The Day of the Jackal

by Frederick Forsyth

  By the early sixties he had the nickname L’Armurier, the Armourer. Any Belgian citizen can buy a lethal weapon, revolver, automatic or rifle, at any sports or gun shop in the country on production of a national identity card proving Belgian nationality. Goossens never used his own, for at each sale of the weapon and subsequent ammunition the sale is noted in the gunsmith’s log-book, along with the name and I.D. card number of the purchaser. Goossens used other people’s cards, either stolen or forged.

  He had established close links with one of the city’s top pickpockets, a man who, when not languishing in prison as a guest of the state, could abstract any wallet from any pocket at ease. These he bought outright for cash from the thief. He also had at his disposal the services of a master forger who, having come badly unstuck in the late forties over the production of a large amount of French francs in which he had inadvertently left the ‘u’ out of ‘Banque de France’ (he was young then), had finally gone into the false passport business with much greater success. Lastly, when he needed to acquire a firearm for a customer, the client who presented himself at the gunsmith’s with a neatly forged ID card was never himself but always an out-of-work and out-of-jail petty crook or an actor resting between conquests of the stage.

  Of his own ‘staff’ only the pickpocket and the forger knew his real identity. So also did some of his customers, notably the top men in the Belgian underworld, who not only left him alone to his devices but also offered him a certain amount of protection in refusing to reveal when captured where they had got their guns from, simply because he was so useful to them.

  This did not stop the Belgian police being aware of a portion of his activities, but it did prevent them ever being able to catch him with the goods in his possession or of being able to get testimony that would stand up in court and convict him. They were aware of and highly suspicious of the small but superbly equipped forge and workshop in his converted garage, but repeated visits had revealed nothing more than the paraphernalia for the manufacture of wrought-metal medallions and souvenirs of the statues of Brussels. On their last visit he had solemnly presented the Chief Inspector with a figurine of Mannikin Piss as a token of his esteem for the forces of law and order.

  He felt no qualms as he waited on the morning of July 21st, 1963, for the arrival of an Englishman who had been guaranteed to him over the phone by one of his best customers, a former mercenary in the service of Katanga from 1960 to 1962 and who had since masterminded a protection business among the whorehouses of the Belgian capital.

  The visitor turned up at noon, as promised, and M. Goossens showed him into his little office off the hall.

  ‘Would you please remove your glasses?’ he asked when his visitor was seated, and, as the tall Englishman hesitated, added: ‘You see, I think it is better that we trust each other in so far as we can while our business association lasts. A drink, perhaps?’

  The man whose passport would have announced him as Alexander Duggan removed his dark glasses and stared quizzically at the little gunsmith as two beers were poured. M. Goossens seated himself behind his desk, sipped his beer and asked quietly,

  ‘In what way may I be of service to you, monsieur?’

  ‘I believe Louis rang you earlier about my coming?’

  ‘Certainly,’ M. Goossens nodded, ‘otherwise you would not be here.’

  ‘Did he tell you what is my business?’

  ‘No. Simply that he knew you in Katanga, that he could vouch for your discretion, that you needed a firearm, and that you would be prepared to pay in cash, sterling.’

  The Englishman nodded slowly. ‘Well, since I know what your business is, there is little reason why you should not know mine. Besides which, the weapon I need will have to be a specialist gun with certain unusual attachments. I … er … specialise in the removal of men who have powerful and wealthy enemies. Evidently, such men are usually powerful and wealthy themselves. It is not always easy. They can afford specialist protection. Such a job needs planning and the right weapon. I have such a job on hand at the moment. I shall need a rifle.’

  M. Goossens again sipped his beer, nodded benignly at his guest.

  ‘Excellent, excellent. A specialist like myself. I think I sense a challenge. What kind of rifle had you in mind?’

  ‘It is not so much the type of rifle that is important. It is more a question of the limitations that are imposed by the job, and of finding a rifle which will perform satisfactorily under those limitations.’

  M. Goossens’ eyes gleamed with pleasure.

  ‘A one-off,’ he purred delightedly. ‘A gun that will be tailor-made for one man and one job under one set of circumstances, never to be repeated. You have come to the right man. I sense a challenge, my dear monsieur. I am glad that you came.’

  The Englishman permitted himself a smile at the Belgian’s professorial enthusiasm. ‘So am I, monsieur.’

  ‘Now tell me, what are these limitations?’

  ‘The main limitation is of size, not in length but in the physical bulk of the working parts. The chamber and breech must be no bulkier than that …’ He held up his right hand, the tip of the middle finger touching the end of the thumb in the form of a letter O less than two and a half inches in diameter.

  ‘That seems to mean it cannot be a repeater, since a gas chamber would be larger than that, and nor can it have a bulky spring mechanism for the same reason,’ said the Englishman. ‘It seems to me it must be a bolt-action rifle.’

  M. Goossens was nodding at the ceiling, his mind taking in the details of what his visitor was saying, making a mental picture of a rifle of great slimness in the working parts.

  ‘Go on, go on,’ he murmured.

  ‘On the other hand, it cannot have a bolt with a handle that sticks out sideways like the Mauser 7.92 or the Lee Enfield .303. The bolt must slide straight back towards the shoulder, gripped between forefinger and thumb for the fitting of the bullet into the breech. Also there must be no trigger guard and the trigger itself must be detachable so that it can be fitted just before firing.’

  ‘Why?’ asked the Belgian.

  ‘Because the whole mechanism must pass into a tubular compartment for storage and carrying, and the compartment must not attract attention. For that it must not be larger in diameter than I have just shown, for reasons I shall explain. It is possible to have a detachable trigger?’

  ‘Certainly, almost all is possible. Of course, one could design a single-shot rifle that breaks open at the back for loading like a shotgun. That would dispense with the bolt completely, but it would involve a hinge, which might be no saving. Also it would be necessary to design and manufacture such a rifle from scratch, milling a piece of metal to make the entire breech and chamber. Not an easy task in a small workshop, but possible.’

  ‘How long would that take?’ asked the Englishman.

  The Belgian shrugged and spread his hands. ‘Several months, I am afraid.’

  ‘I do not have that amount of time.’

  ‘In that case it will be necessary to take an existing rifle purchasable in a shop and make modifications. Please go on.’

  ‘Right. The gun must also be light in weight. It need not be of heavy calibre, the bullet will do the work. It must have a short barrel, probably not longer than twelve inches …’

  ‘Over what range will you have to fire?’

  ‘This is still not certain, but probably not more than a hundred and thirty metres.’

  ‘Will you go for a head or chest shot?’

  ‘It will probably have to be head. I may get a shot at the chest, but the head is surer.’

  ‘Surer to kill, yes, if you get a good hit,’ said the Belgian. ‘But the chest is surer to get a good hit. At least, when one is using a light weapon with a short barrel over a hundred and thirty metres with possible obstructions. I assume,’ he added, ‘from your uncertainty on this point of the head or the chest that there may be someone passing in the way?’

  ‘Yes, there may be.�
�

  ‘Will you get the chance of a second shot, bearing in mind that it will take several seconds to extract the spent cartridge and insert a fresh one, close the breech and take aim again?’

  ‘Almost certainly not. I just might get a second if I use a silencer and the first shot is a complete miss which is not noticed by anyone nearby. But even if I get a first hit through the temple, I need the silencer to effect my own escape. There must be several minutes of clear time before anyone nearby realises even roughly where the bullet has come from.’

  The Belgian continued nodding, by now staring down at his desk pad.

  ‘In that case you had better have explosive bullets. I shall prepare a handful along with the gun. You know what I mean?’

  The Englishman nodded. ‘Glycerine or mercury?’

  ‘Oh, mercury I think. So much neater and cleaner. Are there any more points concerning this gun?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. In the interests of slimness all the woodwork of the handgrip beneath the barrel should be removed. The entire stock must be removed. For firing it must have a frame-stock like a Sten gun, each of the three sections of which, upper and lower members and shoulder-rest, must unscrew into three separate rods. Lastly, there must be a completely effective silencer and a telescopic sight. Both of these too must be removable for storage and carrying.’

  The Belgian thought for a long time, sipping his beer until it was drained. The Englishman became impatient.

  ‘Well, can you do it?’

  M. Goossens seemed to emerge from his reverie. He smiled apologetically.

  ‘Do forgive me. It is a very complex order. But yes, I can do it. I have never failed yet to produce the required article. Really what you have described is a hunting expedition in which the equipment must be carried past certain checks in such a manner as to arouse no suspicion. A hunting expedition supposes a hunting rifle, and that is what you shall have. Not as small as a .22 calibre, for that is for rabbits and hares. Nor as big as a Remington .300 which would never conform to the limitations of size you have demanded.

  ‘I think I have such a gun in mind, and easily available here in Brussels at some sports shops. An expensive gun, a high-precision instrument. Very accurate, beautifully tooled and yet light and slim. Used a lot for chamois and other small deer, but with explosive bullets just the thing for bigger game. Tell me, will the … er … gentleman be moving slowly, fast or not at all?’

  ‘Stationary.’

  ‘No problems, then. The fitting of a frame-stock of three separate steel rods and the screw-in trigger is mere mechanics. The tapping of the end of the barrel for the silencer and the shortening of the barrel by eight inches I can do myself. One loses accuracy as one loses eight inches of barrel. Pity, pity. Are you a marksman?’

  The Englishman nodded.

  ‘Then there will be no problem with a stationary human being at a hundred and thirty metres with a telescopic sight. As for the silencer, I shall make it myself. They are not complex, but difficult to obtain as a manufactured article, particularly long ones for rifles which are not usual in hunting. Now, monsieur, you mentioned earlier some tubular compartments for carrying the gun in its broken-down form. What had you in mind?’

  The Englishman rose and crossed to the desk, towering over the little Belgian. He slipped his hand inside his jacket, and for a second there was a flicker of fear in the smaller man’s eyes. For the first time he noticed that whatever expression was on the killer’s face it never touched his eyes which appeared clouded by streaks of grey like wisps of smoke covering all expression that might have touched them. But the Englishman produced only a silver propelling pencil.

  He spun round M. Goossens’ note-pad and sketched rapidly for a few seconds.

  ‘Do you recognise that?’ he asked, turning the pad back to the gunsmith.

  ‘Of course,’ replied the Belgian, after giving the precisely drawn sketch a glance.

  ‘Right. Well now, the whole thing is composed of a series of hollow aluminium tubes which screw together. This one …’ tapping with the point of the pencil at a place on the diagram … ‘contains one of the struts of the rifle stock. This here contains the other strut. Both are concealed within the tubes that make up this section. The shoulder-rest of the rifle is this … here … in its entirety. This is therefore the only part which doubled up with two purposes without changing in any way.

  ‘Here …’ tapping at another point on the diagram as the Belgian’s eyes widened in surprise … ‘at the thickest point is the largest diameter tube which contains the breech of the rifle with the bolt inside it. This tapers to the barrel without a break. Obviously with a telescopic sight being used there need be no foresight, so the whole thing slides out of this compartment when the assemblage is unscrewed. The last two sections … here and here … contain the telescopic sight itself and the silencer. Finally the bullets. They should be inserted into this little stump at the bottom. When the whole thing is assembled it must pass for precisely what it looks. When unscrewed into its seven component parts the bullets, silencer, telescope, rifle and the three struts that make up the triangular frame stock can be extracted for reassembly as a fully operational rifle. OK?’

  For a few seconds longer the little Belgian looked at the diagram. Slowly he rose, then held out his hand.

  ‘Monsieur,’ he said with reverence, ‘it is a conception of genius. Undetectable. And yet so simple. It shall be done.’

  The Englishman was neither gratified nor displeased.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Now, the question of time. I shall need the gun in about fourteen days, can that be arranged?’

  ‘Yes. I can acquire the gun within three. A week’s work should see the modifications achieved. Buying the telescopic sight presents no problems. You may leave the choice of the sight to me, I know what will be required for the range of a hundred and thirty metres you have in mind. You had better calibrate and zero the settings yourself at your own discretion. Making the silencer, modifying the bullets and constructing the outer casing … yes, it can be done within the time allowed if I burn the candle at both ends. However, it would be better if you could arrive back here with a day or two in hand, just in case there are some last minute details to talk over. Could you be back in twelve days?’

  ‘Yes, any time between seven and fourteen days from now. But fourteen days is the deadline. I must be back in London by August the 4th.’

  ‘You shall have the completed weapon with all last details arranged to your satisfaction on the morning of the 4th if you can be here yourself on August 1st for final discussions and collection, monsieur.’

  ‘Good. Now for the question of your expenses and fee,’ said the Englishman. ‘Have you an idea how much they will be?’

  The Belgian thought for a while. ‘For this kind of job, with all the work it entails, for the facilities available here and my own specialised knowledge, I must ask a fee of one thousand English pounds. I concede that is above the rate for a simple rifle. But this is not a simple rifle. It must be a work of art. I believe I am the only man in Europe capable of doing it justice, of making a perfect job of it. Like yourself, monsieur, I am in my field the best. For the best one pays. Then on top there would be the purchasing price of the weapon, bullets, telescope and raw materials … say, the equivalent of another two hundred pounds.’

  ‘Done,’ replied the Englishman without argument. He reached into his breast pocket again and extracted a bundle of five-pound notes. They were bound in lots of twenty. He counted out five wads of twenty notes each.

  ‘I would suggest,’ he went on evenly, ‘that in order to establish my bona fides I make you a down payment as an advance and to cover costs of five hundred pounds. I shall bring the remaining seven hundred pounds on my return in eleven days. Is that agreeable to you?’

  ‘Monsieur,’ said the Belgian skilfully pocketing the notes, ‘it is a pleasure to do business both with a professional and a gentleman.’

  ‘There is a littl
e more,’ went on his visitor, as though he had not been interrupted. ‘You will make no attempt further to contact Louis, nor to ask him or anyone else who I am, nor what is my true identity. Nor will you seek to enquire for whom I am working, nor against whom. In the event that you should try to do so it is certain I shall hear about the enquiries. In that eventuality you will die. On my return here, if there has been any attempt to contact the police or to lay a trap, you will die. Is that understood?’

  M. Goossens was pained. Standing in the hallway he looked up at the Englishman, and an eel of fear wriggled in his bowels. He had faced many of the tough men of the Belgian underworld when they came to him to ask for special or unusual weapons, or simply a run-of-the-mill snub-nosed Colt Special. These were hard men. But there was something distant and implacable about the visitor from across the Channel who intended to kill an important and well-protected figure. Not another gangland boss, but a big man, perhaps a politician. He thought of protesting or expostulating, then decided better.

  ‘Monsieur,’ he said quietly, ‘I do not want to know about you, anything about you. The gun you will receive will bear no serial number. You see, it is of more importance to me that nothing you do should ever be traced back to me than that I should seek to know more than I do about you. Bonjour, monsieur.’

  The Jackal walked away into the bright sunshine and two streets away found a cruising taxi to take him back to the city centre and the Hotel Amigo.

  He suspected that in order to acquire guns Goossens would have to have a forger in his employ somewhere, but preferred to find and use one of his own. Again Louis, his contact from the old days in Katanga, helped him. Not that it was difficult. Brussels has a long tradition as the centre of the forged identity-card industry and many foreigners appreciate the lack of formalities with which assistance in this field can be obtained. In the early sixties Brussels had also become the operations base of the mercenary soldier, for this was before the emergence in the Congo of the French and South African/British units who later came to dominate the business. With Katanga gone, over three hundred out-of-work ‘military advisers’ from the old Tshombe regime were hanging around the bars of the red-light quarter, many of them in possession of several sets of identity papers.