Perched on a stool, he had a notebook in his lap below the level of the counter. He was surreptitiously recording what Delvaux was saying.
`Again there are basically two problems to overcome. The shape of the average ship – easily registered by radar. And the exhaust from the vessel's engines – exhaust easily detected by satellite heat sensors. So we have designed a ship with a very low profile – almost like that of a semi- submerged submarine, but without the prominent conning tower. You want the details – in simplified language?'
`Yes, we do,' urged Tweed.
`The propellers at the stern have an exceptionally low noise level. The funnel is constructed so it hardly projects above the low deck level. In addition, it is equipped with a cooled exhaust system – like the bomber. It has a retractable mast – like the automatic radio aerial on a car which retracts completely inside the chassis of the vehicle. Its radar system is also constructed so it hardly projects above the surface of the deck. The hull has a rounded profile to reduce to nothing the normal radar and infrared signatures it would emit. And missile launchers can be built inside the bow.'
`An ordinary ship needs a bridge,' Tweed pointed out.
`That also has been dealt with. A Stealth ship has both command and weapons control centres below decks. So, we have an invisible ship. A fleet of invisible ships – if the enemy establishes a conveyor-belt system of production like that American shipbuilder did on the West Coast of the States during the Second World War. What was his name? I have it. Kaiser. The Liberty ships.'
`You're scaring the daylights out of me,' Tweed commented. 'And I think you said there was no antidote earlier. No way of detecting Stealth bombers and ships. While I remember it, why is your plant working non-stop, apparently at all hours?'
`You are quick, Tweed. Very quick. I said there was no antidote. Past tense. So why do you think I take the risk of working my factories on three shifts twenty-four hours a day?'
The phone was ringing again in Dr Wand's suite at the Bellevue Palace. The chauffeur answered it, handed the phone to his boss.
`It's the lady again, sir. Anne-Marie…'
'It always gives me pleasure to hear from you,' Wand began. 'Such an enchanting voice. You have a problem?'
`I am sorry to disturb you. Could you take down this phone number?'
`Of course. One moment.'
Wand extracted a thin morocco-bound notebook from his pocket. He held a slim gold pencil poised. am ready.'
`The number is-. A public phone box, Place Louise. May I call you there in fifteen minutes?'
`I will most certainly be there waiting…'
Wand understood exactly what that meant. Some information his caller did not wish to pass through a hotel switchboard. Night operators were notorious for passing the boring hours by listening in.
Five minutes later he emerged from the Bellevue Palace, making a remark to the doorman that he needed a breath of night air. Proceeding on foot down the Avenue Louise in his dark overcoat he walked with the chauffeur on his right towards the Place Louise.
Inside his parked Mercedes Marler reacted swiftly. He rammed on his fair hair a beret he'd purchased from a shop next door to the bar after buying sandwiches and coffee. He was now wearing a shabby windcheater earlier taken from his travelling case. Stubbing out his half- smoked king-size, he tucked the remaining half at the corner of his mouth. He hadn't shaved for hours and his chin was covered with a prominent stubble. It was a very disreputable-looking Marler who followed the two men, slouching along on the opposite pavement.
Reaching the Place Louise, very quiet at that hour, Dr Wand checked the time by his Rolex, an action noted by Marler. He also noticed that the chauffeur had tucked his right hand inside his uniformed jacket. Marler had little doubt he was clutching a gun.
The two men walked across the Place Louise to the Boulevard de Waterloo. Arriving at the entrance to the metro, they disappeared down inside it. Marler followed, stepped on the moving escalator. At the bottom he was just in time to see the two men moving down a second escalator.
He waited a few seconds before he stepped on it himself. As he was carried down deeper he passed a series of crude and bizarre wall murals. He wrinkled his nose. Belgian art! At the bottom of the second escalator he entered the main Metro complex. Against a wall a slovenly man was seated on the floor, his back to the wall, his legs sprawled out.
Close by was a row of phone booths. Dr Wand entered one, paused a moment, came out, entered the next one. Marler realized he was checking the numbers. Wand stayed inside the third one, made no attempt to use the phone. The chauffeur stood outside, staring in the opposite direction.
Marler sagged against the wall, spread out his own legs, the fag protruding from his mouth, still unlit. The slovenly man called out to him in French in a stage whisper.
`Got a joint, mate?'
`Shut up or I'll stick a knife in your gullet,' Marler hissed back.
The phone rang inside the booth. Dr Wand picked up the instrument. He spoke immediately in his slow, deliberate manner.
`Who is this speaking, may I ask?'
`Anne-Marie,' a woman's voice answered, using the code-name. 'I am sorry to trouble you in this way. Later I remembered something I thought you'd wish to know. In the headlights of my car I saw a competitor.'
`Then you were most wise to call me, most wise. Price is a major consideration with the contract we are bidding for. So it is important we know who are our competitors.'
`Tweed is the competitor.'
Dr Wand was silent. He had received a shock, a surprise. One thing Wand did not like were surprises. They were dangerous.
`Are you still there?' the woman's voice asked.
`I really am very sorry. I was thinking how we should go about countering this competition. We may have to employ robust measures. Yes… robust. Let me think on it. And I look forward to seeing you soon. Thank you so much for calling…'
Through half-closed eyes Marler watched Wand walk towards him with the chauffeur. They glanced at the sprawled junkie to Marler's left but never spared even a glance in his direction. Marler had the impression Dr Wand was disturbed: his thin lips were pressed tightly together.
Waiting until they had disappeared up the lower escalator, Marler scrambled to his feet, followed them at a distance. They had crossed the place and had just reached the Avenue Louise when Wand reached under his coat into his back pocket, and taking out a silk handkerchief mopped his forehead.
At that moment a macho motorcyclist raced down the boulevard with a deafening burst of speed. In taking out the handkerchief Wand had dropped his wallet. They walked on and Marler realized that the motorcyclist had muffled the sound of the wallet hitting the pavement. He picked it up.
Leaning against a wall, he waited until he had seen the two men go back inside the Bellevue Palace. He then slipped inside a doorway alcove, put on surgical gloves, checked the contents of the wallet.
It contained a fat wad of 10,000-franc notes. And one note was worth over f150. What interested him most were the business cards. All embossed with Dr Wand, Director, Moonglow Refugee Aid Trust International. No address.
Marler was careful to replace everything as he had found it. Taking off the gloves, he shoved them into his pocket, bent down to the grubby floor, rubbed one hand in the dirt and smeared it all over his stubble. He had changed its colour and made himself look even more like a no-good.
Five minutes later he walked inside the Bellevue Palace, followed by a protesting doorman. He went straight up to the reception counter and addressed the night clerk in French.
`One of your guests just dropped this wallet. I want the Assistant Manager.'
`I can take charge of that…'
`You deaf or something? Get me the bloody Assistant Manager…'
A small portly man in a formal black suit came over to the counter. His fat face expressed extreme distaste. `What is going on, Jacques?'
