling with pleasure as they shook hands.

  `I have an unmarked car waiting. Where to? The Hilton?'

  `As usual.'

  Butler had stayed in the background. He took a taxi to the hotel. As Benoit sat in a traffic jam he turned to Tweed, who sat beside him.

  `It gets grimmer, this business, I fear. While you were away there have been two more murders.'

  `Who?' Tweed asked in a normal voice, masking his anxiety.

  `A man called Joseph Mordaunt, an acquaintance of Newman's, I understand.'

  `I met him briefly near Lymington on the south coast. I wouldn't have thought he was important.'

  `Important enough to someone to have him killed,' Benoit commented. 'By cyanide injection.'

  `The same technique as used on the cab driver in Marolles,' Tweed recalled. 'Someone has an instrument disguised as an everyday item. I have the feeling I have seen it. I've no idea when. And the second murder?'

  `Lucie Delvaux's body was dragged out of the River Meuse. Again, first killed by a cyanide injection. Delvaux is a broken man – mentally and physically.'

  `As you say, it is getting grimmer. Poor Gaston.' Tweed was frowning. 'Water,' he said. 'Always an element near by is water.'

  `Please explain,' Benoit suggested as the car began moving again.

  `Irene, the daughter of Sir Gerald Andover – her body was taken out of the sea near Lymington. Also killed by an injection of cyanide.' And Moor's Landing was located on the banks of the River Beaulieu, he was thinking, but kept the thought to himself. 'Water,' he repeated, `Lucie's body is found in the River Meuse.'

  `You think water is significant?'

  `Probably just a coincidence.'

  Tweed no longer believed what he'd just said. A Stealth ship would operate on water. Something else he had no intention of broadcasting.

  `We have been busy in another direction also,' Benoit informed him. 'Dr Hyde. I phoned the news we'd found he stayed at a dump called the Hermitage here in Brussels. Since then I sent teams to Liege. One of my men showed this Dr Hyde's photograph to a boarding-house landlady in that city. We missed him by one hour. He told her he was leaving for Brussels.'

  `Which means Brussels is the last place he's heading for next. But the information is valuable. Thank you for your efforts.'

  `I could now blanket Antwerp,' Benoit suggested. `Don't bother. I think Hyde has left Belgium. Perhaps for Holland, maybe Germany.'

  They were now driving down the side road parallel to the Boulevard de Waterloo which led to the Hilton.

  Tweed was encouraged by the news about Hyde. He felt they were catching up with him.

  Tactfully, Benoit did not accompany Tweed into the Hilton. Earlier he had examined the guest list in search of a suspect. It had proved hopeless: too many people and no familiar name. Also he was not exactly popular with the manager.

  Tweed found the executive room he'd paid for in advance for several days was still available. He paid out more money to keep them happy. As he stepped out of the elevator on the twentieth floor he saw Marler leaving Newman's room.

  `You've come back to Murder City,' Marler greeted him with black humour.

  `I know. Where is everyone?'

  In Newman's room. You want to see someone?' `All of you. Urgently …'

  Two minutes later Paula was unpacking his case while Newman sat on a couch next to Pete Nield. Marler took up his usual stance, leaning against a wall while he lit a king-size. Tweed was pacing the room, hands behind his back, his manner brisk as he spoke.

  `We're leaving tomorrow as early as possible. Butler has come with me. At reception I was able to scribble a note with my room number and a request for him to join us.' He had hardly finished speaking when someone tapped on the door. Newman slid his hand inside his jacket, gripped the butt of his Smith amp; Wesson, unlocked the door, and Butler walked in.

  `Mobilizing a heavy team,' Newman observed, relocking the door.

  `Yes,' Tweed confirmed. 'And Philip Cardon may be joining us later.'

  `Why are you assembling all this manpower?' Paula asked as she put a pile of Tweed's shirts into the drawer. `Normally you work with the minimum of personnel – so they won't be noticed.'

  `True. But this situation is really menacing. We have no idea how many thugs – killers – Wand has at his disposal. I suspect far more than would give us a good night's rest. I've little doubt it's going to take all the resources we can muster to cope with the devious Dr Wand.'

  `Your trip to London was successful?' Paula enquired. `I think so …'

  Tweed proceeded to give them all a concise account of who he had met, what they had told him, and the plans he had made for co-operation from certain key people.

  `I'd say you've been on the trot,' Marler concluded.

  `You could say that. One important point we must deal with at once. The weapons Benoit loaned us. Marler, I need that hold-all you carry about – with the Armalite inside it..' He continued as Marler left the room. 'All those weapons must be dumped into the hold-all and I'll give them back to Benoit. Airport security.. Marler returned, and when the weapons were inside Tweed zipped it up.

  `Back in a minute. Benoit, who met me at the airport, said he'd wait in the car half an hour in case I wanted to consult him.'

  Newman looked round the room when Tweed had gone. Paula had finished her unpacking and was staring out of the window where a grey drizzle was gradually blotting out the city.

  `We'd better brace ourselves,' Newman said. 'He's in his dynamo of action stage…'

  Walking outside into the wet, Tweed saw a new doorman by the side of Benoit's car, obviously enquiring who he was. Benoit, without looking at him, held up his identity folder, staring ahead. The doorman retreated rapidly. Benoit leaned over, opened the front passenger- seat door, and Tweed sat beside him.

  Handing back the hold-all containing the weapons, Tweed thanked him. He then showed him a photo.

  `Does the place marked with a cross on the map mean anything to you?'

  `Odd you should bring that up. I was talking to one of the officials at Ghent's Town Hall recently. It's a new housing development. Only recently occupied – six months or so ago. Vieux-Fontaine. Not even signposted.'

  `Who lives there?'

  `No one seems to know. The rumour is they're calling themselves executives – but really they're top security personnel who guard our high-life EC Commissioners. I happen to know that's rubbish. Since they haven't committed any known criminal offence no one is bothered.'

  `They may well be saboteurs and spies smuggled into the country. Please leave them in peace – until I contact you. Then raid the place at a mutually agreed time.'


  `You usually know what you're doing.' Benoit paused. `I'm going back to headquarters now. I'll organize a strike force to be ready for when you warn me.'

  `I'm leaving Brussels tomorrow. Thank you for all your co-operation – especially with that helicopter armada which descended on Liege Airport.'

  `It was nothing.' Benoit gripped Tweed's arm. 'Now I urge you to take care of yourself. I sense you could be walking into a zone of maximum danger.'

  `Hamburg.'

  `I couldn't interview Dr Wand, but I did send men to watch his Lear jet on standby at Zaventem. The security officer told them the pilot had filed a flight plan. For Hamburg. Late this afternoon Dr Wand left aboard that jet with a Luxemburger called Starmberg. A zone of maximum danger,' Benoit repeated.

  35

  The flight for Hamburg aboard Hamburg Airlines was due to take off at 11.15 a.m. As Paula walked alongside Tweed towards the waiting aircraft she asked the question which had been intriguing her.

  `Why Hamburg?'

  'To see Hugo Westendorf, the one-time Iron Man of Germany who retired three months or so ago without warning. He was Minister of the Interior.'

  `Retired? Suddenly? You don't think…'

  `That it's another case like Andover and Delvaux? Yes, I think exactly that,' Tweed said grimly. 'We're going to meet another broken man. I suspect the charming Dr Wand has a long list.'

  Newman, followed by Nield and Butler, caught up with them as they approached the aircraft. A staircase led up to the entrance. Newman stared in disbelief.

  `What are those things sticking out at the front?' `Propellers, as you well know,' Tweed replied.

  `A prop aircraft? I'm not mad keen on them. I prefer a jet.'

  `Aircraft with only one propeller won us the Battle of Britain,' Tweed reminded him, suppressing a smile. 'It will get us there.'

  `When does this thing reach Hamburg?' Newman asked in a disgruntled tone.

  `Thirteen hundred hours. I'm sure it will be prompt.' `Sounds as though it goes via Paris…'