by Colin Forbes
'Anyone I know?'
'I doubt it. A man with a brilliant brain called Oskar Vernon. With Vernon and Brigadier Barford running the operation we cannot fail.'
CHAPTER 31
'There's a windmill,' Paula said, 'and the sails are turning.'
'That's because for the first time since we arrived in Germany a wind has blown up,' Tweed told her. 'It's a south wind so it will be warm. Don't expect any relief from the heat.'
'You're so encouraging. Now we're leaving Flensburg behind where are we heading for?'
'As close as we can get to the island of Sylt in the North sea - or the Nordsee as the Germans call it. Sylt is the last in the chain of German Frisian Islands. Immediately north of there and you're in Denmark.'
'Why Sylt?'
'Because I want to see if there are signs of preparations for a rendezvous of international statesmen.'
'You mean politicians, don't you?' suggested Newman behind the wheel of the blue Mercedes. 'There aren't any statesmen these days.'
'I stand - or rather sit - corrected. We're now on Route 199. In a while we move on to small country roads. I'll continue guiding you.'
Paula was staring out on to the sun-scorched countryside. Its character had changed from the monotony of the endless maize crops. It was becoming hilly, with copses of trees often growing by the roadside. More intimate and varied. Again the road was free of any other traffic and she welcomed the atmosphere of peace, the feeling that nothing awful could happen here. Tweed turned round to look at Lisa.
'You really are back to normal, I'd say.'
'Shall I tell him why?' Paula wondered and giggled.
'Go on,' Lisa urged her. 'Why not? It was funny.'
'We went into a restaurant in the Grosse Strasse after the incident,' she explained tactfully. 'We ordered coffee but Lisa was, naturally, dying to have a real wash-down. So she pretended to be ill and I escorted her to the ladies'. Then I stood on guard outside to stop anyone getting in. One unpleasant middle-aged woman tried to push past me. In German I told her the position and said she'd have to find somewhere else. She stormed off.'
'In the meantime,' Lisa took up the story, 'I'd stripped off, used up four flannels washing myself all over. I felt tons better when I'd dried myself even though I had to put on the same clothes.'
'That was a good idea,' said Tweed.
'Oh, there was something else,' Paula recalled, her tone of voice serious. 'I'm sure that while I was standing there looking through the windows into the street I saw someone we know. You're not going to believe this.'
'Try me.'
'I'd bet a lot of money I did see him. Striding down the street. It was his walk which caught my attention. You can always tell a person by his walk.'
'Who, for heaven's sake?' asked the exasperated Tweed.
'The Brig. Bernard Lord Barford.'
'What on earth is that gigantic aqueduct thing?' Paula wondered.
They had travelled quite a distance when the massive structure came into view. At the bottom of a slope leading up to it stood a stationary train.
'That,' Tweed said, 'is the famous Hindenburg Dam which carries the railway - the only access to the island - to Sylt. The train appears to be waiting for something, which is odd.'
'I can hear a machine flying in the air a long way off,' remarked Lisa.
'Bob!' Tweed's instruction was urgent. 'Take this turning to the right. We're nearly on it.'
Newman slowed, swung the car skilfully just in time to drive up a hedge-lined lane which climbed steeply. Ahead of it was the summit of a small hill with a dense copse of trees to the left. On top of a slightly higher hill behind the copse stood a windmill, its sails motionless.
'Keep it moving,' Tweed urged.
'Which way now?' shouted Newman as he came to a fork.
'Take the right turn.'
Paula leaned forward. As far as she could tell this lane would lead close to the windmill. They topped a rise and saw a smaller copse very close to the windmill on the edge of the road.
'Get under those trees, then stop,' Tweed ordered.
'Like me to turn a somersault?' asked Newman.
He drove along a track under the trees, came to a glade, turned the car round so they faced the way they had come but were still sheltered under the trees. They could all now hear the sound of a large aircraft beginning its descent. Tweed grabbed his binoculars, looped them round his neck, dived out of the car. He called out to Paula to bring her camera.
Out in the open they were hidden but perched high up, looking down on the other copse. Paula stared, then whipped up her own binoculars, pressed them against her eyes. She was aiming the lenses at the edge of the larger copse below. She sucked in her breath.
'Look at the edge of those trees down there. A tall man. Not in uniform but I'm sure it was Danzer.'
'Where?' asked Tweed.
'He's gone now. I just caught a fleeting glimpse. He's slipped back out of sight inside the wood.'
'Pretty unlikely that Danzer would be in this part of the world.'
'I know it was Danzer,' she said stubbornly. 'The same dark hair, the same figure, the same way of standing very erect, the same way of moving. What more do you want?'
'A photograph would help . . .'
'If we'd damned well got up here earlier I might have been able to take a shot of him with my camera.'
'Cool it,' Newman advised. 'There's a lot more to watch if you'd just look.'
The large helicopter was landing very slowly on a round pad. Then from nowhere a horde of Americans came running to the pad, some in uniform, some in civilian clothes. They were careful to stand well back while the rotors slowed, stopped. Then the wind returned, blowing strongly. Paula could feel its warmth on her face. Now the Americans were moving forward to the landing pad.
'I don't know that the Germans would be pleased at having a load of uniformed American troops on their soil,' Newman remarked. 'Unless they've got permission. And they're all carrying automatic rifles. We'd better stay just where we are.'
Tweed and Paula had their binoculars focused on the machine. A door opened, a staircase, electrically operated, descended. The wind was blowing Lisa's hair all over the place. A man, carrying an executive case, walked gingerly down the steps. As he did so the lid of his case fell open. A paper flew out, was caught by the wind, carried up the hill close to where they stood.
'Get that if you can,' snapped Tweed.
Harry took off. Close to the road they had driven up was a gully, which looked as though water flowed down it during wet weather. He slid down the gully, out of sight, reached the errant sheet, grabbed it, worked his way back up the gully. He handed it to Tweed who, holding his binoculars with one hand, took the paper with the other, folded it once and put it in his pocket.
'That was Gavin Thunder who lost a sheet from his case. Here, behind him, comes the American Secretary of State, followed by the German Deputy Chancellor and the French Prime Minister. The gang's all here. The Elite Club has arrived.'
'A limo's driven up,' Newman reported, 'to take them to Sylt. At the back of the train there's a ramp the limo can go up to put them aboard the train. Hang on . . .' He paused. 'Before getting into the limo Thunder's giving some instructions to a small stocky man in civvies. He's pointing up this way.'
The limo drove off, heading for the ramp. A crowd of men in boiler jackets and wearing baseball caps had flooded out of nowhere. The stocky civilian went to meet them, pointed up the hill to the wood where Tweed and his team were sheltering from view. Several of the men in boiler suits, accompanied by uniformed troops, started climbing up the hill. At that moment the pilot of the helicopter started up his rotors - checking the engines prior to maintenance. The engine row was deafening.
'They're coming up here,' warned Newman. I'm going to back the car out of the other end of this wood. The track goes right through it..."
'He's chosen the right moment to move the car,' Paula said, her mouth close to Twe
ed's ear. 'The roar of the rotors will drown the sound of the engine — and we'd better get moving . . .'
The Americans, with the stocky man in the lead, were coming up the hill fast. Tweed and the others ran deeper into the wood, following the Mercedes which was backing at speed. Reaching the end of the track they emerged into the open, dived inside the car.
'Head for that windmill,' Tweed ordered. 'There's nowhere else to hide,'
Paula agreed. Below the hill a vast flat area spread out, a plain which went on and on and which she felt must be Denmark. To the left they could see the brilliant blue of the North Sea stretching away to a distant horizon.
'That windmill may be occupied,' Newman objected. 'The sails aren't moving and there's a strong wind.'
'Just do it,' ordered Tweed. 'They'll be here in a minute and won't like our presence.'
The windmill, very large, was six-sided and on the ground floor were windows. Tweed imagined they were the living quarters. The tips of the giant motionless sails were suspended only a few feet above the ground - at least two of the sails were in this position. The front door was closed. Tweed thought the mill looked deserted.
'The ground floor is where people live,' he told Paula. 'It also has the machinery which operates the sails in a wind.'
'You sound as though you've been inside one.'
'I have. Once stayed twenty-four hours with a friend in a mill he owned in East Anglia.'
'There's a big shed next to it,' she called out. 'Maybe we could park the car inside.'
'Provided it's empty,' Newman told her.
'Hurry it up.' snapped Tweed, who had glanced back.
There was still no sign of the Americans coming through the wood. But they would appear soon, he felt sure.
'I'm going as fast as I can over this rough ground,' Newman retorted.
It was a race against very little time, if this windmill was to be a refuge. Newman pulled up close to double wooden doors at the end of the shed. Tweed jumped out, followed by Paula. Running up to the heavy wooden front door he looked for a bell push. There wasn't one. He turned the handle, pushed the door inwards and there was a musty smell. Stepping a few paces onto a wooden floor he called out.
'Anyone at home? We're English.'
A brooding silence in the half-light. No sound of movement. And a place like this would creak if occupants started to walk about.
'I think it's empty,' whispered Paula.
'Everyone inside here. Move like lightning,' Tweed shouted from the doorway.
As the team was piling inside Marler opened both doors of the shed. It was empty. He stood aside, motioned to Newman to drive forward. With the Mercedes inside they shut the doors, fastened the crude latch, ran into the mill and Tweed closed the front door.
'Watch yourselves,' he called out. 'There's dangerous machinery in this place.'
'We're going up to the top,' said Nield.
With Harry at his heels, he began cautiously climbing a crude wooden staircase circling the wall of the mill. With no protecting rail on the open side it felt hairy the higher they climbed. Looking down was not a good idea.
'Don't show yourselves by a window,' Tweed called up to them.
Reaching a platform high up, again without a protective rail, Nield peered quickly through a tiny window covered with a net curtain. He nudged Harry.
'See what I see?'
What they had feared had appeared. Rushing into the open, from the end of the track through the wood, were American uniformed soldiers, holstered guns at their hips, led by the stocky civilian. One very big soldier had attracted Nield's attention. It was the American they had encountered back in Hamburg on the pavement not far from the Atlantic Hotel.
'There's a soldier who could recognize Harry and me,' he called down the long drop.
'Shut up. Keep still. Don't make a sound,' Tweed called up.
He had seen them coming through a ground-floor window covered with a net curtain in need of cleaning. He picked up an old straw hat and crammed it on his head. Paula blinked as she looked at him taking off his jacket so he was in shirt sleeves.
'You look like a peasant.'
'That's the idea.'
'What's that grim-looking thing?'
She was pointing to a huge wooden wheel mounted parallel to the floor with savage-looking teeth at regular intervals and close together. A very thick wooden pole rose up from its centre and ascended vertically until it vanished from sight. Near it were several wooden levers.
'That operates the grinding system if die sails are turned by a wind - once I've pulled one of those levers. Now keep quiet, for heaven's sake. Is everyone hidden?'
He looked round and couldn't see a single member of his team. Near where Tweed had found the hat Paula saw an old pinafore. Obviously a woman had been here at one time. Swiftly she slid off her jeans, wrapped the pinafore round herself. Fortunately it had been used by a larger woman. Tweed peered out of the window again.
They were almost here. The stocky civilian was leading the troop of soldiers as he approached the front door. Tweed opened it before he could reach it. Wearing his straw hat he stepped outside, gave a beaming smile. He began jabbering away non-stop and Paula understood not one word. He seemed to be uttering several words containing the letter 'k.' The stocky man stood still, held up an open folder.
'FBI.'
'What was FBI?' asked Paula, who appeared by Tweed's side.
'You speak English, ma'am?' the FBI man demanded. 'What language was he speaking?' He pointed at Tweed.
'Please?' Paula seemed confused. 'You say?'
'What language was he speaking?' The FBI man worked his thick lips rapidly, as though speaking, pointing again at Tweed.
'Ah!' Paula smiled. 'Speak? Him. He speak the Danish.'
'Jesus!' The FBI man took a step back. 'We could be in Denmark. The border is just north of Sylt. The last goddamn' thing we want is an international incident -considering what is happening on Sylt.'
He had looked up at the huge American soldier by his side as he said this. The soldier stared at Paula with interest and she had trouble maintaining her demure expression. She could see he was aggressive, used to pushing his way in anywhere he chose to.
'I say we search the dump. We gotta find that piece of paper.'
'Yo', said Tweed.
'You've seen a piece of paper blowing round here?' the FBI man asked.
Tweed started his non-stop jabbering again. He waved his arms in a friendly gesture, then opened the palms of both hands and made a pushing motion in the friendliest manner. He kept on jabbering.
'I think he's telling us we ought not to be here,' the FBI man said.
'I say we go in and rip the guts out of the place,' the soldier snarled.
He took two steps forward and Tweed decided more drastic action was needed to get rid of them. His head and wide shoulders were three feet away from the tip of one of the sails. Tweed jabbered to Paula, disappeared inside the mill. Paula didn't know what he was going to do but felt she must stop the soldier entering the mill. She was still smiling when she spoke.
'He work. Work. You know work?'
'Yeah, baby,' the soldier told her. 'We work but we like a little fun too.'
Inside the mill Tweed was crouched over the three wooden levers, trying to remember from his short stay in East Anglia which was the correct one. He couldn't remember. Closing his eyes, he reached out with his hand, grasped a lever, pulled it down.
The wheel began to turn with an aching grind. He opened his eyes and saw the vertical column also revolving. Outside the sails, caught by the wind, began moving. The sail close to the soldier hit his head. He yelled, automatically lifted both hands, felt the sail, grabbed hold of it. He was lifted off his feet as the sail began its ascent, continued to rise higher and higher. Peering through the window Tweed saw what was happening. Right, you asked for this, he thought. He waited, then pushed up the lever he had pulled down. The wheel and the vertical spindle stopped. Outside he
heard yelling, then laughter. He ran out.
The sail had stopped at its uppermost height. The soldier was clinging to it, terrified, staring down. Below him the other soldiers were roaring with laughter, prodding each other, pointing up at the suspended soldier who was shouting in fear.
'Get me down. Can't hold on much longer . . .'
Tweed stared up, looked at the FBI man who was suppressing a smile. He began jabbering, waving his arms, as though to say why has he gone up there? Tweed looked amazed, ran back inside. Grasping the lever he had operated earlier, he rammed it down as far as it would go, then ran outside.
The sail rocketed downward. The soldier hit the ground with a hard thump, let go and the sail continued its swift climb. Nobody helped him to get up. He was the bully of the unit. He clambered painfully to his feet.
'Need first aid,' he gasped. 'Shoulder broken . . .'
'No, it isn't,' snapped the FBI man. 'For God's sake get him out of here. He's caused enough trouble.'
Two soldiers grabbed hold of the injured man, practically dragged him away towards the wood. As they did so, another man in civilian clothes appeared. He called out to the FBI man.
'The fifth man hasn't come. Sent a message he can't be here.'
'Then forget Number Five.' He turned to Tweed and Paula and for the first time had the ghost of a smile on his hard face.
