`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.'
`Ugly mug is the right description,' she commented.
`Interesting,' Tweed said, 'that Wand's so-called butler is down here watching. Wand was pole-axed yesterday evening when I appeared alive and kicking. Keep quiet now…'
Westendorf, who had walked along the riverside jetty to get a closer look, returned. Like Kuhlmann's, his expression was grim.
`That really is awesome. Paula, we owe our lives to your swift action. I personally am in your debt for ever.'
`Nonsense.' She dismissed the subject with a smile. But she had flushed with pleasure at the eminent German's compliment. 'I just saw something in the nick of time.'
`And the radar screen you said was blank.' Westendorf shook his head as he looked at Tweed. 'This Stealth development is hideous. Now, if you're all ready, I'll drop you back at the hotel.'
`That would suit me admirably,' Tweed replied.
`You sound as though there's someone at the Four Seasons you want to interview,' Paula suggested as they followed Westendorf and Newman.
`Vulcan. When I can I'm going to talk to both Fanshawe and Burgoyne. And I want Newman to chat up Helen Claybourne.'
`You sound as though you know who Vulcan is.'
`I don't. But the field has narrowed,' Tweed replied.
40
`Paula Grey was at Blankenese this morning with Tweed,' reported Starmberg. 'One of my men watching the Four Seasons confirmed they returned to the hotel.'
`I would much appreciate it, Jules, if you could guarantee this second attempt to obtain the company of Miss Grey will be successful.'
Dr Wand sat in the large study of his villa at Othmarschen, the district which adjoined Nienstedten where Hugo Westendorf lived. As at Waterloo, even though it was daytime, all the curtains were closed. The same applied to every other room in the villa, both downstairs and upstairs. The furniture was swathed in dust sheets. There were six of Starmberg's men in the villa but from the outside it appeared unoccupied.
`This new plan is so original it will succeed,' Starmberg assured his chief. He ran a hand over his thick well-groomed hair. 'It is organized for execution some time this evening. Well before midnight Miss Grey will be our guest in Denmark.'
`I would hope so.' Wand peered at Starmberg over his pince-nez. The Luxemburger stirred uneasily under the piercing stare. 'And,' Wand went on, 'I have finally decided I will let Tweed enjoy three sleepless nights.'
`And then?' Starmberg checked.
`Then? Why, Mr Tweed will receive a part of Miss Grey as a keepsake. Prior to that you will tell him he must resign his position immediately if he ever wishes to see Grey alive again. Our contacts in London will tell us if he has obeyed our demand.'
`So, we will scoop up Miss Grey within a matter of hours.'
`And I will call Dr Hyde. He will have preparations to make for the treatment.'
Near the bleak stretch of coast in southern Jutland Dr Hyde was returning from a short walk by himself. He had not enjoyed it – the area was deserted and the monotonous scrubland stretching to the beach and the sea beyond depressed him. Even more depressing was the eternal wind blowing off the sea, causing wispy sand to fly in the air. He might be on the moon, he thought – except for the house.