Jan knew there was no time for that. He manoeuvred a large inflated dinghy with an outboard motor over the side, looped a rope over the handrail, shinned down it into the dinghy. He might be able to pick up some of his comrades. He started the engine, steered the dinghy away from the bow section, now submerging rapidly.
Jan lit the signal light so any survivors could find him. The hull of something enormous loomed over him. A rope ladder was thrown over the side of the mysterious vessel. Jan attached the end to his large dinghy, began to climb the ladder to safety, his body and hands frozen by the penetrating fog.
He reached the top, grabbed the rail with one hand. Above him a heavily swathed figure held in his gloved hands a large block of ice brought from the freezer. The fatal act was timed well. As Jan's head appeared over the rail the huge figure brought down the block of ice, cracking Jan's skull open. He let the block leave his hands, following Jan's corpse into the icy sea.
As Kim, clad in a sheepskin, watched, the large seaman descended the ladder, holding a boat-hook. Three swift thrusts with the business end of the boat-hook punctured the dinghy. A slash with a knife cut the rope, releasing the dinghy as it swiftly filled with water. The sea closed over it.
As the Mao prepared to get under way a desperate cry was heard. Kim peered over the rail as the large seaman dropped back on the deck. A life raft was floating close to the hull with three survivors from the Texel, wearing lifebelts, aboard. One called out, a pathetic cry in English.
`Save us! Save us…'
`I'll fetch a rifle,' the seaman said.
`No!' Kim grabbed his arm. 'Stay where you are.' Kim spoke to Captain Welensky on the bridge through the walkie-talkie he always carried. 'Life raft close to port side. Turn your wheel a few degrees to port. Sink it. Now!'
He watched as the Mao turned slowly. Its hull smashed into the side of the raft, overturning it, breaking up the raft into separate pieces. Kim continued to watch as the three men in the sea drifted away, two waving their hands futilely. He turned away.
`A few minutes more in that ice-cold water and they'll be meat for the fishes.'
Kim knew it was a million-to-one chance that the corpses would be picked up in these latitudes. But he never took even such chances: corpses found with bullets embedded in them could cause serious questions to be asked.
Both sections of the Texel had now sunk countless fathoms deep. Thirty seamen and ten passengers – four of them women – died when the Texel sank to its watery grave. Kim then went below to a section furnished as spacious and comfortable living quarters.
Twenty Scandinavians, all between the ages of twenty- five and thirty, smartly dressed and looking like executives, had been playing cards or reading books. They had spent time at the special training camp in the interior of China. There they had been mentally and physically instructed intensively. All had been selected for their Communist leanings – and more especially for their liking for large sums of money. They looked up as Kim entered.
`Nothing to worry about, gentlemen,' Kim assured them. 'A minor collision with floating wreckage. The Mao is in perfect shape…'
Purring no louder than a cat, the Mao's engines carried the Stealth vessel on its north-westerly course, which would take it well clear of the west coast of Africa. It was now heading for its rendezvous at sea with a refuelling tanker.
A short distance behind its stern the smaller Stealth ship maintained the same course. Even in the fog its skipper had no trouble following the Mao – which at frequent intervals emitted a brief signal only capable of being registered by the sonar equipment aboard the second ship.
From the refuelling rendezvous the Mao would continue on its northward course to its ultimate destination. Denmark.
28
In London Tweed was hyperactive, dealing with half a dozen different problems before flying back to Brussels. Arriving at the Ministry of Defence, he showed his SIS card and was immediately ushered by a guard up a flight of stairs and down endless corridors. Colonel Fieldway, his contact and confidant at the MOD, rose behind his desk to greet him as the guard closed the door.
`I have checked the data we have on Brigadier Burgoyne, as he likes to call himself. Do sit down. That cup of tea has just been poured. Can't recommend it but if you want to wet your whistle..
Fieldway was a man in his mid-forties, tall and thin and sporting a trim brown moustache the same colour as his carefully brushed thatch of hair. He had a long face, alert blue eyes, and, Tweed thought, looked in the pink of physical condition.
`As he likes to call himself,' Tweed repeated. 'What does that mean?'
Fieldway settled himself in his chair behind his desk. Before replying he shuffled papers on top of a file. Tweed recognized the trait: John Fieldway did that when he was unsure of what line to take. He spoke briskly.
`He was Acting Brigadier, but his substantive rank is Colonel. Likes to overawe people by pulling rank – one he's not entitled to.'
`His history?' Tweed asked.
`Burgoyne was a brilliant young officer in the Korean War back in 1950. He gained rapid promotion – the sort that only happens in wartime. He was the only commander who out-manoeuvred the Chinese army when it crossed the Yalu river to support the North Korean lot. He got an MC. Brave as a lion. And a shrewd strategist. The two don't often go together.'
`So far so good,' Tweed commented, sensing a reservation.
`That's about it. In a nutshell.'
`What went wrong?' Tweed probed.
`Oh, you know about that? Very few do. It was kept a bit hush-hush. For the sake of the Army's name and all that.'
`Refresh my memory,' Tweed urged him.
He hadn't a clue what Fieldway was referring to. There was a pause before Fieldway resumed his crisp summary.
`Let's go back to that war. At one stage Burgoyne vanished off the face of the earth. He appeared four months later at his HQ. He'd been trapped behind enemy lines as the UN forces under General MacArthur retreated. He lay low, lived off the country, avoided being spotted. One of your natural guerrillas. Promoted again, he took over command of another unit and the situation stabilized.'
`John, I don't think that was what you had in mind when I asked you to refresh my memory. And, talking about nutshells, that's a pretty big one you've got in front of you. His file, I mean.'
`This is all rather delicate. Must you hear me go over it again?'
`Commander Noble of Naval Intelligence is interested in every aspect of the investigation I'm carrying out. And several people have already been murdered.'
`Good Lord! You do live an exciting life.' He paused again. 'All right, here goes. But this is confidential. Burgoyne resigned from the Army when the Korean business was over. I say 'resigned' advisedly.'
`Go on. No point in leaving it there now you've started,' Tweed pressed.
`For one thing there were rumours – no more – that he'd embezzled Army funds on a large scale.'
`And for another?'
Fieldway, now looking unhappy, shuffled some more papers.
`Well, there were stories that he had contacts with the Chinese High Command after he'd left the Army.' Field- way was consulting his file for the first time. 'No proof. Just more rumours.'
`What would be his purpose in doing that – if the rumours were true?'
`He had formed several trading companies in Hong Kong and quickly became a well-known businessman. Mixed at the highest level with the so-called taipans in the colony.'
`So, how does that link up with the Chinese High Command?'
