Colin Forbes - By Stealth

During the frantic struggle with Welensky, Kim had forgotten Wand was still outside, perched on the hull. Despite four bullets hitting him, he was hauling his way back to the door leading to the bridge as the missile landed.

The explosion shattered the whole Stealth vessel aft of the bridge. As Paula stared through her Balaclava she saw Wand caught in the ferocious spearhead of flames shooting skywards. He staggered, alight from the feet up to his waist. Waving his powerful arms frantically, he pirouetted with the searing pain. Losing all sense of direction, he staggered into the inferno, vanished.

`Burnt out,' Newman commented. 'And a damn good job too.'

The section of the Mao aft of the bridge broke off, sank between the waves. There was a sinister hissing sound as the sea quenched fire with a temperature of over one thousand degrees. The whole vessel began to turn turtle. Several of Norlin's dinghies full of armed men, ready to board, had turned away, speeding across the sea. Behind them the Mao's bridge went down first, hoisting the stern high above the water. Then the entire vessel plunged into the depths like a rocket diving. The sea boiled and large waves spread out in all directions. Then it was suddenly quiet as the sea settled again. Quiet, but only for a moment.

The titanic explosion had dissipated the fog and now the smaller Stealth vessel appeared. The Minotaur was moving at high speed, taking up a position behind the ship. The bullhorn voice of Tug Wilson boomed out over the tannoy again, hard and demanding.

`Continue on your present course. East. At top speed.'

Another missile was fired, aimed deliberately to miss the Stealth vessel, landing in the water well clear of its port bow. Inside the low-profile bridge the Yenan was skippered by a Bait. The Chinese commissar who had stood by his side was below decks, trying to pacify his panic-stricken passengers.

The Balt didn't hesitate. Witnessing the destruction of the Mao III was enough encouragement. The missile added to his terror. He screamed the order to the engine room.

`Full speed ahead! Now!'

It never occurred to him where this action would take him to. Aboard the launch Tweed blessed Tug Wilson. He had remembered his request for prisoners. The Yenan shot forward, slicing its way through the calm sea. In only a short time the Balt looked ahead and a fresh fear gripped him as he saw where he was going.

Before the battle started Tweed had given Philip Cardon special instructions. He must stay ashore, remain on the ridge where he had an overall view of the beach.

The Squirrel had not waited idly. Taking out a capacious handkerchief, he had scooped up handfuls of sand, dropped them on the cloth, and had then tied it up by the corners.

Completing this task, he had settled down to wait. He had heard the terrific detonation out at sea – so strong it had dispersed the fog and blown up curtains of sand along the beach. It was minutes later when he saw the dinghy racing ashore. He lifted the glasses Tweed had left him, focused them. From a photograph he recognized the sole occupant – Jules Starmberg.

Realizing it was all over, Starmberg had thrown overboard the two other occupants of the dinghy and had headed for the shore – for escape. He jumped out of the dinghy as it hit the beach and ran up the side of the ridge about ten yards to the left of where Cardon lay. The Squirrel ran along the top of the ridge in a crouch. He arrived just in time to see Starmberg standing by a Volvo hidden in a similar gulley to the one where Newman and the others had parked their own cars.

Starmberg held car keys in his hand, was inserting one when he heard Cardon behind him He swung round as Cardon socked him on the back of the head with his makeshift sandbag. The Luxemburger collapsed. Within five minutes Cardon had Starmberg slumped on the floor of his Ford Sierra behind the front seats. He stared down at the unconscious figure, wrists handcuffed behind his back, a gag inserted into his mouth.

`Justice, mate,' Cardon said aloud. 'You did that to our Paula. Enjoy yourself..

He was back in his old position, lying behind the top of the ridge when he saw a sight which made him wonder if he could believe his own eyes. The Yenan – its engines so silent he had no warning of what was coming – raced ashore at full speed, its momentum carrying it through the shallows and half-way up the beach.

Smaller than the Mao, it was still a large vessel. Cardon stared as the huge whale-like shape, its prow carving a deep fissure in the sand, rocketed ashore. For a moment it remained upright – half on the beach, half in the sea. Then it keeled over to port with an earth-shaking smack and lay still.

A fleet of dinghies with green lights and full of men with Balaclavas landed on either side. Norlin's troops stood waiting and as dazed passengers emerged they were handcuffed. Any resistance was discouraged with a tap on the head with a gun barrel.

Tweed's launch appeared, paused off shore. Tweed and the others were so anxious to reach land they stepped into the sea and trudged the last few yards on to the beach. Cardon ran to greet Tweed who had Paula clutching his arm.

`I have Starmberg trussed up like a Christmas turkey.' `Christmas has come early this year,' Tweed replied.

`Landslide…'

Otto Kuhlmann had acted swiftly, ruthlessly, on receiving the codeword. In the middle of the night his teams of armed men surrounded the new colony of houses to the west of Blankenese.

They had arrested twenty men aged between twenty- five and forty and two women. A huge cache of arms and explosives had been found – together with aerial photos of Hamburg and Frankfurt airports. Their papers had been checked and found to be excellent forgeries.

`You are charged with being accessories to the attempted murder of Hugo Westendorf and others,' Kuhlmann had informed them.

`That should hold them behind bars for a very long time,' he had told an aide with relish.

`Landslide…'

Benoit in Brussels had acted with equal speed once he had been given the codeword. At the same hour chosen by Kuhlmann armed detectives in convoys of cars had sealed off the new village of Vieux-Fontaine outside Ghent.

Twenty-five people, including three women, had been hauled out of bed. After they were taken away in police vans the houses had been turned over. More weapons, more explosives had been found – again with detailed aerial photographs of Zaventem and Liege airports, so detailed they gave the lengths of individual runways.

`Sabotage and terrorism are the charges,' Benoit had told his prisoners. 'You will be our guests for an eternity.' `Landslide..

A large force of Special Branch officers had raided Moor's Landing at 3 am. Ironically, the assault team had come up the Beaulieu River and ashore at the landing stage – the route Tweed was convinced had been used by Stealth ships to bring in the infiltrators. Before dawn twenty-eight adults, including two women, aged between thirty and thirty-five, were taken aboard a fleet of vehicles driven in by road and disguised as tradesmen's vans. Detailed plans of London Airport, Gatwick, and Standstead were found, plus bombs with timer mechanisms and weapons.

The Special Branch officer in command made no comment.

`Well, that cleans up that,' Newman remarked.

`No, it doesn't,' Tweed contradicted him. 'We still have to unmask the identity of Vulcan – probably Wand's most dangerous agent in Europe. Also we have to detect the assassin – the woman who injects cyanide without a second thought.'

They had driven through the night after the climax on the Danish beach – driving south across the Danish border back into Germany. In the early hours of the morning they had arrived back at the Four Seasons in Hamburg.