By Stealth (62 page)

`To his Volvo?' Nield suggested.

'No. It was a blue Fiat. I went to the door to watch him drive off. The Fiat seemed to be a drunk as he was.' `He is staying here in Tønder?'

`No idea. Never seen him before. Never want to see him again. I spent twelve months in London once serving behind bars — and never saw such an unpleasant type.'

Nield thanked the barman and went out. He sat behind the wheel of his Volvo, drumming his fingers on the rim.

`Sighted in Tønder.'

He must report that to Marler urgently.

Tweed and Newman walked into the reception hall of the Hotel d'Angleterre while Cardon paid off the cab driver.

Newman had decided not to advertise the fact of his Mercedes' existence. He had left it in a car park near the Radhuspladsen — the Town Hall Square. Danish words were jaw-breakers. The three men had then taken a taxi to the hotel.

Tweed sat in a chair facing a receptionist across a desk, registered for three separate rooms. Lifting his case, he walked up the steps to an interior lounge area. Unlike the Four Seasons, this sitting area had no windows on the outside world. The chairs were comfortable but lighting was dim. A few groups of people were scattered round the room.

Lee Holmes, wearing a black off-the-shoulder dress, jumped up. She walked straight towards Tweed, with a slight but graceful swing of her hips.

don't believe it,' she began. She kissed him on the cheek. 'You're following me.' She lowered her voice. 'At least I hope you are. I know a night club where we could have a lot of fun. A bit noisy but lively. Will you escort a lady this evening?'

`Not sure of my plans. Let's decide later.'

He was watching over her shoulder. Helen Claybourne had stood up from where she had been sitting with Lee and Willie. She strode over, very erect, held out her hand.

`Welcome to Copenhagen, Mr Tweed.' Her cool grey eyes gazed into his. 'Could we have a chat somewhere quiet?'

`He's mine,' Lee informed her.

Willie had trotted after them. Beaming all over his face, he clasped Tweed round the shoulder.

`My dear chap. How about a drink? Celebrate our reunion. It's a small world, or has that been said before? Never mind. A drink ...'

`Not just now, thank you. We've only just arrived. I don't see the Brigadier.'

`Better look behind you. Creeps up on you like a cat.'

`I heard that remark,' a familiar voice growled.

Tweed glanced over his shoulder. Burgoyne had come from the direction of the old-fashioned elevator leading to the upper floors. Dressed in cavalry twill trousers, a navy blue blazer with gold buttons, and a cravat at his neck, he didn't look pleased to see Tweed.

`Can't shake you off, can we?'

`I thought it might be the other way round. Newman told Helen we'd stay at this hotel.'

`Helen keeps herself to herself. Interesting to hear she is on such close terms with Newman . .

`Drop dead!' Helen told him savagely, her eyes blazing.

Tweed nodded, joined Newman and Cardon who had been watching and listening with amusement. He led them to the old-fashioned elevator and pressed the bell.

`There's a bank of elevators over there,' Newman remarked.

`More room in here with our luggage,' said Tweed, who had used the hotel before. As the elevator began to ascend he spoke again. 'Come to my room, both of you. Didn't take us long to bump into the Burgoyne Quartet. Significant.'

Inside the villa at Gentofte, Mrs Kramer entered Dr Wand's room at the rear of the house. Wand, studying a map of the coast of South Jutland, closed the map.

'What is it?' he snapped with unusual brusqueness.

`A woman calling herself Anne-Marie is on the phone.'

`Leave me alone so I can concentrate.' He picked up the receiver on his desk. He had been careful to conceal from Mrs Kramer that Anne-Marie was a code-name. `Yes, my dear,' he said, am sure you are calling from a public phone box. There has been a development? Please be good enough to bring me up to date.'

`Tweed,' a woman's voice reported. 'Tweed arrived at the Hotel d'Angleterre here in Copenhagen within the past hour.'

Dr Wand's hand gripped the receiver like a vice. He could not speak for a few moments. His mouth twisted into an expression of disbelief, then of the utmost cruelty. `Are you still there?' the woman's voice asked anxiously.

`I am here.' Another long pause. 'Thank you for calling me ...'

He replaced the receiver before she could reply. Pressing a button under his desk, he summoned Mrs Kramer. When she entered the room his huge fist crashed down on the desk – with such force that a glass ornament toppled off, broke into pieces on the wood block floor.

`Leave that alone!' he screamed as she rushed to clear up the mess. 'The Lear jet is on stand-by at Kastrup with a crew waiting, I trust?'

`Yes, it is ...'

Mrs Kramer, a woman of no emotion, was terrified. Standing quite still, she stared at Wand who gazed at her with a penetrating glare.

`I shall be leaving very shortly,' Wand rasped. 'Shut up the villa and return to London—'

`I will deal with it immediately—'

`Don't interrupt me!' he shouted. 'There is a special instruction you have to carry out first. This is what you must do …'

The call from Marler to Tweed came through minutes after he had arrived in his room with Newman and Cardon. Marler chose his words carefully, knowing he was speaking through a hotel switchboard.

`I have to tell you that so far we have not traced the package – the missing package. We are continuing our efforts non-stop. As soon as we have succeeded I'll let you know. Excuse me if I go now.'

`Yes, don't waste time ...'

Tweed put down the phone: Marler had gone off the line. He told Newman and Cardon the gist of the message. While he was pacing the room Newman phoned room service, ordered a meal for three. Tweed had not eaten for hours and Newman agreed with Napoleon —
an army marches on its stomach
.

They had almost finished their meal when there was another tapping on the door. Newman opened it, his Smith & Wesson in his other hand. A youngster wearing a white peaked cap and white jacket and trousers was holding a long box wrapped with blue ribbon.

`Who is this from?' Newman demanded.

`Probably a note inside.'

The young man was gone as Newman closed the door. Tweed stared at the oblong shape of the delivery. Newman looked at him.

`It feels very cold.'

`Give it to me.'

Grim-faced, Tweed placed the ice-cold box on a table. His blood was chilled as he felt the temperature. Taking a deep breath, remembering what Paula had found inside Andover's fridge in the New Forest — the severed arm — he stripped off the ribbon. Without hesitation he lifted the lid and stared at the contents. A plastic carton filled with ice. Placed under chunks of ice was a red rose.

Newman exploded. don't care what you want to do next. I am flying to Esbjerg to help Marler. I thought that damned box contained a piece of Paula — her hand, her arm.'

`So did I,' Tweed said quietly. 'Go out now, find a phone box, call Nielsen, ask him the quickest way we can reach Esbjerg, and could we have a car waiting at Esbjerg Airport to take us to Anton Norlin's unit ...'

Newman had hardly left the room when the phone rang. Tweed heard Nielsen's voice at the other end. The Dane was also cautious how he worded his information.

`I thought you ought to know our friend has returned to Kastrup. The pilot of his jet has filed a flight plan. For Esbjerg.'

`Newman will be phoning you shortly. Thank you,

Lars...'

Tweed told Cardon what he had just heard. The Squirrel nodded, said it was fortunate they hadn't unpacked a thing.

`And I paid for the rooms for a week in advance,' Tweed reminded him. 'So we can slip quietly out of the hotel when Newman gets back. It means I can be at the scene of the final crisis which — with Wand leaving for Jutland — I'm sure is very close.'

To Tweed, it seemed for ever before Newman came back. In fact he had only been away for three quarters of an hour. He flopped in a chair, mopped his damp forehead despite the bitter cold outside.

`After phoning Nielsen, I couldn't find a taxi. I ran all the way down the Walking Street. I've handed in the hired Mercedes, then caught a taxi back here.'

`But what did Lars suggest?' Tweed asked impatiently.

`No flights to Esbjerg at this time of day. He's fixed up for us to fly there in a small Piper Archer plane from Kastrup. An unmarked car will be waiting for us on the other side of the square — at this end of the Nyhavn. The driver will be wearing a yellow carnation in his buttonhole and smoking a cheroot for identification.'

`Sounds a natty dresser,' Cardon observed. 'When does our chariot await?'

Tweed was staring out of the window in Room 209, which overlooked Kongens Nytorv square. Beyond the bare skeletal branches of trees he thought he saw a car parked on the far side.

`The driver should be waiting for us now,' said Newman.

`Then we leave at once,' Tweed ordered. 'Philip, go first, ring us from the lobby if none of those four people I talked to are about.'

The phone rang two minutes later. Cardon reported the coast was clear. As Tweed left the hotel with Newman, walked into the arctic temperature, he made the comment to him.

`That was a frightening package delivered to us — as it was meant to be. But Wand committed a strategic blunder. The only person who could have informed him of my arrival is one of the Burgoyne Quartet. The question is — which one?'

Before boarding his Lear jet, Dr Wand made a phone call from inside the Kastrup Airport concourse. He dialled Dr Hyde's number. Again the connection was quick.

`You know who this is,' Wand said brusquely.

`I do. I have stayed in so as to ...'

`Just listen, if you would be so kind,' Wand said sarcastically. 'The operation on your patient must be carried out earlier — this evening. I want to smash someone's morale into the ground ...'

He slammed down the phone so savagely he nearly broke the instrument. Then he hurried to the waiting jet.

46

`Hello, Johnny.'

Butler had climbed out of his Volvo, which was parked across the stretch of lonely road from Bolderslev to Tinglev. His right arm hung limply by his side, his left hand clutched a thick wad of kroner banknotes.

Butler had decided it was time to speed things up. Earlier he had talked to a neighbour of Johnny Clausen's in Tinglev. He had explained he needed a driver urgently, that he was willing to pay well for the service.

`I gather he's taken a passenger to Bolderslev,' Butler had continued. 'If you could tell me the make of his car and registration number I'll try and meet him on his way back. I've had too much to drink for the long drive I have to make.' He had breathed fumes over the neighbour, fumes manufactured from smearing his lips with gin from a bottle he had bought. -

The neighbour, a jolly-looking Dane, had nodded in understanding. Which is how Butler had learned Clausen drove a blue Saab and its number.

Now he walked unsteadily towards Johnny Clausen who had climbed out of his Saab and walked towards Butler. With a toss of his head Clausen reacted aggressively.

`What the hell do you mean by blocking the road?'

Clausen was a weasel-like man with shifty eyes. Then his manner changed when he caught sight of the wad of money. Dressed in a soiled anorak and denims ripped at the sides, he put his thin hands on his hips.

`What do you want?'

`I need someone to drive me to Esbjerg. Too much to drink. I'll pay well.'

`Let me see ...'

He never finished his sentence. Butler's limp right arm suddenly came alive. There was a blur of movement inside his unzipped windcheater and Johnny stared into the muzzle of a 7.65mm automatic. Butler pocketed the banknotes.

`You get the money if you do exactly what I say. Or you get your head blown off. First job, get back behind the wheel of your Saab. I'll sit beside you ...'