Colin Forbes - By Stealth

Twenty Scandinavians, all between the ages of twenty- five and thirty, smartly dressed and looking like executives, had been playing cards or reading books. They had spent time at the special training camp in the interior of China. There they had been mentally and physically instructed intensively. All had been selected for their Communist leanings – and more especially for their liking for large sums of money. They looked up as Kim entered.

`Nothing to worry about, gentlemen,' Kim assured them. 'A minor collision with floating wreckage. The Mao is in perfect shape…'

Purring no louder than a cat, the Mao's engines carried the Stealth vessel on its north-westerly course, which would take it well clear of the west coast of Africa. It was now heading for its rendezvous at sea with a refuelling tanker.

A short distance behind its stern the smaller Stealth ship maintained the same course. Even in the fog its skipper had no trouble following the Mao – which at frequent intervals emitted a brief signal only capable of being registered by the sonar equipment aboard the second ship.

From the refuelling rendezvous the Mao would continue on its northward course to its ultimate destination. Denmark.

In London Tweed was hyperactive, dealing with half a dozen different problems before flying back to Brussels. Arriving at the Ministry of Defence, he showed his SIS card and was immediately ushered by a guard up a flight of stairs and down endless corridors. Colonel Fieldway, his contact and confidant at the MOD, rose behind his desk to greet him as the guard closed the door.

`I have checked the data we have on Brigadier Burgoyne, as he likes to call himself. Do sit down. That cup of tea has just been poured. Can't recommend it but if you want to wet your whistle..

Fieldway was a man in his mid-forties, tall and thin and sporting a trim brown moustache the same colour as his carefully brushed thatch of hair. He had a long face, alert blue eyes, and, Tweed thought, looked in the pink of physical condition.

`As he likes to call himself,' Tweed repeated. 'What does that mean?'

Fieldway settled himself in his chair behind his desk. Before replying he shuffled papers on top of a file. Tweed recognized the trait: John Fieldway did that when he was unsure of what line to take. He spoke briskly.

`He was Acting Brigadier, but his substantive rank is Colonel. Likes to overawe people by pulling rank – one he's not entitled to.'

`His history?' Tweed asked.

`Burgoyne was a brilliant young officer in the Korean War back in 1950. He gained rapid promotion – the sort that only happens in wartime. He was the only commander who out-manoeuvred the Chinese army when it crossed the Yalu river to support the North Korean lot. He got an MC. Brave as a lion. And a shrewd strategist. The two don't often go together.'

`So far so good,' Tweed commented, sensing a reservation.

`That's about it. In a nutshell.'

`What went wrong?' Tweed probed.

`Oh, you know about that? Very few do. It was kept a bit hush-hush. For the sake of the Army's name and all that.'

`Refresh my memory,' Tweed urged him.

He hadn't a clue what Fieldway was referring to. There was a pause before Fieldway resumed his crisp summary.

`Let's go back to that war. At one stage Burgoyne vanished off the face of the earth. He appeared four months later at his HQ. He'd been trapped behind enemy lines as the UN forces under General MacArthur retreated. He lay low, lived off the country, avoided being spotted. One of your natural guerrillas. Promoted again, he took over command of another unit and the situation stabilized.'

`John, I don't think that was what you had in mind when I asked you to refresh my memory. And, talking about nutshells, that's a pretty big one you've got in front of you. His file, I mean.'

`This is all rather delicate. Must you hear me go over it again?'

`Commander Noble of Naval Intelligence is interested in every aspect of the investigation I'm carrying out. And several people have already been murdered.'

`Good Lord! You do live an exciting life.' He paused again. 'All right, here goes. But this is confidential. Burgoyne resigned from the Army when the Korean business was over. I say "resigned" advisedly.'

`Go on. No point in leaving it there now you've started,' Tweed pressed.

`For one thing there were rumours – no more – that he'd embezzled Army funds on a large scale.'

`And for another?'

Fieldway, now looking unhappy, shuffled some more papers.

`Well, there were stories that he had contacts with the Chinese High Command after he'd left the Army.' Field- way was consulting his file for the first time. 'No proof. Just more rumours.'

`What would be his purpose in doing that – if the rumours were true?'

`He had formed several trading companies in Hong Kong and quickly became a well-known businessman. Mixed at the highest level with the so-called taipans in the colony.'

`So, how does that link up with the Chinese High Command?'

Fieldway looked up. 'I did say all this was highly confidential?'

`You did.'

Tweed was the soul of relaxation. Settled in his chair he sipped a little more of his tea. It tasted awful.

`The official version,' Fieldway explained, 'is that he was buying timber from Peking – Beijing – I do wish that these new countries, regimes, would stop mucking about with familiar names.'

`You were saying,' Tweed reminded him.

`Buying timber from the Chinese at prices way below the world market price. That put him in a position to make huge profits when he sold the timber to other countries.'

`And the unofficial version?'

`That the timber deals were a cover for smuggling banned high-tech equipment to Peking. And that,' Field- way emphasized, 'was a very vague rumour.'

`So what eventually brought Burgoyne home from the Far East?'

`He sold out his companies to locals at a high price before leaving Hong Kong at short notice. He was on a plane flying home before the buyers of his companies found out the catch.'

`Which was?'

`The Chinese overnight raised the price of the timber they were selling to world market prices. No more easy profits for the new owners of Burgoyne's companies.'

`So Burgoyne out-manoeuvred some of the shrewdest businessmen in the world.'

`Looks like that.' Fieldway closed his file with a snap. `That's all I have.'

`I'm very grateful.' Tweed rose, shook hands with Fieldway, who leaned across his desk, stood up. 'No, don't bother to show me the way out. I know the drill.'

Tweed turned round suddenly as he was opening the door. Fieldway was still standing up and looked uncomfortable, even embarrassed. Why?

As Tweed travelled back from Whitehall to Park Crescent in a taxi he totted up in his mind the data assembled so far. In a taxi no one could get at him.

On the flight to Brussels Burgoyne, Willie, and Helen Claybourne had been aboard the same plane. 'A coincidence? Tweed didn't believe in them. He remembered Paula and Marler telling him about the trip to the new village outside Ghent.

From their description it sounded like a Belgian replica of Moor's Landing on the Beaulieu River. Tweed's mind recalled a certain passage in Andover's file about the Mongol invasion of the West.

Then there was the macabre murder of Hilary Vane when she arrived at London Airport with Cord Dillon. The murder carried out by another woman, with a wide-brimmed hat. He played back in his mind Vane's report he had heard on the tape. Three top Stealth scientists vanishing to the Far East, according to Dillon. Always the road led to the Far East.

Dr Wand owned Moonglow Trading amp; Mercantile International – based in Hong Hong. No one knew what he traded in. Mercantile? That suggested shipping to Tweed. Then there was his verbal duel with Wand at the luxurious Waterloo villa. A more sinister man Tweed had never met.