by Colin Forbes
`What's happening?' he asked.
`Look over there – the flashing light. Gedser lighthouse. Keep on our previous course and we run slap into Denmark. Look at the chart,' Newman said.
They were moving under full power now. Tweed had realized this when he saw the swift sweep of the wake, a blurred froth on the black Baltic. He groaned inwardly when he examined the chart. Only about a quarter of the way to Copenhagen.
`I think I'll take a brief nap,' Nield said, standing up off the leather-backed stool in front of the transceiver. 'Always kip when you can. Wake me if Casey calls..
Kip when you can. The phrase recalled to Newman Falken's three basic maxims. Where was the German now? Where was Gerda? He pushed the thoughts out of his mind, concentrating on his steering. Newman and Tweed were alone for the first time since they'd boarded the Sudwind.
`Is this legal?' Newman asked. 'Pirating the Sudwind?' `Doubt it. Is smuggling heroin – five hundred kilos of killer, legal?'
`You have a point. What do we do when – if – we catch up with Dr Berlin?'
`If I'm right, he has to disappear forever.'
That's why you checked that I had the Luger?'
`We'll decide how we do it when the time comes. We can't afford the scandal. England can't. Mass murderer a senior chief in the SIS. Not on, Bob. I'm just not sure how we are going to accomplish the job.'
`Which is why you won't let Casey get the harbour master at Copenhagen to stop the Sudwind?'
`I don't like it any more than you do. But it's the only way.'
They were off the east coast of the Danish island of Sjelland – on which Copenhagen stands – when Tweed spotted the navigation lights of the Sea King approaching high up. He glanced at the transceiver, went aft to the cabin and shook Nield who was sprawled in one of the bunks.
`Signal coming through…'
Nield came awake instantly, swung his legs on to the deck and ran up the steps. When Tweed reached the bridge he was sitting with his headset in position. He listened, made a note on his pad, acknowledged, took off the headset and went to the chart table, marking a cross.
`Sudwind now here. Very close to entrance to Oresund.' `Call back to Casey,' Tweed said sharply. 'Tell to keep the vessel under very close observation for the next hour.'
`What's the matter?' Newman asked, turning the wheel a few degrees. 'And I've been thinking. Why didn't we take the night express to Copenhagen with Diana and Butler? We'd have arrived in plenty of time to hire a boat and wait for Berlin to arrive.'
`Because of the signal Nield is sending. The Sudwind may still turn due east, then move north up into the Swedish – even the Finnish – archipelago. Even with a chopper tailing him, he could have given it the slip. You remember those archipelagos? Thousands of islands and they're like a labyrinth.'
`Why would he go up there?'
`Because he may make another transhipment to another vessel. They've done that once – you saw it aboard the Wroclaw.' -
`What type of vessel?'
`Maybe another power cruiser like this one, like the Nordsee. A cruiser called the Nocturne.'
`You have a reason for thinking that?'
`Yes. I've just realized who that man with bandages on his face – the one who called on Ann Grayle – is.'
Fifty-Three
'The cargo is well on its way. I've just received a radio signal confirming all is well,' Lysenko reported from his apartment in Leipzig.
'A signal from where?' asked Gorbachev in Moscow.
'From the shipper of the cargo to Rostock. It should reach its destination within the next seventy-two hours.'
'Any hitches.?'
Lysenko hesitated briefly. 'None. Everything according to schedule.'
'You paused before you said that.'
Damn him, Lysenko thought. He doesn't miss a thing. He manufactured a sneeze. 'Sorry, I think I have a cold starting.'
'Keep me informed. It's not over until it has arrived…'
Connection broken. He never sleeps, Lysenko thought. He has the stamina of an ox. He hurried down to the darkened street where his car was waiting. Arriving at Markus Wolf's building, he took the elevator to the office after showing the guard on the entrance door his identity. Opening the door, he found another man who seemed to need no sleep. Behind his desk, Wolf looked up, stared at him through those square- shaped glasses which gave him a stern look.
'A problem, Lysenko. All communications with West Germany have been interrupted. When I told you earlier I thought it was a technical fault.'
'It might still be that. The West isn't as efficient as it likes to boast it is.'
'No. Something is wrong. The interruption has gone on too long. I'm worried. I sense trouble.'
'Why?'
'No word from Munzel. And what has happened to Tweed? I'm unhappy when I don't know where he is, what he's doing.' 'He can't do a thing.'
'I may remind you of that statement in the not too distant future,' Wolf rapped back.
It was broad daylight. The Sudwind was proceeding at full power into Copenhagen harbour. Hours earlier Casey had reported that the Nordsee had moved on a course due north – into the Oresund, heading for the Kattegat between Denmark and Sweden.
Tweed had taken over the wheel from Newman during the night – to give himself something purposeful to do, to give Newman a chance to get some sleep. As he replaced Newman he had asked him about the forced drawers in the cabin.
'I did that while you were phoning Monica from the police station. Found a box of tools, selected two drawers at random, and levered off the locks with the steel chisel. Found nothing.'
`You expected – hoped to find?'
`The drug consignment. Seemed logical. That cruiser I watched being loaded from the Wroclaw could have been the Sudwind. Why do you think Berlin had new locks attached?'
`Bluff. He's a clever swine. He hoped we'd think what you thought. Maybe wait and waste time watching for him to come back. What puzzles me is that was the moment Diana started to panic – when she saw those new locks.'
`Ask her – if you ever see her again.' He caught the expression on Tweed's face. 'Sorry, I didn't phrase that too tactfully.'
Newman reappeared as they approached Copenhagen, took over the wheel from Tweed. From the sea Copenhagen was a city which had changed very little with the passage of time – except for two high-rise buildings poking their ugly multi-storey edifices above the surrounding buildings. Tweed stayed on the bridge, guiding Newman since he knew the harbour well.
During the night they had encountered very little traffic in the Baltic. Now, under an overcast sky, the sea was alive with pleasure craft – yachts pirouetting in the slight breeze, small cruisers put-putting over the choppy waves. Newman skilfully threaded his way between them.
Nield sat by the transceiver, wearing his headset, taking down a message. He signed off, swivelled round in his chair and gave the gist of the signal to Tweed.
`A long one. Casey landed at Kastrup to refuel, took off again. He's having trouble tracking the Nordsee – too much other traffic afloat in this part of the world…'
He hasn't lost it?' There was alarm in Tweed's voice.
`No. God knows where he's going. He keeps heading north. It's beginning to look like Oslo. He's proceeding up the west coast of Sweden, keeping close in among the regular traffic. He's off Gothenburg now..
`Call back Casey,' Tweed said. 'Warn him to keep closest possible observation.' He was studying the chart. 'He's just reached the point where he could veer due west across the Skagerrak and into the North Sea. Ask for a further report within fifteen minutes.'
Newman had reduced speed considerably. They saw the hydrofoil which made regular crossings – taking no more than half an hour – to Malmo in Sweden. Elevated on its great skis, bow out of the water, it plunged over the sea as though gliding. Tweed continued to guide Newman who had reduced speed to little more than walking pace.
`What's the next move now?' Newman asked.
`I have to check two things in Copenhagen. Take a cab to the Royal to see if Butler left any message when he got off the night express with Diana. Then we go on to Lindemann's HQ near the Radhuspladsen, find out where he is. And I can call Monica from there.'
`And after that?'
`I've really no idea.'
Nield received a fresh signal from Sea King when Newman was easing the Sudwind along a wide channel past some grey-camouflaged warships. They were now deep inside Copenhagen and ahead the channel ended in a cul-de-sac.
`We berth on the starboard side,' Tweed instructed. 'This is where the Oslo boats sail from.'
Newman swung the wheel, crossed the channel, headed for the waterfront where ancient warehouses loomed behind a wide promenade. A huge fountain sprayed like an opening flower. Men and women strolled under the grey sky wearing raincoats. Behind the fountain loomed a magnificent palace. Tweed pointed to it.
`Amalienborg Palace. A beautiful place…'
Nield removed his headset. He handed Tweed the message and stood up, stretching his arms and legs.
`Casey reports Nordsee well north of Gothenburg. Moving like the clappers, maintaining a northern course, hugging the Swedish coastline.'
`Then it looks like Oslo,' said Tweed.
Tweed asked the cab driver to wait outside the Royal Hotel, walked inside with Newman, leaving Nield behind in the cab. The layout had been changed since his previous visit. The reception area in the vast hall comprised a number of round tables supported by a central column. Perched on each table was a console with a girl in attendance. He picked a brunette, said he was expecting a message to be waiting, gave his name and waited while the girl walked behind the glass wall of a rear area.
`American reception technique,' he commented to Newman, waving a hand at the tables. 'The girl taps out your name for your reservation and it all comes up on the screen. The modern age.'
`And you prefer the old system? One long reception counter as they had at the Four Seasons.'
`It's more human. We'll all end up as machines…'
He stopped as the girl came back holding an envelope. She asked for identification and he produced his passport. When he had the envelope they walked over to a seat and sat down while he tore it open, took out a folded sheet, studied the hastily scribbled message and handed it to Newman.
`Good job we brought our cases with us.'
Diana took cab from rail station for Kastrup Airport. Booked one-way ticket to Oslo. Staying at Grand Hotel. Am following. 0730 hours. Harry.
`Why is it a good job?' asked Newman after absorbing the message.
`Because we have to move fast. It's Oslo again…'
`Almost looks as though Diana is joining Dr Berlin there.'
`And I was wrong about her. We'll fly to Oslo. Lindemann calls it the shuttle. Only a fifty-minute flight – planes leave here for Oslo all day long. Amazing service – and the flight is non-stop.'
`What about the Sudwind? And Casey somewhere up there in the wild blue yonder?'
'We ditch the Sudwind. Nield can take the cab back to the boat, contact Casey, tell him what we're doing, instruct him to land at Fornebu – that's Oslo Airport – and wait for us.'
`I've never been to Oslo.'
`You have a treat in store. Now for Erich Lindemann. We can take a separate cab. Speed is essential now.'
`Someone,' said Newman inside the cab on their way to the Radhuspladsen, 'is going to pinch the Sudwind.' He sounded envious. 'Superb boat. Equipped with everything. That transceiver, the most powerful Verey pistol – and did you see the fuel drums roped down at the stern?'
`I did.'
`That means the Nordsee probably has the same. They are twin vessels. Which means Dr Berlin could be heading for almost anywhere in Western Europe.'
`That had occurred to me.'
Tweed said no more until the cab dropped them at the entrance to Lindemann's HQ. It had been a short ride. He gave the driver a generous tip, glanced at the plate on the wall. Export-Import Services North. He ran up the shabby stairs, knocked on the door.
It was opened by a tall, severe-looking woman, thin, erect, in her late fifties. She didn't seem pleased to see him.
`Mr Tweed. I wasn't expecting you.'
'So I'm a pleasant surprise. This is Bob Newman. Miss Browne.'
`With an "e",' she informed Newman, looking even less pleased. 'I suppose you'd better come in.'
`Some place we can talk privately,' Tweed said. 'And where is Lindemann?'
`I really haven't the slightest idea. The inner sanctum, I suggest…'
Inner sanctum. Tweed groaned inwardly. She really was the embodiment of an ex-senior Civil Servant. She showed him into an austere and excessively tidy room. The only objects on Lindemann's desk were two telephones. Tweed walked round the desk, sat in Lindemann's chair. He could see that didn't please her. Short of time, he decided there was only one approach.
`How long has he been away? I'm in a hurry. I need direct answers. Please. And do sit down.'
`I usually require written authority before I report on Mr Lindemann's movements..'
`I'll ask just once more, Miss Browne, then you're on the first plane back to London. How long has he been away?'
`About three to four weeks. He left almost as soon as he returned from his week's leave.'
`Left for where?'
`He didn't say. He leaves me in sole charge.'
`So you must have some way of contacting him?' Tweed was convinced she was hiding something. He had a stroke of inspiration. 'Or has he contacted you? I must know.'
`Well, yes. He called me only yesterday. To ask if there had been any developments. I said no – it seems to be quiet at the moment.'
`Where did he phone from? Don't say you don't know. You have been here a long time. You know Scandinavia well. I think you must – do – know where he called from.'
Miss Browne fiddled with her long bony fingers, clasping them in her lap. She was making up her mind. Tweed stared at her in silence, began slowly drumming his fingers on the desk.
`He didn't say where he was, but I could hear voices in the background. I know the languages now. They sounded Norwegian. When he's in Oslo he stays at the Grand Hotel. May I ask – is my position at risk?'
`Not now it isn't. And I wish to make a phone call. Could I use this phone?'
`I'll give you a line.'
Alone behind the desk, he dialled Monica's number. She, at least, sounded pleased to be talking to him. 'You must be psychic,' she said. 'Not five minutes ago Kuhlmann phoned. He wants you to call him back at this number. Still Action This Day?'
`Yesterday. I must go now. Be in touch.'
He dialled the number he had memorized, which was Lubeck-Sud. Kuhlmann came straight on the line. He sounded grim and weary. Lack of sleep.
`Tweed, the pathologist has examined what's left of Sue Templeton, that American girl. He found a lot of skin under the fingernails of her right hand. The poor girl put up a fight. Main thing is, the killer must have one hell of a scratch on his person – probably on his face. Thought you should know. Getting anywhere?'
`Thanks. And yes. Because of that, I'm in a rush.'
'OK.' Kuhlmann paused. 'Put a bullet through the bastard for me.'
`You are about to look down on the Ninth Wonder of the World,' Tweed said to Newman. 'The approach to Oslo Fjord. It's quite magnificent.'
They were flying at thirty thousand feet aboard the DC-9, Orvar Viking. At Kastrup Airport they had grabbed a late breakfast and then caught the flight by minutes. The cloud bank over Copenhagen had dissipated soon after takeoff. They flew up the west coast of Sweden.
Tweed had pointed out to Newman – and Nield who sat behind them – the Skaw, the northernmost tip of Denmark, stretching out into the Skagerrak. A flat, claw-like peninsula, it had a barren deserted look from that height. Newman peered out of the window as the machine began its long descent.
The pilot had made an announcement that the a
ir was exceptionally clear, the view coming up rarely seen. Below on the azure blue sea Newman could make out tiny specks of white – the wakes of invisible vessels heading north. Was one of them the Nordsee, he wondered. Then he leaned closer to the window.
It was his first sighting of Norway. The most southerly of the islands guarding the entrance to the huge fjord came into view. Newman stared down, fascinated. They were like ragged-edged pieces of a jigsaw thrown down at random on to a gigantic table of blue ice.
The descent continued. The islands became larger, some covered with dense fir forest. Between them vessels plied their way northward, heading for distant Oslo. Houses began to appear on a few islands. Newman had never seen so many islands clustered together, drawn back from the main channel wending its way towards the Norwegian capital.
The aircraft flew on, dropping all the time, following the course of the fjord. Suddenly they were lost inside a cloud like fog. They were flying very low now. Newman went on staring out of the window. He stiffened as they flew out of the fog. Just below rose a whole series of hump-backed hills, range upon range. It was quite different from what he had expected.
The plane swung in a vast arc, diving inside the fog and emerging without warning. The hills, covered with dense forest, looked to be too close. The plane climbed abruptly. Then the machine descended, flew across a stretch of water. 'We're going to end up in the drink,' Newman was thinking. The wheels touched down. The airport was located at the very edge of the fjord. Newman let out a sigh of relief.
'Marvellous,' crowed Tweed.
'Bloody marvellous,' Newman agreed.
Tweed wasted no time once they reached the exit hall. He asked for chief of security, was ushered with Newman into a small square office lined with green filing cabinets and occupied by a short well-built Norwegian in a pale blue shirt and navy blue trousers who rose from behind his desk.
