by Colin Forbes
The seaman gestured for them to join him. They walked over the gangplank, followed him down into a saloon. Curtains were closed over the windows, presumably to ward off the heat. As the seaman was turning round to face them Barton struck him a hard blow on the side of the neck. The seaman reeled. Barton grabbed his long hair, jerked his head forward, then shoved it back against the wooden panelling with all his force. He fell and didn't move again.
'You kill him,' gasped Panko.
'Let's get this thing moving.' Barton took an automatic rifle out of a well-worn hold-all he had been carrying in his left hand. 'Control cabin.'
'What we do with him?'
Panko asked the question as Barton was hurrying back up the steps, disappearing into the control cabin. Panko ran after him.
'You know how boat works?' he asked anxiously.
'I've fooled around with stuff like this on the Norfolk Broads. Go down on the landing stage, untie the mooring rope off the bollard, come back aboard, haul the gangplank on to the deck. Get moving, for God's sake.'
Barton started up the engine. It had a powerful purr. He liked it. Panko had released the mooring rope, run back on board, hauled the gangplank in. He slipped down into the saloon, felt the inert seaman's pulse. There wasn't a flicker. He ran back to the control cabin. Barton was easing the boat away from the landing stage, heading out for the open river. Panko appeared.
'What we do with man you hit? He dead.'
'There's always the river.'
'What is plan?'
'You watch how I handle this. Watch carefully. You only have a handgun. I need to be free to pick off Tweed and his girl with my rifle. They'll never expect an attack to come from the river. Watch what I do, I said.'
'OK. How long it take?'
'To kill Tweed? Five minutes from now.'
On Berg Island, way out in the Baltic, Milo Slavic sat in his study, smoking one of his many small cigars. He looked at his modest watch, then his eyes revolved to Victor Rondel, standing by the sheet of glass from floor to ceiling at the narrow end of the oblong room.
'Time you went to meet Tweed,' he said quietly.
'A bit early.' Rondel checked his Rolex. 'We have to keep to the timetable to pick up tourist passengers.'
'There will be a lot of tourists today.' Milo spoke in an even quieter voice, spacing out his words. 'Because of the hot weather.'
'I guess I'll be on my way…'
'And Victor,' Milo called out as Rondel reached the door. 'If Tweed has his whole team with him, bring them with you.'
'I intended to…'
Opening another door at the end of a long, wide corridor, Rondel stepped out onto a footpath leading down to the coast far below. Long ago Milo had had his castle built near the summit. There was an elevator built into the rock but the athletic Rondel began to skip down the steep curving path. A goat might have hesitated to follow him but he raced down.
At the bottom a three-deck steamer was waiting for him, its engines throbbing away. He ran across the gangplank and gave the order to the captain who was waiting for him.
'Go! We are late.'
In his study Milo checked the time. Unusually, Rondel was cutting it pretty fine. Milo stubbed his cigar, then picked up from behind the pile of books on his desk a silver-plated automatic.
'You will soon be here, Mr Tweed.'
Tweed had ordered three more glasses of orange juice as he relaxed beneath the umbrella. A welcome relief from the burning rays of the sun.
'I wonder where Lord Barford is now,' Paula mused. 'And where he really fits into the picture.'
'That sheet of typed paper which flew out of Thunder's case was pretty explicit. What I'm wondering about is the identity of Mr Blue, M. Bleu as the French call him, or Herr Blau. A strange assassin who kills without anyone hiring him or paying him.'
'Doesn't make sense,' Paula commented.
'It's beginning to give me an idea. Don't ask what – I'm still working on it.'
'It's so relaxing.' She stretched out her legs. 'I could stay here for ever.'
She glanced at Tweed. He was sitting upright, very still as he gazed at the river. She followed his gaze and gasped. A powerboat with a high bridge was cruising slowly alongside the waterfront. One small man she recognized – Panko – was holding the wheel. The other man – Barton – was holding a rifle aimed towards them. Tweed grabbed hold of her, dropped to the ground, hauling her with him.
She was still watching with her chin on the ground when she heard the sound of four shots fired in rapid succession. Then she stared in amazement. Another sliding white wall, six decks high, appeared from the left, its siren screaming non-stop. Its massive prow struck the powerboat, sliced through it, sailed over it, crushing it to pieces as it continued its forward glide. Went on and on, as huge as a skyscraper laid on its side.
Tweed helped her to her feet. She looked at the window behind them. High up, way above where their heads had been, were four star-shaped holes in the large window.
'What is that monster ship?' Paula croaked.
'Ferry from Helsinki, Finland. Once those things are on the move they can't be stopped for quite a while – due to their momentum and incredible size.'
Marler appeared, after secreting his Armalite inside his hold-all. He had scrambled down the stone steps.
'Saw Barton in my cross-hairs. Saw out of the corner of my eye that leviathan of a ship on top of him. He saw it too. Made him jerk his rifle too high. Crazy fool was sailing down the wrong side of the Trave. Heading out for the Baltic you use the far lane. Coming in, the near lane, as the ferry did.'
People who had been seated across the road under the canopy had stood up, rushed forward to the river's edge, staring down. One woman was screaming her head off.
'I think,' said Tweed, standing up, 'we'd better get away from here before that orange juice arrives. Look at the ghouls, hoping for bodies in the Trave.'
'I've looked,' Paula and Marler said at the same moment.
'We'll go towards the Baltic,' Tweed decided and started walking. 'Whoever's meeting us should come that way – if anyone ever does. Here's Lisa. Don't say anything to her about the incident.'
'And here's Rondel, running like mad,' Paula said as they entered a narrow part of the street. 'Lord, he can move.'
'And don't say anything to him,' Tweed whispered to Paula.
Lisa was walking behind them with Marler. Paula stopped.
'What about Harry and Pete?'
'Coming up behind us,' Marler called out. 'And there's Newman, strolling along behind our host.'
Rondel jerked to a halt, gave Paula a warm smile, put his arms round her, kissed her on both cheeks. Then he spoke to Tweed.
'Sorry I'm late. Had to push my way through a load of passengers waiting for the steamer to Berg Island…'
'Passengers?' queried Paula.
'Tell you all about them later. It's not too far to walk. Thank heaven, in this heat. Plenty of refreshments on board. You'll enjoy your trip…" As usual he was talking non-stop, smiling at the same time.'… Baltic's like a mill-pond. Not much of a breeze, but there's air-conditioning in the saloon. We'll have that to ourselves. Can't mix with the proles, can we? The steamer has powerful engines, moves fast, gets there quickly. And there it is. Wasn't so far, was it?' He was holding Paula's arm. 'It is waiting for us. Captain can't move off without me – no matter how long he has to wait…'
The steamer was quite large, had two funnels and three decks. It was painted white and had five flags hanging limply. Not even the hint of a breeze.
'Why five different flags?' Paula asked.
'Germany, Sweden, Norway, Denmark and Finland. I'll explain why when we're comfortable in the saloon. Let me escort you on board.'
He still had hold of her arm as they crossed a wide railed gangplank onto the deck. The crowd of passengers above them were peering down, probably wondering who the honoured guests were. Rondel opened a door and Paula walked into a luxurious saloon, empty exc
ept for a white-coated waiter.
The others followed her, the gangplank was hauled on board, mooring ropes removed, the steamer began to move up the outer reaches of the Trave. As Rondel was releasing her arm she glanced up at him. His skin was tanned darker than it had been in Hamburg. He wore a smart white jacket and trousers and a sailor's peaked cap. She thought he looked extraordinarily handsome.
She had a shock after the steamer left the quay and moved closer to the Baltic. Going over to a window she looked out at the last of Traverminde, at a tall white block of a hotel, the Maritim. Standing on the shore was a tall plump man wearing a straw hat. Oskar Vernon. He had a satisfied expression on his brown face. That was when she began to worry.
CHAPTER 40
Thunder, in his suite in Inselende, on the island of Sylt, was becoming angry. He had tried four times to call Barton without getting any response. In desperation he called Oskar on his mobile.
'Is that Oskar?'
'Yes.'
'What is your surname?'
'Oskar Vernon, for God's sake. I can recognize your voice so why can't you recognize mine?'
'All right, all right. Has anything happened to Tweed? I can't contact Barton.'
'You sound worried. Quite unnecessary. I saw him go aboard a ship with his whole team. The ship is sailing to an island far out in the Baltic. It will be his last voyage.'
'Are you sure?'
'No, I'm not sure.' Oskar paused, to let Thunder sweat. 'I am absolutely certain, positive. The world will never see him again. He will simply disappear.'
'You mean he will be dead?'
'How many ways do I have to explain it? He will be dead – kaput, as the Germans say. I can phrase it in French and Spanish, if you like.'
'That won't be necessary…'
Thunder closed the conversation. He wished that Oskar would show him more respect. But he felt like celebrating. He poured himself another large tot of brandy.
***
Inside the saloon aboard the steamer Paula was sitting on a leather sofa with its back to the beautiful panelled wall. She sat close to Tweed and they were on their own. As Tweed would have instructed, his team was spread out in the large saloon.
A distance away Lisa was talking animatedly to Nield. He seemed to hang on her every word. Newman was chatting to Butler and Rondel at the far end of the saloon. Marler, typically, sat by himself close to the door, gazing round, apparently idly.
'I saw Oskar on the quayside as we were leaving,' Paula said in a low voice. 'He looked very pleased with himself, as though everything was going according to plan. As I was turning away he even gave the steamer a little wave of his hand. I didn't like that.'
'Well, at least we know where he is. And he's not on the ship,' Tweed replied reassuringly.
Paula lapsed into silence. She had an awful feeling that they were trapped. She found it difficult to keep still. Getting up, she stared out of a window. Rondel joined her.
'When do we see Berg Island?' she enquired.
'Soon after we can no longer see the German shore. It is very distant now.'
'Can we see any shore from the island?'
'No. Perhaps I should explain to Tweed and yourself how Milo came to buy the island.'
He guided her back to the sofa where Tweed was sitting, placed himself between them. On tables there were the remains of sandwiches, coffee pots and cups, buckets of ice containing champagne bottles. Paula had eaten a few sandwiches and had drunk only water.
'Many years ago,' Rondel began, 'Berg Island was disputed, that is, its ownership, by Germany, Sweden, Denmark, Finland and even Norway. The trouble was, it is so far out it wasn't near the coastal waters of any of those nations. They just didn't want one of the others to have it. Milo heard about the dispute, visited each capital, put a plan to them. He suggested paying each of them just enough to make them feel agreeable. The island would pass into his hands. At their request, he agreed tourists could visit Berg – but only about a quarter of the island. And they would have to board the steamer at Travemunde. He even paid for the steamer – to give him more control. Hence the tourists who came with us.'
'How long does the agreement last?' asked Tweed.
'Until the end of next month. Then no more tourists and Berg is ours for ever.'
'Milo is clever,' Tweed commented. 'Do any shipping routes pass near here?'
'None.'
Rondel stood up, smiled down at Paula, asked her to come with him.
'Why?' she wanted to know.
'To see the island. Look out of the window. Germany is gone, can't be seen. Follow me.'
Tweed, although not invited, accompanied them. Rondel led them out into the enclosed corridor outside the saloon, walked a short way, turned into a passage crossing to the port side. He gestured towards a large window, stood back.
Paula gazed in awe. Less than half a mile away a mountain seemed to rise out of the placid sea. It was unexpectedly green and near the summit was p'erched a massive castle. Beside it and rising higher than the summit was a large square chimney-like structure of stone. As they came closer she saw palm trees and huge cacti. Nearby were large cones of glass.
'It looks like a tropical paradise,' she said dreamily. 'But how do tropical things survive the winter?'
'Milo's idea. Those cones of perspexhave heaters inside them. When the temperature drops the guards lift the cones and place them over the palms and cacti. Then we turn on the heaters.'
'The guards?' she queried, looking at him.
'Vandals occasionally try to come ashore. The guards have loaded rifles, fire over their heads.'
'Where do you get guards willing to live such a lonely life?'
'They're Slovaks. They know just enough English for us to give them orders. I'd better go – we'll soon be landing.'
'Paula,' Tweed said quietly when they were alone. 'You must always stay by my side from now on. Always.'
'This island worries you?'
'Just a precaution…'
When the steamer had berthed at a quay they had to wait as the tourists were escorted ashore. In several languages they heard Rondel giving them instructions. They must keep to the paths marked with arrows. On no account must they wander into areas marked Verboten.
He led them off the steamer up a flight of steps that ended at the face of the mountain wall, rising sheer up above them. Paula looked up and felt a twinge of vertigo. With a flourish Rondel showed them wide double doors let into the base of the cliff. He pressed four figures in a combination box. She watched carefully. The doors opened and revealed an elevator the size of a cargo lift. All the walls were covered with mirrors, the floor had a deep pile carpet. It reminded her of the elevator in a five-star hotel. They all went inside and had plenty of room. The doors closed, the elevator began a slow ascent.
When the doors opened they walked into a spacious living room. Rondel guided them to another door, knocked on it, opened it and they walked into a long oblong study.
At the far end the wall was a sheet of glass with a panoramic view across the intense blue of the empty Baltic. Behind a desk within yards of the window sat Milo Slavic. He rose to his feet.
'Mr Tweed, welcome to Berg Island. You and I must talk. Do you mind if we go outside now?'
'I would like to do that. But may I bring Paula, my assistant, with me?'
'Miss Grey will also be welcome. If you will follow me.' He turned round just before they left the study. 'Blondel, please entertain our guests.'
Blondel. Paula saw a flash of annoyance cross the Frenchman's face. He quickly suppressed it and bowed his assent.
'This is it,' Paula said to herself.
Milo Slavic, heavier built than Tweed, seemed taller standing up. He wore a smart pale linen jacket and trousers, buttoned up at a high collar which circled his neck. It reminded Paula of pictures she had seen of commissars.
Leaving the study by another door, which clicked locked when he closed it, he guided them along a wide corridor wit
h large rooms on either side and windows which allowed you to see inside. He paused before one window and, looking beyond it, Paula saw a huge room. Inside, girls in white smocks sat in front of computers.
'My decoding room,' Milo explained. 'They constantly surfhorrible word – the foul Internet, searching for coded messages, which they decode and bring to me. We are on the edge of a catastrophic disaster across the West unless we act quickly. I gathered from our earlier conversation that you don't agree with powerful dictatorships – of the kind that Iron Fist Thunder plans for the key countries in the West.'
'No, I don't.'
'A lot of sensible people feel we need more discipline -in schools, in the medical systems, on the streets. I agree. Thunder is exploiting this feeling to seize total power. It is all about power. It has to be stopped and I have worked night and day to establish a weapon which will destroy the insidious Internet. Come with me, both of you.'
He walked further down the corridor, stopped at a closed door on the other side. It was made of steel and had a combination box like the one at the bottom of the elevator, but much larger. He looked at Tweed, at Paula.
'Watch me carefully. Memorize the code.'
Paula repeated it to herself inside her head as Milo slowly pressed numbers. 8925751. Taking out a notepad she wrote it down. Milo raised his thick bushy eyebrows. She showed him the pad. She had recorded the code backwards.
'Very clever,' he said with a smile.
The door opened automatically. He immediately pressed a red button set into the door jamb, only visible with the door open.
'When we really operate the system loud buzzers go off in the coding room. The staff immediately evacuate so they do not suffer from what happens to the screens. But by pressing that red button I have turned off the buzzers. Let me show you…'
It was a small room, occupied only by a strange circular machine with three levers projecting from it. The door had closed behind them. They walked over to the machine.
'Watch again carefully. But before I forget, here is a duplicate key to gain access in here.'
He handed it to Tweed, who held it in his hand. He asked a question.
