by Colin Forbes
'It's a fact,' he called back in French. 'Sometimes I think I spend more time in the air than I do on the ground.'
They walked on and Hipper let out his breath through moist lips. The pilot was waiting, reached up and lowered the stepladder leading inside the Sikorsky. A few minutes later they were airborne. Destination: Findel Airport, Luxembourg City.
'How many marines were killed?' Brand asked as the Sikorsky flew on through the night, red and green lights flashing. He had lit another cigarette.
'No idea.' Hipper had lost interest. 'We have this ready to put up outside your bank in the Avenue de la Liberté.' He opened up the brief-case he had propped against the seat.
This was a notice in French, German and English. It announced that the Banque Sambre was temporarily closed owing to an electrical breakdown. Business would be resumed as soon as possible.
'Klein doesn't miss a trick,' Brand snapped after a glance at the notice.
'He is a great organizer,' Hipper agreed in his normal soft voice.
Brand puffed at his cigarette. The Sikorsky dipped and pitched for a few seconds. Brand felt the sweat on his hands. All those Dutch marines killed. There would be a tremendous outcry. He was wondering whether Brazil would be remote and safe enough for him when this was all over. As for his Belgian wife, owner of the bank and frolicking about in New York, he didn't give a damn. Be glad to get rid of the bitch who never stopped yacking away. But this marine business . . . Hipper seemed to sense his misgivings as the Sikorsky flew over the lights of Namur below. Maybe it was that second cigarette, Brand thought later.
'No turning back now, Mr Brand,' Hipper remarked. 'Only one way. Forward. According to plan. You are going to be a very rich man.'
'Do shut up. Let me think.'
* *
Chabot sat behind the wheel of his parked van, pretending to read as he watched people walking up and down the flight of steps. Above him loomed Euromast, a blaze of lights shining from the restaurant windows three hundred feet up. He wore a boiler suit, the type of garment favoured by a plumber or electrician. Beside him on the seat was a large bag which might have contained the tools of his trade.
'What's the situation?'
Chabot stiffened, looked out of the side window into the face of Klein who was now wearing a military-type leather overcoat and a peaked cap of the type often liked by German students. He had changed from his chauffeur's uniform in a back street.
'Two minutes to go.' Chabot had checked his watch. 'Situation normal. A number of people dining in the restaurant - no sign of security. But those launches at the end of the basin have police aboard. IN!O more than half a dozen. They are taking no interest in Euromast.'
'Your men are ready? And those in the vehicles parked just a short distance away? I don't see Legaud and his command vehicle.'
'Just pulled in behind me,' Chabot commented, looking in his wing mirror. 'Everyone is ready.'
'And Faltz knows what to do when you reach the restaurant.'
'I've told him enough times. He's dressed like a certain kind of American. Behind me in this van.'
A cluster of visitors, leaving, appeared at the entrance. They moved slowly on full stomachs, spreading across the steps as they began to descend to the street. Klein took one last look round.
'Now!' he said. 'Storm the tower.'
'A pleasure . . .'
Klein moved back, carrying an executive case, as Chabot got slowly out of the car after beating a tattoo on the rear of the cab. The rear doors opened, men climbed out, also clad in boiler suits, carrying bags.
The driver of the vehicle behind Legaud saw the movement and hammered the same tattoo signal. The rear doors of his vehicle opened and five men wearing sports clothes and carrying various cases emerged.
They converged towards the crowd of visitors as the third vehicle spilt out more men. Marler walked alongside Klein, carrying his sports bag as Lara followed them. There was a muddle on the steps. Visitors stood aside, apologizing and nodding their heads.
Inside the entrance a Luxembourger went straight up to the ticket counter, walked round it, thrust an automatic hard against the collector's hip. The weapon was below counter level and could not be seen by other visitors leaving the elevator.
'Stay cool,' the Luxembourger advised. 'Why get killed for what they pay you? Just keep your eyes down, go on counting the money. Act normal - you may live . . .'
Faltz, wearing a loud check sports jacket and light khaki slacks, carrying a large holdall, entered the empty elevator. A heavily-built man, he squeezed close to the control panel as Klein, Marler, Lara, Chabot and three other men crammed themselves inside. Faltz pressed the button for restaurant and was the first to step out of the lift. Carrying the hold-all in his left hand he walked into the restaurant, looked round.
It was half-full of diners eating, drinking, staring out at the lights of the city. He walked across to an empty table at the far side where he could cover the whole room. Perching his hold-all on a chair, he unzipped it.
Three masked men burst into the restaurant through the entrance, armed with Uzi machine-pistols. The leader stood in the centre of the trio and shouted his command in English.
This is a raid. No one will get hurt unless they resist. You get up slowly from your tables, hands stretched out in front . . .'
There was a stunned silence for several seconds. In the sudden silence the only sound was the clatter of cutlery dropping on to plates.
'Get moving!' the leader shouted. 'Assemble by the lift. Now!'
The scrape of chairs being pushed back, the shuffle of feet as men and women stood up and extended their hands in front of them. Two men stood up suddenly from one of the elevated tables. Each held a pistol, gripped in both hands, aimed at the intruders.
Faltz whipped out his own Uzi, took quick aim, shot them both in the back. One crashed forward on the table, scattering plates on the floor; his companion slumped back and disappeared below the table. A woman screamed. Everyone turned to look at Faltz. The leader of the trio at the entrance shouted again.
'Nothing will happen to you if you move fast. Come on - into the hall by the elevators . . .'
'No more casualties,' the masked Klein whispered. 'We just want them out of here - out of the building.'
The diners were filing forward now, hands extended, threading their way between the tables, women clutching handbags under their arms. The trio parted on either side of the exit, their weapons aimed at the crowd. Klein backed into the hall, watching over the black silk handkerchief tied round his face. Other men were below at ground level, one man in a boiler suit at the door stopping other people entering, telling them there was a fault in the elevator system. His companions would be out of sight, waiting to escort diners from the building as they left the elevator.
Klein pushed his way inside the restaurant. Yes, they had remembered: waiters and staff were being hustled out of the kitchen. Faltz, holding his Uzi, slipped across the room to where Klein stood.
The bodies - two of them. I checked their pockets. They were police. They're dead. What do we do with them?'
'Later.' Klein's tone was abrupt. They'll come in useful.'
Marler had disappeared. Leaving the elevator, he had made straight for the outside platform. Carrying his bag, he walked slowly round, close to the rail, staring down. No sign of hostile activity. Yet. The restaurant windows - plus their height - would have muffled the shots from the police launches at the end of the basin.
He didn't know it but inside the launches the river police were eating a quick meal prior to their turn to patrol the Maas. He continued his tour until he reached a point in the shadows out of sight of anyone. Opening his bag, he assembled his rifle, screwed on the infra-red telescopic sight and shoved the stock hard against his shoulder.
He was looking down into the deserted park. Small shrubs came up so close in the lens he felt he could reach out and touch them. Holding rifle and bag below rail level, he completed his circuit of t
he platform and stood back from the entrance to the interior.
The first elevator load had gone down, the cage had returned, more customers and staff were being escorted inside. They moved silently, slowly, fearfully and shuffled their feet.
Klein checked his watch. The marine barracks would have been destroyed. Prussen would be on his way to Euromast- and soon the alarm would be raised. The crowd of diners hurrying down the steps outside would be seen, would find someone to tell about their ordeal.
He walked out on to the platform past Marler and peered over the edge. From Legaud's control van a man was reeling out a cable. He had already reached the top step and as Klein watched he disappeared inside the building. Communications were almost established.
The cable would be plugged into the phone system at ground level. At the right moment Legaud would elevate the van's antennae. Klein would have local communication through the van's amplifiers, iong distance via radio. Faltz came out on to the platform.
'Those bodies - the two policemen - I leave them where they are?'
'No. Haul them out here. Dump them near the rail. Later we shove them over the edge - just to show them we mean business.'
47
Tweed sat beside Van Gorp who was driving with Paula and Newman in the rear seats. They were on their way to Euromast. Paula noticed Tweed kept smoothing his hair with his hand, a sure sign he was uneasy.
'Something wrong?' she asked.
'He'll have synchronized the whole operation. That's the way his mind works - and we're up against a brilliant mind - diabolical but brilliant.'
'Synchronized?' she queried.
That horrible massacre at the marines barracks. Something else will have happened. It's going to be an ordeal of pure terror.'
Van Gorp picked up the car phone as it began buzzing. Listening for a few moments, he said he understood, that he was on his way. His expression was grim in the mirror Paula saw. The Dutchman accelerated as he spoke.
'You were right all along, Tweed. He's seized control of the Euromast. Or someone has.'
'It will be Klein. How detailed was the report?'
'Garbled fragments - as so often happens warning a crisis is in the making. A large group of men - and one woman - invaded Euromast. Armed with machine-pistols, they think. Everyone in the restaurant was bundled outside . . .'
'You said you had two of your men in that restaurant,' Tweed recalled.
A bitter note entered Van Gorp's voice. They tried to repel the intruders. They were shot in the back . . .'
'Something odd there,' Newman interjected. 'Why didn't they hold the people dining as hostages - to guarantee their own safety? Normal procedure . . .'
'Klein isn't normal,' Tweed replied grimly. 'I suspect we'll find he already has hundreds of hostages - aboard those ships waiting offshore. We'll soon know, but I fear the worst.'
Van Gorp picked up the phone again, pressed a number and then spoke in Dutch. The conversation lasted several minutes and he reduced speed. Replacing the phone he glanced in the mirror and pulled in to the kerb alongside the Maas.
'We're close to Euromast. We walk the rest of the way. The area is cordoned off. Too dangerous to drive closer.'
The first thing Tweed noticed as they walked along the pavement by the river was the silence, the absence of any sound of traffic. They passed several couples hurrying in the opposite direction. None of them were speaking. They glanced at Tweed and his companions. One man with a woman stopped as though about to speak to Van Gorp who was on the outside. The woman tugged at his sleeve and he walked on without saying anything.
Out on the river three barges were turning in mid-stream very slowly. Tweed watched them as they headed for a large basin on the far shore. A police launch, blue light flashing, came up behind them, at speed, then cut its engine and began drifting with the current.
Soon they were quite alone as they approached the large park below Euromast. No traffic on the river, none on the road, no more pedestrians. An uncanny silence which had a sinister atmosphere descended on the area. In the distance a wide red and white tape was stretched across the road, extending over the sidewalk.
'What is happening?' Tweed asked.
Two cordons have been set up - one there in front of us and another half a mile further back. The whole area is being sealed off - including the river. Traffic helicopters have been forbidden to fly anywhere near the tower. We are moving into a zone of total isolation.'
* *
'What is the position, Inspector?' Van Gorp asked a small wiry man who appeared to be in charge of the police gathered by the barricade.
'A large group of men have seized Euromast - armed men. You should not proceed beyond the tape, I suggest. A temporary HQ has been set up in a building on West Zeedijk at the end of Parkhaven.'
'What is Parkhaven?' Tweed asked.
The inspector glanced at Van Gorp. 'It's all right,' the Dutchman replied. This is Tweed, Commander of the Anti-Terrorist Squad in London. He probably knows more about those people inside Euromast than any of us.'
'Parkhaven is the docking basin Euromast overlooks.'
'And why should we not proceed beyond the tape?' Tweed pressed. 'Has there been trouble already?'
'Two of my men made their way towards the entrance steps. A man inside the entrance fired two bursts of machine-gun fire. Warning bursts, I believe. He could hardly have missed had he intended to hit them. Since then there has been an unnerving silence.'
'Klein tactics,' Tweed whispered to Van Gorp.
'So how do we reach this HQ? Quickly. Even at some risk,' Van Gorp said firmly.
'You could take that path across the park and past the church. But keep an eye on the tower. We don't know what maniacs we may be dealing with.'
'I was told all the diners and staff were herded out. Is that correct?'
'Yes, which is rather strange. Almost as though they cleared the decks for action, so to speak.'
'They did,' Tweed told him.
'I had two men inside the restaurant,' Van Gorp said stiffly to the Inspector. 'I know they were shot. Any further news?'
'None. We questioned a number of the diners - a police patrol car happened to be cruising close by and saw something was not right. The descriptions of the weapon used differ - but we believe it must have been a 9 mm Heckler and Koch or a Uzi . . .'
'I see.' Van Gorp's tone was clipped. He turned to Tweed. 'I am forgetting my manners. This is Inspector Jansen. Now, we'd better make our way across the park.'
'I will come with you,' Jansen said, 'then I can take you to the HQ. We shall not be very close to Euromast but we shall be exposed if there is a marksman up there on that platform.'
'There probably will be,' Tweed remarked. 'The best in Europe. So I suggest we don't talk, that we spread out.'
'Several rifles have arrived but none of our marksmen yet.'
'I can use a rifle,' Newman said.
'And,' Tweed added, 'he's had military training and was a crack shot at Bisley.'
'Give him a rifle,' Van Gorp ordered. 'I will take full responsibility. This situation is unprecedented . . .'
There was a very brief delay while Jansen fetched a rifle from a van, handed it to Newman, who examined it by the light of a street lamp. He checked the weapon to make sure it was unloaded, tested the mechanism, accepted a magazine from Jansen and nodded.
'I'm ready.'
The walk across the park along the winding footpath was an eerie experience. Jansen led the single file and Tweed had Paula in front of him so he could throw her to the ground if shooting started. Although a distance away the Euromast seemed to loom over them. The lights were on in the restaurant windows but there was no sign of life.
Newman walked on the grass a few yards away from the file and closer to the tower. He held the rifle across his chest, the muzzle slanted upwards. He glanced ahead frequently but most of the time he was watching the tower. He didn't expect to hit a target if an emergency arose but he knew he cou
ld fire with close enough accuracy to hit above the rail, to force any marksman to keep his head down.
The silence amid the grass and the trees became more oppressive. The path seemed to wind forever. Newman was relieved when his night vision became accustomed to the darkness. He thought he saw movement, stopped instantly, took the aiming position, his finger round the trigger. He resumed walking slowly when he decided it had been an illusion.
They left the park, crossed a wide street by a church, made their way round a complex and deserted intersection of streets, then Jansen led them to the back of a building. A uniformed policeman stood on guard. They went inside.
They were climbing a stone staircase when Tweed asked Jansen the question.
'Was a girl seen among the intruders?'
'Yes, quite young. Early twenties. Had her face masked with a coloured handkerchief. Again, descriptions varied to the point of futility.'
'Was she also carrying a gun?'
'No one asked that question. I think one of the guests who were thrown out would have mentioned it. They mentioned a girl - as though surprised. These days!'
'Could she have been taken in under duress?'
'I don't think so. One witness - a woman, of course -said she matched in as though she owned the place.'
'Why are you so interested in this girl?' Newman asked.
He had caught up with Tweed on one side while Paula joined them on the other. Jansen was climbing nimbly higher to yet another floor.
'I am thinking of Lara Seagrave, the girl I cross-examined in Smiths' tea-room in Paris, the girl whose bitch of a step-mother-Lady Windermere -I visited in London. The girl The Parrot was following all the way from Marseilles, watching her take photos of different ports. The girl whom, I'm convinced, set out on this thinking it was all an adventure. Why Klein still needs her I can't imagine.'
They had at rived. Jansen paused before a metal fire door which was guarded by a uniformed policeman. He waited until they had reached him before he issued his warning.