by Colin Forbes
Tweed's sixth sense was working overtime. He had the most awful foreboding. All this flashed through his mind in seconds while Monica waited for him to reply. He took an instant decision.
`He's travelling under his own credentials?' he asked. `I gather so.'
`Monica, when he calls you again give him this order. Stress in the strongest terms it is an order. He is to fly straight back to Hong Kong – using his other credentials. He is then to take the Pacific route, repeat, the Pacific route, to San Francisco, cross the States, catch Concorde to London.'
`I'll tell him. Rely on me. Good-night – or rather, good morning…'
If Tweed had been asked, he couldn't have explained why he had taken this decision. But he had learnt over the years his sixth sense never let him down – that it could be fatal to ignore it.
Sitting up in bed against a propped pillow, he reached for his copy of Anthony Trollope's Barchester Towers. He didn't go to sleep again. The shadowy pattern formed in his mind of what was going on had been shattered. Drugs? On a huge scale? That meant vast sums of money. A glimmer of an idea twitched at the back of his mind, then faded.
It was still dark when he got up, had a leisurely bath, dried himself, got dressed slowly. Then he watched dawn break over the muddled mess of a city which was Brussels.
Marler made his move some time after dawn broke but before the city had woken up. If Dr Wand was going anywhere he wasn't likely to start out as early as this.
It was cold and the streets were pretty much deserted as he hurried along the Avenue Louise between tall, boring- looking buildings. After a night inside the confines of the car he welcomed walking into the spaciousness of the Place Louise with its two main one-way highways – the first one he crossed to the wide pavement island in the centre dividing it off from the Boulevard de Waterloo.
He walked briskly up to the Hilton. He still had the room he'd paid for and the computer-card key was in his wallet. The uniformed doorman saluted him, suppressing a smile. He thinks I've had a night out on the tiles with some girl, Marler thought.
He continued his brisk pace past the empty lounge on his left, heading for the bank of elevators. Then he slowed down. A familiar figure, hands clasped behind its back, was pacing slowly up and down near the entrance to the Cafe d'Egmont. Tweed.
Marler was stunned. He paused as Tweed saw him, walked swiftly towards him, took his arm, guided him to the bank of elevators, pressed a button. No. 20.
`You're on top of the world,' Marler remarked to say something.
`Twentieth floor,' Tweed replied once they were inside the elevator and the doors had closed.
There was no more conversation until Tweed had ushered Marler into Room 2009. Marler spread his hands in amazement and smiled ironically.
`You won't believe this but I came here to phone Monica to find out where you were…'
He explained tersely how he had tailed Dr Wand from the airport, the incidents at the Bellevue Palace, how he had taken a room at the Hilton. Tweed listened, then spoke.
`I woke very early. I was downstairs waiting for the coffee shop to open. You have done very well – very well indeed. So Dr Wand is a mere ten-minute walk or less from here. I find that interesting – in view of what has happened.'
`If you can tell me later, I think I'd better hoof it back to the Bellevue Palace. If Wand goes somewhere I want to know where to.'
`Agreed. But you need some back-up. No, don't argue.. Tweed phoned Newman's room. The phone was answered but Newman's tone was disgruntled.
`What is it, Tweed? At this hour?'
`Come and see me immediately.'
`I was in the shower. I'm in my birthday suit. Be with you in ten minutes…'
Tweed had just put down the phone, was going to explain the situation to Marler, when someone tapped three times on the outside door lightly. Tweed looked through the spyhole, opened it. Paula, dressed in a navy blue suit, carrying a trench coat, her shoulder-bag over her arm, walked in.
`Couldn't sleep,' she said. 'I wondered whether you'd be up. Marler, you look dressed for action.'
`He is…'
Tweed swiftly explained the problem. Marler was spreading prints of Dr Wand taken at London Airport on a table. The special small camera designed in the Engine Room in the Park Crescent basement automatically developed and produced high-definition prints.
`Here is the devious bastard,' he said cheerfully. 'I will keep one, leave the rest to you.'
`We can't wait for Newman,' Tweed said impatiently. `So Paula is coming with you instead.'
`Then let's get out of here fast before Newman comes rushing in,' Marler snapped.
Paula settled herself in the passenger seat beside Marler and handed him one of the two covered plastic cups containing coffee. She had slipped into a nearby bar while Marler moved the car a few yards.
`They had ham rolls,' she said. 'I could go back.. `Don't. Thanks, but I'm up to here with ham. I've eaten nothing else for the past twelve hours or more.'
`Me too.'
Paula liked Marler. On the continent, with his upper- crust drawl and London clothes, he was often taken for the typical Englishman, an impression he cultivated. Paula was also amused at the speed with which he'd hustled her out of the Hilton. Newman and Marler were old sparring partners, neither really liking the other – but in an emergency they knew they could rely on their colleague to the limit.
They chatted animatedly and Paula gave Marler a brief outline of their grim experience in Liege and, later, their encounter with Burgoyne, Willie, and their two women. Marler watched her as she eyed him through her long lashes while she talked.
`Something's happening,' he said suddenly.
It was almost two hours since they had reached the car. Marler was glad he'd slipped into the toilet while Tweed was phoning Newman. In those two hours Brussels had come alive. Street cleaners wearing yellow jackets and trousers, pushing rubber-wheeled trolleys carrying tall rubbish bins had appeared. Small ochre-coloured trams were trundling towards Place Louise.
`What is it?' Paula asked.
`That big Mercedes 600 coming up out of the garage. It brought Dr Wand here from Zaventem Airport.'
Paula watched as the huge black limo paused half-way out of the exit. A car was blocking the way. The uniformed chauffeur with a peaked cap and dark glasses opened his door, got out to call to the doorman. Marler stared as the doorman, a guest's keys in his hand, rushed to move the vehicle.
`There's no one else in the car,' Paula objected. 'Do we want to know where a chauffeur is going?'
`No. Except I don't think that is the chauffeur. His build is too bulky, he moves more ponderously. Someone is playing Clever Dick.'
'I don't get it.
`I'll bet a month's salary that's Dr Wand inside that uniform. So where is he off to that he doesn't want anyone to know about? Here we go. Hold on to your hat.'
The Merc. 600 reached the Place Louise, turned right up the Avenue de la Toison d'Or, running parallel to the Boulevard de Waterloo where traffic moved in the opposite direction. And there was traffic now. Marler was in his element, weaving in and out among private cars and rumbling juggernauts. Belgian drivers are aggressive but Marler beat them to it every time, leaving behind tooting horns as he skilfully kept one vehicle between himself and the Merc. 600.
Dr Wand – Marler was convinced it was him – was a mean driver himself, using the size of his car to make smaller cars give way. Sooner than Paula expected they were outside Brussels. She saw a signpost. Gent (French version), then Gand (Flemish version) underneath.
`Lord, he's moving,' Paula commented.
`So are we!' Marler said breezily.
They passed through turn-offs to numerous villages, and the Mere. 600 kept going. Marler had a juggernaut in front of him and ahead of that was the limo. They passed through flat open countryside – ploughed fields and colonies of greenhouses, their slanting roofs reflecting a glare from the sun. Above them was a clear blue sky and the air
was cold and fresh.
Beyond Ghent the limo turned off the main highway down a tarred country road. Marler dropped back: concealment was now more tricky. The frequent bends in the road helped – he could just keep in sight the roof of the outsize limo. He came round a corner and stopped.
When he switched off the engine a heavy silence descended. Paula sat erect in her seat, staring, as though hypnotized.
`What's the matter?' Marler asked.
A hundred yards or so ahead was a new village. On either side of a freshly tarred road stood a row of small two-storey houses. They were built of red brick with steep-pitched roofs of grey slate.
The limo had been driven round the back of the first house on the left. The 'chauffeur' reappeared, walking slowly. Marler guessed he had the key in his hand because he opened the door quickly, disappeared inside, shut it.
Paula counted the houses which faced each other along the sides of the ruler-straight road. Eight dwellings on either side. And not a sign of life anywhere. Not even a single shop. She blinked, shook her head.
`I don't believe it,' she said.
`Don't believe what?'
`They're new, not old, of course. But they remind me -the atmosphere – of Moor's Landing on the Beaulieu River in Hampshire.'
`Tweed told me about that place.' Marler lit a king-size. `Incidentally, there's a canal just over there.'
Paula looked in the direction he'd indicated. A barge was waiting to pass through a lock. The uncanny silence persisted. Marler switched on the engine, backed his car almost out of sight of the village at a point where he could turn round.
`That was Dr Wand,' he told her, 'inside the chauffeur's uniform. I could tell from the way he moved. I watched him pacing up and down outside the Lear jet at London Airport.'
And that place is a Flemish version of Moor's Landing,' Paula said. 'All the houses are curtained and I'm sure people live there. But no sign of any of them. Creepy – like Moor's Landing.'
`Let's go back into Ghent. I'll show you the Old Town. And if we find a restaurant or bar we'll ask a few questions about this place.'
`Wait a sec. I'm going to mark its position.' Paula picked up her map, made a cross at the approximate location of the village. 'It's not even marked on the map..
Marler turned the car round and soon they were back on the highway, driving towards Ghent. He glanced several times in his rear-view mirror.
`You saw that blue Audi parked on the verge at the entrance to the side road?'
`Yes. Why?'
`We have company. It's following us…'
24
`I'm leaving for London today,' Tweed announced. 'I am booked on an afternoon flight. It's urgent that I take Delvaux's new radar device and hand it over to Naval Intelligence. And it was a false alarm, Bob.'
In response to his phone call Newman had just hurried to Room 2009 from his own bedroom. Newman had a double surprise – Tweed's sudden decision and the presence of Harry Butler and Peter Nield sitting on a couch. Tweed saw his glance in their direction. He smiled drily.
`Not like me to have such protection. I phoned Monica yesterday and asked her to contact Butler and Nield, to get them to fly over here immediately.'
`It's that Delvaux device,' Newman hazarded.
`You're right. It could be so important I decided I must travel with guards. I've also contacted Benoit. He'll be at the airport and we'll bypass Customs and Passport Control. Tell Paula and Marler when you see them. With a bit of luck I'll be back tomorrow. I have to see an officer at the MOD.'
`Ministry of Defence?' Newman sat down and raised an eyebrow. 'May we know what's going on there?'
`You may. I want to find out everything they can tell me about Brigadier Burgoyne – his military career and the years afterwards he spent in the Far East. And Monica has dug up more on Willie Fanshawe – and Dr Wand.
He broke off as the phone rang. He listened to the operator, put his hand over the mouthpiece for a second.
`Talk of the devil – Dr Wand is calling me.'
`Yes, this is Tweed speaking. Did you say Dr Wand? What can I do for you?'
`I – think – it – is – time – we – met – Mr Tweed…'
The voice was a sibilant hiss and counting each word as if it was worth a great deal of money. Tweed checked his watch. He played for time while he thought.
`Can you give me some idea of the reason for this meeting? And the subject for discussion? I have an urgent appointment later.'
`Mr Tweed, I am given to understand you are a man of great discretion. The telephone is hardly the medium for a frank talk.'
`As I said, the timing could make a meeting impossible.'
`So, Mr Tweed, I am at your disposal. Could you come this morning? I have a modest villa at Waterloo, the headquarters of my refugee aid organization in Europe. I can, of course, send a car to collect you from the Hilton.'
`I can spare thirty minutes,' Tweed said abruptly. 'And I have my own transport.'
`My dear Mr Tweed, in thirty minutes – with your quick brain – we can cover the affairs of the world. And perhaps you would like to bring Miss Grey with you. It would be my pleasure.'
`I will be coming with someone, but it will be a man.' `Excellent! Excellent! Now, if you would be so kind as to note down this address…'
Tweed scribbled it on a pad. He was annoyed to see that he was pressing hard with the pencil. His voice, however, remained cool and calm.
`I've got that. We will be there shortly. For thirty minutes.'
`I look forward to our meeting with the greatest of pleasure. Take good care of yourself in the mean time. Until we meet.
Tweed put down the phone carefully. His expression was grim. He paced slowly round the room as he repeated the gist of the conversation. Newman reacted immediately.
`I am coming with you. The bastard! That reference to Paula. And how did he know you were at the Hilton? For my money he knows a little too much. And I am coming with you,' he repeated.
`I'm quite happy for you to join me,' Tweed agreed. `Dr Wand is a very dangerous man. He was needling me, but I didn't react. As to how he knows so much, the answer must be Lee, Helen, Willie or Burgoyne. The question is, which of those four?'
`And also why has he suggested this meeting?' Nield asked. 'Maybe Harry and I should also accompany you?'
`It is a small victory on our part that he wants to see me. One of the four people I mentioned has passed on to him my remark in the lounge last night that I was getting close to my target. So my ploy worked. But I don't want four of us turning up – it makes us look nervous. But thank you for the suggestion, Pete.'
`To get to Waterloo we should leave in half an hour if we're to arrive soon,' Newman said firmly. 'And I'll check that address you have on my street map…'
Tweed handed him the sheet of paper with the address and stood by the window, his hands clasped behind his back. Waterloo lay to the south of Brussels, was one of the most expensive residential areas in the whole city. He was rather looking forward to crossing swords with the mysterious Dr Wand.
`Mr Audi is still following us,' Marler remarked as he drove into the Old City of Ghent.
It was obvious when they had left modern Ghent behind and reached the Old City centre. The tarred roads had become cobbled streets which the Mercedes bumped over. Ahead of them a heavy truck shuddered and shook drunkenly with the vibrations.
Paula liked the look of the Flemish town. There was an atmosphere of relaxation about the way the people strolled slowly but purposefully. The frenzied rush of Brussels seemed far away – another country. The buildings were ancient, built of mellow stone. Paula felt she had been transported back into the Middle Ages.
`This is about the centre – the Koornmarkt,' said Marler. `And there's a parking lot free near the Post Office.'
`Isn't that a restaurant?' asked Paula. 'I don't understand the Flemish at the top but it says brasserie underneath. I'm so hungry I could eat a horse.'
`You won
't here. Flemish food is very good.'
He had stopped the car. Across the cobbled street was the place Paula had spotted. The first legend read DENTERGEMS WIT. Underneath in French was the second legend, BRASSERIE DE POST. Paula pointed to an ancient grey building with a spire at one corner and a clocktower at the other end. The facade was festooned with stone decoration.
`What on earth is that place?'
`Post Office. And Mr Audi is going to park one vehicle behind us. Yes, we'll eat at the brasserie. For one thing I'm famished too. For another I can keep an eye on my car. And Mr Audi..
He locked the car and crossed the open square with Paula by his side. Marler was careful not to glance in the direction of the Audi and the fat man behind the wheel who sat smoking a cigar.
`Oh, Lord,' said Paula, standing at the entrance. 'My Flemish is non-existent and that's the language on the menu.'
`Nothing wrong with your French, is there? Wait till we get inside.'
The restaurant had panelled walls, a tiled floor, wooden chairs and tables covered with paper cloths patterned to look like linen. Already the place was a hive of activity as waitresses bustled to serve, their heels click-clacking on the tiled floor. Marler pulled out a chair for Paula at a window table. As he sat down she was studying the menu. Marler glanced outside. Across the street Fatman was still seated behind the wheel, puffing his cigar, and gazing straight ahead rather too fixedly.
`This is great,' said Paula. 'The menu is in French as well as Flemish. I'm fillets of sole and loads of chips.'
`Sounds good, me too.'
The waitress was already standing over them. Marler gave her the order in French and asked for a carafe of
Macon and some mineral water. The waitress stared at him.
`Pas de potage?'
Marler looked at Paula who shook her head. He looked up at the waitress, smiled, said, Won.' She looked amazed and hurried off to place their order.
`I'm ravenous,' Paula remarked, 'as I told you. But I've seen the soup at the next table. It's a plateful of solid liquid. A meal in itself.'
`I agree. Takes the edge off your appetite. But the Flemish work hard, eat well to stoke up. Macon is all right, I hope? The waitress was dizzy with impatience to push off and get on with it.'