by Colin Forbes
The door opened, the dazzling fluorescent light came on, and Ilena's deliberate thumping footsteps descended the plank staircase. Reaching the bottom she walked over to the couch and shook Paula by the shoulder.
`I know you not sleep. You want toilet?'
`No. Thank you very much.'
She was careful not to provoke the unpredictable peasant. A trip to the toilet was humiliating. Ilena produced an ancient 7.63 mm Mauser pistol with a long barrel. Had she brought it with her from Romania – or wherever she had come from? Aiming the muzzle at Paula, she unfastened the straps, stood back. Paula then had to push open the door in the basement which led to little more than a cupboard. Inside was an Elsan toilet. While she attended to her needs Ilena stood watching, the gun pointed at her. She was then returned to the couch, the straps reapplied.
`Then I prepare operating table. Dr Hyde very clean man…'
Ilena turned her back on Paula who twisted her head to see what was going on. To her horror she saw Ilena had brought with her a plastic bucket of hot soapy water and a scrubbing brush. She proceeded to scrub every inch of a long wooden table.
Paula had a reaction of terror and fury. Terror at what the preparation forecast for her. Fury that this pig of a woman had woken her up – so she must have assumed before entering – to do this foul job in the middle of the night.
Staring at the broad girth of Ilena's back, Paula realized again she would be no match for this ox-like creature if it came to a hand-to-hand struggle. Ilena finished her task, stood back to admire her work.
`That is good – no infection as doctor say when operation is made.'
She then perched the single wooden chair under the window. As she stood on it the chair groaned under the punishment. Break your flaming back! Paula said under her breath. The woman fiddled with the catch of the shutter, and Paula saw she had to reach through bars to grasp it. No escape that way. The job completed, Ilena lowered her bulk to the floor and turned round. As she picked up the bucket with the brush inside it she made one final remark before climbing the steps, switching off the light, slamming and relocking the door, a remark which chilled Paula's blood.
`Operation soon now.'
***
Earlier, when Marler, with Butler and Nield as his passengers, reached the Danish frontier post north of Flensburg, he had his British passport in his hand. The Control officer, a man in his fifties with very Nordic features, didn't take any interest in the passport.
`Business or pleasure?' he enquired.
`Very much business,' Marler replied.
`Sounds official,' the Dane commented.
Marler took a lightning decision, a big chance. He abandoned his story about selling marine equipment. Instead he took out a photo of Dr Hyde, handed it to the officer.
`Have you by any chance seen this man pass through during the evening? A few hours ago, possibly.'
The Dane examined the photo by the light of the torch he had shone into the Mercedes. He took his time, glanced at Marler again, then returned his attention to the photo. Marler had the impression he was intrigued by his question, by the photograph.
`Where are you from?' the officer asked eventually. `We've just driven hell-for-leather up from Hamburg.' Marler smiled drily.
`Of course. From Hamburg, you say? You know some- one important there?'
Marler chanced his arm again. He sensed he was on to a winning streak.
`Yes. Chief Inspector Otto Kuhlmann of the Criminal Police from Wiesbaden.'
`I see.' The Dane paused as though taking a decision. 'I find this an intriguing coincidence. You know Kuhlmann well?'
`I've known – and worked with him – for years,' Marler replied. His tone was friendly but his manner that of a man on official business. 'Otto is always very co-operative with us.'
The Dane was tactful enough not to enquire who `us' might be. He fingered the photo, looked again at Marler.
`The coincidence is Kuhlmann phoned me earlier, gave a word description of a man. It corresponds exactly with this picture.'
`I know,' Marler assured him. wanted to know if he had crossed the frontier into Denmark. You are observant – you told him you had seen that man travelling as a passenger in the back of a car. You know the man who was driving that car?'
`Yes. His passenger was an unpleasant-looking character. Very conceited, was my impression.'
Marler waited, hands relaxed on the wheel, betraying none of the tension inside him. Would the Dane come across with the information he so vitally needed?
`Your journey is concerned with the phone call I had from Kuhlmann?' the officer enquired.
`Definitely.'
Marler left it at that. Don't disturb the mood of confidence he had built up by saying too much.
`So it would be useful if you knew the name and address of the car's driver? He lives in Tinglev. Again, not one of the most pleasant of human beings. He cheats at cards.'
`A bad sign. He may cheat at other things,' Marler commented.
`We are talking about Johnny Clausen, a man with a glib tongue.'
`It would be most helpful if we knew his address,' Marler told him. 'It might prevent a major crime. We are racing against time.'
`So serious?' The Dane was writing on a notepad he had picked up, writing laboriously in capital letters. He tore off the sheet, handed it to Marler. 'That is where Johnny Clausen lives in Tinglev – on the edge of the town. I wish you luck.'
`And thank you for your invaluable help. We are indebted to you. Now, if you don't mind, we must move fast…
`We are going straight to Tinglev?' Butler asked from the back of the car when they were clear of the frontier post. `Not at this hour.'
Marler had stopped the car in the middle of nowhere. He gave the piece of paper with Clausen's address to Butler. Then he handed Nield a photo of Dr Hyde.
`I've checked the map,' Marler explained. 'We should be noticed if we turned up in Tinglev in the middle of the night. We're going to find separate accommodation for each of us in TOnder – it's about fifteen miles west of Tinglev. We don't know each other.'
And in the morning?' Butler pressed.
`You won't get much sleep. Rise at dawn. Find someone who will loan you a car – tell them your own has broken down and is being repaired in a garage. For a generous sum of money – you have plenty of kroner – you should get a vehicle. Drive to Tinglev and track down Johnny Clausen. How you get him to talk is your business, but do it. Where he took Dr Hyde is what we're after.
`Pete,' he went on, addressing Nield, 'in the morning find yourself a car. Then show Hyde's picture to the locals – officially you owe him money for an operation he carried out on your ankle. That makes you sound honest – and the Danes appreciate honesty. When we get to TOnder give me the phone number of wherever we find accommodation for both of you. Tell them I lost my way in Schleswig-Holstein before crossing into Denmark. Hence our arriving in the middle of the night. No questions? Good. We must keep moving…'
***
When Marler had found accommodation for Butler and Nield in TOnder – and a room for himself – he decided night was a good time to explore the area. Since he had paid the landlady at his own lodgings for a week's stay, he had no difficulty in persuading her to give him the front- door key.
`I need some fresh air,' he explained to Mrs Pedersen, a grey-haired old lady dressed in a pristine warm padded housecoat. 'I've been driving for hours in the over-heated car. Even at this hour I fancy the smell of the sea.'
`Have you a map?' she asked anxiously. 'There will be no one about in the middle of the night.'
`A very good map of the area,' he assured her.
Outside he glanced up at his first-floor window overlooking the narrow cobbled street. All the houses were old steep-gabled edifices built of red brick and with red tiles on the roofs. Some had plaster walls painted in yellow or white. The silent, deserted street had a fairytale atmosphere. He climbed behind the wheel, drove slowly so as not to wa
ke the inhabitants.
On the outskirts he studied the map again and decided to head west for the small town of Hojer. The land was flat and reaching Hojer he turned north along a road running roughly parallel to the sea. He met no traffic, saw not a single human soul, not a light in the few houses he drove past. His night vision was excellent and he could make out to the west the dykes protecting the land from the fury of the sea. Arriving at a lonely intersection, on a whim he turned west again. He was crossing a wilderness of scrubby grass and sand.
The wind increased in force, scooping up powdered sand, hurling it against his windscreen. Off the road stood an isolated house. Switching on his wipers to clear sand from the windscreen, he swung the car off the road, bumping over rough ground. Despite the fact that the windows were closed, particles of sand were penetrating the car, and now he could hear the thunderous boom of great rollers crashing on the nearby shore.
He had driven past the house, which looked derelict, and now he drove about twenty yards from the front entrance. Definitely an abandoned property. Red paint peeled off its facade, white paint off the trim round the windows. He frowned as he suddenly saw a light appear in a semi-basement window. Odd. He swung his headlights over the two-storey building. The light disappeared. Had he imagined seeing it?
He drove on over as bleak a heathland as he had seen so far. Braking, he stepped out. The boom of the sea became a roar. Surf caught by the ferocious wind landed a few feet away from his car. He half closed his eyes to protect them against the fine sand as the wind threatened to blow him over.
I've had enough of this, he thought, as he climbed back behind the wheel. It took all his strength to pull the heavy door shut. Back to 'fonder and a warm bed. Tomorrow was another day. The real search for Paula would begin then.
44
`Tweed has already cracked up, as I predicted.'
Inside the large villa, set back from Jaegersborg Alle with a large front garden screened by a hedge, Dr Wand rubbed his hands with satisfaction. He sat behind a Regency desk in a room at the back of the building. The curtains were shut over the windows and again the desk lamp was the only illumination.
The villa was located at Jaegersborg Al16 988 in the Gentofte district north of Copenhagen. The only other occupant was the gaunt Mrs Kramer, dressed as always in black, a tall, thin woman whose face might have been carved out of stone.
Wand had phoned her from Hamburg, telling her to fly direct to Copenhagen, to prepare the villa for his arrival. His instructions had been precise. 'The villa, as you know, dear lady, has an unoccupied appearance. I would be most grateful if you would preserve that illusion. Leave The Boltons, please, at the earliest possible moment, to catch a Copenhagen flight.'
`You are sure this Tweed has been broken?' Mrs Kramer now enquired.
`I had the news this morning. He has resigned. Retired. I took the precaution of phoning the Four Seasons Hotel. They informed me he had checked out. He is now, I am sure, on his way back to London. He will no longer be present to interfere with my very important activities. A cup of black coffee would be most welcome…'
Left alone, Wand checked his watch. 11.30 am. Earlier he had phoned a senior civil servant in London who always knew what was going on. He had confirmed positively that he had heard Tweed had resigned from public life.
Wand knew he could rely on his informant – after all, he had loaned the man a large sum of money for a mortgage on a property in the English countryside. And he had no intention of letting Mrs Kramer know his source. Keep everyone in watertight compartments.
Wand operated a cell system. In Jutland he had twenty men awaiting the arrival of the Mao III and the Yenan. None of them knew the two Stealth ships were due to land their human cargo on the remote South Jutland shore. They would be given their instructions by Starmberg at the last moment.
`Goodbye, Mr Tweed,' Wand said to himself.
It was a relief to hear he had permanently immobilized the Englishman. The cargo of trained men who would be put ashore was the most important consignment of agents Wand had ever handled. They would be the leaders of the entire underground apparatus Wand was planting strategically in Europe – including Britain, the most important objective.
Thoughts of Tweed reminded him he must phone Dr Hyde. He dialled the number of the old house in Jutland, prepared for a long wait. To his surprise Hyde answered at once.
`My dear sir,' Wand began, 'I trust your new patient has been delivered to you and is in your competent hands?'
`She is here, yes. Everything is ready,' the oily voice assured him.
`I said we would wait three days before you carried out the operation. It is possible you may decide to complete the treatment earlier. If you would be so kind, please wait for my next call.'
`Everything is ready,' Hyde repeated. 'I can carry out the operation at any time-'
Hyde realized the connection had been broken, that Dr Wand had replaced the receiver. 'Arrogant swine,' he muttered.
A short distance away from the villa a large white van was parked on the opposite side of the road in Jaegersborg Alle. Painted on the outside was the name of an interior decoration firm: just the sort of vehicle which might be parked in this wealthy district while a team refurbished one of the elegant rooms inside a villa.
A rather different team occupied the interior of the van. Equipped with large windows made of one-way glass, very unusual equipment for an interior decorator was arranged inside. Long-distance video cameras were aimed at the entrance to No. 988.
They had already recorded the arrival of Dr Wand earlier, driving his own limo. One camera had taken close-up pictures as Wand's heavily built figure had climbed out to open the gate, prior to driving the limo down the short distance into a garage with electronic doors operated by remote control.
Ulf Kilde, leader of the three-man Police Intelligence undercover team, used a high-powered transmitter to report back to Inspector Nielsen at intervals. In case Wand left the villa to drive to a fresh destination Kilde had a back-up vehicle parked in a nearby side street.
This vehicle was quite a contrast to the gleaming white van. It was battered old Fiat with a souped-up engine. Kilde was in touch with the waiting driver by radio.
`Still no sign of activity,' Kilde reported to HQ. 'The villa looks unoccupied – all the shutters are closed. But our friend is definitely inside…'
During the early morning of that day Newman, behind the wheel of a black Mercedes supplied by Kuhlmann, had driven north from Hamburg through pleasant countryside towards the ancient Hanseatic town of Lubeck. His ultimate objective was to board one of the huge car ferries at the Puttgarden terminal on the edge of the Baltic.
`Tweed has fallen asleep,' remarked Cardon, referring to their passenger in the back.
`Thank God for that,' Newman replied. 'He's exhausted with worrying about Paula. I can understand that.'
Both men could not have been more wrong. Tweed had his eyes closed but his brain was racing. Mentally he checked over what he must do when he reached Nielsen's HQ in Copenhagen.
Nielsen would have a scrambler. The first priority was to contact Commander Noble at the Admiralty in London. Tweed hoped to heaven Noble had managed to dispatch one of Delvaux's advanced radar systems to Tug Wilson, commander of the missile-armed frigate Minotaur patrolling the North Sea.
Perhaps an equal priority was to try and call Marler at the Tonder phone number he'd transmitted to them at Berliner Tor. What were the chances that Marler's team could trace the unspeakable Dr Hyde in time? He coughed so as not to startle Newman.
`Bob, did you say Helen Claybourne told you the Burgoyne Quartet, as Paula nicknamed them, might be moving on to Copenhagen?'
`Yes. And, I told her we'd be staying at the d'Angleterre. I hope I did the right thing?'
`You did. If those four turn up again I will be pleased beyond expression.'
`Why? They're a peculiar crowd.'
`Why?' Tweed repeated. 'Because among other targets I
want to get my hands on Vulcan.'
`And you think either Fanshawe or Burgoyne is Vulcan?'
`I don't think. I'm convinced of it. And that devil is a key figure in Wand's plans – according to what you told us, Philip.'
`He is,' Cardon confirmed. 'My source was a mint one.' `Wake me when we're coming into Lubeck for breakfast,' requested Tweed.
He closed his eyes again but sleep wouldn't come. He kept recalling what Fieldway, the MOD officer, had told him about Burgoyne. The Brigadier had disappeared for some four months while fighting on the battlefield in Korea. Vanished off the face of the earth, was the phrase Fieldway had used. Then Burgoyne had suddenly reappeared. An odd business, that.
Tweed's mind changed gear. He was also convinced that either Helen Claybourne or Lee Holmes was a professional assassin. He had witnessed the first killing of Hilary Vane, coming off the Washington flight at London Airport. Cyanosis.
The same woman – whoever it was – had killed a cab driver in Brussels to steal his cab. Cyanosis. And the smell of a perfume. Guerlain Samsara. The same woman had driven down Sir Gerald Andover in Liege. And had probably killed Joseph Mordaunt. Cyanosis. Yes, he hoped that the Burgoyne Quartet turned up at the d'Angleterre.
At the tip of the German island of Fehmarn, at Puttgarden, Newman drove the Mercedes inside the giant maw of the huge ferry. Arriving early, he had positioned himself at the head of the vehicle queue. Parking next to the side of the lowest deck, he switched off the engine.
`I think I'll stay with the Merc.,' Cardon said. 'Then I can make sure no one tampers with it. I'll tuck myself inside that alcove.
Thirty minutes later, Tweed stood alongside Newman on the main deck near the prow. He had taken a Dramamine after eating breakfast in ancient Lubeck, a town he loved out of season. The massive ferry moved out into the Baltic in the face of a strong wind. Large surf-tipped waves rolled towards them.