which Newman had driven the Chaika. Gerda was close behind, clutching the windcheater, concealing the Uzi machine-pistol.
The sky was cloudless, the sun shone down and the August heat was building up. Newman found he was sweating as he ran, with effort or fear, he wasn't sure which. They reached the Chaika in the hollow and Falken climbed behind the wheel, Gerda slipped into the back and Newman sat alongside Falken who remained still, making no effort to start the engine. In the distance the honking of the geese reached new heights of indignation.
`What the hell are you waiting for?' Newman demanded. `Radom's diversion.'
`Which is?'
`Listen
He had hardly spoken when from the far side of the farmhouse came a roar, the explosive bursts of an exhaust pipe, the wild throbbing of an engine which sounded as though it was on the verge of bursting out of its casing. Falken smiled, started his own motor and drove forward up the gentle incline out of the hollow and down the other side into a sunken lane.
In the front yard Radom was perched on the high seat of his monster of a farm tractor, clashing the gears, revving up the motor as three cars appeared. The first vehicle drove straight through the closed gate, hurling it into the yard, followed by the other two cars. The motorcade stopped, doors were flung open, Vopos spilled into the yard, several heading for an old barn, others running inside the farmhouse.
The leader of the patrol ran up to the tractor, shouted up to Radom, who waved one hand helplessly. The engine sound increased as he clashed gears. The machine jerked backwards. The Vopo waved his hand, gesturing behind the tractor which was backing at speed towards one of the parked cars. Radom moved more levers, the tractor stopped with a back-breaking jerk, inches away from the car, then surged forward. The Vopo swore, jumped back out of its way.
`Kaput! Out of control! Can't stop it,' Radom shouted down at the Vopo.
The Vopo moved to the rear, searching for a way to climb on to the tractor. The rear exhaust belched a jet of fumes into his face. He backed off, choking, eyes watering, grabbed for his handkerchief as the tractor began to move in a circle and Radom moved the levers again. The honking of the geese was completely drowned by the appalling roar and thunder.
Falken had driven the Chaika almost to the end of the sunken lane. He turned right on to the deserted country road leading back to the highway. Then he accelerated, slowing only at the bends.
`You see,' he said to Newman, 'why I say Radom is one of my most reliable allies? The Vopos will never have heard this car leaving above the sound of that racket. And I tell you something else. Radom and his wife will make the lives of the Vopos a misery. They will be glad to clear out.'
`How? Apart from that deafening row?'
`The Vopos may well be thirsty – it is a hot day. They'll get nothing to drink. Hildegarde will see to that.'
`Again, how?'
`As soon as she'd made up the three beds – which would take her no time at all – she'll have turned off the water at the main. Very hard to find, the mains tap. She'll tell them something's gone wrong with the water supply. No milk. The cows haven't been milked – they drank what there was for their breakfast. No Harz fire water. That is locked away in a concealed cupboard. No nothing…'
'But something for us,' Gerda called out. 'Bless her, the old saint.'
`What's that?' Newman called over his shoulder.
`A basket with a cloth over it. Black bread. Canned food and fruit. A thermos of coffee. She must have prepared this and brought it out to the car while we slept. We can survive for another day without going near a shop. There's even a large bottle of mineral water, some paper cups.'
`A remarkable couple,' Newman said. 'But I worry about them. If they play up those Vopos they could turn rough, wreck the farm.'
`Then they will get the surprise of their lives,' Falken commented. 'Radom won't tell them, but he has influence in high places. His farm should have been merged long ago with a collective. His protector stopped that.'
`And who is this benefactor?'
`A man called Markus Wolf.' Falken chuckled. 'Wolf has one weakness. His stomach. He likes good country food – fresh eggs, butter, fowl. Radom provides it. Those Vopos make the wrong move and they end up working in a labour battalion.'
`Pull up,' Newman said suddenly. 'Isn't that the highway?'
`Yes.' Falken had stopped the car. 'Why?'
`Because I'm taking over the wheel. I'm Border Police. And you're both risking your necks for me. But before we change places, I want to know what's waiting for me. This witness – who is she?'
`We are close enough now to tell you. She was the nursing sister at the hospital for tropical diseases where Dr Berlin arrived twenty-odd years ago when he returned from Africa – because he was afflicted with a rare tropical disease, they said.'
`Go on.'
`Karen Piper – that is her name – was attached to the private ward Dr Berlin occupied. Eventually she became what you would call in England the matron. What she will tell you will come as a great shock. Now, if you insist, we change places.'
They had turned on to the broad highway when Falken made his remark. 'I have a feeling we are going to be lucky in Leipzig.'
`Why then,' asked Gerda, 'does my woman's intuition tell me we are driving into terrible danger?'
Thirty-One
No way could they approach Hawkswood Farm stealthily, parking the Cortina some distance from it and walking the last few hundred yards, as they had with Masterson's Clematis Cottage. The flatlands of the Wash spread away from it in all directions.
`Where is the sea?' Diana asked as Tweed stopped the car by the picket gate.
`Over there, beyond the dyke.'
At ten o'clock in the morning the great bank shimmered in the haze. The sun was high in a vault of cloudless blue. It was going to be another hot day but the air was fresh with a tang of salt from the invisible Wash. The funnel and superstructure of a small cargo vessel appeared, seemed to glide along the top of the dyke.
`Heading for King's Lynn,' Tweed said as he opened the door and alighted at the same moment as Hugh Grey appeared round the side of the farmhouse, a Labrador panting at his heels with its tongue out. Wearing an immaculate check sports jacket, powder blue slacks, a striped shirt and a plain matching powder blue tie, he looked extremely fit.
`Welcome to World's End,' he called out to Tweed, looking at Diana with interest.
Tweed made brief introductions as the raven-haired Paula opened the front door and stood very still. Grey took Diana by the arm as though she might stumble and Tweed saw Paula's mouth tighten. She shook hands with Diana with an expressionless face and led the way into the farmhouse. Oh Lord, Tweed thought, she's taken agin her already. Grey made no pretence of concealing that the reverse was the case with him.
`I was just taking Charles for walkies,' he announced, pink- faced like a cherub. 'Fancy a breath of fresh air, Diana? We can have coffee when we get back…'
`That would be nice.' Diana clutched her handbag under her arm and smiled warmly.
`We'll expect you in a couple of hours then,' Paula remarked, her face still blank.
`Oh, we shan't be that long, darling. Just taking Charles for a short trot.'
It would be Charles, Tweed thought as he settled himself in the same arm chair he'd occupied on his previous visit. The name somehow went with any dog Grey would own.
`Expect you when we see you,' Paula replied. She was pouring coffee from a brown earthenware pot. The
