`I'll just check,' he said.
Holding his Smith amp; Wesson in both hands, he darted across the road, paused on the grass verge, listening, looking both ways. Then he approached the Mercedes cautiously. Only when he had checked the underside of the chassis with a pencil flashlight and looked at the engine was he satisfied. He went back and beckoned for them to cross.
He started the engines and switched on the heaters – the interior of the car was like an icebox. Delvaux sat in the back with Tweed while Paula occupied the front passenger seat next to Newman.
`Something very important I forgot to tell you,' Delvaux said suddenly. 'Hugo Westendorf in Germany was a member of INCOMSIN. Somehow the refugee problem is mixed up in all this.'
Two uniformed policemen were patrolling the dubious Marolles district of Brussels. Marolles lies behind the immense bulk of the Palace of Justice and is only a five-minute walk from the Hilton.
Both men were alert: it was not an area to go to sleep in. They peered into a bar. Marc, the younger, swivelled his eyes swiftly over the customers. No one 'known' to the police. They walked on, came to the entrance to a narrow cobbled street.
Armand, the older, paused, frowned. A few paces into the street a black Mercedes taxi was parked. He unfastened the flap of the holster on his right hip, making it easy to grab the butt of his pistol.
`Marc, might as well take a look. I think that cab is empty. Taxis don't park round here.'
His colleague had a pair of handcuffs and a truncheon slung from his belt on his left hip. His right hand was holding a walkie-talkie. They approached the car in the usual tactical manner – one man taking the right-hand side, the other the left. It was Armand who approached the driver's seat.
Marc noticed the sticker advertising a restaurant plastered across the rear window. Armand aimed his flashlight at the dashboard, saw the key in the ignition. He called out quietly to his colleague.
`Very odd. An empty cab and the key in the ignition.' `Except it isn't empty.'
Marc had opened the rear door. The cab driver was bent over in a huddled position so he couldn't easily be seen by a casual passer-by. Armand opened the other rear door, aimed his flashlight. The driver's head rested on the floor, sightless eyes staring up in the beam of the flash.
`Call headquarters,' Armand ordered. 'We have something here which is going to raise all hell… And that sticker is covering a bullet-hole in the rear window…'
Inside the parked Mercedes across the road from the Chateau Orange Delvaux was shivering despite the fact that the heaters were quickly warming up the interior. Tweed knew he was on the verge of another collapse.
`What is this about the refugee problem being mixed up with this whole strange affair? Andover used the word `catastrophe' to me. And how does Hugo Westendorf fit in?'
Tweed was hugely intrigued, although his manner was casual. Hugo Westendorf was – had been – a major player in the world of Western politics. He had been known as the Iron Man of Germany and – until recently – had held the post of Minister of the Interior. Suddenly, to everyone's surprise, he had resigned, pleading reasons of ill- health.
`Andover,' Delvaux continued, 'told us that a major part of the menace facing Western Europe was the tidal wave of refugees waiting on Poland's border to flood across the Oder-Neisse river line into Western Europe. He said they were being organized by the enemy.'
`You just said "us",' Tweed reminded him. 'Who does that mean?'
`Oh, Westendorf was here several times when he was Minister. He travelled to Herstal secretly – incognito – to attend meetings with Andover and myself. Westendorf was very strong on stopping those refugees, employing drastic methods.'
`You will have to leave soon and get back to the chateau before Benoit arrives,' Tweed warned.
Delvaux wasn't listening. 'And the terrible mistake the Americans have made is not to protect themselves against the Stealth threat. A move to save money – to help their economy. They are wide open to a horrendous attack.'
`I have heard that,' Tweed assured him. 'Now, you must go. At once, please. And remember, Benoit will be discreet.'
Delvaux opened the door slowly, as though reluctant to leave. He stood outside with the door still open while he pulled up his coat collar. Tweed leaned over to speak to him.
`Gaston, one important thing you haven't told me. That is, if you know the answer. Who is the new enemy?'
`Didn't I tell you? I thought I had. Andover – with his expertise on global power – had worked it out. And Westendorf agreed with him, completely.'
`Who?' Tweed pressed urgently.
The most menacing force we have ever faced. Forget Hitler, forget Stalin. They were small beer, as you say in England. The new enemy is the People's Republic of China. Over a billion people, one-quarter of the world's population. Andover called them Fortress China – Communism which is economically successful. They read history.'
As he walked away, shoulders bowed, feet dragging, across the road back to the chateau, Tweed looked at Paula. She had twisted round to stare at him.
`Yes, I had wondered,' Tweed said grimly. 'And Dr Wand is Director of Moonglow Refugee Aid Trust International. It is all coming together, the vague pattern which has been building in my mind. You remember the extracts from Andover's file I read out to you?'
`Which bit?'
Tweed quoted from memory. 'In 1214 Genghis Khan, the leader of the Mongol confederation… turned westward, conquered Western Turkestan, Persia, Armenia… and south Russia as far as Hungary and Silesia… His successor, Ogdai Khan, continued this astonishing career of conquest… a mixed army of the Poles and Germans was annihilated at the battle of Liegnitz.." And I pointed out Liegnitz is no more than two hundred and fifty miles from Hamburg.'
`So the Mongols are coming?'
`The People's Republic of China this time…'
21
`There's been a murder of a cab driver in Brussels.'
Chief Inspector Benoit made the statement as he was driving Tweed and Paula from the chateau to Liege railway station at breakneck speed. Paula sat beside him while Tweed was occupying the rear with the unmarked police car's driver.
`We can just catch the express,' Benoit had decided after spending half an hour with Gaston Delvaux on his own. He had earlier been intercepted by Tweed when he arrived and before he could enter the Chateau Orange.
Tersely, Tweed had explained the situation. He had told Benoit about the kidnapping of Lucie, Delvaux's wife – but had omitted all reference to Stealth and Hugo Westendorf.
`I'll be discreet,' Benoit had promised before following the ambulance up the drive. 'And hand-picked men will watch the chateau from a distance..
This outcome had been inevitable: Andover's murder on Belgian soil dictated that the police must take over the case. Benoit had checked train times, had shown relief when he realized they could return by fast train.
`I've had enough of travelling in a car for one day,' he explained.
`So why are you behind the wheel now?' Paula chivvied him mischievously. 'When you have a perfectly good driver behind us?'
`Oh, Jean is cautious. I drive like a madman – I used to do a bit of race-driving.'
`I can see that,' she commented as he swung round one of the bends practically on two wheels.
`What about this murdered cab driver they informed you about over your car phone?' Tweed called out.
`Well, you said this car which mowed down Andover was a black Mercedes taxi. Two uniformed men found his body inside the same type of vehicle abandoned in Marolles – behind the Palais de Justice. Paula told me she fired one shot through the rear window. The cab they found has one bullet-hole in the rear window. Draw your own conclusions.'