by Colin Forbes
'Yes. Which is good news and bad.'
'I don't understand,..'
'Good because it will put more pressure on Washington not to interfere. Bad because there's likely to be extra security aboard the Adenauer. American security – and they may use sonar. Which shows I was right not to use those sleds – sonar would pick them up. Dinghies they'll miss. What about the fishing boats?'
Two are marked for our use. In each case the skippers' wives have been located. They'll be grabbed just before we seize the fishing boats, taken on board. With a knife at their throats the skippers will do what we want. One is allocated to take the dinghies close to the Adenauer, then drop them overboard. Later it deals with the Cayman Conqueror tanker. The second fishing boat mines the other vessels.'
'And the sea-mines are aboard these dinghies?'
Grand-Pierre checked his watch. 'They will be within the hour.'
'And Legaud's CRS command vehicle?'
'Tucked away inside that garage we hired in Rotterdam.'
'What about the team which will assault Euromast?'
'Inside another resprayed van on the camp site. They will be leaving soon now.'
Klein frowned. 'A bit early, surely?'
'My idea. It will park close to Euromast. The driver and one of the team inside will pass the time apparently changing a wheel.'
'Not a bad touch, that,' Klein admitted grudgingly. 'And they all have their weapons and plenty of ammo?'
'Uzi machine-pistols, grenades, rifles – automatic. All we took from that raid on the Herstal armaments depot in Belgium a couple of days ago.' Grand-Pierre went on quickly before Klein could ask the question. 'And we dropped that piece of paper with the faked details for robbing a bank.'
'I think that's it. I'd better get back.'
'You have someone with you -I saw him as I passed the window.'
'A man you may have heard of – coming from Paris. The Monk.'
'You have him?' Grand-Pierre couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. 'My God! You must be paying him a fortune.'
'He's a key figure in the operation.' Klein ignored the implied question as to how much Marler was being paid. He was watching the Englishman over Grand-Pierre's shoulder as Marler tucked into his meal.
Til go now then,' the Frenchman said.
'Do that.' Klein clapped a hand on his shoulder. 'One more thing. The bombs for the refineries?'
Grand-Pierre was used to this ploy. Klein had a habit of finishing a conversation and then throwing him a leading question.
That team is already inside the oil complexes. They slipped in when the security guards changed duty rosters. We intercepted the new guards before they reached the gates, grabbed their uniforms and our men explained the normal guards were ill with flu. There's a lot of it about.' He grinned wolfishly.
'What about the passwords?'
'Obtained at knife point – before the knives went home – as I'd planned. Bodies dumped into a waiting van and dropped into the sea later. Weighted with chains as you instructed.'
'And the two Sikorsky helicopters at Schiphol?' Klein went on.
'I met Victor Saur, that Austrian pilot. He's flown them to Rotterdam Airport. They're supposed to be waiting to pick up top Royal-Dutch Shell executives.' He put a large finger to his hooked nose. 'Very hush-hush.'
At his table inside the restaurant Marler was cramming himself with noodles. He worked much better on a full stomach. The man Klein was talking to had his wide back to him so he hadn't seen his face. A huge brute. The formidable Frenchman Klein had referred to? Maybe, maybe not. He went on eating.
'Back in that restaurant,' Klein was saying, 'I heard a couple of soldiers talking. Something about all Dutch marines being confined to barracks.'
'True. Just a precaution. Probably caused by that mysterious explosion at sea. So everything is going our way. Our little opening shot at that barracks will coincide with the storming of Euromast. All watches synchronized to the second.'
'No problems at all?' Klein persisted.
'Only Chabot.' He shrugged. 'I come back to the camp site and see him wandering through the entrance. Hipper tried to stop him leaving – with a gun. Chabot took the gun off him. He'd been out for an hour's walk. He did that frequently at Larochette, Hipper said. He's restless for action. Aren't we all? But now we're in business.' He grinned again.
'Just don't get over-confident,' Klein snapped. 'Our advantage is the element of surprise. No one knows we're here.'
43
'I've been sacked. At least, suspended from duty pending an enquiry,' Van Gorp announced to the assembled company inside Tweed's room at the Hilton.
His statement added to the atmosphere of tension and gloom. Seated in chairs, on a settee, were Tweed, Bellenger, Butler, Newman and Benoit. The reason for the pessimistic mood had been a report Van Gorp had received from a previous phone call from his deputy. No trace of anything suspicious had been found from the fleet of patrol cars touring the city and Europort. Now this from the latest phone call.
'Well,' Van Gorp continued cheerfully, 'it's happened twice before – and twice I've been reinstated.'
'For what reason this time?' Tweed asked.
The Minister discovered I'd cancelled all police leave. As if that wasn't enough to upset the entire Ministry of the Interior, I've given the S AS team permission to fly here from Schiphol. That was the Minister himself on the line. I was told to cancel the order. I had pleasure in telling him the team was already in the air, would soon land at Rotterdam.'
'My fault,' Tweed said, 'for urging you to take the decision.'
'But I agreed with you, my friend.' For a moment his air of bravado slipped. He looked pensive as he poured himself a small drink. 'My responsibility entirely.'
He doesn't think it's going to be third time lucky, Tweed thought. He believes he's out for good. And maybe he is – the Minister doesn't like him.
'Why did you want that team here when the Dutch marines are available?' asked Bellenger.
'Sixth sense. Can't explain it more than that…'
He broke off as the phone rang for the third time. Van Gorp took the call, then held out the receiver. 'For you, Tweed.'
Identifying himself, Tweed listened for a brief time, asked the caller to come to his room in three minutes, replaced the phone and looked round the room.
'Would you think me impolite if I asked everyone except Newman to return to their rooms for a short while? Thank you, gentlemen.' He waited until he was alone with the foreign correspondent. 'Blade, commander of the SAS team is on his way up. What's his rank?'
'Major.' Newman looked quizzical. 'You have a treat in store.'
Tweed opened the door after a sharp rapping and invited the visitor inside. Blade was about six feet tall, in his late thirties, his face lean and bony, his blue eyes cold, his nose aquiline. He reminded Tweed of a predatory hawk.
He had brown hair, very thick and cut short without a parting. He was wearing a pepper and salt sports jacket and sharply creased grey slacks. A bulky trench coat was neatly folded over his arm.
Tweed looked at Newman. 'I suppose there is no doubt this is Major Blade?'
'No doubt at all. There's only one.' Newman grinned. 'Fortunately.'
That's because I put him through the wringer.' Blade sat in a hard-backed chair when Tweed suggested he made himself comfortable. 'Mind you, he survived,' Blade went on in his crisp, no-nonsense manner. 'Which, coming from me, is a compliment. Can I raise a point, get down to business?'
'Do, please. We're short of time.'
'I'd have thought in an emergency the Dutch Government would call in their Marines.'
'They would – will.'
'Their marines are good – very good. But my men are trained to work strictly on their own. By the way, what's the problem?'
Tweed sketched in the situation in five minutes. He spoke tersely, telescoping events since he first arrived in Switzerland. Blade sat erect, cupped his squarish jaw in his left han
d, his eyes never leaving Tweed's.
That's about it,' Tweed ended.
'As brilliant an appreciation as I've heard in a long while. You've had military experience?'
'Once. Military Intelligence.'
Thought so. This Klein sounds a murderous so-and-so. It strikes me he's had top-flight training with some professional organization.'
'He has,' Tweed said, 'but I can't tell you where.'
'My guess would be the French. They're a pretty tough lot. Still, mustn't guess. Any questions?'
'Where is your unit? How quickly could it get here – say to this hotel?'
'The Sabre Troop. Scattered in twos and threes round the airport. Flew here in a chartered aircraft, dressed like a bunch of football supporters – the well-behaved type. Our kit – uniforms, weapons – is inside the aircraft. Two men on guard. Van Gorp organized four plain vans which are standing by at the airport. One phone call from me -give them eight minutes to get kitted out. Another twelve minutes to get here. Answer to your question. Twenty minutes. Less if the lid blows off. As I see it, you don't know where or when Klein will strike. So we have to wait, let him make the first move. Par for the course with us.'
'Your equipment,' Tweed remarked. 'I did warn he has scuba divers
…'
'All my men have underwater equipment. What do we do now? I studied a map of Rotterdam and this Europort waiting at the airport. And flying in to Schiphol we were diverted – flew over this area pretty low. It's what we call dense territory. Could end up as a street fight. My impression from the bird's eye view.'
'Talking about a bird's-eye view,' Tweed commented. 'The place I want a look at is Euromast. Driving around I kept seeing that dominating tower. Come with us?' he suggested to Blade. 'I'll introduce you as my associate.'
'That's OK. We never let anyone see our ugly mugs…'
He broke off. The phone was ringing. Tweed answered it, his voice became cheerful, he said come up now, put down the phone.
'Paula has arrived.' He looked at Blade. 'One of my new staff. I'm breaking her in.'
'Breaking her in half," Newman muttered.
She came into the room, carrying her case, looking fresh as paint. Tweed introduced her to Mr Blade. Her manner changed, became businesslike.
'Have I interrupted something?'
'No, but you must be tired…'
'Not really. Just off the flight from Brussels. I'm a bit of a mess, was going to tidy up, but that can wait – I sense something's happened…' She glanced at Blade and Tweed assured her she could talk freely. He poured her a cup of strong coffee while he brought her up-to-date and she sat listening intently, her shapely legs crossed. She drank a whole cup while Tweed was talking.
'I thought Rotterdam was the target,' she said, 'after you told me about poor Joseph Haber. He'd delivered the timers so – like the others before him – he was someone with dangerous information, someone this swine, Klein, no longer needed. What's the significance of Euromast?'
'I haven't a clue,' Tweed confessed. 'Maybe I'll find one when we get there.'
'Where have you been?' Klein asked as he sat at the table in the little restaurant outside Delft.
Marler's expression turned bleak as he sat down, glanced at the other tables, saw no one was near enough to hear him. He leaned forward.
'I've been to the loo. Let's get one thing straight between us now. You're paying me to do a job. You'll get value for services rendered. But I'm damned if I'm going to have you breathing down my neck when I go for a pee.'
'No need to get worked up…'
'I'm a good deal cooler than you are – to judge from the expression on your corpse-like face. End of discussion. Next?'
'I see you took your bag with you,' Klein remarked as Marler tucked it between his chair and the wall. 'Does that contain all the equipment you need for the job?'
'It does.'
'What about your clothes back at the Hilton? Could they be left there? For good? Your room is paid for. I assume you paid for meals as you had them?'
'I did. And the clothes are surplus to requirements. They carry no maker's labels. And two suits are the wrong size – crumpled to look as though they've been worn. That way no policeman can estimate my exact height and weight. Why?'
'Because when we leave here we're on our way.'
'Would it strain your security to the limits if I asked you where we are going?'
'No call for sarcasm.'
Marler's reply was to wipe his mouth carefully with his napkin, crumple it and leave it on the table. Independent bastard, Klein said to himself. But that, he reflected again, was what had made The Monk so effective.
'To storm Euromast,' Klein replied.
The call from Paris for Tweed came through just before they left his room to drive to Euromast. Paula was talking with Newman, telling him how she'd broken the news of her husband's death to Martine Haber. 'Pretty grim,' she said, 'but I did my best…'
Benoit was talking to Van Gorp and Butler. Blade stood alone by the window, gazing down at the traffic circling the large road intersection below.
'Lasalle here,' the voice on the phone informed Tweed. 'I've been checking up on the whereabouts of The Monk. God knows how many calls I've made to various countries but I got lucky. I know where he is – or supposed to be.'
Tweed's grip on the instrument tightened. 'Where, Rene?'
'Shut away in a clinic in Lucerne, Switzerland. Suffering a major nervous breakdown. No visitors allowed. Beck, chief of police in Berne just phoned me back. He was able to get a description of the patient. Fair-haired with a bald patch on the crown of his head.'
'So, he again has his alibi. He's somewhere here in Rotterdam. Maybe within a mile of where I'm standing. If he slips through our fingers he's in the clear again. I must go now. Thank you.'
The assembled group stopped talking as he put down the phone. Tweed again sensed the atmosphere of frustration, depression. He smiled broadly, spread his hands, his tone jaunty.
The Monk is supposed to be ill in a Swiss clinic.'
'You said he'd be here,' Blade barked. 'The deadliest marksman in Europe you called him.'
'But that proves to me he is here. He always provides himself with an ironclad alibi. You are coming with us, Van Gorp? Despite your suspension from duty?'
'Oh, that.' The Dutchman grinned. 'I told the Minister I needed the instruction in writing before I could accept it. Didn't you know? The Dutch are great ones for the formal procedures being observed? Drives me mad at times. On this occasion the tradition has its uses. The cars are ready – when you are.'
'Just before we leave…'Tweed's manner was exuberant. 'I don't think you realize we have one big ace up our sleeves.'
'I'd like to know what that is,' rapped back Newman.
'Klein has no idea we've caught up with him – that we have found the target, that we are already here.'
As they piled into the three waiting cars Tweed noted there was a change of atmosphere, morale had soared.
For Tweed it was a nightmare.
He stood with the others at the foot of the steps leading up to the entrance. He gazed up at the structure which reminded him of the most gigantic periscope in the world. The sheering tower, the overhanging viewing platform far above his head. And above that the slimmer needle of concrete spiralling its way endlessly to the final observation point at its tip.
Vertigo.
Only Paula noticed the way he stood stock still, as though hypnotized by the horrific height of the thing. Oh, my God, she thought, I'd forgotten. It's his ultimate terror. Vertigo.
She squeezed his arm. He shook his head to stop her saying anything. He'd realized that she'd understood. He took a deep breath as Van Gorp emerged from the entrance and waved for them to come on. What were they waiting for?
They were waiting for Blade who had wandered off on his own. The Sabre Troop commander was studying the tower from every angle and position. Tweed obviously thought it might be important.
He had checked it with a critical eye. He joined Van Gorp and the others mounted the steps and went into the spacious reception hall.
'I've bought tickets,' Van Gorp announced breezily. 'The lift is over there. I think we can all just squeeze in if we have it to ourselves…'
The lift – with no view of the outside world – ascended faster than Paula had expected. They had all managed to cram themselves in but they were pressed together and Tweed was hidden behind Blade's tall straight back. He caught Paula looking at him anxiously and winked. There were several levels he noticed from the button panel he could see in a gap between Newman and Van Gorp. One for the restaurant. Who the devil could get any food down – keep it down – up here?
The lift doors slid back. Van Gorp led the way. 'We're on the viewing platform,' he called back cheerily.
Fresh air met Tweed as he stepped out and for the fraction of a second he paused, then forced himself to keep moving, stiff-legged. The platform running round the tower was open. A rail no higher than his waist circled it. Christ! Paula touched his elbow as though by accident. He walked to the rail, grasped it with both hands, stared down. Like gazing over an abyss. Straight down. Sheer drop. Paula stood close on one side, Van Gorp on the other. In the basin barges like match-boxes were moored four abreast. Tweed saw his knuckles were white, gripping the rail like a vice. He forced his hands to relax, holding the metal rail lightly. He concentrated, made himself observe.
Several police launches berthed at the inner end of the basin. He raised his level of vision. The Maas stretched away, a wide river flowing towards the distant sea. Crammed with shipping. Barges, freighters, tourist boats returning with their living cargo.
It was late in the afternoon, early evening. The sun was setting, a wave of purple dusk darkening the clear sky. Lights coming on all over the miniaturized city. He felt a little giddy. The drop was drawing him over the rail. He looked up quickly.
'Glorious view,' said Van Gorp. 'Most spectacular in Holland.'
'Must be,' Tweed said. 'Think I'll walk round the platform. You stay with our friend, Paula.'
