small portion of the sleeping drug Soneryl. This was added to their coffee. They are all now very quiet – not asleep, you understand, but extremely passive.'
`When we do turn south-east between the Shetland Islands and Norway, heading for the southern coast of Jutland, I'll need all my concentration. There is plenty of shipping in that area – to say nothing of small vessels supplying the oil rigs.'
He hoped to God Kim would take the hint. It was another futile hope.
`I will, of course, be standing by your side in case of an emergency. And it is vital that we reach the Jutland coast in the middle of the night. That is essential. You have a met forecast yet for that part of the world?'
Fog. Dense fog.'
`Splendid.' Kim almost smiled. We might have ordered it.'
Paula woke up suddenly. Very alert. She was still sprawled on the leather couch, hands and ankles imprisoned with the leather thongs. It was the middle of the night. Thank God they switched off that bloody fluorescent strip. She was aching, every limb stiff from being kept in one position for hours except for the short periods when she was given food and water by Ilena.
She frowned as she heard a noise she'd detected before – a sound like distant breakers crashing on a shore. Was it the sea or pure imagination? She remembered two things Butler had taught her during the refresher training course out at the country house.
`If you're ever held prisoner in solitary confinement by the opposition, concentrate your mind on a problem – to keep your brain active…'
He had also instructed her in what he had called the Houdini technique. She began to practise what she had learnt – as she had done earlier when the light went out and Ilena had slammed the door closed. Letting her right hand and fingers go limp, she began to revolve her wrist inside the thong. To start with she seemed to be getting nowhere, then she sensed a looseness. She persisted, stopped immediately she heard a fresh sound.
A banging, flapping noise which repeated itself at regular intervals. Faint light appeared from the outside world. She realized a shutter closed over the semi-basement window was being whipped back and forth. A fresh sound: the key inserted into the lock on the outside of the door. She shut her eyes.
The door opened, the dazzling fluorescent light came on, and Ilena's deliberate thumping footsteps descended the plank staircase. Reaching the bottom she walked over to the couch and shook Paula by the shoulder.
`I know you not sleep. You want toilet?'
`No. Thank you very much.'
She was careful not to provoke the unpredictable peasant. A trip to the toilet was humiliating. Ilena produced an ancient 7.63 mm Mauser pistol with a long barrel. Had she brought it with her from Romania – or wherever she had come from? Aiming the muzzle at Paula, she unfastened the straps, stood back. Paula then had to push open the door in the basement which led to little more than a cupboard. Inside was an Elsan toilet. While she attended to her needs Ilena stood watching, the gun pointed at her. She was then returned to the couch, the straps reapplied.
`Then I prepare operating table. Dr Hyde very clean man…'
Ilena turned her back on Paula who twisted her head to see what was going on. To her horror she saw Ilena had brought with her a plastic bucket of hot soapy water and a scrubbing brush. She proceeded to scrub every inch of a long wooden table.
Paula had a reaction of terror and fury. Terror at what the preparation forecast for her. Fury that this pig of a woman had woken her up – so she must have assumed before entering – to do this foul job in the middle of the night.
Staring at the broad girth of Ilena's back, Paula realized again she would be no match for this ox-like creature if it came to a hand-to-hand struggle. Ilena finished her task, stood back to admire her work.
`That is good – no infection as doctor say when operation is made.'
She then perched the single wooden chair under the window. As she stood on it the chair groaned under the punishment. Break your flaming back! Paula said under her breath. The woman fiddled with the catch of the shutter, and Paula saw she had to reach through bars to grasp it. No escape that way. The job completed, Ilena lowered her bulk to the floor and turned round. As she picked up the bucket with the brush inside it she made one final remark before climbing the steps, switching off the light, slamming and relocking the door, a remark which chilled Paula's blood.
`Operation soon now.'
Earlier, when Marler, with Butler and Nield as his passengers, reached the Danish frontier post north of Flensburg, he had his British passport in his hand. The Control officer, a man in his fifties with very Nordic features, didn't take any interest in the passport.
`Business or pleasure?' he enquired.
`Very much business,' Marler replied.
`Sounds official,' the Dane commented.
Marler took a lightning decision, a big chance. He abandoned his story about selling marine equipment. Instead he took out a photo of Dr Hyde, handed it to the officer.
`Have you by any chance seen this man pass through during the evening? A few hours ago, possibly.'
The Dane examined the photo by the light of the torch he had shone into the Mercedes. He took his time, glanced at Marler again, then returned his attention to the photo. Marler had the impression he was intrigued by his question, by the photograph.
`Where are you from?' the officer asked eventually. `We've just driven hell-for-leather up from Hamburg.' Marler smiled drily.
`Of course. From Hamburg, you say? You know some- one important there?'
Marler chanced his arm again. He sensed he was on to a winning streak.
`Yes. Chief Inspector Otto Kuhlmann of the Criminal Police from Wiesbaden.'
`I see.' The Dane paused as though taking a decision. 'I find this an intriguing coincidence. You know Kuhlmann well?'
`I've known – and worked with him – for years,' Marler replied. His tone was friendly but his manner that of a man on official business. 'Otto is always very co-operative with us.'
The Dane was tactful enough not to enquire who `us' might be. He fingered the photo, looked again at Marler.
`The coincidence is Kuhlmann phoned me earlier, gave a word description of a man. It corresponds exactly with this picture.'
`I know,' Marler assured him. wanted to know if he had crossed the frontier into Denmark. You are observant – you told him you had seen that man travelling as a passenger in the back of a car. You know the man who was driving that car?'
`Yes. His passenger was an unpleasant-looking character. Very conceited, was my impression.'
Marler waited, hands relaxed on the wheel, betraying none of the tension inside him. Would the Dane come across with the information he so vitally needed?
`Your journey is concerned with the phone call I had from Kuhlmann?' the officer enquired.
`Definitely.'
Marler left it at that. Don't disturb the mood of confidence he had built up by saying too much.
`So it would be useful if you knew the name and address of the car's driver? He lives in Tinglev. Again, not one of the most pleasant of human beings. He cheats at cards.'
`A bad sign. He may cheat at other things,' Marler commented.
`We are talking about Johnny Clausen, a man with a glib tongue.'
`It would be most helpful if we knew his address,' Marler told him. 'It might prevent a major crime. We are racing against time.'
`So serious?' The Dane was writing on a notepad he had picked up, writing laboriously in capital letters. He tore off the sheet, handed it to Marler. 'That is where Johnny Clausen lives in Tinglev – on the edge of the town. I
