Colin Forbes - By Stealth

`This gun is pressed into your spine. Drop your own or you'll be a cripple for life. At the best,' Newman concluded.

Tweed heard a tiny click: the safety catch being put on. Then a much louder sound as the weapon hit the tar. He turned round slowly. The first voice had sounded familiar, so he was not too surprised to face Chief Inspector Otto Kuhlmann of the Criminal Police from Wiesbaden.

`A nice warm friendly welcome to Germany, Otto,' he said genially. 'But what the hell are you doing here?'

Newman had holstered his weapon. Kuhlmann bent down, retrieved his own gun, straightened up, and glared at Newman. The German police chief was short in stature but had very wide shoulders. He always reminded Newman of old films he'd seen starring Edward G. Robinson. The same wide mouth, tough face, thick dark hair and eyebrows. The same alert eyes and dynamic energy. A powerhouse of a police chief – and one of Tweed's old friends.

`My apologies,' Kuhlmann began, 'but we get a call from a man who says he is Tweed. That is, one of my officers took that call. Can we be sure of your identity? And in the dark you were just a shadow. We are taking no chances.'

`Neither am I,' Newman told him. 'Like you, I just saw a shadow with a gun. I'm not apologizing.'

`You have a permit for that weapon?' Kuhlmann asked in a gentle voice.

`He hasn't,' Tweed said quickly. 'But if I am right about what has been experienced by Hugo Westendorf protection was in order.'

`I may forgive you, Newman.' Kuhlmann turned to Tweed. 'Shall we see what is going on inside Schloss Tannenberg – before we freeze to death out here…?'

Tweed braced himself for his first sight of Westendorf. He remembered him well from the time the German Minister, as he then was, had visited Britain incognito to attend a meeting of INCOMSIN – the International Committee of Strategic Insight.

The German had been six foot two inches tall, of slim build, and with a strong-boned face and a high forehead. His mind had been like quicksilver, his manner courteous, and his energy phenomenal. Tweed dreaded what he was about to witness.

Kuhlmann pressed the bell beside the heavy closed door four times in quick succession, then once again after a pause. As it was, when the door was opened a few inches the first thing Tweed saw was the muzzle of a Heckler and Koch 9mm sub-machine-gun. The man holding it came into view, a plain-clothes detective without a smile. Was this the voice which had answered him on the phone, Tweed wondered.

They were admitted with Kuhlmann ushering in Paula, whom he hugged, and then the other two. Tweed then had the shock of his life.

'We shouldn't talk,' Tweed warned quickly. 'This place is probably bugged.'

'It was,' Kuhlmann replied. 'I ripped out every listening device myself.'

But it was Hugo Westendorf Tweed was staring at. The German had crossed the large hall with a brisk step, holding out his hand. He carried himself erect, his grip was strong. There were no signs of strain on his face and he greeted his visitor with a warm smile.

`Welcome to Schloss Tannenberg, my friend. It is so very good to see you.'

'And I thought someone – maybe your son, Franz – had been kidnapped.'

`But he has been. Three months ago. Which is why I resigned. It was a demand of the kidnappers – which I at once acceded to.'

They were sitting in a comfortable library Westendorf had suggested as a good place to talk. Their German host stood in front of a blazing log fire inside a huge stone alcove. The walls were lined with bookcases from floor to ceiling and Tweed had the impression the books were read. He was mystified by the situation and phrased his question with care.

`As far as you know, is Franz in good health?'

`You mean,' Kuhlmann intervened, 'has Westendorf received a severed arm or hand – like Andover and Delvaux. The answer is no. Westendorf communicated with me as soon as Franz had been kidnapped. I have worked in great secrecy. The press have no idea of what happened.'

`What action did you take?' Tweed asked.

`I launched the greatest dragnet ever mounted in the Federal Republic. I turned over Germany. Always in secrecy. I contacted informants in the underground criminal world and they started looking. Like so many respectable citizens, they hate the alien refugees – many of whom compete in the rackets.'

`The object was to locate Franz if you could?'

`Only partly.' It was Westendorf who explained. 'I had heard from Andover and Delvaux the dreadful experience they had suffered – I travelled to meet them in Liege. Kuhlmann's main purpose was to keep the kidnappers and my kidnapped son on the move. The doctor who carried out amputations on Andover's daughter, on Delvaux's wife, would need peace and quiet – above all, security – to perform his fiendish work. Kuhlmann made sure they never had the time. He missed trapping them three times by hours – but they kept running like scared rabbits.'

`But what is the present situation?' Tweed enquired.

Kuhlmann had lit one of his cigars. He waved it in the air like a baton as he replied.

`Franz Westendorf was freed from an isolated farmhouse outside Bremen a few hours ago. His three captors were shot dead. I obtained permission from the new Minister of the Interior – a friend of Westendorf's – to use our elite anti-terrorist team.'

`That ends the chance of identifying the mastermind behind all this,' Tweed observed.

`No chance!' Kuhlmann snapped. 'The kidnappers were gypsy rubbish from the East. They'd had no idea who was controlling them. I emphasize I only took this line of action with the full consent of Westendorf.'

`It was blackmail.' The German ex-Minister stiffened as he spoke. 'I will never give in to blackmail. And Franz, who is eighteen in three days' time, holds the same view.'

`You showed a lot of courage,' Tweed remarked. 'But you did resign as Minister, as well as your membership of INCOMSIN and other organizations.'

`On Kuhlmann's advice,' Westendorf told him. 'The aim was to confuse the man behind the kidnapping. At first, he thinks I'm reacting like Andover and Delvaux. Meantime Kuhlmann is harassing the kidnappers, keeping them on the move, always looking over their shoulders.'

`How did you eventually trace Franz?' Tweed asked.

`As I'm sure you know,' Kuhlmann replied, 'from your one-time experience as Scotland Yard's youngest superintendent in Homicide, you need a little luck. But you must have the wit to know it when you are given the luck. A schoolboy identified the original vehicle used in the kidnap as a grey Audi. One of his friends found the empty Audi parked near this villa, little knowing the kidnap was in progress. The schoolboy – for a bit of fun – burst the yellow balloon his friend had attached to the rear of the Audi. I found this fact in a routine report. So I knew the Audi might still have a limp balloon dangling from it – something the kidnappers might not have noticed. I circulated the report.'

`And then?' Tweed enquired as Kuhlmann took a puff at his cigar.

`Having switched cars many times, I'm sure, the damned fools hung on to the Audi. Earlier today a motorcycle patrolman in Bremen saw an Audi stopped in the traffic – and noticed a limp yellow balloon hanging from its rear. It was foggy and he followed it into the country to this farmhouse. He used his radio to Bremen police HQ and I heard the news inside thirty minutes in the Action Centre I'd established here at Berliner Tor. A unit of the anti-terrorist team was flown to Bremen…'

`On rather a long shot,' Tweed commented.

`Not too long. I'd first phoned Bremen and the locals said the farmhouse had been rented three months ago with a bank draft from Luxemburg City. That was enough for me. I ordered the raid to go ahead. You know the result.'