By Stealth (33 page)

They chatted animatedly and Paula gave Marler a brief outline of their grim experience in Liège and, later, their encounter with Burgoyne, Willie, and their two women. Marler watched her as she eyed him through her long lashes while she talked.

`Something's happening,' he said suddenly.

It was almost two hours since they had reached the car. Marler was glad he'd slipped into the toilet while Tweed was phoning Newman. In those two hours Brussels had come alive. Street cleaners wearing yellow jackets and trousers, pushing rubber-wheeled trolleys carrying tall rubbish bins had appeared. Small ochre-coloured trams were trundling towards Place Louise.

`What is it?' Paula asked.

`That big Mercedes 600 coming up out of the garage. It brought Dr Wand here from Zaventem Airport.'

Paula watched as the huge black limo paused half-way out of the exit. A car was blocking the way. The uniformed chauffeur with a peaked cap and dark glasses opened his door, got out to call to the doorman. Marler stared as the doorman, a guest's keys in his hand, rushed to move the vehicle.

`There's no one else in the car,' Paula objected. 'Do we want to know where a chauffeur is going?'

`No. Except I don't think that is the chauffeur. His build is too bulky, he moves more ponderously. Someone is playing Clever Dick.'

'I don't get it.

`I'll bet a month's salary that's Dr Wand inside that uniform. So where is he off to that he doesn't want anyone to know about? Here we go. Hold on to your hat.'

The Merc. 600 reached the Place Louise, turned right up the Avenue de la Toison d'Or, running parallel to the Boulevard de Waterloo where traffic moved in the opposite direction. And there was traffic now. Marler was in his element, weaving in and out among private cars and rumbling juggernauts. Belgian drivers are aggressive but Marler beat them to it every time, leaving behind tooting horns as he skilfully kept one vehicle between himself and the Merc. 600.

Dr Wand — Marler was convinced it was him — was a mean driver himself, using the size of his car to make smaller cars give way. Sooner than Paula expected they were outside Brussels. She saw a signpost. Gent (French version), then Gand (Flemish version) underneath.

`Lord, he's moving,' Paula commented.

`So are we!' Marler said breezily.

They passed through turn-offs to numerous villages, and the Mere. 600 kept going. Marler had a juggernaut in front of him and ahead of that was the limo. They passed through flat open countryside — ploughed fields and colonies of greenhouses, their slanting roofs reflecting a glare from the sun. Above them was a clear blue sky and the air was cold and fresh.

Beyond Ghent the limo turned off the main highway down a tarred country road. Marler dropped back: concealment was now more tricky. The frequent bends in the road helped — he could just keep in sight the roof of the outsize limo. He came round a corner and stopped.

When he switched off the engine a heavy silence descended. Paula sat erect in her seat, staring, as though hypnotized.

`What's the matter?' Marler asked.

A hundred yards or so ahead was a new village. On either side of a freshly tarred road stood a row of small two-storey houses. They were built of red brick with steep-pitched roofs of grey slate.

The limo had been driven round the back of the first house on the left. The 'chauffeur' reappeared, walking slowly. Marler guessed he had the key in his hand because he opened the door quickly, disappeared inside, shut it.

Paula counted the houses which faced each other along the sides of the ruler-straight road. Eight dwellings on either side. And not a sign of life anywhere. Not even a single shop. She blinked, shook her head.

`I don't believe it,' she said.

`Don't believe what?'

`They're new, not old, of course. But they remind me —the atmosphere — of Moor's Landing on the Beaulieu River in Hampshire.'

`Tweed told me about that place.' Marler lit a king-size. `Incidentally, there's a canal just over there.'

Paula looked in the direction he'd indicated. A barge was waiting to pass through a lock. The uncanny silence persisted. Marler switched on the engine, backed his car almost out of sight of the village at a point where he could turn round.

`That was Dr Wand,' he told her, 'inside the chauffeur's uniform. I could tell from the way he moved. I watched him pacing up and down outside the Lear jet at London Airport.'

And that place is a Flemish version of Moor's Landing,' Paula said. 'All the houses are curtained and I'm sure people live there. But no sign of any of them. Creepy — like Moor's Landing.'

`Let's go back into Ghent. I'll show you the Old Town. And if we find a restaurant or bar we'll ask a few questions about this place.'

`Wait a sec. I'm going to mark its position.' Paula picked up her map, made a cross at the approximate location of the village. 'It's not even marked on the map..

Marler turned the car round and soon they were back on the highway, driving towards Ghent. He glanced several times in his rear-view mirror.

`You saw that blue Audi parked on the verge at the entrance to the side road?'

`Yes. Why?'

`We have company. It's following us …'

24

`I'm leaving for London today,' Tweed announced. 'I am booked on an afternoon flight. It's urgent that I take Delvaux's new radar device and hand it over to Naval Intelligence. And it was a false alarm, Bob.'

In response to his phone call Newman had just hurried to Room 2009 from his own bedroom. Newman had a double surprise — Tweed's sudden decision and the presence of Harry Butler and Peter Nield sitting on a couch. Tweed saw his glance in their direction. He smiled drily.

`Not like me to have such protection. I phoned Monica yesterday and asked her to contact Butler and Nield, to get them to fly over here immediately.'

`It's that Delvaux device,' Newman hazarded.

`You're right. It could be so important I decided I must travel with guards. I've also contacted Benoit. He'll be at the airport and we'll bypass Customs and Passport Control. Tell Paula and Marler when you see them. With a bit of luck I'll be back tomorrow. I have to see an officer at the MOD.'

`Ministry of Defence?' Newman sat down and raised an eyebrow. 'May we know what's going on there?'

`You may. I want to find out everything they can tell me about Brigadier Burgoyne — his military career and the years afterwards he spent in the Far East. And Monica has dug up more on Willie Fanshawe — and Dr Wand.

He broke off as the phone rang. He listened to the operator, put his hand over the mouthpiece for a second.

`Talk of the devil — Dr Wand is calling me.'

`Yes, this is Tweed speaking. Did you say Dr Wand? What can I do for you?'

`I — think — it — is — time — we — met — Mr Tweed...'

The voice was a sibilant hiss and counting each word as if it was worth a great deal of money. Tweed checked his watch. He played for time while he thought.

`Can you give me some idea of the reason for this meeting? And the subject for discussion? I have an urgent appointment later.'

`Mr Tweed, I am given to understand you are a man of great discretion. The telephone is hardly the medium for a frank talk.'

`As I said, the timing could make a meeting impossible.'

`So, Mr Tweed, I am at your disposal. Could you come this morning? I have a modest villa at Waterloo, the headquarters of my refugee aid organization in Europe. I can, of course, send a car to collect you from the Hilton.'

`I can spare thirty minutes,' Tweed said abruptly. 'And I have my own transport.'

`My dear Mr Tweed, in thirty minutes — with your quick brain — we can cover the affairs of the world. And perhaps you would like to bring Miss Grey with you. It would be my pleasure.'

`I will be coming with someone, but it will be a man.' `Excellent! Excellent! Now, if you would be so kind as to note down this address...'

Tweed scribbled it on a pad. He was annoyed to see that he was pressing hard with the pencil. His voice, however, remained cool and calm.

`I've got that. We will be there shortly. For thirty minutes.'

`I look forward to our meeting with the greatest of pleasure. Take good care of yourself in the mean time. Until we meet.

Tweed put down the phone carefully. His expression was grim. He paced slowly round the room as he repeated the gist of the conversation. Newman reacted immediately.

`I am coming with you. The bastard! That reference to Paula. And how did he know you were at the Hilton? For my money he knows a little too much. And I am coming with you,' he repeated.

`I'm quite happy for you to join me,' Tweed agreed. `Dr Wand is a very dangerous man. He was needling me, but I didn't react. As to how he knows so much, the answer must be Lee, Helen, Willie or Burgoyne. The question is, which of those four?'

`And also why has he suggested this meeting?' Nield asked. 'Maybe Harry and I should also accompany you?'

`It is a small victory on our part that he wants to see me. One of the four people I mentioned has passed on to him my remark in the lounge last night that I was getting close to my target. So my ploy worked. But I don't want four of us turning up — it makes us look nervous. But thank you for the suggestion, Pete.'

`To get to Waterloo we should leave in half an hour if we're to arrive soon,' Newman said firmly. 'And I'll check that address you have on my street map...'

Tweed handed him the sheet of paper with the address and stood by the window, his hands clasped behind his back. Waterloo lay to the south of Brussels, was one of the most expensive residential areas in the whole city. He was rather looking forward to crossing swords with the mysterious Dr Wand.

`Mr Audi is still following us,' Marler remarked as he drove into the Old City of Ghent.

It was obvious when they had left modern Ghent behind and reached the Old City centre. The tarred roads had become cobbled streets which the Mercedes bumped over. Ahead of them a heavy truck shuddered and shook drunkenly with the vibrations.

Paula liked the look of the Flemish town. There was an atmosphere of relaxation about the way the people strolled slowly but purposefully. The frenzied rush of Brussels seemed far away — another country. The buildings were ancient, built of mellow stone. Paula felt she had been transported back into the Middle Ages.

`This is about the centre — the Koornmarkt,' said Marler. `And there's a parking lot free near the Post Office.'

`Isn't that a restaurant?' asked Paula. 'I don't understand the Flemish at the top but it says brasserie underneath. I'm so hungry I could eat a horse.'

`You won't here. Flemish food is very good.'

He had stopped the car. Across the cobbled street was the place Paula had spotted. The first legend read DENTERGEMS WIT. Underneath in French was the second legend, BRASSERIE DE POST. Paula pointed to an ancient grey building with a spire at one corner and a clocktower at the other end. The facade was festooned with stone decoration.

`What on earth is that place?'

`Post Office. And Mr Audi is going to park one vehicle behind us. Yes, we'll eat at the brasserie. For one thing I'm famished too. For another I can keep an eye on my car. And Mr Audi..

He locked the car and crossed the open square with Paula by his side. Marler was careful not to glance in the direction of the Audi and the fat man behind the wheel who sat smoking a cigar.

`Oh, Lord,' said Paula, standing at the entrance. 'My Flemish is non-existent and that's the language on the menu.'

`Nothing wrong with your French, is there? Wait till we get inside.'

The restaurant had panelled walls, a tiled floor, wooden chairs and tables covered with paper cloths patterned to look like linen. Already the place was a hive of activity as waitresses bustled to serve, their heels click-clacking on the tiled floor. Marler pulled out a chair for Paula at a window table. As he sat down she was studying the menu. Marler glanced outside. Across the street Fatman was still seated behind the wheel, puffing his cigar, and gazing straight ahead rather too fixedly.

`This is great,' said Paula. 'The menu is in French as well as Flemish. I'm fillets of sole and loads of chips.'