shouldered, with prematurely white hair and a face that might have been carved out of rock. Barford studied him and couldn't detect even a trace of humanity in that face.
'He was in the Marines,' Thunder whispered again. 'A born leader.'
A born killer, Barford thought to himself. A man who really enjoys his work and drives his men ruthlessly. Casualties to him would be all in the day's work. Ice-cold eyes glared at him but Barford held his murderous gaze and it was Miller who looked away.
'Which are the two ex-SAS men?' Barford asked.
Miller had heard him and gave a grin like a viper. He swung round to face his troops. They all stood stiffly to attention. Miller stared at them for over a minute and not a man moved an eyelash. When Miller gave the command his voice was a harsh grating bark, more savage than that of a British GSM.
'The two Brits take two paces forward.'
Two men did so and stood like frozen statues. Barford had to admit to himself the discipline was impressive. What worried him was the personality of Ed Miller. Clearly he ruled with cold-blooded fear. Barford was relieved to realize he had never seen the two men before. He had thought it most unlikely that he would have, but had wanted to be sure.
'Never seen either of them,' he said quietly to Thunder.
Again Miller picked up every word. He paused, keeping them standing there. Never for a second did he stop letting them know who was in command. Another minute passed and the two men remained motionless.
'Now take two paces back!' Miller roared.
He swung round, facing Thunder and Barford. He ignored Barford. His words were addressed directly to Thunder.
'Sir, time is passing. Permission to start the mission. We shall take no prisoners.'
'That's no way to fight,' snapped Barford, unable to contain his indignation.
Miller stared at him and again Barford stared back with a grim expression. This eye-to-eye confrontation lasted longer. He thought there was a hint of contempt in Miller's gaze.
'Sir,' Miller eventually said, switching his gaze to Thunder. 'Permission to start the mission,' he demanded again.
'Get moving, then,' said Thunder.
He turned to say something to Barford but the Brig was walking away. His back was erect and men who had known him in earlier times would have recognized the stiff, deliberate walk. Rare for him, he was in a state of controlled rage and cursed himself for agreeing to accompany Thunder. He was further disturbed by some of the decisions which had been taken at the meetings on Sylt. They had been far more extreme than he had expected. Above all, he felt responsible for certain events to which he had agreed. At least he had warned Tweed with his anonymous phone call in the middle of the night.
Miller organized his small convoy of jeeps very swiftly. He would travel in the leading jeep alongside the driver. A third man sat behind them. He put his deputy, Ollie, in the last jeep which would bring up the rear. Ollie would drive and have a second man with him. In the middle jeep he put two men. Then he walked up and down, holding a map as he barked orders.
'We space out. One hundred yards between my jeep and the one behind me. The third jeep, Ollie, travels a quarter-mile behind jeep Number Two.'
'The route, sir?' asked Ollie.
'Thunder and I spent some time last night working out Tweed's likely plan. We decided that from Tender he'll travel south over the border from Denmark, heading back into Germany. His smart way out of Tonder is down Route Five. Near a dump called Klixbull he'll turn on to Route 199, heading for the autobahn. We want to intercept him before he reaches Klixbull!'
'Any idea when he'll leave Tonder?' Ollie asked.
'If you'll keep your flapping trap shut I was just coming to that.' Miller checked his watch. 'At this early hour I doubt he's left Tonder.'
'What transport will he be using?' enquired Ollie.
'You know something, Ollie?' Miller paused and stared at his deputy. 'I'm thinkin' of puttin' a piece of sticky tape over that big mouth of yours.'
Ollie was a big man, not quite as tall as Miller. Inwardly he shuddered as Miller gazed at him. He was getting this all wrong. Don't say another word, he told himself. Once, during an exercise in the Carolinas, a man had talked back to Miller. One slamming fist from Miller had broken the culprit's jaw. Miller had waited until the exercise was over, hours later, before he'd called for an ambulance.
'Tweed is a nut,' Miller announced. 'He's travelling with his whole team in one blue stretch Mercedes. We locate him on a road, drive across country on either side, wait for him to pass. Ollie, you'll come up behind and punch holes in his arse. Got it? Then get aboard, get the show on the road…'
Newman was driving down Route Six, the direct way out of Tonder, and they were now back on German soil. Harry had sped past them on his motorcycle and vanished from view. Paula looked out of the window as they progressed through rolling, hilly country.
'There's a light aircraft way over to our left,' she reported. 'It seems to be flying on a parallel course to ours.'
'Lots of light aircraft in this part of the world,' said Tweed. 'Quite a few airstrips around here.'
'Where are we heading for?' she asked.
'Towards a place I've never heard of. Klixbull.'
'We're definitely not using the autobahn?'
'We are not. We cut across country to another place I have never heard of. Bad Bramstedt. Then we're on Route 206 which takes us over the autobahn and we go on, heading for Liibeck, which we bypass. Then we head straight up to Travemiinde.'
'Sounds as though it's not too far, then.'
'It's a long way. Newman, have you got the air-conditioning turned full up? It's getting pretty warm in here.'
'Turned up as high as it will go. And Harry is on his way back. He'll let us know if it's clear ahead.'
He lowered his window, slowed the car to a crawl, then stopped as Harry reached them. Harry hauled off his crash helmet, took out a handkerchief and wiped sweat off his face.
'Road ahead seems clear,' he reported. 'Very quiet, in fact. No traffic at all. Now I'm checking behind you, make sure nothing is sneaking up. Back soon…'
'He's got a hot job,' Paula said sympathetically. 'And that aircraft has turned this way, is coming closer.'
'On its way back to its airfield after a morning's flight before it gets too hot,' Tweed said and returned to checking his map.
Barton had used his high-powered binoculars to scan the car. He was pretty sure he could see Tweed sitting in the middle row. He used his mobile to call Oskar's number. He tried three times and made no contact.
'To hell with him,' he snapped. I'm calling Thunder. He can pass on the info to the Special Reserve lot.'
'No sign of them,' Panko observed.
'They'll be coming.'
He had trouble contacting Thunder. He persisted and after a few minutes got through.
'Is that Gavin Thunder? Good. Barton here. Tweed's blue Mercedes has left Denmark. Is now proceeding down Route Seven. Estimate he's halfway down it. Leave you to tell your people. Tried to contact Oskar but got no reply. I am continuing to check their progress…'
He turned the plane away from Route Seven so as not to draw attention to himself. He grinned brutally at Panko.
'That will earn me credit with Thunder. Meantime we'll keep well back. We'll have a bird's-eye view from up here – see the lot in that car turned into mincemeat.'
'They've survived so far.'
'Your trouble, Panko, is you think some people can go on surviving for ever. You're about to get a demonstration of what happens when the road runs out for them.'
Harry was on top of them before he knew they were anywhere near him. He rode at speed over the crest of a hill and nearly ran into two jeeps, with barely a hundred yards between them. A huge white-haired man in
