Rhinoceros (53 page)

'Take the right turn.'

Paula leaned forward. As far as she could tell this lane
would lead close to the windmill. They topped a rise and
saw a smaller copse very close to the windmill on the edge
of the road.

'Get under those trees, then stop,' Tweed ordered.

'Like me to turn a somersault?' asked Newman.

He drove along a track under the trees, came to a glade, turned the car round so they faced the way they had come but were still sheltered under the trees. They could all now
hear the sound of a large aircraft beginning its descent.
Tweed grabbed his binoculars, looped them round his
neck, dived out of the car. He called out to Paula to bring her camera.

Out in the open they were hidden but perched high
up, looking down on the other copse. Paula stared, then
whipped up her own binoculars, pressed them against her eyes. She was aiming the lenses at the edge of the larger
copse below. She sucked in her breath.

'Look at the edge of those trees down there. A tall man.
Not in uniform but I'm sure it was Danzer.'

'Where?' asked Tweed.

'He's gone now. I just caught a fleeting glimpse. He's slipped back out of sight inside the wood.'

'Pretty unlikely that Danzer would be in this part of the
world.'

'I
know
it was Danzer,' she said stubbornly. 'The same
dark hair, the same figure, the same way of standing very erect, the same way of moving. What more do you want?'

'A photograph would help . . .'

'If we'd damned well got up here earlier I might have
been able to take a shot of him with my camera.'

'Cool it,' Newman advised. 'There's a lot more to watch
if you'd just look.'

The large helicopter was landing very slowly on
a
round
pad. Then from nowhere a horde of Americans came
running to the pad, some in uniform, some in civilian
clothes. They were careful to stand well back while the rotors slowed, stopped. Then the wind returned, blowing
strongly. Paula could feel its warmth on her face. Now the
Americans were moving forward to the landing pad.

'I don't know that the Germans would be pleased at
having a load of uniformed American troops on their soil,'
Newman remarked. 'Unless they've got permission. And they're all carrying automatic rifles. We'd better stay just where we are.'

Tweed and Paula had their binoculars focused on the
machine. A door opened, a staircase, electrically operated,
descended. The wind was blowing Lisa's hair all over the
place. A man, carrying an executive case, walked gingerly
down the steps. As he did so the lid of his case fell open.
A paper flew out, was caught by the wind, carried up the
hill close to where they stood.

'Get that if you can,' snapped Tweed.

Harry took off. Close to the road they had driven up
was a gully, which looked as though water flowed down it
during wet weather. He slid down the gully, out of sight,
reached the errant sheet, grabbed it, worked his way back
up the gully. He handed it to Tweed who, holding his
binoculars with one hand, took the paper with the other,
folded it once and put it in his pocket.

'That was Gavin Thunder who lost a sheet from his case. Here, behind him, comes the American Secretary
of State, followed by the German Deputy Chancellor and the French Prime Minister. The gang's all here. The Elite
Club has arrived.'

'A limo's driven up,' Newman reported, 'to take them
to Sylt. At the back of the train there's a ramp the limo
can go up to put them aboard the train. Hang on . . .'
He paused. 'Before getting into the limo Thunder's giving
some instructions to a small stocky man in civvies. He's
pointing up this way.'

The limo drove off, heading for the ramp. A crowd
of men in boiler jackets and wearing baseball caps had flooded out of nowhere. The stocky civilian went to meet
them, pointed up the hill to the wood where Tweed
and his team were sheltering from view. Several of the men in boiler suits, accompanied by uniformed troops,
started climbing up the hill. At that moment the pilot
of the helicopter started up his rotors - checking the
engines prior to maintenance. The engine row was deaf
ening.

'They're coming up here,' warned Newman. I'm going to back the car out of the other end of this wood. The track goes right through it..."

'He's chosen the right moment to move the car,' Paula
said, her mouth close to Tweed's ear. 'The roar of the
rotors will drown the sound of the engine — and we'd
better get moving . . .'

The Americans, with the stocky man in the lead, were coming up the hill fast. Tweed and the others ran deeper
into the wood, following the Mercedes which was backing at speed. Reaching the end of the track they emerged into
the open, dived inside the car.

'Head for that windmill,' Tweed ordered. 'There's
nowhere else to hide,'

Paula agreed. Below the hill a vast flat area spread out,
a plain which went on and on and which she felt must
be Denmark. To the left they could see the brilliant
blue of the North Sea stretching away to a distant hori
zon.

'That windmill may be occupied,' Newman objected.
'The sails aren't moving and there's a strong wind.'

'Just do it,' ordered Tweed. 'They'll be here in a minute
and won't like our presence.'

The windmill, very large, was six-sided and on the
ground floor were windows. Tweed imagined they were the living quarters. The tips of the giant motionless sails
were suspended only a few feet above the ground - at least
two of the sails were in this position. The front door was
closed. Tweed thought the mill looked deserted.

'The ground floor is where people live,' he told Paula.
'It also has the machinery which operates the sails in
a wind.'

'You sound as though you've been inside one.'

'I have. Once stayed twenty-four hours with a friend in
a mill he owned in East Anglia.'

'There's a big shed next to it,' she called out. 'Maybe
we could park the car inside.'

'Provided it's empty,' Newman told her.

'Hurry it up.' snapped Tweed, who had glanced back.

There was still no sign of the Americans coming through
the wood. But they would appear soon, he felt sure.

'I'm going as fast as I can over this rough ground,'
Newman retorted.

It was a race against very little time, if this windmill was
to be a refuge. Newman pulled up close to double wooden
doors at the end of the shed. Tweed jumped out, followed
by Paula. Running up to the heavy wooden front door he
looked for a bell push. There wasn't one. He turned the
handle, pushed the door inwards and there was a musty
smell. Stepping a few paces onto a wooden floor he
called out.

'Anyone at home? We're English.'

A brooding silence in the half-light. No sound of move
ment. And a place like this would creak if occupants started
to walk about.

'I think it's empty,' whispered Paula.

'Everyone inside here. Move like lightning,' Tweed shouted from the doorway.

As the team was piling inside Marler opened both doors
of the shed. It was empty. He stood aside,
motioned to
Newman to drive forward. With the Mercedes inside they
shut the doors, fastened the crude latch, ran into the mill
and Tweed closed the front door.

'Watch yourselves,' he called out. 'There's dangerous machinery in this place.'

'We're going up to the top,' said Nield.

With Harry at his heels, he began cautiously climb
ing a crude wooden staircase circling the wall of the
mill. With no protecting rail on the open side it felt
hairy the higher they climbed. Looking down was not a
good idea.

'Don't show yourselves by a window,' Tweed called up
to them.

Reaching a platform high up, again without a protective rail, Nield peered quickly through a tiny window covered
with a net curtain. He nudged Harry.

'See what I see?'

What they had feared had appeared. Rushing into the open, from the end of the track through the wood, were
American uniformed soldiers, holstered guns at their hips,
led by the stocky civilian. One very big soldier had attracted
Nield's attention. It was the American they had encountered back in Hamburg on the pavement not far from the
Atlantic Hotel.

'There's a soldier who could recognize Harry and me,'
he called down the long drop.

'Shut up. Keep still. Don't make a sound,' Tweed
called up.

He had seen them coming through a ground-floor win
dow covered with a net curtain in need of cleaning. He picked up an old straw hat and crammed it on his head.
Paula blinked as she looked at him taking off his jacket so he was in shirt sleeves.

'You look like a peasant.'

'That's the idea.'

'What's that grim-looking thing?'

She was pointing to a huge wooden wheel mounted
parallel to the floor with savage-looking teeth at regular
intervals and close together. A very thick wooden pole
rose up from its centre and ascended vertically until
it vanished from sight. Near it were several wooden
levers.

'That operates the grinding system if die sails are turned by a wind - once I've pulled one of those levers. Now keep
quiet, for heaven's sake. Is everyone hidden?'

He looked round and couldn't see a single member of
his team. Near where Tweed had found the hat Paula saw
an old pinafore. Obviously a woman had been here at one time. Swiftly she slid off her jeans, wrapped the pinafore
round herself. Fortunately it had been used by a larger woman. Tweed peered out of the window again.

They were almost here. The stocky civilian was leading
the troop of soldiers as he approached the front door.
Tweed opened it before he could reach it. Wearing his straw hat he stepped outside, gave a beaming smile. He
began jabbering away non-stop and Paula understood
not one word. He seemed to be uttering several words
containing the letter 'k.' The stocky man stood still, held
up an open folder.

'FBI.'

'What was FBI?' asked Paula, who appeared by Tweed's
side.

'You speak English, ma'am?' the FBI man demanded.
'What language was he speaking?' He
pointed at Tweed.