Colin Forbes - By Stealth

`Could you please come back in five minutes? Thank you.'

He opened the hold-all, took out an Armalite with spare ammo, and exchanged it for Marler's weapon. There were also two 7.65mm Walther automatics with spare magazines. He handed one each to Butler and Nield. Collecting Newman's. 38 Smith amp; Wesson and Paula's Browning, he put them into the hold-all with the spare ammo, zipped up the hold-all. When the courier returned he handed it to him and apologized in German for keeping him up all hours. The detective grinned, handed him permits for the weapons.

'My chief doesn't think clocks exist…'

`What next?' Newman enquired, suppressing a yawn.

`In the morning Westendorf is calling for us here at nine o'clock. Now, you all get some sleep, and that's an order. Lord knows what tomorrow will bring.'

It was a remark he was to recall with horror later.

At nine o'clock on the dot that morning the black Mercedes, with Westendorf at the wheel, pulled up outside the Four Seasons. Tweed sat next to the German while Newman and Paula climbed into the back. The fog had gone.

'How is Franz?' Tweed asked, as they moved into heavy traffic.

'He was brought home early. He's very fit – mentally and physically, shows no signs of his ordeal. We talked nonstop for an hour, then he fell fast asleep.'

`He's guarded at the villa?'

`The inside and the grounds are swarming with concealed and heavily armed police. Kuhlmann insisted on it.'

`But what about yourself? Shouldn't you also be guarded?'

`I am – against my protests.' Westendorf glanced in the rear-view mirror. 'Not far behind us are two unmarked police cars. Kuhlmann's work, I'm sure.'

`Very wise…'

Paula looked out as the car moved through the suburbs which gave way to the wealthy districts. By daylight – and with the sun shining – she could see clearly the magnificent villas in their generous grounds. Tweed gestured towards them.

`You have friends here, I suppose?'

`Not really.' Westendorf smiled. 'These rich – very rich – people keep to themselves. Many go back for generations. Some are in shipping, others own large breweries founded ages ago. They form a select club and mix only with each other. Nothing wrong with that. They have a right to preserve their own way of life.' He smiled again. `But if one of their daughters tries to marry outside their class all hell breaks loose. I do not expect Franz to find his fiancee round here…'

He fell silent, concentrated on his driving. Paula realized they were taking a different route from the previous evening. They climbed and then Westendorf pulled up at the edge of a grassy slope. He waved a hand.

`The Sullberg, the highest point in Blankenese. If you don't mind a short walk we can look down and see what is going on. Then we drive down to the harbour.'

They climbed a wide flight of steps leading to a restaurant at the summit. Westendorf opened a door and they followed him inside. Westendorf greeted a waiter carrying a tray piled high with clean dishes.

`They know me here,' he explained, 'so they won't mind us looking at the view.'

He led the way to a glassed-in terrace and Paula almost gasped at the extent of the panorama. It was a beautiful morning and the air was clear to the horizon. On the far side of the Elbe, which lay below, open countryside stretched away. Tweed pointed downwards.

At the edge of the harbour was anchored an enormous barge. Standing on its decks was a massive lifting crane, the chain disappearing below the water. Paula shook her head to clear her mind. It seemed unreal – the wonderful view and the nightmare of the previous evening. Westendorf pointed to the far shore.

`Over there they grow the largest cherries you will find anywhere in Germany. But perhaps we had better drive down now…'

There were crowds of sightseers held back a distance from the harbour by uniformed police. Several patrol cars were parked – cream Volvos with a blue trim and the word Politi in black on their fronts and sides.

Tweed was pleased there was a crowd. He had delayed the departure of Marler and his team for Denmark so they could check for signs of the opposition. As Kuhlmann, smoking a cigar, approached, Newman slipped away, donning a cloth cap he had taken from his trench coat pocket and a pair of glasses with plain lenses.

`Come with me,' Kuhlmann said. 'Whatever is down there is making its appearance shortly.'

Paula followed, puzzled by Newman's swift departure. She had already noticed that one of the unmarked cars had stopped, that plain-clothes detectives leaving the car were close to Westendorf. She had also seen Marler on the edge of the crowd and Cardon, in his German suit, walking round behind the sightseers.

Kuhlmann led them to the end of the shorter jetty, held up his hand, and waited. The lift crane was straining at something, like a fisherman hauling in a giant fish. The chain was taut, made a clanking sound as it slowly ascended. The crowd had gone quiet.

Two frogmen appeared from below the surface of the Elbe and climbed up steps along the jetty wall. They stood still while water dripped off them, staring at the water which was churning now, creating small waves which lapped against the wall. The crane's catch emerged suddenly. Paula sucked in her breath.

`My God!' growled Kuhlmann. 'What the hell could have done that?'

Shedding a small Niagara of water, the claw of the crane's lifting device appeared, clutching the prow, the bridge, and a section aft of the bridge of the Holsten. Half the hull and the stern were still at the bottom of the Elbe. But it was the clean-cut break in the vessel which had caused Kuhlmann's outburst.

There was not a loose splinter of wood visible. It was as though an immense axe had sliced straight through the vessel amidships. Holding on to Tweed's arm, Paula peered over the edge of the jetty. The stone wall had a deep fissure where something had rammed it with tremendous impact. She told Tweed what she had seen.

`I'm not too surprised,' he said.

`Why not?'

`I remember what Commander Noble said in London when he was listing the ships which have disappeared all over the world. His story about a crewman dropped from a helicopter with a cradle – when they found the relic of a small vessel belonging to a German fisherman called Vogel. Only the bow remained – sliced clean off with Vogel's decapitated head jammed in that relic.'

`How many of these Stealth ships do you think there are?'

He didn't reply because Kuhlmann came back to them. He looked grim.

`The frogmen – and one is ex-Navy – say they've never seen anything like this. What's your guess?'

`A ship with a knife-edged prow made of some sort of steel.' Tweed shrugged. 'And that is only a guess. Were there any ships moving on the Elbe last night?'

`No!' Kuhlmann was emphatic. 'I've been in touch with the Harbour Master. The fog was so dense nothing left its berth. A tanker was due to sail downriver but cancelled its departure. And the Coastguard reported the fog was dense at the mouth until dawn. No ship was at sea – their radar would have picked it up.'

`No, it wouldn't – they don't have the right equipment.' `If you say so. I have to get back over there. You'll keep in touch?'

`Of course.' Tweed waited until Kuhlmann had gone before he answered Paula's question. 'How many Stealth ships? A lot, I suspect. And maybe with vastly different tonnages. The one that sank the Ho! sten – and hoped to sink us – may well have been testing its skill in navigating up a major European river. It just happened to be handy and in radio contact with some of Dr Wand's thugs…'

He stopped speaking as Newman, who had removed his cloth cap and glasses, appeared by their side. He dropped his voice.

`Don't stare round, but I spotted our friend, Jules Starmberg, mingling with the crowd. Marler has photographed him three times with that second camera he always carries, the one that develops and prints automatically. And Starmberg hasn't a clue his ugly mug has been recorded. Paula, you haven't seen him – here is one of the prints.'