Brussels for late tomorrow. Get a ticket which will then take me on to Hamburg. When you've done that pack up a batch of thirty of these Dr Hyde prints. Then arrange for a courier to rush them urgently to Benoit. He's to hand them to Benoit personally.'
`And should I also stand on my head while I'm doing these things?' Monica enquired wryly.
Tweed nodded. Her deep regret at the death of Philip Cardon would return. But for the moment the activity had put it out of her mind. Monica nodded back, indicating the Belgian police chief was on the line.
`I'm on scrambler, are you?' were Tweed's opening words.
`As it happens, I am. Can you tell me why I always make the mistake of being in the office when you call? And no more developments on the Delvaux front. Our friend is spending nearly all hours at his plant. So? What can I do for you?'
`I may have traced the fiend of a doctor who cut off Lucie Delvaux's hand. A Dr Carberry-Hyde. I'll spell that… May simply be going under the name of Hyde. But I think he's in Belgium. Thirty good prints of this character are coming to you by courier. Can you try and locate him?'
`Your timing is good, my friend. Crime seems to be taking a holiday. That won't last long. But I can put a large team of men checking the hotels…'
`Concentrate on the smaller places. This fox will be trying to stay under cover. The courier should reach you this evening.'
`My pleasure. We'll turn Brussels over…'
Tweed put the phone down. Butler was drinking his large cup of coffee. Monica had placed thirty Hyde prints inside a plastic wallet, the wallet inside a shabby briefcase which didn't look worth stealing. She handed it to George, the doorman and guard, who had just entered, gave him instructions. Waiting until he'd left, she turned to Tweed.
`You're booked on a flight to Brussels late tomorrow afternoon. Here are the details. Apparently the only way you can fly from Brussels to Hamburg is via an outfit called Hamburg Airlines. I think it's a private set-up. Why Hamburg, if I may be so bold as to ask?'
`I want to interview Hugo Westendorf, Germany's onetime Iron Man. And I'm not looking forward to it. I expect to find another broken man – with a close relative who has been kidnapped.'
Dr Wand looked up from a map of Denmark in his study at the Waterloo villa. He folded it up as Jules, the butler, approached his desk.
`Please excuse my interrupting you, sir. Vulcan is on the phone. He says he hasn't much time. You always told me that when he called…'
`Thank you, Jules. That will be all.'
As soon as the door closed Wand picked up his phone. `Yes. I am here. Now, what is the difficulty?'
`I am calling from the Post Office but there is a queue for the phones. Tweed has disappeared.'
`Are you really quite sure? And, if so, where has our acquaintance gone?'
`I am sure,' the man's voice continued in a hurried tone. 'And I have no idea where he has gone.'
`To London, perhaps?'
`It seems unlikely since he has left Miss Grey behind. My impression is they usually travel together.'
`Could it be Hamburg?'
There was a menacing note in Wand's voice which had been absent up to this point.
`I suppose it is just possible. Yes, it might be. It has just occurred to me that Delvaux might have mentioned Westendorf to Tweed at the Chateau Orange.'
`Which had already occurred to me. Kindly continue to proceed with the system which has proved so successful…'
Ending the call, Wand pressed the button under his desk to summon Jules. He began talking before the butler closed the door after entering the study.
`I would be obliged if you would treat this as a matter of top priority. The Lear jet must be ready to take off from Zaventem Airport at any moment tomorrow. The pilot will prepare a flight plan for Hamburg.' will phone immediately…'
`I think possibly I did not express myself with sufficient clarity. I thought I had used the phrase top priority. Jules, may I suggest that instead of using the phone you would be so good as to use one of the cars to drive now to Zaventem. In other words,' Wand emphasized softly, `you are to pass on my instructions to the pilot personally.'
Inside her executive bedroom at the Hilton Paula was reading a book while Newman stared out of the window at the heavy evening mist moving in on Brussels from all directions. Marler sat smoking a king-size, watching Newman. He stubbed his cigarette.
`So it is decided that we shall be having dinner at the Baron de Boeuf here on the first floor?'
`Not much point in going out,' Paula replied, closing her book. 'I think a fog is closing in.'
`In that case,' Marler decided, standing up, 'I think I'll drive out for a quick spin to the airport.'
`What for?' Newman asked.
`Just to see whether Dr Wand's Lear jet is still here.'
30
As Tweed walked into the Albemarle Street entrance of Brown's Hotel Commander Noble jumped up from a chair in the lobby. To Tweed's surprise Noble had phoned him earlier, inviting him to dinner.
`I won't say any more – even on scrambler – would six thirty p.m. suit you?' he had suggested.
Tweed, intrigued, had agreed. They walked straight into the luxurious panelled dining-room to a quiet table in a corner. Tweed said he would just have mineral water, ordered for himself a steak and boiled potatoes. When the waiter had gone he turned to his host.
`Why here?'
`Because the tables are set well apart. No one can hear us. That is important.'
`You've taken some decision?' Tweed suggested.
`I have had a private conference with the First Sea Lord. Just the two of us.'
With the Admiral himself. You are treating this seriously.'
We are. Do you think that light Stealth aircraft which Delvaux had constructed inside his plant at Herstal still exists?'
I'm sure it does. Why?'
Tweed waited while the waiter opened Noble's half- bottle of red wine. He glanced round the comfortable restaurant. Very few other guests so far: Noble had timed the dinner well.
`Because,' Noble continued, 'our boffins need that plane. They think the device could work – could detect Stealth vessels. The Admiral's opposite number on the Air Staff is of the same opinion – it may well locate Stealth aircraft.'
`In that case, as it's a plane, won't the Air Staff people want to grab it?'
`They would have done.' The ruddy-faced Noble grinned and raised his glass to Tweed. 'But fortunately you came to me. I get first bite of the cherry.'
`You can't phone Delvaux,' Tweed warned. 'As I told you his chateau is bugged.'
`So we go straight to the plant. I'm taking experts with me. They'll dismantle the light aircraft and bring it back here.'
`You'll need a fleet of trucks. That was the arrangement with Delvaux.'
`Which is another reason why I wanted to see you. Trucks will take too long. Loading them aboard a ferry at this end, disembarking at Zeebrugge, then the whole process repeated in reverse.'
`You have a better idea?'
`Yes. And much quicker. A small fleet of large helicopters is being assembled at this moment. Liege has an airport, Delvaux's company will have its own transport. We use his trucks to carry the dismantled aircraft and the consignment of his new radar devices he offered to Liege airport, then the choppers fly them here.'
`It is a better idea,' Tweed agreed. 'Much faster. But there is one problem – Liege airport. How are you going
