by Colin Forbes
There was a brilliant flash of light. Night briefly became day. A thunderous roar almost deafened him. A cloud of vapour obscured the whole barracks area. As it drifted away he saw the building had vanished, leaving behind a scatter of rubble across the parade ground. The van had disappeared and there was a great hole as though a meteorite had landed.
As he made his way towards the staircase, towards the motorcycle waiting in the street, Prussen was trembling.
46
Closeted with Newman only in a room at police headquarters, Tweed used the scrambler phone to call Park Crescent. Monica relayed the message she had received, repeating it.
'How is it going?' she asked.
'Not perfect yet. We still haven't located Klein. I have the feeling we shall soon.'
'One more thing. Cord Dillon arrived from Washington. Since you weren't here he talked with Howard. Don't think he liked his reception. He's flying to Rotterdam to see you. Howard told him you were there. I'm sorry.'
'Not to worry, I'll cope. 'Bye for now.'
Tweed repeated to Newman the gist of the message that it was Rotterdam. No doubt this time. 'And that,' he said grimly, 'I think is the last message from Olympus before the balloon goes up. I'm very worried about Olympus.'
'Who by some chance is inside Klein's organization. Hence these reports?'
'In a nutshell. If Klein ever suspects Olympus that will be the end of my agent. Still, there's not a thing I can do about that. Oh, and Cord Dillon, Deputy Director CIA is on his way over here. I think he's heard those rumours there is an American mixed up in this business. We'll just have to see when he gets here.'
'A rugged type,' Newman commented.
'You could say that…'
Van Gorp came into the room and did not look happy. With a sigh he straddled a chair and waved his hands in a gesture of frustration.
'I've been in touch with Marine Control, issued the warning. They refuse to pass it on to the various ships' masters – unless the warning is confirmed by the Minister who is attending a late night Cabinet meeting. The Minister, I'm sure, will refuse.'
'On what grounds?' demanded Tweed.
'The usual ones. Lack of positive evidence. The man I spoke to at Marine Control said he had little doubt the whole thing was a hoax. Couldn't convince him.'
'Jesus,' said Newman.
'Yes,' Van Gorp agreed, 'we may need His help before long.'
He looked up, called come in as someone rapped on the door. A uniformed policewoman entered, holding a sheaf of papers. Tweed noticed the papers were quivering.
'You're needed very urgently, sir.'
'Excuse me. Back in a minute.'
'Now what,' Tweed mused as they waited. 'That girl's hands were trembling.'
'Maybe Van Gorp is a harder taskmaster than we realized,' Newman joked. Anything to lighten the atmosphere of tension he sensed was building up. He lit a cigarette. He had taken only a few short puffs when Van Gorp reappeared, his face ashen. He closed the door carefully.
'What's wrong?' Tweed asked.
'Something terrible, really appalling. You remember that I had the marines confined to barracks – with the Minister's approval?'
'Yes.' Tweed stood up. 'What has happened?'
'A tremendous explosion – unprecedented power – just took place at the barracks. God knows how many marines are dead. Others badly injured. The entire unit has been wiped out. It must have been several very big bombs…'
'No, just one,' Tweed told him. 'And this is Klein's first opening strike. Clever-fiendishly. He has eliminated what he thinks is the one assault group which could cause him trouble. I'm terribly sorry to hear your news. It's a tragedy. But I must also point out it gives us the measure of what we are up against…'
The uniformed policewoman appeared. 'The Hague is calling you,' she told Van Gorp.
Before he left he asked Tweed a question.
'I'm still stunned. What was that you meant by the one assault group, etc.?'
'Klein doesn't know there's an SAS unit waiting at Rotterdam Airport…'
'I'll remember that when I deal with this phone call.'
He was away longer this time. Tweed unfolded a map of Rotterdam extending to Europort and the coast and studied it. Newman stood alongside him as Tweed drew a circle with a felt tip pen round Euromast.
'We should be sending men there now,' he was saying when Van Gorp came back.
The Dutchman had recovered his normal poise, stood erect and pulled at his moustache before he spoke. His manner was crisp, commanding.
'Guess what? The Minister has reinstated me. I asked for it to be put in writing.' He grinned cynically and then became businesslike. 'The warning to all shipping lying offshore is being transmitted at this moment – with the full backing of The Hague.'
'It may be too late,' Tweed warned.
'We'll take it as it comes. More important. The Dutch PM is calling your PM, asking for permission to use the S AS force if necessary. I suspect the Minister of the Interior is taking full credit for that general alert I sent out earlier – even in an emergency like this politicians never lose a chance to gain kudos.'
'In that case,' said Tweed, 'I'd like a private word with my colleague, Blade. I can send him out to the airport to alert the SAS team.'
'Do it. He's waiting downstairs with the others.'
Tweed was talking to Blade in a small room on their own when Van Gorp appeared. During their few minutes alone Tweed had told Blade about the destruction of the Dutch marine unit.
'Ruthless type of bastard, this Klein,' Blade had commented. 'Still, with us it's always no holds barred. I'll drive at once to the airport, get the lads to kit up inside the charter aircraft. We'Sl need three plain vans backed up to the machine. That way we can leave unseen the moment you tell me where to head for…'
Van Gorp was terse. 'Permission granted to use the SAS unit. Your PM laid down one condition – which was accepted. The unit takes its orders from you, Tweed.'
'I'll pass on the message to the troop commander,' Blade said and left.
'It's carnage out at the marine barracks," Van Gorp told Tweed. 'Pure carnage. Reports keep coming in, every one worse than the last.'
'In that case we'd better get to Euromast fast. With plenty of armed men. I want Newman and Butler with me. Benoit will come, too, I'm sure…'
Alighting from the Sikorsky at Brussels Airport, Hipper told the pilot to wait, found the hired car he'd phoned ahead for, and drove straight to Peter Brand's headquarters in the house of Avenue Franklin Roosevelt.
When the front door was opened after he'd used the speakphone, Brand's secretary, Nicole, a Belgian brunette, found herself looking at a small plump man wearing a trilby pulled down over his forehead which did not quite conceal shocks of red hair. He also wore a handkerchief tied below his eyes and dark glasses. His right hand held a Luger pistol.
'Oh, my God! I thought you were Mr Hipper…'
'That's because I'm a good mimic.' His voice was gravelly.
As he replied Hipper shoved the Luger muzzle into her midriff, backed her into the palatial marble-floored hall, slammed the door shut with his right foot.
'Who else is in the house?' Hipper demanded. 'Fool with me and I'll blow a hole right through you.'
'No… one. The servants have been given the day off…'
'Except Peter Brand. Take me to him.'
He followed her up the broad winding staircase and along a landing to a heavy mahogany door. She rapped on it automatically with a shaking hand. A voice called out, 'Enter.'
She opened the door and was propelled inside by the muzzle of the Luger. Peter Brand was sitting behind a vast desk whose surface was empty except for three telephones in varying colours.
'This gentleman…' She felt silly as soon as she had spoken.'. .. forced his way in and asked for you. I thought it was Mr Hipper.'
Brand jack-knifed upright out of his chair.
'What the bloody hell is going on…'
> His right hand reached for an alarm button concealed under the desk. Hipper placed the muzzle against the side of the girl's skull.
'One mistake and she's dead. That's better.' He reached inside his trench coat pocket and produced a length of strong twine, threw it on the desk. 'Tie her hands behind her back. She lies on the carpet on her stomach while you do it. Then lash her ankles. Try anything funny and she goes first.'
'I'm sorry about this, Nicole,' Brand said as he came round the desk, 'but we'd better do what he says.'
'What about you?' Nicole bleated.
'Don't worry. It will work out in the end. It's a kidnapping, a ransom demand will follow, I expect…'
Brand knelt by the prone girl holding the two strands of twine. He bound her wrists, then her ankles as Hipper stood well back, the Luger aimed at Nicole. On his knees, he looked up at Hipper.
'What happens next?'
'Open that wall cupboard over there.'
'It's my private bathroom…'
'Open the bloody thing. That's better. Now carry her inside and dump her on the floor. Get on with it. We're leaving in a minute.'
Brand hoisted up the girl, carried her inside the luxurious bathroom, placed her gently on the floor, resting her head on a bathmat he rolled into a makeshift pillow.
'Hurry it up,' snarled Hipper. 'Now shut the door.'
Brand closed the heavy door, walked to the far side of his spacious office as Hipper lowered the gun and pulled the handkerchief down over his neck. He joined the banker.
'Can she hear us?' he whispered.
'No chance. That door is inches thick. I tied her loosely so she'll free herself within the hour. Now she's a witness to the fact I've been kidnapped. How is everything at Rotterdam?'
'Marine barracks blown up on schedule. It's the talk of the city from something I overhead at Rotterdam Airport. All the marines wiped out…'
Brand was startled. 'I didn't bargain for anything like that. Klein said the minimum of force would be used. I don't like this.. .'
'But then there's nothing you can do about it now. The machine is in motion, can't be stopped. Hadn't we better get moving? How did you get rid of all the servants?'
'Gave them the night off…' Brand sounded nervous as he slipped on his coat. 'Told them I was holding a confidential conference of bankers.'
'And were you doing that?'
'Of course. To cover myself. Don't worry. They won't start arriving for another hour. We hold these nighttime meetings to avoid publicity. I'm ready. You have a car?'
'Of course.'
Before he alighted from the car at Brussels Airport Hipper, still wearing his outsize dark glasses, pulled up the collar of his trench coat to hide the lower part of his face.
He walked very close to Brand as they walked across the reception hall on their way to the helicopter. He had a nasty shock when one of a pair of policemen patrolling called out to the banker.
'Good evening, sir. Off on your travels again?'
Brand, who rarely smoked, took a cigarette out of his pack and lit it slowly as Hipper stood shoulder to shoulder with him. The cigarette incident would be remembered later, would indicate he'd been in a nervous state. Nicole would confirm he had given it up, that he only smoked at times of high tension.
'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 Liberte.' 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.
