'That is our job,' Newman remarked.
– 'I'm sure that sooner or later Ronstadt and his thugs will drive to the Black Forest – Kurt did tell us with his last word that the base is there. But recent events have thrown Mr Jake Ronstadt off balance – the loss of the money at the Zurcher Kredit, plus the loss of five of his men within hours. It does give us a breathing space.'
'I have something for you,' said Marler.
He handed to Tweed the small black book with a faded cover extracted from the cavity behind the brick. Tweed was about to examine its contents when Nield spoke.
'And I've got something for you. I'll fetch it from my room. Back in a minute.'
Tweed had started to read the brief notes in English in the notebook when Nield returned. He handed Tweed a file. Tweed's mind flashed back to the American Embassy in London, when he had seen Jefferson Morgenstern placing a file into a safe which had looked like a bank vault. He looked up.
'Pete, is this what I think it, is?'
'It's the file you asked us to grab from the safe inside the Security room at Grosvenor Square.'
'How on earth did you manage it. I thought afterwards I'd given you an impossible task.'
'Simple, really,' Nield explained. 'Most of it was down to Harry, expert locksmith and safe-cracker. We went in late evening by a door in a side street. Harry spotted it was equipped with a concealed alarm. Took him no time to deal with that, to open the door. There were still people in the building. We crept up a side staircase, got into the room next to Security, left a special fire-bomb with timer under the window, then Harry unlocked the door into Security…'
'Pete did act as lookout,' Butler added, 'so I could concentrate on my bit.'
'His bit involved opening the safe. Biggest job I've ever seen.'
'The more complex they try to make them,' Butler remarked, 'the easier they are to get into. I closed it after we'd got our hands on the file.'
'About that time the fire-bomb went off,' Nield continued. 'It gave off a lot of heat, which cracked the glass of the window. Important, that. The bomb contained a huge amount of smoke which flooded out of the window. We heard alarms going off, people rushing up and down the corridor outside.'
'How on earth did you get out?' asked Tweed.
'Simple. Opened the window when the fire brigade arrived – in no time at all. Saw them using a telescopic ladder to rescue a few people from another window. We waved like mad, they moved the ladder along, sent it up to us. Helped by a chap in a helmet, we climbed down the ladder, walked away. We wore charcoal black business suits – the type Americans pretending to be English are wearing at the moment. Walked to where we'd left our car, drove back to Park Crescent. Simple.'
'Nothing like as simple as you make it sound, I'm sure.'
Tweed opened the file. He sat back to read the first typed sheet. He read it again. Then he sat up straight. 'Oh, my God.'
'What is it?'
Paula had asked the question. She had rarely heard Tweed use the words he had just uttered. He sat rigid. He handed the file to her.
'Read that first sheet. The Americans are moving much faster with their operation than I'd anticipated. Which means we may have very little time left to stop them…'
The vast task force sailed on into the night, leaving behind Newport News, the naval base on the east coast of America. The centrepiece of the force, a main asset of the United States, was the gigantic 110,000-ton aircraft carrier President. The colossal ship had a crew of 6,500 men aboard, was armed with a devastating collection of nuclear missiles. Such ships do not put to sea without a fleet of powerful escorting vessels – distributed at a distance to port and starboard, way behind the stern, way ahead of the immense bow. No nation in the world could have mustered a fleet as advanced and numerous as the escorts.
Aboard one escort vessel was a unit of SEALs. These were naval men trained to be the toughest fighters on the planet. On the same vessel were new fast-moving amphibious craft which could carry the SEALs to land them on any beach, put them ashore so they could drive inland to destroy their target.
Perched on top of the endless deck of the aircraft carrier, reared the Island – the control tower, over forty feet high and composed of several different levels. The President was one of the jewels in the crown of American world power. The movements of this terrible weapon of war were controlled by Rear Admiral Joseph Honey- wood. Six feet two tall, he was built like a quarterback and had a craggy face, which was why he was known throughout the US Navy as Crag. He sat relaxed in his chair at a lower level inside the Island. His eyes were blue, his hair dark, his movements slow and deliberate.
Outwardly he was a calm man. He had never been known to allow a crisis to disturb him. He issued orders tersely, in a quiet voice. He abhorred anyone showing excitement on the bridge and an offender would be demoted on the spot. Which is why it was surprising that he had been startled when he had opened his sealed orders. Not that anyone observing him would have known his reaction. He read them twice, then handed them to his Operations Officer.
'Say, Bill, you might like to take a look.'
It was the opening, brief paragraph which caused the officer to muster all his self-control not to show surprise. That paragraph was followed by route instructions, ordering them to steer clear of all shipping lanes and flight paths of commercial airliners. As the Rear Admiral had done, the officer read the opening paragraph twice.
Objective: Great Britain. The English Channel off Portsmouth.
'I reckon, Bill,' Crag said in an offhand way, 'it should take us no more than seven days to reach our objective.
23
'It's time we killed some of Tweed's people.' Vernon grunted, then continued. 'Better still, wipe out all the m**** with one bomb. Put them underground for good.'
'Or underwater,' Ronstadt said viciously. 'You've given me an idea.'
He had called a meeting in his suite. Only three people were present, Ronstadt, Vernon and Brad. Recently Ronstadt had promoted the two men to be his deputies. He played with his pack of cards. That had been a smart move, he was thinking. If he gave them a task which was dangerous they'd go for it, puffed up with pride by their new status. Which left him in the clear if anything went wrong.
'Underwater?' queried the squat Brad. 'Don't get it.'
'Wouldn't expect you to – otherwise, feller, you'd be sitting in my chair. Like this suite?' he asked suddenly.
'It's great, Jake,' Vernon said quickly.
'It's really great,' Brad agreed.
'Play your cards right and maybe – just maybe – you'll have a suite like this one. Play your cards,' he repeated, then held up his pack. 'See what I mean, dopes?'
'Sure, Jake,' they both said at the same time.
'It was a joke, morons,' Ronstadt snarled. 'Trouble with you guys is you ain't got no sense of humour. Remember what we pulled off outside Paris last year? You do? Amazing. Guess we could do the same thing here. We need a whisperer. Has to convince that bastard Tweed. Guess I know who could do it for us.'
Standing up, Ronstadt left the table, walked over to a window, gazed at the traffic outside the Euler. He was turning the idea over in his mind. He suddenly returned to the table, where his two deputies were waiting for him.
'I've got it, you- guys. We use the bar here at the Euler. I hope you brought back the explosive when I recalled you from Hollental on my mobile. Hollental!' He grinned nastily. 'I've heard that's German for Hell's Valley. That's what we're going to give them. Hell.' His tone became savage. 'Tweed's mob has eliminated five of my men. I always pay back. And do I have to ask you again? Did you bring back the explosive?'
'We did,' Vernon said hastily. 'Enough to blow the Three Kings Hotel sky-high.'
