They had been careful to use the toilets at the restaurant so Newman was puzzled for a moment. He watched while she took her handbag out of the saddle bag, took out a handkerchief, hauled out the Uzi and wiped it clean of fingerprints. Then she stepped on to the grass verge, using her handkerchief as a glove and threw the machine pistol into the ditch. It sank out of sight with a splash followed by a brief gurgle. They cycled on.
Shortly after she had dumped the weapon they reached an intersection where the country road they'd cycled along met a main highway. Gerda turned left on to the highway and pulled over on to the verge about a hundred metres from the intersection.
`We meet Stahl here. He'll come from that direction.'
She pointed the way they had come, checked her watch, took a small pair of field glasses out of her handbag. Leaning the cycle against her thighs, she raised the binoculars to her eyes and focused them, looking back down the highway.
`What's the idea?' Newman asked.
`Night glasses. I know the registration number of the truck Stahl will be driving. I have a small torch. I have to signal before he gets here. I want to be sure it's the right vehicle before I start flashing a torch about.'
`You really are well organized.' Newman hesitated. 'Is this where we say Goodbye?'
'No — till we meet again...'
'I'd like to thank you for all...' he began.
She placed an index finger over his mouth. 'It's the other way round. Why don't we just say it was good knowing one another? That we make a good team. And if a car or the wrong truck comes along we're conspicuous — so we pretend to be lovers.'
`We'd better practise then.'
He laid both cycles on the verge, took her in his arms, one hand behind the nape of her neck and kissed her full on the lips. She stiffened for a few seconds, then wrapped her arms round him and pressed her breasts against his chest. She kissed him ravenously, her whole body merged against his.
`Oh, damnit,' he said, looking over her right shoulder.
She released him, breathing heavily, turned to look in the same direction, the field glasses dangling from their strap round her wrist. In the distance two headlights like great eyes were coming down the highway. She pressed the lenses to her eyes. Newman kept his fingers crossed. This couldn't be Stahl. Not yet.
`It's him,' she said.
Newman glanced all round. No other traffic in sight. Behind the headlights the huge truck lumbered closer. Gerda flashed her torch on and off. Two short flashes, one long one. The truck passed the intersection, slowed, pulled up alongside them. A big job. An eight-wheeler. The cab attached — part of — the vehicle. A Mercedes. The driver kept his engine running, peered out of the window and Gerda called up to him. Something Newman didn't catch. A heavily-built young man with thick brown hair descended to the roadway and Gerda made swift introductions.
`Stahl, this is Emil Clasen...'
`Come with me,' Stahl said to Newman, then noticed the cycles lying on the verge. 'You'll only need one of these now,' he said to Gerda. He picked up Newman's machine, hoisted it above his head and hurled it clear across the ditch. It landed deep inside the field of rye, disappeared. 'Back of the truck,' he said to Newman. 'Hurry...'
Using a deadlock key, he opened one of the two rear doors, handed Newman a torch he'd hauled out of his trouser pocket and pointed inside the dark cavern. Newman turned to say something to Gerda but Stahl took his arm in a strong grip and urged him up inside the truck. Gerda thrust the field-glasses into his hand. 'Take these. They might be useful.'
`Seat for you at the far end,' Stahl called up. 'Use that torch — or break a kneecap. We'll talk later. We're too near Leipzig here. The porthole windows in these doors are one-way armoured glass...'
The door slammed shut and Newman was in pitch darkness. He switched on the torch as he heard Stahl locking the door. The porthole windows had circular flaps shutting him off from the outside world. He swivelled one flap upwards, switched off the torch.
Gerda appeared on her machine, cycling back towards Leipzig as Stahl released the air-brakes and the huge truck started lumbering forward. In the brief moment he'd had the torch on he'd seen a hanging strap attached to the wall of the truck. He held on to it with his left hand, watching Gerda's rear red light receding. The truck picked up speed. Then he froze.
A patrol car, travelling very fast, was approaching the intersection. He doubted whether they had seen the truck stop. Moving at that speed they'd have been inside the suburbs. He raised the night-glasses and pressed them against his eyes. The road surface along the highway was good, the truck was so heavy it hardly swayed.
The patrol car swung out of the intersection on to the highway, passed Gerda cycling, stopped, performed an illegal U- turn, drew up alongside Gerda. Two Vopos stepped out, halted her. Then he realized she was showing them her papers. One of the Vopos shook his head, opened the rear door, bundled her inside and followed. The other man climbed behind the wheel. Oh, God! And the bastards had left her cycle lying on the verge. He couldn't do anything. He was trapped inside the truck. The patrol car drove off, turning back towards Leipzig. Newman felt sick as a dog.
Forty-One
Inside the moving truck Newman swivelled the torch slowly round, getting his bearings before he looked for the seat at the front. There was a narrow central corridor which ran straight to the driver's cab. Along either side of the corridor long heavy wooden boxes were piled on top of each other from floor to roof.
They reminded him of ammunition boxes. Each had a handle at the end made of rope thick as a ship's hawser. They were held in position by leather straps which pinioned them to the walls. He checked for stencil markings which might indicate the contents. Nothing.
He made his way cautiously along the corridor. The walls of the truck puzzled him. From the outside the vehicle had the appearance of a refrigerated truck. There had been some lettering along the side of the vehicle but Stahl had hustled him aboard so quickly he hadn't read it.
At the front end the driver's cab was closed off from the main body of the truck. In his torch beam he saw a sliding panel and guessed that gave access to the driving cab. He found a small space just behind the cab beyond where the last boxes were piled up. To the left a leather padded seat was screwed to the floor. Opposite was an enamel bucket with a lid; toilet facilities, he guessed.
He sank into the seat, still wearing his raincoat, suddenly exhausted. It had been constant tension ever since they'd left Radom's farm. First the camper underneath the zig-zag. His concentrated interview with Karen Piper. Their flight along the old rail track. Hiding under the arched bridge as the Vopos stayed parked overhead. Then the storm, driving the camper along the flooded gulch.
Above all, what hit him now was seeing Gerda taken away by that bloody patrol car. Would she bluff her way through? He had no idea. Probably he'd never know her fate. He switched off the torch to save the battery, then stood up and knocked on the panel to let Stahl know where he was. The panel opened briefly. Stahl called out over his shoulder.
`Comfortable in there?' An ironic note.
`I'm all right...'
`Talk to you soon. When we can safely stop. Things you should know...'
The panel was shut in his face. Newman had caught a brief glimpse of the highway stretching ahead into the night. The powerful headlight beams showing a deserted road. More trees now, some lining the edge of the highway. He kept on his raincoat. It was cold inside the truck.
He didn't expect to sleep, but sagged on the chair he dropped into an uneasy doze. The vehicle was moving faster, the huge tyres carrying it on and on. He wished he had a compass to check in which direction they were moving. He blinked his eyes open. The truck had stopped.
Stahl opened the rear door and Newman jumped down on to the highway. His night vision was good — he'd deliberately felt his way back along the corridor without using the torch. The truck was parked in a lay-by, dense fir forest crowded to the edge of the highway on both sides.
`Get into the passenger seat in the cab. Join you in half a minute.'
Stahl was closing the door, locking it- as Newman strolled along the highway past the truck, stretching the ache out of his legs. The night was heavy with silence, the air fresh and invigorating. As he reached the cab Newman saw Stahl had parked on the crest of a hill, giving a view of many kilometres in both directions. Not a pair of headlights in sight.
He climbed up into the high cab, closed the door and Stahl nimbly mounted the other side, shutting his own door. He offered Newman a thermos and a package wrapped in greaseproof paper.
`Sandwiches and coffee, Comrade.'
The 'Comrade' startled Newman for a moment, then he realized it was a reflex greeting on the part of Stahl. After all, he was a Party member.
`The coffee's welcome,' Newman said, unscrewing the top which served as a cup. 'The sandwiches I'll eat later.'
`Good idea. We have five minutes, then I have to get moving. You go back inside the truck. You've got identity papers? Let me have a look. And we're parked here because we can see anything coming for kilometres.' He whistled as he checked Newman's folder by the overhead light.
`Something wrong?' Newman asked.
Stahl shrugged his broad shoulders and grinned. 'No. Something's right. Border Police. Special assignment. Couldn't be better. If we're stopped — but especially when we arrive in Rostock.'
'Why?'
`Most people in the West know about the minefield belt along the landward side of the border between the DDR and the outside world. Not so many know there's a similar forbidden zone along the Baltic coast. Minefield, patrols, dogs — the lot. You're Border Police so you're permitted entry. We're not likely to be stopped,' he went on in his confident way, 'because of what we're carrying. If we are, you're in the guard's seat. And you're the boss. Special assignment? Escorting the stuff I'm carrying.'
`Which is? Or shouldn't I ask?'
`You found the bucket? Your own private toilet? Well, when you go back, open the box behind the bucket. They forgot to padlock that one. Arms for Cuba, as you probably know. They come from the Skoda works in Czechoslovakia.' He handed back the folder. 'Be ready to show that. Kick up hell if we are stopped. Boot them up the ass. Thanks.' He took back the thermos.
`When do you expect to reach Rostock?'
`About dawn. The way I'll drive between cities. With a bit of luck it will still be dark. Easier to smuggle you aboard a ship bound for the West. We'll stop again later and I'll tell you more.'
`I thought this was an armoured truck...'
`It is.' Stahl grinned again, swallowed some coffee. 'Tap the side gently when you get back. This is quite a vehicle they designed, the bastards. On the outside it looks like a refrigerated truck. Camouflage. It's armoured, all right.'
`Why all the secrecy?' Newman asked. `Inside the DDR?' `Because they're clever. It's never broadcast to the West —for obvious reasons — but there is a resistance movement here. Small but powerful, well armed. They know someone like Falken would love to get his hands on what you're travelling with, that he can muster a large number of men. So they send me through like any ordinary truck.'
`You said earlier we shouldn't be stopped..
`The chiefs of police along the route we're taking are given my registration number. They spread the word it's a consignment for the Party. Let it through. But, we shall be stopped at certain points,' Stahl warned. 'You pay tolls to use certain highways. I just pay and move on. So don't worry if I stop and you hear voices. Just keep quiet.'
`Thanks for the tip. My nerves will rest easier.'
`That special assignment folder you're carrying. Can I ask if you've had to use it? What you said? Sheer curiosity. I find it lonely sitting hour after hour in this cab.'
`Drugs. I was chasing a drug ring.'
`Funny that,' Stahl commented, 'that you should use drugs. After what I heard.'
'Why?'
Newman was only casually interested. He drank the rest of his coffee, thinking how much warmer it was inside the cab.
`Because we heard something — maybe information you should pass on to the BND when you get back. We have a man at Leipzig Airport. Won't tell you what he does. Recently a Tupolev landed from Moscow. Quite a fuss about the passenger. Colonel in the GRU. He came off the aircraft dead drunk. Vodka. Could hardly get down the mobile staircase. Got into a waiting car and started to drive off. Our chap went on board. Guess what he found.'
`You tell me.'
`This stupid colonel's brief-case. Let's call our man Karl — not his real name. Karl carries a lock-pick. He used it on the locked brief-case, glanced through the papers inside a file. One of them — Karl understands Russian — was a report about a cargo of heroin bound for England. Five hundred kilos..
`How much?' Newman was suddenly alert. 'That's enormous.'
`So we thought. Then Karl saw the car coming back. He put the file back, locked the brief-ease, slipped it back under the seat and hid in the crew's cabin until they'd collected it and gone.'
`Any indication as to the method of transport?'
`Yes. By sea. Aboard a Polish freighter. The
Wroclaw
. It was routed to call in at Rostock shortly..
`Which British port was it heading for?'
`The report didn't say. Or maybe Karl didn't get that far. I think we ought to get moving soon now. Funny about that brief-case. The Russkies aren't as bright as they'd like the world to think. Thank God. I'm going to have a pee before we start.'
`I'll join you. By the way, can I ask which route we're taking to Rostock?'
`Why not. Magdeburg, Stendal, Tangermünde — then due north through Pritzwalk, the lake district, Güstrow and on to Rostock.'
He made it sound like a morning's outing to Brighton. As they relieved themselves at the edge of the forest Newman's head was spinning with what Stahl had just told him. They were walking to the rear of the truck when he asked his question.