`No! Under no circumstances. We must track him to the bitter end, find his ultimate landfall.'
Tweed held on to the gleaming brass rail at the front of the bridge. He was beginning to feel less ill. The Dramamine had taken effect. One every four hours, he reminded himself. The only way he could get through this traumatic experience.
The bow rose and fell gently, rose and fell. Tweed felt like spare cargo. He was nearly going spare at the thought of the time he might have to spend aboard this rocking tub. He was unaware of the passage of time, resisted the temptation to keep checking his watch. At one stage in their passage Newman lifted a pair of high-powered glasses to his eyes and gazed to the west. He scanned the horizon, his night sight excellent on the dimly-lit bridge. He handed the glasses to Tweed.
`Over there. The Fehmarn Belt. You can pick up the lights of the train ferry crossing from Puttgarden to Rodby.'
Tweed eventually found the lights. It would be carrying the night express to Copenhagen. It gave him an odd feeling to realize Diana was aboard. Thank God Butler had spotted her panic departure – which meant he also would be on board. His message to Monica had said they'd reach Copenhagen at 0645 hours. Long before the Sudwind. Once the express had moved off the ferry it would thunder through the night. He became aware that they were changing course, lowered the glasses, looked at the compass. North by north-east. He glanced back at the stern, saw their wake curving in a wide arc.
`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.'