Colin Forbes - By Stealth

`Something I forgot to tell you. Dr Wand landed at Kastrup Airport a few hours ago. Inspector Nielsen called me. A limousine met him – he arrived alone. The limo drove him to the Gentofte area north of Copenhagen – a wealthy district with some expensive villas…'

`That's Dr Wand,' Tweed said cynically. 'All financed by his refugee aid organization. You have an address?'

Kuhlmann took out a piece of folded paper, pushed it across the desk.

`That's it. Near some posh hotel called Jaegersborg, Nielsen said. His men are watching Wand's villa.' He held up a hand as Tweed opened his mouth to speak. 'Don't worry – Nielsen's men are being very discreet, conducting their surveillance from a distance with special equipment.'

`Could you do me a favour?' Tweed produced the envelope addressed to Howard containing his written resignation. 'I badly need a courier to fly with this to London urgently tomorrow – no, today. He is to go to Park Crescent and deliver this envelope into Howard's hands personally. No one else but Howard.'

`That's easy.' Kuhlmann took the envelope. 'Any of the local detectives welcome a trip to London. Kohler will choose someone reliable_ He'll be aboard the first flight.'

`Another favour. Can you provide us with a good car to drive to Copenhagen? There are no flights at this hour and I want to be at the Puttgarden ferry terminal to cross the Baltic to Denmark as early as possible. I think I can outmanoeuvre the insidious Dr Wand.'

`A Mercedes, if possible,' Newman chipped in. 'Without police plates.'

`Not wasting time, are we?' Kuhlmann commented. 'I'll go and arrange for a car now. Be back soon…'

Thirty minutes later he opened the door again. `A friend of yours. See you…'

Philip Cardon walked into the room, winked at Newman, sat down on a couch with his case by his side.

`Has Marler a chance in hell of tracing Dr Hyde?' Newman asked anxiously.

`I'm convinced Starmberg is in Jutland with them,' Tweed told him. 'And Marler has pictures of that gentleman he took at Blankenese yesterday morning – you showed one to Paula. He gave me copies.'

Opening the case he had brought from the Four Seasons, Tweed extracted a plastic wallet packed with prints. He handed Newman several of Starmberg. Walking over to Cardon, he selected more prints, spread them on the couch.

`That one is Dr Wand – taken by Marler at London Airport. This one is Dr Hyde. And these three are Jules Starmberg.' Standing up, he felt the fatigue, sat down at the table again.

`When Kuhlmann provides the car I suggest we leave at once, driving through the night to Puttgarden. It's the direct route to Copenhagen.'

`And I suppose,' Newman mused, 'we mustn't forget Stealth – especially after our experiences at Blankenese harbour with the Holsten.'

`Stealth ships are in the forefront of my mind,' Tweed assured him. 'Especially with Wand dashing off to Denmark – and that large colony of unoccupied but furnished houses waiting for occupants in Jutland.'

Latitude 57.45N. Longitude 20.0W. The Mao III, with the Yenan close behind it, was proceeding at less than top speed over two hundred miles west of the tiny island of Rockall. The two vessels, still avoiding the main shipping lanes as far as possible, were well out in the Atlantic.

Kim had ordered Captain Welensky to reduce speed because they had made such good time from the Cape of Good Hope – and it was essential they arrived at the rendezvous at the agreed time. Not before.

It was dead of night as Welensky's massive figure stood on the bridge, arms folded, while the diminutive form of Kim stood beside him. Welensky hoped the Chinese would remain silent, a false hope.

`You will, I assume, continue on course before we make the big turn south-east,' Kim remarked.

`It is my job to maintain the course, to arrive on schedule,' Welensky snapped. 'And what about your problems? I have heard the Scandinavian passengers we are carrying and also those aboard the Yenan are getting restless.'

`No more,' Kim purred. 'When strong mugs of coffee were being prepared for them I personally ground up a small portion of the sleeping drug Soneryl. This was added to their coffee. They are all now very quiet – not asleep, you understand, but extremely passive.'

`When we do turn south-east between the Shetland Islands and Norway, heading for the southern coast of Jutland, I'll need all my concentration. There is plenty of shipping in that area – to say nothing of small vessels supplying the oil rigs.'

He hoped to God Kim would take the hint. It was another futile hope.

`I will, of course, be standing by your side in case of an emergency. And it is vital that we reach the Jutland coast in the middle of the night. That is essential. You have a met forecast yet for that part of the world?'

Fog. Dense fog.'

`Splendid.' Kim almost smiled. We might have ordered it.'

Paula woke up suddenly. Very alert. She was still sprawled on the leather couch, hands and ankles imprisoned with the leather thongs. It was the middle of the night. Thank God they switched off that bloody fluorescent strip. She was aching, every limb stiff from being kept in one position for hours except for the short periods when she was given food and water by Ilena.

She frowned as she heard a noise she'd detected before – a sound like distant breakers crashing on a shore. Was it the sea or pure imagination? She remembered two things Butler had taught her during the refresher training course out at the country house.

`If you're ever held prisoner in solitary confinement by the opposition, concentrate your mind on a problem – to keep your brain active…'

He had also instructed her in what he had called the Houdini technique. She began to practise what she had learnt – as she had done earlier when the light went out and Ilena had slammed the door closed. Letting her right hand and fingers go limp, she began to revolve her wrist inside the thong. To start with she seemed to be getting nowhere, then she sensed a looseness. She persisted, stopped immediately she heard a fresh sound.

A banging, flapping noise which repeated itself at regular intervals. Faint light appeared from the outside world. She realized a shutter closed over the semi-basement window was being whipped back and forth. A fresh sound: the key inserted into the lock on the outside of the door. She shut her eyes.

The door opened, the dazzling fluorescent light came on, and Ilena's deliberate thumping footsteps descended the plank staircase. Reaching the bottom she walked over to the couch and shook Paula by the shoulder.

`I know you not sleep. You want toilet?'

`No. Thank you very much.'

She was careful not to provoke the unpredictable peasant. A trip to the toilet was humiliating. Ilena produced an ancient 7.63 mm Mauser pistol with a long barrel. Had she brought it with her from Romania – or wherever she had come from? Aiming the muzzle at Paula, she unfastened the straps, stood back. Paula then had to push open the door in the basement which led to little more than a cupboard. Inside was an Elsan toilet. While she attended to her needs Ilena stood watching, the gun pointed at her. She was then returned to the couch, the straps reapplied.

`Then I prepare operating table. Dr Hyde very clean man…'

Ilena turned her back on Paula who twisted her head to see what was going on. To her horror she saw Ilena had brought with her a plastic bucket of hot soapy water and a scrubbing brush. She proceeded to scrub every inch of a long wooden table.

Paula had a reaction of terror and fury. Terror at what the preparation forecast for her. Fury that this pig of a woman had woken her up – so she must have assumed before entering – to do this foul job in the middle of the night.