Colin Forbes - By Stealth

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.

`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.

More Balaclava-clad men appeared carrying large stretchers. By the time they arrived the unconscious men had their wrists handcuffed behind their backs, gags plastered over their mouths. Without ceremony they were lifted, dumped into the stretchers. The thug who had fought sprawled motionless on a stretcher, the knife handle still protruding. As the stretchers were carried swiftly away to one of the bungalows another man appeared, flashed a torch three times.

`All clear,' Norlin said in a normal voice. 'One section was told to check the bungalows. Any men inside could have shot us in the back. Bungalows empty.' He took his hand off Newman's shoulder. 'Go, boy!'

Newman took off like a greyhound, Smith amp; Wesson in hand as he ran down the south-west slope, followed by Marler, Tweed, Butler and Nield. Tweed showed surprising agility as he slithered and hurtled towards the beach, overtaking Marler.

They reached the dinghy as Norlin drew level with Tweed. The Dane switched off the red light at the stern, removed the bulb, replaced it by another, switched it on. Green light. The others were aboard as he attached a small metallic disc with rubber suckers to the side of the craft well away from the outboard.

`A bleeper,' he explained quickly. 'Range twenty miles. You won't hear it, but we will if we have to come looking for you. As you'll see, there will be plenty of us to keep you company.'