Glancing once more at Harry Marler noticed the colour was coming back into his face. The Dramamine had worked. Harry was taking an interest in his surroundings. He pointed ahead.
'What's that big hill ahead? An alp?'
'You only get those in Switzerland. That's Mountain High…'
'I can see a large truck in an empty field. That could be it. A man's walking towards it. Keep this thing steady.'
Harry took out his powerful binoculars, focused them. He could see the burly figure in denims and a windcheater quite clearly. Could see the man's ugly face under a peaked cap. He swore colourfully.
'What's the matter?' Marler asked.
'See that chap heading for the truck? That's Mugger Morgan. A real villain. Been hauled up for two killings, which he did. Got off on a technicality. Friend of Fitch. He's looking up at us.'
'Have to trick him. We're joy-riders. Brace yourself.'
Marler looped the loop. Harry found himself staring at the sky, then the earth above him. He yelled in terror.
'It's OK,' Marler called back.
He looped the loop a second time. Harry was staring up at earth again. They were crashing. He knew they were crashing. The plane levelled out, the view became normal. Harry let go of the breath he had been holding.
'What the hell did you do that for?'
'To fool Mugger Morgan. He'll think we're mad joyriders.'
'Mad is the word!'
'Keep an eye on him. What's he doing now?'
'Stopped looking at us. He's climbing into the cab. He's going to drive the truck off. We're well away from him.'
They both looked down at the truck, which appeared very small from their height. There was no one else about anywhere.
The truck moved forward perhaps ten feet, then the explosives detonated. The entire vehicle lifted off the field. There was a blinding flash, a distant boom. The roof shot skywards, split in two. The truck's sides blasted outwards. The cab where Mugger Morgan had sat disintegrated. A small crater appeared in the field. Fragments descended to the field as debris fell inside the crater.
Inside the Park Crescent office Marler concluded his report to Monica at about the time Tweed parked his car outside Tolhaven.
It was a different ferryman who took him across to Black Island in a calm sea. It was also a different route from the one to the east he had travelled with the team. So he saw the ugly globe-shaped structures of the oil refinery near the western tip of the island.
He was totally unprepared for what happened when he had walked past the village of Lydford.
33
Instead of turning left towards General Macomber's house and the Crooked Village, Tweed turned right, walking along the track towards where the brutal prison was being built by the Slovaks. A glimpse through the trees showed him eight of the prison buildings had been erected. He was appalled.
A glimpse to his right through a gap in the forest showed him the oil refinery. He stopped. He pressed his binoculars to his eyes. A tall slim man, clad in a camouflage outfit, including a cap, was detaching a rubber hose from an outlet. His hand, covered in a fireproof glove, checked to make sure the tap had turned off the outlet. Over his shoulder was slung a shotgun. The camouflaged figure began walking towards Tweed.
A few feet from where he stood Tweed saw a thick rubber hose turning away, heading towards the prison. A shaft of sunlight shone on its oily surface. Tweed smelt petrol. He stepped well back away from it.
The figure was close now, moving briskly. The shotgun was now in the figure's hands, aimed towards Tweed. He grabbed the Walther from its holster, aimed it at the approaching figure as it came close.
'General,' Tweed snapped, 'if we shoot each other I can't see it will help either of us.'
'You are right,' General Macomber replied, lowering the weapon. 'Your timing is bad, but perfect.'
'Perfect?'
'From your point of view.'
'I've just come over by the ferry.'
'Which has a different ferry master. Perfect.'
'Why?'
'Because he won't recognize you when you go back. It leaves for the mainland in ten minutes. Then leave for London. By then you'll have seen the fireworks.'
'Fireworks?'
'That diabolical prison must go. I have also cancelled the monthly allowance to my three evil offspring. Are you ready, sir?'
'Ready for what?'
'The fireworks.'
Saying which, the General took out a cigarette lighter, bent down, lit it, and with a quick movement let the flame touch the edge of the pipe which disappeared towards the prison. The flame flared along the outside of the pipe into the distance. The General stood up, stepped back close to Tweed, put the lighter in his pocket.
'When it reaches the prison the pipe is full of petrol inside,' he explained. 'I once served a short spell with the Royal Engineers.'
Tweed was almost hypnotized, watching the low line of fire sweeping towards the prison. The General checked his watch.
'You have five minutes to catch the ferry. Wait just a little longer.'
'The Slovaks don't have explosives, do they?'
'I did notice they are careless about storing grenades.'
'In which case…'
'They will explode.'
'I suppose the Slovaks who built this place will be away at lunch?'
'They have taken to eating lunch inside the prison. About now.'
'So…'
'They will be on the premises.'
'You don't like the Slovaks?'
'Not the ones from the Tatra mountains. In Bratislava I once met several I liked.'
Tweed was watching the progress of the flaring pipe. It was getting close to the prison buildings. No sign of guards. They were getting careless.
'The grenades may injure a few,' Tweed remarked.
'Oh, there's something else,' the General said casually. 'I've explored the place in the night. The Slovaks sleep inside an encampment some distance away. I found a store of bricks of Semtex.'
'My God!'
'I think you should catch that ferry now. You were never here. I was taking a nap in my house. Good luck with finding that murdering animal. I'm sure you will. The fire has reached the section of pipe filled with petrol. Go now.'
Tweed saw the distant pipe flare up into a huge column of flame. It had reached the inside of the prison complex. He hurried back to the ferry. The barge was just leaving. Scrambling aboard the stern, Tweed went to the prow so he could get off quickly. Soon they were in mid-channel.
He looked back. Well beyond the oil-refinery complex the world was on fire. Great tongues of flames shot skywards. Black Island became Red Island. The ferryman, at the stern, stared in disbelief as the inferno increased in intensity. Then the devastating explosion roared and Tweed knew the fire had reached the Semtex.
