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?'