by Colin Forbes
Klein turned away and watched Lara as she protested violently. Marler lit a cigarette, tucked it in the corner of his mouth and spoke quietly.
'I also am interested in what you propose to do with her – has she misbehaved in some way?'
'Nothing to do with you.'
'I'll ask you once more,' Marler continued in the same even tone as Chabot disappeared outside. 'Has she misbehaved? I'm talking to you, Klein.'
'Don't you see?' Klein swung round to face Marler, his hand holding the control box at waist level, smiling savagely. 'She's a spy. We caught her entering the Hotel Central. She had been instructed to stay inside. I think she was phoning someone.'
'That's bloody ridiculous!' Lara shouted as her hands were bound behind her. 'I have done everything you ever asked me to…'
'And maybe a little bit more I didn't.'
'Klein, I'm inclined to agree with Lara. This is faintly ridiculous. Pure supposition.'
'Then how did Tweed turn up here so quickly?'
'No idea. Maybe he tracked you.'
'My security is meticulous. We will not discuss this matter any further. And I thought you wanted a drink of water.'
'So I did.' Marler grinned. Thank you so much for reminding me.'
He walked off in the direction of the restaurant. They were binding Lara's ankles together now. She tried to struggle but the two men held her tight. Klein waited until she was trussed up and then nodded to the man holding a looped rope.
'Now, tie that round her waist. Not too tight. Must allow her to breathe.'
The rope was lopped round her slim waist and for the first time Lara's fury gave way to fear. She bit her lip to stop showing any emotion. When the job was finished there was a length of rope extending from the centre of her back about twelve feet in length. The Luxembourger coiled it, lifted her up and spread her along a deep couch against the wall.
'What about this?' he asked, picking off the floor the rope noose he had dropped while tying the girl up. Like the other length round her waist it extended about twelve feet from the noose.
'Leave it near her feet for the moment.'
'What is it for?'
'Have you never noticed how sentimental the world is over the fate of a single individual as opposed to the lives of thousands? The average human mind cannot encompass the death of whole tribes in Africa. But if one single hostage is at risk it becomes high drama. We must use every psychological weapon to force the governments concerned to obey us. Public opinion will do the trick if all else fails. And it is a three-hundred-foot drop from the platform.'
49
The car taking Newman, Butler and Benoit to the airport followed Route One – a route Van Gorp had worked out carefully on a map and had cordoned off. On the way they passed a small convoy of three vans proceeding at high speed in the opposite direction.
The SAS team,' Newman said laconically. 'Thank God it was flown over – after what happened to the Dutch marines.'
'You think Tweed will ever use it?' asked Benoit.
'He'll use it. He's just waiting for Klein to make one slip – and Klein will do just that. He thinks he's infallible. No one is.'
'When we get to the airport,' Butler interjected, 'can we find out what type of machine was used to fly Brand and his so-called captor to Findel? It will help us when we get there. I mean Brussels Airport.'
'Good idea,' Benoit agreed. 'Should have thought of it myself.'
'He doesn't say a lot,' Newman commented, 'but when he does it's worth listening to. And if you ever see him coming towards you on a motor-bike,' he joked, 'run for your life.'
'Everyone has to have a hobby,' Butler replied.
'Yes, but not a lethal one.'
Newman was aware of a different atmosphere inside the car as the uniformed police driver approached the airport. Back at the improvised HQ near Euromast it had been claustrophobic. Now he was doing something active Newman felt a lifting of the spirits. He sensed the same reaction in his companions.
'Van Gorp has arranged for food to be taken aboard the jet,' remarked Benoit. 'Suddenly I'm ravenous.'
'I could do with a bite to eat myself,' agreed Butler.
'And I do believe we have arrived,' Benoit said as the car came to a stop. A police escort took them to the waiting machine and no one asked Newman questions about the scabbard he carried with the suitcase he'd picked up from the Hilton en route. Five minutes later the jet was airborne, leaving behind the deserted airport, heading through the night for Brussels.
In Luxembourg City inside the Banque Sambre on the Avenue de la Liberte, Brand and Hipper sat in the banker's office. On their way in they had paused in the empty street to attach the notice announcing the bank was temporarily closed to the front doors.
Hipper had played out his charade of acting as Brand's captor from the moment the Sikorsky landed at Findel. He had walked shoulder to shoulder with the banker to the waiting limousine where a chauffeur opened the rear doors for them.
They were driving along the highway into the city when the Sikorsky took off again, flying back to Rotterdam Airport to join Victor Saur's other machine.
Relaxing in his executive swivel chair, Brand had just called a senior director of the Deutsche Bank in Frankfurt who had already been alerted by Bonn. He picked up a glass of cognac and stared at Hipper, sitting like a sack of potatoes on the other side of the desk.
'They're saying they refuse to release the bullion,' Brand remarked in a lordly tone.
They must…'
'Relax, Hipper. That's the opening move I expected. It's like a chess game. We all go through the motions. But in due course they will release that bullion, permit it to be loaded aboard the waiting transport. Now, hadn't you better do your thing? Call the local police, tell them you have me here with a gun to my head? All that jazz. And if they try to break in here you'll shoot me out of hand. Whatever that weird phrase means,' he added blandly.
'I hope they're convinced…'
'Up to you to do just that – convince 'em. Then we wait until the bullion plane arrives and I trot out with you to Findel to check it's all in order.' He sipped his brandy and indicated a closed door. 'Lucky I have an efficient secretary. She has stocked up the fridge and the freezer. We shan't starve. You can cook, I take it?'
'I was once a cook in a restaurant.'
'Splendid! We can eat in the board's dining room. Might as well keep up a decent standard of living while Klein puts on the pressure. Now, that call to the police…'
Tweed came back into the room and Paula watched him anxiously, still worried about his lack of sleep. He walked briskly to his chair, sat down and clasped his hands.
'The PM has given me full authority to act in liaison with you, Van Corp. She's livid about the mining of the Sealink ferry – livid and worried. But she's chirpy, as always. She's already been in touch with the German Chancellor in Bonn, suggesting he permits release of the bullion when I give the word.'
'When will that be?' asked Van Corp.
'No idea. I've also asked Commander Bellenger to get over here fast from the Hilton. After he's phoned London to arrange for a specialist team of bomb disposal to fly here. Men who know the workings of this new sea-mine and bomb.'
'But,' objected Jansen, 'you've told us not to make any attempt to go near the threatened ships.'
'Correct. But when we've finished off Klein we'll need that team to go out and defuse those mines.'
'You sound very confident,' Paula ventured.
'He's a megalomaniac. He's sure he's got us in the palm of his hand – which he has at the moment. He'll make a mistake through over-confidence. Then we strike. Talking of striking, I thought I heard men arriving in the room beyond the place I was phoning from.'
'The SAS team arrived by the fire escape at the back. They're settling into their quarters. The other door from the anteroom leads into one of their rooms…'
Blade came into the room, wearing his civilian outfit. Speaking to Tweed, his manner was
urgent.
'The troop commander wants to take his men out on to the roof so they can take a look at Euromast, size it up. It means we need the roof cleared of your men, if that's all right for a few minutes, Van Corp. They want you to go with them, Tweed – to brief them.'
'I'll attend to it now,' Van Gorp replied.
He stood up and went up the staircase on to the roof. He was back very quickly. 'All clear. Warn them to crouch low – it is probable Klein has men with glasses scanning all the surrounding buildings.'
They'd do that anyway, but thanks. I've been asked to stay in their quarters while they're away – to guard certain special equipment.'
He glanced at Tweed and disappeared into the anteroom. 'Do we stay?' asked Jansen. 'I've heard no one ever sees their faces.'
'I don't think you will,' observed Tweed, 'so I'd have some more coffee and stay where you are.'
There was a delay of only a few minutes. Only Tweed realized Blade was changing into his SAS gear before he led the troop to the rooftop. The anteroom door opened without warning and Paula gave a gasp, her hand flying to her throat.
A file of men padded into the room, moving past the table at either end. To Paula they seemed incredibly sinister. They moved so silently. Each man was wearing a Balaclava helmet shrouded with a camouflage net so only the eyes showed. They were clad in complete battle gear and most wore a series of canvas pouches attached round their waists. Most carried an ugly-looking squat sub-machine gun but three were armed with rifles. They slithered through the room like ghosts and were gone as Tweed led them upstairs.
'Oh, my God,' Paula said, 'I wouldn't like to have them after me. What was that funny gun most of them carried?'
'A 9 mm Ingram MAC 11. Has a range of a hundred and fifty feet, equipped with a collapsible stock. Fires at the rate of six hundred rounds a minute. The magazine takes forty rounds,' Van Gorp explained.
'Sounds deadly.'
'It is. And some of them had the type of Browning automatic we gave Butler before he left for Findel. That has an effective range of two hundred feet. Those boys are really tooled up for action…'
'I counted fifteen men.'
'A formidable force…'
Out on the roof Tweed crouched low and ran for the wall with an agility which surprised Blade, close behind in his battle gear. They squatted on their haunches behind the wall as the rest of the troop spread out on either side. Blade had Tweed on his right, his deputy to his left.
'Get the picture, Eddie?' he asked. 'And if anything happens to me you take your orders from Tweed. No move to be made without his sanction. Well, there's the target. How does it look to you?'
Eddie peered through the mounted telescope, adjusted the focus, swivelled the instrument very slowly, stopping, moving on. He lowered the angle to study the entrance at the top of ihe steps.
'We've tackled worse,' he replied eventually. 'Main problem is it's isolated – no buildings close enough to operate from – and we won't be scaling that tower.'
'How would you go about it then?'
'You've explained the interior. Divide the troop into a couple of sections. One storms the entrance, clears the ground floor. Two heads straight for the elevator, makes for the platform level, cleans out platform and restaurant. Any idea how big that elevator is?'
'Eight feet wide, six feet deep. I paced it out when we were going up, when I walked out of it.'
'Six men, I suggest. Three pressed against one wall of the elevator, three against the other. Stun grenades at the ready, of course.'
'Just like that?' Blade snapped.
'Main problem as you told it is this Klein and his little toy, the control box with the red button.'
'You're right,' Tweed whispered. 'No assault can be attempted so long as he's holding that gadget. We have to hope for a lucky break.'
'One more idea,' Eddie said, his eye pressed to the telescope which he'd raised to its original position aimed at the lighted windows of the restaurant. 'We place a man with the bazooka on this roof, a man linked with a walkie-talkie to one of the team inside the elevator. How fast does it go up?'
'Seconds,' said Tweed.
'Fair enough. Chap in the elevator gives the word the moment he presses the button for the elevator to go up. Our man up here instantly fires a bazooka shot inside the restaurant – that distracts the attention of any Klein men in the lobby at restaurant level. Only for seconds as the elevator shoots up. Seconds are all we need. Stun grenades, of course, to paralyse any men in the lobby. That's just first thoughts. And an important query. Any hostages?'
'They have a girl with them, Lara Seagrave,' Tweed said.
' With them?' rapped out Blade. 'What does that mean? One of them?'
'I don't think she knew any of this was going to happen. She is the step-daughter of Lady Windermere, the queen of bitches. I met Lady W in London. She drove her step-daughter out of the family home. So Lara goes out to prove she can make it on her own, looking for adventure. I think she's a pawn in Klein's deadly game.'
'Which is it?' Blade demanded. 'We treat her as a hostage?'
'Yes.'
'But if you're wrong,' Eddie whispered, 'if she has a gun in her hand, we shoot. It's the only way we operate. And would you excuse me a second? I want to check with the lads – see if they've any questions. Be back shortly…'
'Blade, I have one special instruction to give you for when you go in. You pass it on to everyone in the troop just before the assault. ..'
He whispered for less than a minute and in that time Eddie was back, crouching beside Blade.
'It's OK,' he reported. 'Everyone is happy.'
Happy? Tweed thought only Newman, who had trained with this troop, would understand the use of that word in these circumstances. He led the way back across the roof and down the staircase.
50
Tweed sensed the tension inside the windowless room as soon as the last SAS man closed the anteroom door behind him. The waiting was getting to them. Van Gorp sat very stiffly. Jansen was doodling meaningless shapes on his notepad and he threw down the pen as Tweed entered. Paula gave him a watery smile.
'The fishing boats – Utrecht and Drenthe – have been found,' Van Gorp announced. 'Their crews were tied up. They confirm what Klein told you. Scuba divers went overboard from them carrying the mines inside nets. So now we know definitely.'
'I never doubted it for a moment. Thank you,' he said when Paula poured him a fresh cup of coffee, shoved a plate of ham sandwiches in front of him.
'Eat,' she commanded.
'And,' Van Gorp went on, 'the news is leaking to the outside world. Reuters have sent out a report there is some sort of emergency at Europort. It was inevitable, of course. Some of those people thrown out of the Euromast restaurant have been released. We kept them for questioning as long as we could but there was a limit. They were told not to talk – that lives were at stake. But still some have obviously not resisted the temptation to open their mouths.'
'What about Commander Bellenger?'
'Arrived while you were on the roof. He's now in the anteroom, using the scrambler to have a bomb disposal squad sent here at once.' He tapped his pencil irritably on the table. 'And I have tried to counter the Reuter report by spreading a rumour we've spotted an old sea-mine from World War Two floating near the entrance to the Maas. Might work. For a short while.'
'Clever,' Tweed commented. 'Very clever, that…'
He waited as the phone rang and the Dutchman took another call. 'Klein,' he said, putting down the phone. 'He wants to talk to you again.'
'It's only two o'clock. He's an hour early.' Tweed shrugged as he stood up. 'Of course it's deliberate – to keep us off balance.'
'You can tell him the German Chancellor is holding a cabinet meeting at this moment. And the cabinet at The Hague is in all night session.'
'I'll keep that up my sleeve. He's up to something. Let me find out what first.'
'You've hardly eaten anything,' Paula protested. 'Let
the bastard wait. Van Gorp can tell him you're on the phone to London.'
'Daren't risk it. Klein isn't normal.' Tweed paused. 'Has anyone noticed the absence of something vital?'
Three blank faces stared back at him. Van Gorp shook his head. 'Nothing I can think of.'
The bombs. He has twenty-four powerful bombs at his disposal. We've heard from him about the sea-mines. Why nothing about those bombs? I'd better go and perform my act.'
Tweed stood at the foot of the tower, microphone in one hand, the other thrust inside his coat pocket. Above him at platform level Klein looked down. Marler strolled out, wrapping a large red silk scarf round his neck.
'Bit nippy out here. Mind you don't catch cold,' he warned Klein amiably.
'Cover Tweed, for God's sake. That's what you're here for.'
'Anything you say.'
Staring up, Tweed saw the tiny figure beside Klein raise his. rifle. In the shadows of the building behind him two Dutch marksmen had taken Newman's place.
'Is the bullion on its way to Frankfurt Airport?' Klein called out through the amplifier on top of Legaud's vehicle. 'If not, I can provide you with a further demonstration.'
The British, German and Dutch governments are considering your demands. And you are one hour early. Our appointment was for three o'clock.'
'I'm advancing the schedule…'
'Say what you like, you know such a decision can't be taken in five minutes.'
'Considering are they?' Klein's voice was icy. 'I believe that was the word you used. They need something to encourage them to decide now. I'm holding the control box, Tweed.'
'I assumed you would be…'
'I'm going to press button number eight…'
Fifteen odd miles away down the Maas a detective called Beets, wearing a dark suit and holding an automatic, was treading very cautiously inside Shell-Mex Number Two. His companion was close behind him. Sent in by Van Gorp – with orders that they must not be seen – they made their way in the dark silence close to the river.
Above them a grid of pipes stretched away; close to them to their left loomed the shadow of a futuristic-looking cat-cracker. In the near distance Beets could see oil storage tanks which had reminded Tweed of giant white cakes. The only sound was the lapping of water against the wharves on the Maas.