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`Your journey is concerned with the phone call I had from Kuhlmann?' the officer enquired.

`Definitely.'

Marler left it at that. Don't disturb the mood of confidence he had built up by saying too much.

`So it would be useful if you knew the name and address of the car's driver? He lives in Tinglev. Again, not one of the most pleasant of human beings. He cheats at cards.'

`A bad sign. He may cheat at other things,' Marler commented.

`We are talking about Johnny Clausen, a man with a glib tongue.'

`It would be most helpful if we knew his address,' Marler told him. 'It might prevent a major crime. We are racing against time.'

`So serious?' The Dane was writing on a notepad he had picked up, writing laboriously in capital letters. He tore off the sheet, handed it to Marler. 'That is where Johnny Clausen lives in Tinglev – on the edge of the town. I wish you luck.'

`And thank you for your invaluable help. We are indebted to you. Now, if you don't mind, we must move fast…

`We are going straight to Tinglev?' Butler asked from the back of the car when they were clear of the frontier post. `Not at this hour.'

Marler had stopped the car in the middle of nowhere. He gave the piece of paper with Clausen's address to Butler. Then he handed Nield a photo of Dr Hyde.

`I've checked the map,' Marler explained. 'We should be noticed if we turned up in Tinglev in the middle of the night. We're going to find separate accommodation for each of us in TOnder – it's about fifteen miles west of Tinglev. We don't know each other.'

And in the morning?' Butler pressed.

`You won't get much sleep. Rise at dawn. Find someone who will loan you a car – tell them your own has broken down and is being repaired in a garage. For a generous sum of money – you have plenty of kroner – you should get a vehicle. Drive to Tinglev and track down Johnny Clausen. How you get him to talk is your business, but do it. Where he took Dr Hyde is what we're after.

`Pete,' he went on, addressing Nield, 'in the morning find yourself a car. Then show Hyde's picture to the locals – officially you owe him money for an operation he carried out on your ankle. That makes you sound honest – and the Danes appreciate honesty. When we get to TOnder give me the phone number of wherever we find accommodation for both of you. Tell them I lost my way in Schleswig-Holstein before crossing into Denmark. Hence our arriving in the middle of the night. No questions? Good. We must keep moving…'

***

When Marler had found accommodation for Butler and Nield in TOnder – and a room for himself – he decided night was a good time to explore the area. Since he had paid the landlady at his own lodgings for a week's stay, he had no difficulty in persuading her to give him the front- door key.

`I need some fresh air,' he explained to Mrs Pedersen, a grey-haired old lady dressed in a pristine warm padded housecoat. 'I've been driving for hours in the over-heated car. Even at this hour I fancy the smell of the sea.'

`Have you a map?' she asked anxiously. 'There will be no one about in the middle of the night.'

`A very good map of the area,' he assured her.

Outside he glanced up at his first-floor window overlooking the narrow cobbled street. All the houses were old steep-gabled edifices built of red brick and with red tiles on the roofs. Some had plaster walls painted in yellow or white. The silent, deserted street had a fairytale atmosphere. He climbed behind the wheel, drove slowly so as not to wake the inhabitants.

On the outskirts he studied the map again and decided to head west for the small town of Hojer. The land was flat and reaching Hojer he turned north along a road running roughly parallel to the sea. He met no traffic, saw not a single human soul, not a light in the few houses he drove past. His night vision was excellent and he could make out to the west the dykes protecting the land from the fury of the sea. Arriving at a lonely intersection, on a whim he turned west again. He was crossing a wilderness of scrubby grass and sand.

The wind increased in force, scooping up powdered sand, hurling it against his windscreen. Off the road stood an isolated house. Switching on his wipers to clear sand from the windscreen, he swung the car off the road, bumping over rough ground. Despite the fact that the windows were closed, particles of sand were penetrating the car, and now he could hear the thunderous boom of great rollers crashing on the nearby shore.

He had driven past the house, which looked derelict, and now he drove about twenty yards from the front entrance. Definitely an abandoned property. Red paint peeled off its facade, white paint off the trim round the windows. He frowned as he suddenly saw a light appear in a semi-basement window. Odd. He swung his headlights over the two-storey building. The light disappeared. Had he imagined seeing it?

He drove on over as bleak a heathland as he had seen so far. Braking, he stepped out. The boom of the sea became a roar. Surf caught by the ferocious wind landed a few feet away from his car. He half closed his eyes to protect them against the fine sand as the wind threatened to blow him over.

I've had enough of this, he thought, as he climbed back behind the wheel. It took all his strength to pull the heavy door shut. Back to 'fonder and a warm bed. Tomorrow was another day. The real search for Paula would begin then.

44

`Tweed has already cracked up, as I predicted.'

Inside the large villa, set back from Jaegersborg Alle with a large front garden screened by a hedge, Dr Wand rubbed his hands with satisfaction. He sat behind a Regency desk in a room at the back of the building. The curtains were shut over the windows and again the desk lamp was the only illumination.

The villa was located at Jaegersborg Al16 988 in the Gentofte district north of Copenhagen. The only other occupant was the gaunt Mrs Kramer, dressed as always in black, a tall, thin woman whose face might have been carved out of stone.

Wand had phoned her from Hamburg, telling her to fly direct to Copenhagen, to prepare the villa for his arrival. His instructions had been precise. 'The villa, as you know, dear lady, has an unoccupied appearance. I would be most grateful if you would preserve that illusion. Leave The Boltons, please, at the earliest possible moment, to catch a Copenhagen flight.'

`You are sure this Tweed has been broken?' Mrs Kramer now enquired.

`I had the news this morning. He has resigned. Retired. I took the precaution of phoning the Four Seasons Hotel. They informed me he had checked out. He is now, I am sure, on his way back to London. He will no longer be present to interfere with my very important activities. A cup of black coffee would be most welcome…'

Left alone, Wand checked his watch. 11.30 am. Earlier he had phoned a senior civil servant in London who always knew what was going on. He had confirmed positively that he had heard Tweed had resigned from public life.

Wand knew he could rely on his informant – after all, he had loaned the man a large sum of money for a mortgage on a property in the English countryside. And he had no intention of letting Mrs Kramer know his source. Keep everyone in watertight compartments.

Wand operated a cell system. In Jutland he had twenty men awaiting the arrival of the Mao III and the Yenan. None of them knew the two Stealth ships were due to land their human cargo on the remote South Jutland shore. They would be given their instructions by Starmberg at the last moment.

`Goodbye, Mr Tweed,' Wand said to himself.

It was a relief to hear he had permanently immobilized the Englishman. The cargo of trained men who would be put ashore was the most important consignment of agents Wand had ever handled. They would be the leaders of the entire underground apparatus Wand was planting strategically in Europe – including Britain, the most important objective.