'The girl finished phoning. She's on her way back to the car.'
Horn turned to Sonia Karnell. 'So now you follow her. And use the Porsche parked at the back she will not recognise it. Carl has placed the explosive device in a box in the boot.'
'Why not kill her here?' Karnell snuggled coaxingly against his velvet jacket.
'Because we don't want blood all over the place here. It is our respectable house. I've been known here for many years.'
'That's a laugh,' she said quickly in French, the language they invariably used together, although it was neither's mother tongue. He pushed her away roughly. The eyes behind the rimless lens had lost their placidity, were cold and darkly intense. Eyes which had frightened countless men in their time.
'You will not joke about such things. You will not argue when I give you an order.' She struggled into her duffel jacket, shaken by his reaction.
'You will follow her because she may well lead you to another Telescope base in Denmark. Find out all you can, then use the device. Return here as soon as you can. There is much to do tomorrow. Understood?'
'Of course.'
'Good luck. Be quick you must not lose her.'
Unlocking the car, Louise Hamilton glanced round in the darkness, listened for five minutes, which is too long for anyone to keep perfectly quiet. Her next precaution was to take her small torch from her shoulder-bag and shine it on the hood. The hardly visible match was where she had left it; no-one had raised the bonnet in her absence.
As she started the engine and drove slowly out of Elsinore she had the route map of Denmark open on the seat beside her. It took her two minutes to realise she was being followed. She was not surprised. Never underestimate the enemy — one of Jock Henderson's favourite maxims. Louise Hamilton had assumed only a short time after leaving Copenhagen that the couple must suspect that her car was a tail.
To escape any risk of detection she could have hung well back and almost certainly lost the van. The other option was to subordinate every other consideration — including personal safety — to making sure she did not lose the van. She had chosen the second option, and must have been spotted within ten minutes of leaving Copenhagen.
Now the roles were reversed. Heading north from Elsinore towards the remote rendezvous on the shoreline with Henderson, Louise was aware of the Porsche following at a discreet distance but not so discreet that there was any danger of the sports car losing her.
Karnell concentrated on the red lights ahead, flicking her eyes away from them at intervals to maintain night vision. The Citroen puzzled her — because of the direction it was taking. The girl behind the wheel then disconcerted her more severely because of a sudden change in her way of driving. The car accelerated and disappeared round a bend in the road. Karnell pressed her foot down, tore round the corner and then jammed on her brakes.
'You stupid little cunning tart.'
The contradictions of her insult didn't bother the Swedish girl. Coming round the bend she had found the red lights immediately ahead, the Citroen cruising very slowly like someone looking for a turning.
It wasn't that at all, and Karnell knew it. The girl had speeded up and then braked as soon as she was out of sight beyond the bend. Just far enough from the bend to ensure that the Porsche wouldn't ram her — although it might have skidded off the road.
'Bitch! Bitch! Bitch!' Karnell snarled.
The Citroen was picking up speed again. Karnell glanced at the device on the seat beside her, a device which was protected with foam-rubber inside a cardboard box bearing the name of a well-known Copenhagen florist. Much as she disliked handling explosive, Karnell was beginning to look forward to attaching some extra equipment to the car ahead.
She kept the speed of the Porsche down as the Citroen vanished round another bend at speed. Sure enough, rounding the bend herself she saw the car was only a short distance ahead. Once again the driver had jammed on the brakes as soon as the Citroen was out of sight.
'You caught me once. Twice never, you whore,' Karnell said triumphantly.
It happened about two kilometres after these two incidents. It happened without warning. Karnell saw the red lights suddenly leap away and vanish round a fresh bend in the road. It was again impossible for Karnell to see beyond the bend, which was lined with trees and undergrowth. She reduced speed and approached with great caution. Crawling round the bend she gazed stupefied ahead and in her state of shock pulled into the side of the road.
The road ahead was deserted. No red lights. No traffic at all. The Citroen had vanished into thin air.
Chapter Ten
Henderson himself was in command of the dinghy crossing the calm sea under the moonlight to the remote beach where Firestorm had seen the flash of Louise Hamilton's headlights from the Citroen. Two other men were aboard and all three were armed with sub-machine guns and hand grenades.
Louise's manoeuvre for losing the Porsche seemed to have worked — for a time. That depended on the determination and ingenuity of the other driver. Everything had hinged on conditioning the Porsche's driver to approaching bends with great caution and at low speed. On the third occasion Louise had accelerated as she came up to the bend, swung round the curve, saw the road immediately ahead clear to the next bend and had rammed her foot through the floor. As she roared through the dark she counted the right-hand turnings which were little more than tracks.
Approaching the third, she checked again in her mirror, saw no sign of headlights coming up behind her, slowed and veered sharply off the highway down a tree-lined track which crunched under her wheels. She kept up the maximum possible speed until she had turned a sharp bend in the track, out of sight of the highway. Now she only hoped to God she had chosen the track which led to the remote beach and the sea where Firestorm was waiting for her. Five minutes later, standing by the Citroen and watching the incoming outboard, she knew she had chosen well.
Stealthy footsteps in the night — behind her and coming down the track. Above the mutter of the outboard Louise was sure she had heard the hard crunch of slow-moving footsteps, the steps of someone who is careful where they place their feet — but is forced by the thick undergrowth on both sides of the track to make their way along the gravel.
She looked out to sea again and saw the outboard already cutting its motor. Henderson climbed out over the side. Another man disembarked, took hold of the side of the craft and held it in the shallows ready for swift departure. Louise moved along the water's edge towards the Scot who ran to meet her, crouched low and grasping a sub-machine gun in both hands.
'Anything wrong?' were his first words. As he spoke his eyes were scanning the woods and the entrance to the track.
'I thought I heard footsteps — I must be jittery.'
'Anyone follow you from Elsinore?'
'One person — in a Porsche.'
'Get into the outboard. Tell Adams to start it up.'
Stealthy footsteps. Henderson distinctly heard them before the outboard flared into power. The crunch of footsteps on gravel as someone came closer to the parked Citroen. He ran back, keeping a low profile, giving the order as he scrambled aboard in his half-length rubber boots.
'Masks on. Assume we're observed.'
Louise looked back briefly to the hired Citroen which looked sad and abandoned on the lonely beach. But she would be returning soon: to pick up that car and drive back to Elsinore.
Sonia Karnell was irked by the crunching sound of the gravel as she moved forward with her gun held out before her. She could normally move as silently as a cat — but confined to the gravel track she made a noise.
But the fact that the track had been made up of pebbles had been of enormous help. When she had lost the
