by Colin Forbes
`Yes, Paula, there is. And it's wonderful to hear your voice. But we're short of time. Better put Bob back on the line.'
`Here is the mastermind…'
`Bob, keep everyone under cover. Friends are coming down to help. Professionals. Wait until we reach you. That is an order. We'll be proceeding by stealth.'
`Understood,' Newman said crisply. 'Get your skates on…'
50
`I'm in touch with the Mao,' Starmberg reported. 'Both of the ships are very close. Only about twenty miles off shore.'
`Tell them we are ready to offload their passengers, if you please,' Dr Wand ordered.
They were seated inside the spacious living-room of the bungalow equipped with an aerial which could be elevated and retracted automatically. Starmberg, wearing a headset, repeated his chiefs message. Wand sat behind a desk in an executive chair.
The curtains were closed over the one-way-glass windows. A few minutes earlier Wand had pulled aside a curtain, noted with satisfaction the fog drifting over a nearby dune. The weather was ideal for the operation. He gave his new order when Starmberg had completed contacting the Mao.
`No, be so kind as to go outside and rehearse our teams again in launching the dinghies.'
`We have already carried out a major rehearsal,' Starmberg reminded him.
`Dear me, you know how I dislike having to give an instruction twice. They must be ready to land our guests swiftly. Last time they were launching the dinghies into a stormy sea. Now it is like a millpond.'
`Of course, sir!' Starmberg jumped up out of his chair.
Before running out into the night he snatched one of the two Uzi machine-pistols looped from a hook on the wall. It was expected that there would be no interference, but Dr Wand always worked on the basis of preparing for trouble. He called out again as Starmberg grasped the door handle.
`I have decided I will personally travel out in the largest dinghy to congratulate the expedition commander on a new successful enterprise.'
`May I suggest that could be hazardous, sir?' Starmberg ventured.
`I am under the impression you just did. When I want your advice you may be sure I shall not hesitate to consult you.'
Starmberg flushed at the sarcastic rebuke. He must remember Wand was an autocrat, had the manners of a brusque military commander.
`I will have the largest dinghy ready for your departure. May I enquire – have we any idea when the ships will stand off shore?'
`About two o'clock tomorrow morning. As you know, at the moment they are now stationary out at sea. Two o'clock is the hour of my triumph.'
At the military encampment the assault teams aboard trucks had been put on stand-by. Tweed had received a new message from the Minotaur.
`Both targets are now stationary. About twenty miles off shore. Well outside the territorial water limit. Will continue to keep you informed…'
Tweed asked Norlin the question when they had once again returned to the Dane's desk in the other section.
`Should your men be moved closer south now?'
`Not necessary. We might be seen. The two ships are lying twenty miles off shore. Your frigate commander friend seems very efficient at keeping us in touch. I shall drive the first truck of the convoy when the time comes.'
`There is dense fog,' Tweed warned.
`Makes no difference. I know that road like the back of my hand. My truck – and those following me – will have their red tail-lights on. So each truck, keeping close, will be guided by the red lights on the truck in front. We wait for the ships to move in.'
`I think I'd like to join my people there as soon as it can be arranged.'
`Now, if you like. A car equipped with a transmitter and a driver who knows the road as well as I do.'
`Another favour, if possible. You seem to have an excellent canteen here. I'd like to take my people – six of them – some warm food and drink. Could your chef produce a large quantity of vegetable soup, some rolls, a thermos of coffee, and a large apple cake?'
`Consider it done. For six people.' Norlin picked up the phone, rattled off a stream of Danish, put the phone down. 'Ready in thirty minutes at the outside. The chef is now preparing a similar meal for the men aboard the trucks. Are you armed? No? Would it not be wiser to carry some weapon?'
Tweed hesitated. It was rare for him to use firearms. But this could turn into a vicious dogfight.
`A 7.65mm Walther automatic, if available.'
`Hey presto! As I believe you used to say in England.' Norlin unlocked a deep drawer, produced a Walther and a generous supply of spare mags. Will that be OK?'
`Very.' Ejecting the magazine, Tweed checked the mechanism. 'In first-rate condition.'
He pocketed the weapon inside his trench coat thrown over the back of a chair. Then he nodded towards the communications room.
`One more vital task. Does your operator speak English, will he be on duty all night, and what is his name?' `Very good English. Came on duty just before you arrived. Will be here all night. Name – Erik.'
'I have another continent-wide operation which must be triggered off as soon as those ships start landing their human cargo.' From memory he wrote on a pad the names and phone numbers of Kuhlmann, Benoit, and the Special Branch officer in London. 'Clear?'
`Perfectly.'
`I need to phone these people to tell them it will be Erik who calls them – only when he hears me contact him and use the code-word, Landslide.'
Tweed called all three men who were still at their desks – would be there all night long. Then he instructed Erik.
`It has to be rapid. Identify yourself by your name when you're sure you're speaking to the right man. Then repeat the code-word three times. Landslide. Once you've done that get off the line fast. They'll want to move like the wind.'
`Seems clear enough,' Erik replied from behind his Balaclava. 'Just wait for you to call me with the code- word…'
`You seem well organized,' Norlin commented approvingly as they sat by his desk. 'Now all we can do is wait – something I am very accustomed to.'
Tweed checked his watch. Coming up close to midnight.
`Not much longer to wait before the balloon goes up,' he observed.
Wand, clad in gumboots, stepped ashore from the large dinghy. It had taken him with Starmberg a quarter of a mile out to sea – a sea which was calm as a lake of oil. They were walking up the beach towards the bungalow when they heard the plane coming.
Starmberg, realizing it was approaching from the north, raised his Uzi machine-pistol. Wand used his fist to slam down the muzzle.
`You bloody fool. You want to confirm there is activity here? Stand still and wait…'
The machine, a light aircraft, appeared as a dim shape as the fog thinned briefly. It was flying no more than fifty feet above the beach. Its silhouette flashed past, flew on south, the engine sound vanishing almost at once, muffled by the fog. Wand pointed a finger at one of the men patrolling the beach, an automatic weapon looped over his shoulder.
`You. Is it unusual for light aircraft to fly over this area?'
`No, sir. There is a flying club at Esbjerg. They fly down the coast which gives them guidance. I think that one had lost its bearings.'
`I don't like it,' Starmberg commented.
`Who asked you to like it?' Wand demanded.
He stared at the Luxemburger who had his head cocked to one side. He was staring out to sea. Wand slapped his hands together: it was very raw and cold.
`What are you doing now, Jules?'
`I could have sworn I heard that machine flying back out to sea.'
`So get your ears tested when this is all over.' Wand checked his watch. 'We must get back to the transmitter. Call up the Mao. It should be starting to come in soon now…'
`We are very close to that area marked with a cross on your map,' the driver told Tweed who sat beside him. `That is why I am now crawling along.'
It was the same driver who had brought Tweed from Esbjerg Airpo
rt earlier to the harbour and then on to the military base. His name was Langhorn and he was the only man whose face Tweed had seen. They were travelling without lights and how he had kept the Opel Omega on the road was beyond Tweed's understanding. To his right Tweed could just make out in the distance a range of sand dunes as Langhorn stopped the car at the summit of a small ridge. He lowered his window, letting in a current of freezing air. Yes, he had been right: he could hear a small aircraft flying further west. He frowned as the machine's engine faded.
Had Norlin blundered – sent an aircraft to spy out the land? The grave danger was that it would alert Dr Wand. Then he dismissed the idea: Norlin was too shrewd. Still… something cold and metallic was pressed against his skull from outside the open window.
`Tell the driver to remove his keys from the ignition or you'll both get a bullet,' a familiar voice threatened.
`That's a friendly welcome to South Jutland, Bob, I must say,' Tweed remarked.
`God! I'm sorry. I didn't recognize you in that hat,' Newman said, removing the Smith amp; Wesson.
`What's happening?' Tweed snapped as he climbed out into the swirling fog, which was growing denser.
Another figure appeared, ran forward. Paula flung her arms round Tweed, hugged him and kissed him on the cheek. Her windcheater felt damp from exposure to the drifting fog. He embraced her warmly, looked at Newman.
`Nice that someone is glad to see me. Which means I can well do without a hug from you.' He looked at Paula as she released him. 'I can't tell you how relieved I am to see you. Are you really all right? I suspect you've had a grim ordeal.'
`No time to talk about that now. Too much happening here.'
`The first thing is to get this car off the road into a dip in the ground,' Newman said crisply. 'Paula, fetch Butler and Nield from behind the ridge.' He looked at the driver as she rushed off. 'Get ready to be pushed by hand. Can't risk the bandits behind those dunes hearing your engine. Luckily that plane drowned its sound as you came so close…'
Butler and Nield appeared and, with Newman's help, pushed the Opel off the road as Langhorn turned the wheel, across a belt of scrubland and down into the gulley where the other cars were parked. Tweed had followed with Paula and was about to ask again what the position was when Langhorn picked up the phone, which was bleeping. He listened, replied in Danish, called out to Tweed.
`It's Norlin. For you…'
`Message just received from Commander Wilson,' Norlin said tersely. 'Targets are moving inshore. We're on our way.'
Crouched down behind the ridge, Paula served the hot soup out of a large thermos Tweed had hauled out of the back of the Opel. Norlin had handed Tweed a large picnic basket and Paula crooned over its contents when she checked them with a pencil torch.
Besides the large thermos of vegetable soup there were plastic mugs, spoons, knives, plates, a generous supply of rolls, another thermos with coffee, more mugs and plates, paper napkins, and the biggest apple cake she'd ever seen.
Her mouth watering, she insisted on supplying the others, including Marler who lay prone with his Armalite, before she helped herself. Tweed realized they were all ravenous. While they were eating and drinking he borrowed a pair of night glasses from Paula, adjusted the focus, scanned the colony scattered amid the dunes. His mouth tightened.
`I've counted fifteen men patrolling along the beach and they are all armed.'
`Sensible to supply plastic cutlery,' Pala remarked to lighten the atmosphere. 'No danger of clinking cutlery made of metal.'
`Which is why Norlin supplied them,' Tweed whispered back. 'He doesn't miss a trick. Everyone feeling a bit better?'
Heads nodded. 'Then I'll give you the news which was just passed to me by Norlin. Two Stealth ships, one a big job, are now on the move – heading for this very point on the coast, I'm sure. Tug Wilson, whom I know, is commander of the frigate Minotaur, which is shadowing them. He's keeping in close touch with me. And now you've all finished your meal you've got to put these on – Norlin said he'd prefer not to gun down any of us.'
From a canvas bag he'd carried from the Opel he produced seven Balaclava helmets – a smaller one for Paula. He also showed them a collection of wide elasticized armbands.
`You all wear these as additional recognition – one on each arm. Put them on now.'
When Paula had slipped a helmet over her head, adjusted it so her mouth and eyes were level with the openings, Tweed slid a green fluorescent band up over each of her forearms. He had just donned his own gear when he remembered his next priority.
`Back in a minute. Have to check something with base…'
Crouching low, he ran back to the Opel. Langhorn was just getting out, stopped when he saw Tweed, opened the front passenger door.
`I have to contact Erik urgently,' Tweed said.
`First, I was coming to tell you. Another message from Wilson. The two ships he's shadowing are less than ten miles off shore and moving in fast.'
`Thank you.' Tweed checked his watch. 2 am. 'Now get me Erik…'
`Erik,' Tweed began, after giving the code-word, 'can you hear me clearly? Good. I expect soon to be giving you the signal to make those three phone calls.'
`Standing by, Mr Tweed. A fresh message from Wilson – the targets are five miles off shore and moving very fast.' `Then I'll be calling you again very soon…'
Aboard the Minotaur Commander Tug Wilson, a stocky figure with ice-blue eyes and his cap rammed carelessly over his dark hair, stood in the communications room. He was staring at the screen on Gaston Delvaux's device. Two blips stood out clearly.
`Amazing,' he commented gruffly to the operator. `Uncanny, sir,' the junior officer agreed. 'Look at our own screen.'
Wilson glanced at the other screen. Blank. Not a trace of a vessel within miles.
`How far off shore now?' he rapped out.
`Four miles at the moment. They're still moving in fast.' `Keep me informed minute by minute.'
Wilson returned to the bridge. Dense fog everywhere. A curl of mist rolled over the prow. This wasn't going to lift. Confrontation was imminent. He gave the order.
`Missile section. Action stations. I may press the button at any minute. Aim for larger target…'
Tweed ran back from the Opel, flopped between Newman and Marler behind the ridge. Marler was squinting through his night scope, following a man patrolling the beach and holding an automatic weapon.
`Our friends – with Norlin in command – will arrive at any moment. Don't let them startle you. Any idea of how they'll proceed down there?'
`Yes,' Newman said briskly but quietly. 'They've been practising launching those dinghies lined up by the sea on the beach. They're going out to meet the Stealth ships when they arrive. Obviously the Stealth vessels will have to unload their passengers into those dinghies well off shore. I say we go after one of the last of the dinghies to be launched, grab it, get in amongst them.'
'An excellent tactic…'
Despite Tweed's warning, Newman nearly jumped out of his skin as the voice spoke quietly behind him. He was swivelling his Smith amp; Wesson when Tweed's hand clamped down on his wrist. He had recognized Anton Norlin's voice.
Slowly they all turned round. Paula suppressed a gasp. She couldn't count the number of menacing figures which had crept up, unheard, behind them. All wearing Balaclavas and a neutral-coloured one-piece uniform which merged with the background.
51
`Erik… Landslide! Landslide! Landslide…'
`Roger.'
Satisfied that his message had got through, Tweed ran back from the Opel to the ridge where rows of men lay prone on the ground. Again he flopped between Newman and Marler. Norlin was still holding a restraining hand on Newman's shoulder.
Earlier, the final message from Tug Wilson had arrived. `Targets stationary half a mile off shore. Moving in to intercept.'
Norlin had been crawling among his men, who appeared to be divided into sections with separate tasks. He had whispered orders, then
had returned to lie down behind Newman. Tweed whispered his own order to Paula who lay next to Newman.
`You stay ashore. That's an order.'
`I heard you,' was all she replied.
Tweed had borrowed Marler's night-glasses, had them now focused on a familiar tall, heavily built figure wearing gumboots and striding towards the last but one dinghy putting out to sea. He could even see the pince-nez at that short range as the figure climbed inside a large dinghy held steady by four other men.
`Dr Wand – I want you.'
Although said under his breath Paula heard the words and was startled. She had never heard such cold ferocity in Tweed's voice. His right hand gripped his Walther. He had taken a Dramamine thirty minutes before: this was one occasion when he didn't want to feel queasy.
The dinghy's outboard motor burst into life, the remaining three men jumped aboard as Dr Wand sat at the prow. The dinghy moved straight out to sea, was swallowed up in the fog, the red light at its stern vanishing. Norlin pressed his hand firmer on Newman's shoulder, an action which caused Paula to smile to herself. The Dane knew who was straining at the leash. She slipped her Browning out of her shoulder-bag, a slow movement to ensure Tweed wouldn't see her action.
A final large dinghy was being hauled down to the edge of the sea by five men, all with automatic weapons looped over their shoulders. Newman stiffened, turned to glare at the unseen face of Norlin.
`That's the one we're supposed to grab, for Christ's sake.'
`Have patience. The strategy has been carefully worked out. And pass this message to your friends. Our dinghies will have green lights. Green…'
Newman passed the message to Paula on his right as Tweed repeated the instruction to Marler who, in turn, told Butler and Nield. It was then when Tweed saw the point of Norlin's holding Newman back. As the five men went on hauling their dinghy seawards, six men wearing Balaclavas appeared like magic from behind a nearby dune.
`My men,' Norlin whispered.
Fascinated, Tweed watched through his glasses. The six men moved with such speed and so silently they were on top of Wand's thugs in seconds. Four of them were felled instantly with savage blows from hand-gun barrels on their skulls. They slumped to the beach. One thug had time to tear his automatic weapon from his shoulders. A knife flashed up in the hand of a Balaclava man, flashed down, and was thrust up to the hilt into the thug's chest. He fell back into the water.