by Colin Forbes
Probably Beets' first warning of danger was the hammer blow of the shock wave, but this would have coincided with the deep rumble of the explosion.
Within seconds the complex was a sea of flame and fire as it engulfed everything. An incandescent sheet must have swallowed up Beet and his companion -later their charred and cindered corpses were found, impossible to distinguish one man from another. A deafening boom thundered upriver as the complex became an inferno of high temperature, a red beacon in the night.
Tweed heard the distant boom. He froze. Resisting the impulse to turn round he continued staring up at the platform. Klein was leaning forward, left hand on the rail, right hand out of sight.
'And that was the first oil complex to go up. Would you say that might encourage your so-called governments to consider a little faster. Do look downriver. A spectacular sight. The sun is coming up early today – but from the west.'
Tweed turned round slowly. In the distance the sky was illuminated with a fiery red glow. They would see that aboard the ships offshore was his first thought. He turned back to the tower.
'Which one, if I might enquire?'
'Shell-Mex Two. Totally destroyed. Go away, Tweed!
Come back at three o'clock. With news that the bullion has been loaded.'
A new arrival greeted Tweed when he entered the HO room. Commander Bellenger was standing, wearing a duffel coat. Van Gorp and Jansen, seated at the table, looked grim and Paula watched Tweed intently. Bellenger, bluff and calm, was the first to speak.
'Happened to be taking a shufti on the roof when that little lot went up. Heard every word our Mr Klein said. I'd guess he had two of the larger bombs planted inside the oil complex. Judging from the volume of sound, the intensity of the fire glare. He's prodding us, I take it.'
'Something like that.'
Tweed sank into his chair, drank some coffee, ate a ham sandwich. He was surprised to find he was ravenous. Bellenger joined them at the table as he went on reporting.
'The bomb disposal team is on its way. Flying in. A Captain Nicholls is in charge. Says he met you, Tweed. In Norfolk.'
Tweed glanced at Paula. 'Remember him? His squad defused the bomb on your doorstep.' He looked at Bellenger. 'He has experience of underwater work?'
'Bit of an all-rounder, our Nicholls. Answer is yes. He's an expert scuba diver, has defused mines before. Only chap I know who works on land and sea. Bringing in a mixed team – some of his lot, some of my naval chaps. Bit of a sticky situation we've got ourselves into, I gather.'
Two of my men were probably inside the Shell complex when it was wiped out,' Van Gorp said sombrely. 'And an observer on the opposite bank has confirmed to me the place is a ruin.'
'Sorry to hear that,' Bellenger said. 'Casualties of war.' He turned to Tweed. 'Is there nothing more we can do?'
He looked up as Blade appeared in the doorway to the anteroom. The SAS commander wants one of his men stationed on that roof. Is that all right?'
'Of course,' agreed Van Gorp. Tweed had best accompany him. Otherwise his appearance will scare the wits out of my men.'
Tweed went ahead of the masked SAS man who appeared, recognized that this was Blade's deputy, Eddie. He came back after a few minutes and took his seat at the table, then he explained to Bellenger.
'I know who Klein really is. He has a background of highly professional military training. He's a master planner, probably one of the most brilliant in Europe. He foresees every contingency…'
'A ruddy genius,' Bellenger growled.
'Look at the way he's planned this vast operation,' Tweed persisted. 'He made sure the bullion was easily available. He's got a transport plane standing by at Frankfurt large enough to shift that bullion. He has several thousand lives at his mercy as a bargaining counter for the gold. He's chosen the most strategic target in Europe and laced it with bombs, I'm sure – Europort.'
'And he won't allow us to move the bodies of my two men thrown down from the platform,' Van Gorp commented. 'I requested permission while you were on the phone. Answer? No.'
'Hideous,' Tweed agreed. 'But that's a deliberate display of his total ruthlessness…'
'One thing which puzzles me is his escape route,' Paula said. 'How does he hope to get away? He can't even use that beastly box as a threat once he's out of range. And we can't be sure of what the range is.'
'Twenty-five to thirty miles,' Bellenger informed her. 'In London we studied blueprints supplied by Tweed…'
'The ones they found in the Swiss research director's safe which Beck gave me in Geneva,' Tweed explained.
'… and those blueprints were detailed drawings of the radio mechanism,' Bellenger continued. 'We were able to work out the range.'
'Which gives him control from Euromast of all those vessels he's mined,' Van Gorp confirmed.
'His escape route,' Tweed commented, 'which Paula raised. I was coming to that. I doubt it will be a number of cars – as Paula pointed out, once he's beyond the range of detonating those sea-mines we'd have him. I also doubt it's the river – for the same reasons. I've been thinking of the air…'
'So have I,' said Van Gorp. 'I've had my men check Rotterdam Airport. There's a Sikorsky waiting there, a big job. Pilot is an Austrian, a Victor Saur. Says he's waiting to collect a number of oil executives – on instructions from a Royal-Dutch senior director called Bouwman. I happen to know him. I've put in a call to his home address to check…' The phone began ringing. '… and this could be him.' He picked up the receiver.
'Chief of police, Van Gorp, here. Sorry to call at this hour. We met once at a reception. I have an important question to ask you.. .'
Inside his apartment, Bouwman, a stockily built man of forty with a fuzz of thick dark hair, was still fully dressed. His wife sat stiffly in an armchair while the masked man held a Luger to the side of her skull.
'This could be the police checking those Sikorksys,' he warned. 'You know what to say. Get it right first time. Make any attempt to warn them and your wife loses her head.'
The phone went on ringing. Bouwman took a deep breath, lifted the receiver, announced his identity. He listened for a moment while the masked man used his left hand to listen in on the extension phone by the armchair.
'Yes, I remember you, Van Gorp. For God's sake why have you disturbed my sleep. My wife's too, for that matter…'
He listened, his eyes glued to the gunman's. 'Yes, that is correct,' he replied. Those two choppers are waiting to pick up a certain delegation for a conference. I will tell you the conference is very secret so please don't broadcast the fact. Some of the individuals involved don't want any publicity. And one machine may have to fly off to pick up some important papers needed urgently. Is that all? Maybe on another occasion you'd call at a more civilized hour.'
Bouwman put down the receiver. The gunman carefully replaced the extension at the same moment. The oil executive used his display handkerchief to wipe his moist forehead.
'For God's sake remove that pistol from my wife's head. The job's done now.'
Van Gorp put down his own phone. 'False alarm. Bouwman confirmed the machines are being held at his disposal. He also bit my ear off for waking him. Normal reaction.'
'Then how will Klein escape?' Paula demanded. 'He'll have a plan. You can bet your life on that.'
The trouble is we are betting so many lives on this business. Now who is it?' Van Gorp growled.
He picked up the phone again as it began ringing, listened and said yes, he'd pass the message on.
'Tweed. London wants you to call back. Some woman called Monica. She says you have the number.'
'I'll use the scrambler.'
Tweed went into the anteroom, closed the door, sat down and dialled. Monica came on the line immediately. The PM had asked her to inform him that the German Chancellor was on the verge of issuing the order to release the bullion. There had been an emergency meeting of the EEC Commissioners in Brussels. And could he call Moscow at the special number? Tweed said he un
derstood, broke the connection and ran to the door which he opened, speaking briefly.
'Bonn is about to release the bullion. Van Gorp, could you get on to Bonn. Tell them to take as long as possible over loading the trucks. Warn them they may be watched. Pretend one of the truck doors is jammed, won't lock. Anything for a short delay. I've another call to make. And could you find me a green Verey pistol? Must be green. The Coastguard or someone must have one.'
'The police launches are two hundred yards from here,' Van Gorp replied. 'The ones at the end of Parkhaven basin. They will have one. We'll sneak one out for you.'
'And what on earth does he want a green Verey pistol for?' asked Bellenger.
'It's going to be all action soon,' Paula told him. 'I have heard about this change in Tweed from Butler. A long period of waiting, then he moves.'
'He has moved,' said Jansen with a rare flash of humour. 'He has gone back into the anteroom.'
Seated again at the table, Tweed dialled the special Moscow number Lysenko had given him during their clandestine meeting outside Zurich. A girl operator came on the line, he spoke to her in Russian and within seconds a familiar voice began talking.
'Where are you calling me from, Tweed?' demanded Lysenko.
'Somewhere in Europe. By scrambler. What is it?'
'We are getting reports of a big crisis building up in Rotterdam, Holland. I am also getting reports that American mavericks are involved – men with CIA training.'
'You mean you are spreading those reports. If you don't at once stifle those reports I'll reveal the whole story of Igor Zarov…'
'But we have an agreement…'
'Made invalid by any underhand manoeuvre on your part. I'm supposed to protect you. I also intend to protect the Americans. Are you going to keep quiet?'
'Providing you abide by our agreement…'
'Which I agreed to do. Stop talking nonsense. Why did you really call me?'
'Have you tracked down our traitor? Have you any clue as to where he might be? What steps are you taking now?'
Tweed sighed aloud. 'Now listen to me, Lysenko. I work in my own way. You should know that by now. I certainly have no intention of reporting every move I make. Leave the whole problem in my hands. And call off your propaganda lackeys or you will regret it. Anything else?'
'Not at the moment. Goodbye…'
The connection was broken. Paula came in after tapping on the door and hearing his assent to come in. She carried a tray with a plate of sandwiches and coffee.
'Close the door,' he said when she had put the tray on the table. 'This is the first chance we've had to be alone -to talk privately. And do sit down.'
'Problems? Or shouldn't I ask?' she enquired, seating herself opposite him as he tackled the food.
'The Americans have a saying. Between a rock and a hard place. That is my position at the moment. The Russians are the hard place, the Americans the rock. I have Cord Dillon, Deputy Director of the CIA descending on me any minute. I have Moscow wanting to know what is going on. I have to act to keep both happy – or at least quiet. The American alarm I can understand. I think at the very top in Moscow they understand the position – but the man who communicates with me is a pain. What is the atmosphere out there?' He nodded beyond the door to the HQ room.
'Pretty bloody. It's this waiting for Klein, waiting for a decision about moving the bullion – waiting, waiting – that is telling on their nerves.'
'It's corning up to three o'clock. I feel it will soon be over. Probably in one great thunderclap of action.'
'That sounds ominous. You're worried about someone inside Euromast, aren't you?' Paula suggested.
'I'm worried about all those people aboard the ships waiting offshore. Which reminds me,' Tweed said, standing up, 'I wonder how they've dealt with that problem.'
Van Gorp was on the phone again as Tweed went into the other room and took the same place at the table. The discussion continued for some time in Dutch and then Van Gorp put down the phone.
'That was the Dutch EEC Commissioner speaking from Brussels. They, also, have called an all night session. The Commissioners make the point that two hundred million pounds in gold is chicken feed compared with the vast sums which will be lost if Europort is wrecked. They're inclined to give in.'
'What have you done about informing the masters of all those ships which have been mined?' Tweed asked.
The only thing we could do. We sent each of them a signal telling them what had happened, leaving it to their discretion as to how much they told their passengers and crew. We also – through Marine Control – ordered them to stay where they are, to make no attempt under any circumstances to disembark passengers.' Van Gorp smiled bitterly. 'I have seen a copy of those signals from Marine Control. They all end up by saying the situation is under control. Like hell it is. Under the control of Klein they mean.'
'May I ask,' interjected Jansen, 'why you flew Newman and Butler to Findel?'
'Because they may well have a vital part to play at the climax,' Tweed replied and left it at that.
51
The executive jet carrying Newman, Butler and Benoit landed at the deserted airport of Findel. A car drove out to meet them as they descended the small step-ladder the pilot had unfolded.
'This will be the police,' Benoit said. 'If you don't mind I will handle them. We will talk in French so you will know what is going on.'
'Be my guest,' said Newman, hoisting the rifle scabbard over his shoulder with a strap.
Benoit carried on a terse conversation with the Luxembourger inspector of police who alighted from the car to greet him. Yes, Peter Brand had landed earlier from a Sikorsky with a small plump man Brand introduced as his bodyguard. Yes, he had then left the airport in a chauffeur-driven limousine waiting for him. Now there was a crisis in the Avenue de la Liberte…
'What about the Sikorsky pilot and his machine?' Benoit asked.
'We only heard from him after the limousine had driven off and reached the Banque Sambre,' the inspector explained. 'The pilot had been forced to take off from Rotterdam by Brand's so-called bodyguard – who was actually his kidnapper. The pilot had been warned to wait twenty minutes before he said a word. If a police car intercepted the limousine Brand would be shot instantly.'
'Of course!' Newman commented ironically.
'Do go on,' Benoit urged the inspector. 'What happened to the pilot?'
'He said he must return immediately to Rotterdam where some VIP passengers would arrive at any time to be flown to some secret destination. Something to do with Royal-Dutch Shell.'
'And this crisis at the Banque Sambre?'
'You had better come and see for yourself. We have a police car which will take you there now.'
'It's a bloody muddle,' Butler commented when Newman translated what had been said as they followed Benoit and the inspector to the airport building.
'Agreed,' Newman whispered back. 'And Tweed would call it a smokescreen. Let's see what's happening first.'
The Avenue de la Liberte, normally deserted at this hour, was a hive of activity. The whole street was cordoned off with barriers and police cars. All side streets leading into it had been closed off. Police carrying arms patrolled somewhat aimlessly.
'That building is the Banque Sambre,' the inspector explained, pointing to the closed doors of an edifice with lights on in the first floor. That is Brand's office – up there with the lights on.'
'What exactly is going on?' Newman demanded.
'We have a state of siege…'
'Why?'
The kidnapper phoned police headquarters, said Brand was being held at gunpoint. The gunman warned no attempt should be made to storm the building or Brand would be shot. He also said he is being held to check a gold shipment due to arrive at Findel. I have no idea what he means.'
'We have,' said Newman. 'It's all linked to what is happening in Rotterdam. Is there any way we can get inside that building over the rooftops. Myself and Butler, I mean.'
<
br /> 'It is impossible!' The inspector was appalled and his normal air of stolidity vanished. 'Peter Brand's life is at stake. Don't you understand what I have said? He is a most important person.'
The cat's whiskers,' said Newman.
'I beg your pardon?'
'Nothing. Have any other conditions been laid down -apart from not storming the building?' Newman enquired.
'Yes, there must be no attempt to interfere with his telephone communications with the outside world. No attempt to tap his lines. Rotterdam has requested us to abide by these conditions. Some man called Tweed…'
'We know about Tweed,' Newman told him. 'I think we'll stay here awhile,' he said to Benoit. 'Meantime,' he went on in French, 'I'd like a very fast car made available for my use.'
'Brand has a Lamborghini in a garage nearby,' the inspector said. 'But I don't think he'd like it being used.'
'He's a prisoner,' Newman pointed out. 'What he likes or doesn't like is irrelevant. What happened to the chauffeur-driven limousine which brought him from the airport?'
'Parked in a side street close to the Banque. The chauffeur has been told to stay with trie car by Brand.'
'Then get me the Lamborghini now, please. Park it nearby in the street leading across the Viaduct to the airport. With the keys in the ignition and a police guard watching it.'
'May I ask what you foresee?' Benoit enquired.
'Sooner or later Brand is going back to Findel to check the gold shipment corning in. You said so yourself. When that happens I want to reach Findel first. Butler and myself.'
'I know what I'd really like,' said Butler. He looked at a police outrider sitting with his legs straddling a Honda. 'That motor-bike.' He turned to Newman. 'With you inside the Lamborghini and me on the motor-bike it will give us more flexibility for action. And a crash helmet that fits my big head.'
'Good thinking,' Newman decided.
Within a few minutes Butler had his Honda. He tried on several helmets the inspector obtained from other outriders, found one that fitted, left it on his head with the ear flaps dangling.