when Cord Dillon had arrived. It had been a woman who'd done the job. Cyanide poisoning. Paula had seen her bump into Vane just before the victim died so unpleasantly. A woman in a wide-brimmed hat which hid her face.
Then there was the cab driver found dead inside his own vehicle in Marolles. After it had been driven to Liege where the woman using the cab had driven down – killed – Sir Gerald Andover. Paula had sworn that had been a woman. It was a new and deadly idea – a woman who was a professional assassin.
Stealth. Tweed began to think about all that involved, and fell fast asleep.
Latitude 37.50N. Longitude 21.50W. The Mao III, with its sister ship, Yenan, was sailing at thirty knots – over nine hundred miles west of the Straits of Gibraltar.
The sea was an oily calm and another heavy mist was forming. Captain Welensky was relieved to be alone on the bridge. Kim had gone below decks to check something. As he stared at the radar screen, about to issue an order, Kim suddenly appeared, padding silently in his cloth shoes. He took Welensky by the arm with an iron grip and shook him.
`There is a small fishing vessel…'
`I know. Dead ahead…'
`Dead. Ram it! Now!'
`I was about to alter course to avoid-'
`I said ram it! I have just returned from the radio room. That vessel is beginning to send out a Mayday…'
`It's cold-blooded murder.'
Welensky regretted the outburst the moment after he had uttered the words. Kim's grip tightened.
`I am beginning to think your efficiency is impaired, Captain. Do I have to give the order myself?' he purred.
Welensky was frightened. Kim's voice had shown no sign of emotion. But he was quite capable of thrusting his knife into Welensky, weighting the body, and throwing it overboard. Welensky gave the order.
It was a small vessel. Proceeding on the same course, Welensky watched the radar. He hardly felt the tremble as the Mao sliced clean through the fishing vessel amidships. Kim, his night glasses raised to his eyes, went first to port.
He saw two men flailing in the water. One raised his arms as though in a desperate plea for mercy, then the arms vanished under the waves with the head. The other fisherman had already disappeared. Kim walked swiftly to starboard, raised his glasses again. The bow of the fishing vessel had already sunk. He watched the stern slide below the waves. No heads floated on the surface of the ice-cold sea. No survivors. He went back to stand alongside Welensky. think you require a lesson in seamanship, Captain. If a vessel sends out a repeated Mayday signal the chances are other vessels will detect it, will change course to hurry to the scene. The object of this voyage is to avoid any risk whatsoever that our presence will be discovered. Do you grasp the meaning of my little lecture, Captain?'
`It is quite clear,' Welensky replied, staring ahead.
`Good. We are on course. We are on schedule. Now we shall proceed west of the British Isles and Ireland. We shall then turn south between the Shetland Islands and Norway and descend on the west coast of Denmark. To be precise, on Jutland.'
`I studied geography at school,' Welensky remarked. Kim made no reply, but by now Welensky had realized he had no sense of humour.
Tweed had asked Monica to leave a message at Benoit's HQ giving him his flight number and ETA. He didn't expect the police chief to be waiting for him but, as he walked out of Zaventem Airport, Benoit appeared, smiling with pleasure as they shook hands.
`I have an unmarked car waiting. Where to? The Hilton?'
`As usual.'
Butler had stayed in the background. He took a taxi to the hotel. As Benoit sat in a traffic jam he turned to Tweed, who sat beside him.
`It gets grimmer, this business, I fear. While you were away there have been two more murders.'
`Who?' Tweed asked in a normal voice, masking his anxiety.
`A man called Joseph Mordaunt, an acquaintance of Newman's, I understand.'
`I met him briefly near Lymington on the south coast. I wouldn't have thought he was important.'
`Important enough to someone to have him killed,' Benoit commented. 'By cyanide injection.'
`The same technique as used on the cab driver in Marolles,' Tweed recalled. 'Someone has an instrument disguised as an everyday item. I have the feeling I have seen it. I've no idea when. And the second murder?'
`Lucie Delvaux's body was dragged out of the River Meuse. Again, first killed by a cyanide injection. Delvaux is a broken man – mentally and physically.'
`As you say, it is getting grimmer. Poor Gaston.' Tweed was frowning. 'Water,' he said. 'Always an element near by is water.'
`Please explain,' Benoit suggested as the car began moving again.
`Irene, the daughter of Sir Gerald Andover – her body was taken out of the sea near Lymington. Also killed by an injection of cyanide.' And Moor's Landing was located on the banks of the River Beaulieu, he was thinking, but kept the thought to himself. 'Water,' he repeated, `Lucie's body is found in the River Meuse.'
`You think water is significant?'
`Probably just a coincidence.'
Tweed no longer believed what he'd just said. A Stealth ship would operate on water. Something else he had no intention of broadcasting.
`We have been busy in another direction also,' Benoit informed him. 'Dr Hyde. I phoned the news we'd found he stayed at a dump called the Hermitage here in Brussels. Since then I sent teams to Liege. One of my men showed this Dr Hyde's photograph to a boarding-house landlady in that city. We missed him by one hour. He told her he was leaving for Brussels.'
`Which means Brussels is the last place he's heading for next. But the information is valuable. Thank you for your efforts.'
`I could now blanket Antwerp,' Benoit suggested. `Don't bother. I think Hyde has left Belgium. Perhaps for Holland, maybe Germany.'
They were now driving down the side road parallel to the Boulevard de Waterloo which led to the Hilton.
Tweed was encouraged by the news about Hyde. He felt they were catching up with him.
Tactfully, Benoit did not accompany Tweed into the Hilton. Earlier he had examined the guest list in search of a suspect. It had proved hopeless: too many people and no familiar name. Also he was not exactly popular with the manager.
Tweed found the executive room he'd paid for in advance for several days was still available. He paid out more money to keep them happy. As he stepped out of the elevator on the twentieth floor he saw Marler leaving Newman's room.
`You've come back to Murder City,' Marler greeted him with black humour.
`I know. Where is everyone?'
In Newman's room. You want to see someone?' `All of you. Urgently …'
Two minutes later Paula was unpacking his case while Newman sat on a couch next to Pete Nield. Marler took up his usual stance, leaning against a wall while he lit a king-size. Tweed was pacing the room, hands behind his back, his manner brisk as he spoke.
`We're leaving tomorrow as early as possible. Butler has come with me. At reception I was able to scribble a note with my room number and a request for him to join us.' He had hardly finished speaking when someone tapped on the door. Newman slid his hand inside his jacket, gripped the butt of his Smith amp; Wesson, unlocked the door, and Butler walked in.
`Mobilizing a heavy team,' Newman observed, relocking the door.
`Yes,' Tweed confirmed. 'And Philip Cardon may be joining us later.'
`Why are you assembling all this manpower?' Paula asked as she put a pile of Tweed's shirts into the drawer. `Normally you work with the minimum of personnel – so they won't be noticed.'
`True. But this situation is really menacing. We have no idea how many thugs – killers – Wand has at his
