'Only the complete operational plan.'
Thunder had the executive case open and inside were sheaves of typed papers, clipped together so there were seven copies of the document. He extracted one sheet and the rest came loose from the clip and scattered. He handed the sheet to his colleague.
'That's the important one. The rest are details.'
The American read the close-typed page divided methodically into sections. He was a fast reader.
'I like it. We're thinking on similar lines. You've divided up your country into six control areas, each commanded by a Governor with wide powers. And a secret apparatus of informers to report to the governor any dangerous protesters. Plus a Bill for Parliament which declares martial law without appearing to do so. Who is this Supreme Governor – Brigadier Barford?'
'A very experienced soldier who has also run Special Branch, our equivalent to your FBI. His views coincide with ours.'
'So all we need, which will happen soon, are riots such as the world has never seen. Then the Elite Club will take over. I presume preparations for the outbreak are well advanced. I have been informed they are.'
'Very well advanced. They are an essential element in our plan – to scare the populations of our countries witless to such an extent they will accept anything. Rather like the way Hitler came to power because the German middle classes were desperate to stop the Communists assuming power. I have replaced the man in charge of the earlier riots. A man I have great faith in witnessed them and thought they were feeble. I have put him in sole charge.'
'Anyone I know?'
'I doubt it. A man with a brilliant brain called Oskar Vernon. With Vernon and Brigadier Barford running the operation we cannot fail.'
CHAPTER 31
'There's a windmill,' Paula said, 'and the sails are turning.'
'That's because for the first time since we arrived in Germany a wind has blown up,' Tweed told her. 'It's a south wind so it will be warm. Don't expect any relief from the heat.'
'You're so encouraging. Now we're leaving Flensburg behind where are we heading for?'
'As close as we can get to the island of Sylt in the North sea – or the Nordsee as the Germans call it. Sylt is the last in the chain of German Frisian Islands. Immediately north of there and you're in Denmark.'
'Why Sylt?'
'Because I want to see if there are signs of preparations for a rendezvous of international statesmen.'
'You mean politicians, don't you?' suggested Newman behind the wheel of the blue Mercedes. 'There aren't any statesmen these days.'
'I stand – or rather sit – corrected. We're now on Route 199. In a while we move on to small country roads. I'll continue guiding you.'
Paula was staring out on to the sun-scorched countryside. Its character had changed from the monotony of the endless maize crops. It was becoming hilly, with copses of trees often growing by the roadside. More intimate and varied. Again the road was free of any other traffic and she welcomed the atmosphere of peace, the feeling that nothing awful could happen here. Tweed turned round to look at Lisa.
'You really are back to normal, I'd say.'
'Shall I tell him why?' Paula wondered and giggled.
'Go on,' Lisa urged her. 'Why not? It was funny.'
'We went into a restaurant in the Grosse Strasse after the incident,' she explained tactfully. 'We ordered coffee but Lisa was, naturally, dying to have a real wash-down. So she pretended to be ill and I escorted her to the ladies'. Then I stood on guard outside to stop anyone getting in. One unpleasant middle-aged woman tried to push past me. In German I told her the position and said she'd have to find somewhere else. She stormed off.'
'In the meantime,' Lisa took up the story, 'I'd stripped off, used up four flannels washing myself all over. I felt tons better when I'd dried myself even though I had to put on the same clothes.'
'That was a good idea,' said Tweed.
'Oh, there was something else,' Paula recalled, her tone of voice serious. 'I'm sure that while I was standing there looking through the windows into the street I saw someone we know. You're not going to believe this.'
'Try me.'
'I'd bet a lot of money I did see him. Striding down the street. It was his walk which caught my attention. You can always tell a person by his walk.'
'Who, for heaven's sake?' asked the exasperated Tweed.
'The Brig. Bernard Lord Barford.'
'What on earth is that gigantic aqueduct thing?' Paula wondered.
They had travelled quite a distance when the massive structure came into view. At the bottom of a slope leading up to it stood a stationary train.
'That,' Tweed said, 'is the famous Hindenburg Dam which carries the railway – the only access to the island – to Sylt. The train appears to be waiting for something, which is odd.'
'I can hear a machine flying in the air a long way off,' remarked Lisa.
'Bob!' Tweed's instruction was urgent. 'Take this turning to the right. We're nearly on it.'
Newman slowed, swung the car skilfully just in time to drive up a hedge-lined lane which climbed steeply. Ahead of it was the summit of a small hill with a dense copse of trees to the left. On top of a slightly higher hill behind the copse stood a windmill, its sails motionless.
'Keep it moving,' Tweed urged.
'Which way now?' shouted Newman as he came to a fork.
'Take the right turn.'
Paula leaned forward. As far as she could tell this lane would lead close to the windmill. They topped a rise and saw a smaller copse very close to the windmill on the edge of the road.
'Get under those trees, then stop,' Tweed ordered.
'Like me to turn a somersault?' asked Newman.
He drove along a track under the trees, came to a glade, turned the car round so they faced the way they had come but were still sheltered under the trees. They could all now hear the sound of a large aircraft beginning its descent. Tweed grabbed his binoculars, looped them round his neck, dived out of the car. He called out to Paula to bring her camera.
Out in the open they were hidden but perched high up, looking down on the other copse. Paula stared, then whipped up her own binoculars, pressed them against her eyes. She was aiming the lenses at the edge of the larger copse below. She sucked in her breath.
'Look at the edge of those trees down there. A tall man. Not in uniform but I'm sure it was Danzer.'
'Where?' asked Tweed.
'He's gone now. I just caught a fleeting glimpse. He's slipped back out of sight inside the wood.'
'Pretty unlikely that Danzer would be in this part of the world.'
'I know it was Danzer,' she said stubbornly. 'The same dark hair, the same figure, the same way of standing very erect, the same way of moving. What more do you want?'
'A photograph would help…'
'If we'd damned well got up here earlier I might have been able to take a shot of him with my camera.'
'Cool it,' Newman advised. 'There's a lot more to watch if you'd just look.'
The large helicopter was landing very slowly on a round pad. Then from nowhere a horde of Americans came running to the pad, some in uniform, some in civilian clothes. They were careful to stand well back while the rotors slowed, stopped. Then the wind returned, blowing strongly. Paula could feel its warmth on her face. Now the Americans were moving forward to the landing pad.
'I don't know that the Germans would be pleased at having a load of uniformed American troops on their soil,' Newman remarked. 'Unless they've got permission. And they're all carrying automatic rifles. We'd better stay just
