'What language was he speaking?' The FBI man worked his thick lips rapidly, as though speaking, pointing again at Tweed.
'Ah!' Paula smiled. 'Speak? Him. He speak the Danish.'
'Jesus!' The FBI man took a step back. 'We could be in Denmark. The border is just north of Sylt. The last goddamn' thing we want is an international incident -considering what is happening on Sylt.'
He had looked up at the huge American soldier by his side as he said this. The soldier stared at Paula with interest and she had trouble maintaining her demure expression. She could see he was aggressive, used to pushing his way in anywhere he chose to.
'I say we search the dump. We gotta find that piece of paper.'
'Yo', said Tweed.
'You've seen a piece of paper blowing round here?' the FBI man asked.
Tweed started his non-stop jabbering again. He waved his arms in a friendly gesture, then opened the palms of both hands and made a pushing motion in the friendliest manner. He kept on jabbering.
'I think he's telling us we ought not to be here,' the FBI man said.
'I say we go in and rip the guts out of the place,' the soldier snarled.
He took two steps forward and Tweed decided more drastic action was needed to get rid of them. His head and wide shoulders were three feet away from the tip of one of the sails. Tweed jabbered to Paula, disappeared inside the mill. Paula didn't know what he was going to do but felt she must stop the soldier entering the mill. She was still smiling when she spoke.
'He work. Work. You know work?'
'Yeah, baby,' the soldier told her. 'We work but we like a little fun too.'
Inside the mill Tweed was crouched over the three wooden levers, trying to remember from his short stay in East Anglia which was the correct one. He couldn't remember. Closing his eyes, he reached out with his hand, grasped a lever, pulled it down.
The wheel began to turn with an aching grind. He opened his eyes and saw the vertical column also revolving. Outside the sails, caught by the wind, began moving. The sail close to the soldier hit his head. He yelled, automatically lifted both hands, felt the sail, grabbed hold of it. He was lifted off his feet as the sail began its ascent, continued to rise higher and higher. Peering through the window Tweed saw what was happening. Right, you asked for this, he thought. He waited, then pushed up the lever he had pulled down. The wheel and the vertical spindle stopped. Outside he heard yelling, then laughter. He ran out.
The sail had stopped at its uppermost height. The soldier was clinging to it, terrified, staring down. Below him the other soldiers were roaring with laughter, prodding each other, pointing up at the suspended soldier who was shouting in fear.
'Get me down. Can't hold on much longer…'
Tweed stared up, looked at the FBI man who was suppressing a smile. He began jabbering, waving his arms, as though to say why has he gone up there? Tweed looked amazed, ran back inside. Grasping the lever he had operated earlier, he rammed it down as far as it would go, then ran outside.
The sail rocketed downward. The soldier hit the ground with a hard thump, let go and the sail continued its swift climb. Nobody helped him to get up. He was the bully of the unit. He clambered painfully to his feet.
'Need first aid,' he gasped. 'Shoulder broken…'
'No, it isn't,' snapped the FBI man. 'For God's sake get him out of here. He's caused enough trouble.'
Two soldiers grabbed hold of the injured man, practically dragged him away towards the wood. As they did so, another man in civilian clothes appeared. He called out to the FBI man.
'The fifth man hasn't come. Sent a message he can't be here.'
'Then forget Number Five.' He turned to Tweed and Paula and for the first time had the ghost of a smile on his hard face.
'OK. We're going. OK?'
'Yes,' said Paula.
They watched the FBI man until he'd disappeared inside the wood. Paula gave a great sigh of relief.
'What was that incredible language you jabbered?'
'Incredible is the word. I've heard Finnish spoken and so I mimicked that. The language of Finland is a trainload of k's – without that letter there is no Finnish. And you put up a remarkable performance, backing me up. Couldn't have done it without you. Let's go inside.'
Tweed adjusted the levers until the sails stopped spinning round at frantic speed and moved normally. They were met by Harry who didn't mince his words.
'We have to get out of here fast. Let me show you something. This mill does have an occupant.'
He carefully opened a large wooden drawer, sliding it open gently. They peered inside. There was a large black box of metal with a muddle of wires protruding.
'That,' Harry told them, 'is a very powerful bomb with magnetic strips to attach it to something. Like a car bomb but much bigger. Then there's something else.' He closed the drawer with the same delicate care, opened a second deep drawer.
'What on earth is that?' Paula wondered.
'It's a mechanic's boiler suit, American model. Plus a baseball cap. I won't take it out again. I had to fold it back the way I'd found it. I also found a pretty fresh half-eaten croissant under that table. Don't you think we ought to move now?'
'If not sooner,' agreed Tweed.
They took trouble leaving the place just as they had found it. The front door to the mill was closed. When Newman had backed the car out of the shed they closed the double doors.
Harry had returned from checking the track through the wood. He reported they couldn't go that way.
'Maintenance men in boiler suits are swarming round the big chopper.'
Inside the car Tweed had been studying the map. Newman looked over his shoulder.
'Any other way out?'
'Yes. Drive ahead and we'll find a little country road which will take us direct to Tender.'
'And where is Tender?' asked Lisa.
'Across the border in Denmark. I stayed the night there quite a while ago. It's one of the most attractive villages I've ever seen. The people are nice, too. It's the essence of peace and quiet.'
'Famous last words,' said Newman.
CHAPTER 32
The light aircraft with a blue insignia on its tail swooped down to the landing strip at Tender airfield. Outside a small building Oskar Vernon stood, arms folded, as he watched it land perfectly. Skimming along the ground it came to a halt, propeller slowing, then stopping.
'Barton is a good pilot,' Oskar said to himself, 'but then, he does belong to a flying club in Britain…'
Barton, clad in flying gear, carrying his case and helmet, walked across as Panko followed him after dropping agilely from the cabin, also carrying a case. In his usual rough manner Barton said nothing to Vernon as he walked inside the building and checked that it was unoccupied. Panko went straight up to Oskar.
'We arrive good time,' he greeted Oskar.
'You're expected to.'
'We lose Tweed team in Flensburg. Delgado gone.'
'Do keep your trap shut,' snarled Barton who had come out of the small building in time to hear what he'd said. 'I do the reporting.'
'Then report,' Oskar ordered. 'What's all this about 'Delgado gone'?'
'He insisted on searching Flensburg on his own. He was hoping to find one of Tweed's women on her own. He planned to torture her to get information. He never came back.'
'Strange. Well, we can't waste time over him. Did you see Tweed in Flensburg?'
'Yes,' Barton replied hesitantly. 'Walking on a street with some of his men. We slipped inside an alley so we
