by Colin Forbes
`I don't trust Mordaunt.'
`I'll collect my hired Merc. from the garage. Oh, by the way, Dr Wand's Lear jet is being prepared for a flight to Hamburg.'
`How did you find that out?'
`You know me. Bribery. I got talking to a mechanic in the airport bar when he'd finished servicing the Lear. He heard the pilot talking about his flight plan…'
32
Lee Holmes came up to Newman at the moment Paula left the Hilton with Mordaunt. She wore a green dress, form-fitting and with a plunging neckline which didn't quite reveal the tops of her well-moulded breasts. Over one arm was folded a camel-hair coat. She smiled with her full red lips.
`I'm free – for anything,' she said mischievously. 'Are you?'
Tor lunch possibly.' Newman thought quickly. know a nice restaurant in Grand' Place.'
`Sounds divine. I've had Maurice up to here.'
She raised her hand and rested it across her throat. Her greenish eyes stared at him invitingly. What the hell, he thought: maybe I could find out something about this woman and be in the right place at the same time. Don't kid yourself, he told himself: Paula has irked you.
He helped her on with her coat. She used both hands to lift her golden mane over the collar, took him by the arm. Outside the doorman summoned a taxi, Newman told the driver to take them to Grand' Place.
Lee crossed her legs, her coat fell open, exposing her elegant legs. She sat closer to Newman as the taxi moved off, looped her arm again inside his, squeezed it.
`I'm really so glad you're available, Mr Newman.'
`Call me Bob.'
`Then I'm Lee…'
How did she manage it? Without appearing to be in any way a tart she used words like 'available' in a way as though they'd known each other a long time. The taxi dropped them outside a street leading into Grand' Place: the barriers prevented him taking them inside the old cobbled square. Newman escorted Lee into a restaurant facing across the square, chose a window table.
From his seat he could see Marler leaning up against a wall, reading a newspaper. He was perched at the corner where the rue Tete d'Or led off Grand' Place. He'd have parked his car near by, Newman guessed. Doubtless at the other end of the short narrow street Nield was close by with his scooter. They had Paula and Mordaunt in a pincer movement.
`Do you like Chablis?' Newman asked, naming his favourite wine.
`I adore Chablis,' Lee assured him.
When they had ordered she leant forward, inserted a cigarette in her fat jewelled holder. Her tone was mocking in a warm way.
`I saw some other man walking off with your girl friend, Paula. I hope she hasn't deserted you.'
`She isn't what is normally known by the term girl friend.'
`So what is the relationship? I'm jealous, Bob. She is a very attractive girl. With brains too.'
She described Paula without a trace of bitchiness. Her eyes never left his.
`She's in the insurance business. Rather high-powered stuff.' He watched Lee closely. 'It can involve negotiations with kidnappers.'
`Sounds dangerous.' Lee bit gently on the tip of her holder. 'Do you mean her outfit insures important men in case they're kidnapped for a ransom?'
`Something like that.' He hadn't seen any flicker of an unusual reaction. But she had been an actress. 'Don't let's talk about her,' he suggested. 'Let's talk about someone who is beginning to intrigue me. You.'
`Thank you,' she said, accepting the compliment gracefully. 'Let me think a moment where to start.'
Newman found himself falling under her spell. It wasn't just her physical beauty. Her voice was soothing and he felt he could listen to her for hours. She sipped her wine, still staring at him, but her mind seemed to be far away. He prodded her.
`Why are you fed up with Maurice?'
`The Brig. can be such a pain. He's so goddam stiff – unyielding in the smallest thing. Everything has to be just so. It's his military background, I suppose. He still thinks he's in charge of the brigade – that I'm his aide-de-camp, or whatever…' Newman realized he'd pressed the right button: the words came out in a torrent.
`I trained as an accountant,' she went on, `so that made me pretty meticulous in everything I do. I gave it up. Figures are boring. They never talked to me – the way they seem to do with some accountants. I drifted from one job to another, then I saw this advertisement. For a housekeeper-cum-personal assistant. "Meticulous attention to detail required", was one phrase used. So I thought: that's me. I keep his papers in order – those he'll let me handle…'
`There are some he keeps to himself?'
`Oh, yes!' Her eyes opened wide. 'The Brig. keeps a lot of them locked in a safe like a bank vault. I'm never allowed access to those. Maurice can be very secretive. And he's not relaxing company – like you are, Bob. You're memorizing every word I say, aren't you?'
`I wouldn't go so far as that,' Newman lied. `Do you travel a lot with him?'
`Indeed we do. Traipse all over Europe. He's meeting what he calls business associates – some of them very peculiar characters…'
`In what way are they peculiar?' Newman asked casually.
`Pretty rough diamonds. I wouldn't like to meet them in a dark alley. God knows what these business deals are. If he wasn't the Brig. I'd say they were villains. He once told me to go to a certain bar in the Reeperbahn in Hamburg late at night to collect an envelope. I had to dress in a certain way so whoever had the envelope would recognize me. Talk about rough types – it's a wonder I got out of there with any of my clothes still on.'
`So how did you handle that?'
`I grabbed a bottle by the neck, smashed it on the bar, and shouted in German that anyone who came near me would carry the scars for life.'
Newman looked at her. With her soothing voice and perfect complexion he found it difficult to picture her as a raging tigress. But he had no doubt the incident had taken place.
`Get the envelope?' he asked.
`Of course.' She looked surprised. 'A big fat sealed envelope. I felt it afterwards in the taxi back to the hotel. I was pretty sure it was crammed with 500-Deutschmark notes.' She smiled again. 'You're listening to every word I say with hardly an interruption. The Brig. wouldn't let me talk for sixty seconds without interrupting. We really ought to get to know each other better.'
`Great idea.' Newman stood up. 'The food will be here soon. Mind if I pop out for a paper? Back in a minute…'
He strolled across the cobbled square in the cold sunlight before the shadows of the ancient buildings blotted it out. Marler, who had seen him coming, had melted out of sight. Newman found him just round the corner.
`What's happening?' he asked Marler. 'I'm bothered about Paula.'
`She's inside the Tete whatnot with her sleek friend. So not to worry. How are you getting on with your blonde lovely?'
`Hearing some strange things about Brigadier Maurice Burgoyne. Keep an eye on Paula and that jerk she's taken a crazy fancy to. Anywhere I can get a paper?'
He arrived back with a copy of La Libre Belgique under his arm and stood stock-still. The wine, the glasses, the crockery and cutlery, and one crumpled napkin were still on the table. But Lee Holmes had gone.
Inside the Tete d'Or Paula had enjoyed the excellent food. At the same time she had been wary of the pleasant compliments Mordaunt paid her. Was he leading up to something more intimate? She asked the question over the coffee.
`It's a small world – excuse the cliche – but it really is rather amazing that we should first meet at Buckler's Hard, then you pop up in Brussels at the Hilton.'
`I always stay at the Hilton,' he replied in his debonair manner. 'And this is where journalists congregate these days. The headquarters of the EC fat-cats and all that. Put it down to a lovely coincidence – from my point of view.'
`So what were you doing at Buckler's Hard? Not a lot of material for a journalist there, I'd have thought.'
`On holiday. Drifting.' He sounded vague. 'I do like messing about in boats
.' Paula felt sure he was lying: for the first time he seemed uncomfortable. 'You have the most beautiful hands,' he said suddenly.
She prepared to remove her hand off the table, expecting him to reach out for it. But instead he sat back in his chair. She had the impression he couldn't take his eyes off her. If I allowed my vanity full rein, she thought, I'd think he was falling for me. So get that silly idea out of your head.
`Thank you,' she said quickly. 'And I ought to get back to the hotel soon. I'm expecting a phone call.'
Mordaunt summoned the head waiter immediately, asked for the bill. Paula was puzzled by his attitude. He seemed almost genuine, which she hadn't anticipated.
`I would like to meet you again,' he said, leaning his arms on the table. 'I've never met a girl quite like you.' He looked uncomfortable again, a complete contrast to his normal assured manner. 'Sorry, I heard myself say that. God, it sounded like the usual cheap come-on. I hope you'll excuse me?'
`You're excused,' she replied, smiling, more confused than ever.
`Then could we make a date for dinner? I don't want to put any pressure on you. It's entirely for you to decide.'
`Maybe.' She pondered. 'It would have to be at the Hilton. I get important phone calls at all hours,'
The Hilton would suit me fine. The Baron de Boeuf or the Sky Room? It's up to you.'
`My, we are pushing the boat out.' She smiled again. `The Tete d'Or first, now the Baron de Boeuf. This is costing you a mint.'
`I have a job with a big salary at the moment,' he replied curtly. Then he moderated his tone. 'So it is a date – when you can manage it?'
`If I can manage it,' she corrected him.
He paid the large bill – in cash, she noted. On their way to find a taxi he didn't again take hold of her arm as he had done when they'd left the Hilton. She sensed he was being careful not to push her, an action she appreciated.
`When we get back,' he said, 'I'll see you safely inside and then I've got to go across the road to the money exchange. And, if you don't mind my saying so, don't go out alone at night. Brussels isn't the safest city any more…'
`I can't go on calling you Mr Mordaunt,' she said in the cab. 'What is your first name?'
`Joseph.'
***
Dr Wand sat behind his desk in the Waterloo villa studying a map of Africa. He checked the date on his calendar and then measured a distance from the Cape of Good Hope with a plastic ruler. On the floor by his side a copy of La Libre Belgique was spread out. A short story carried the headline in French: DUTCH VESSEL DISAPPEARS OFF CAPE OF GOOD HOPE
He pursed his lips in annoyance at the distraction when Jules entered the darkened room. His instinct was to throw down the ruler but instead he carefully placed it parallel to the top of the map. A very precise, controlled man, Dr Wand.
`Yes, Jules.'
`Joseph is on the phone. Speaking from a public call box. He sounds agitated.'
`Wait. Sit down.'
Only the unusual terse instruction told Jules his chief was annoyed. Wand spoke in his usual mellow tone as he answered the phone.
`It is, as always, a pleasure to hear from you, Joseph. Is there some unforeseen problem I may be able to help with?'
`There is.' He heard Joseph swallow as though gearing himself up to continue. 'I'm asking to be relieved of the assignment you asked me to carry out.'
`Really, Joseph. Now that I find a most intriguing request. Would it be possible for you to give me your reason for this unique attitude?'
`Certainly. It is quite simple. I doubt whether I am capable of carrying out the assignment. I wouldn't like to let you down.'
`Quite simple?' Wand repeated softly. 'I think that I understand. And, as always, Joseph, you are right. I would not wish you to let me down as you put it. May I express my appreciation for your being so honest with me. Under the circumstances, our mutual trust remains unbroken. Now, I have a quite different instruction for you. Behind the Hilton is a large garden area, the Parc d'Egmont. You know it? Good. This is what I wish you to do…'
When he had ended the call Wand leaned forward to replace the receiver. For a moment his face was reflected in the desk lamp. To Jules it seemed the Devil incarnate. Wand leaned back out of the light, steepled his large hand under his chin.
Jules Starmberg was from Luxemburg. He had undergone intensive training at a camp in the countryside outside Hankow,, deep in the interior of China. Stocky, powerfully built, he possessed great physical strength and part of his training – to test his nerve – had been for him to break a man's neck, a man like a bull. Starmberg had passed that test with flying colours.
Officially the butler, Starmberg was really Wand's right-hand man. Reflecting his profession, Wand sometimes called the Luxemburger his Chief of Staff. There were two men in the West completely trusted by Wand – Jules Starmberg and Vulcan.
`Jules, we are faced with one of those little problems, I fear.'
`Of course there will be a solution, sir,' Starmberg responded.
`The problem is Joseph.' Wand sighed regretfully. 'Oh dear, human nature can be a problem. Who would have foreseen Joseph would fall madly for the charms of Miss Grey?'
`He refuses to carry out your order?'
`Not expressed in the most subtle way – but in your blunt manner I am afraid you have summed up the problem. Could you be so good as to phone Vulcan? Please tell him to go to a public phone and call me. I have to give him some instructions to pass on to Anne-Marie. The groundwork is already laid. Joseph will be waiting in the Parc d'Egmont at an agreed hour. And, Jules, this solution has also the advantage of rattling Miss Grey and Newman. Tweed, too, if he returns to Brussels.'
`We have to crush the weak sisters as we would a cockroach,' Jules agreed.
`Not quite how I would have phrased it,' Wand commented. 'I have just been studying the map. I calculate the Mao III and the Yenan – bearing in mind the considerable speed at which they move – should by now be well north off the west coast of Africa. The news in the paper rather confirms this since it gives the date when the Dutch vessel Texel left behind the woes of this world.'
`And that is the really important team those ships are carrying to Denmark,' Jules remarked, standing by Wand's side to look at the map.
`We are still at an early stage of Operation Long Reach,' Wand pointed out. 'At least I think so. And you are quite correct – the trained men aboard those ships are the elite leaders trained to take command. On the other hand, events may be moving faster than was anticipated. Europe is throwing away its defences. I have had a signal warning me that the operation may be launched much earlier than originally planned.'
`You said you wished me to contact Vulcan,' Jules reminded his chief.
`I was just about to ask you to call him. The Parc d'Egmont will be famous by nightfall.'
The sky was a sea of grey storm clouds as Mordaunt walked up to the narrow entrance to the Parc d'Egmont. He checked his watch by the illuminated hands – it was so damned dark it might have been night. He wore a trench coat, collar turned up against the cold, and a trilby hat. No one else about and he was on time.
He felt relieved about the outcome of his phone call to Dr Wand. Before lifting the receiver and dialling the number he'd had to assert all his will power. He had never disobeyed an order before. Looking back, he wondered how he'd had the nerve to do it. His mind had been half on Paula. She had given him the impetus to refuse the order.
Mordaunt's brain was still reeling with the impact the girl had made on him. For the first time he had become infatuated with a woman whose personality had – over one lunch – captured him body and soul. He smiled at himself for thinking in such terms.
He was walking now quietly along the the soggy path into the area of grass and trees. As he'd expected, no one else was in the park. It had rained heavily for a short time in the afternoon. He stopped and listened. The only sound was the steady dripping of water off the trees, a noise which for some reason got on his nerves. L
ike the Chinese water torture.
Get a hold on yourself. You're only a few yards from the back of the Hilton. At times he could see the lights inside the Cafe d'Egmont, the matrons of Brussels in their expensive clothes taking tea. He was in the middle of civilization.
He wandered deeper into the park – away from the Hilton and towards the distant walls of villas at the bottom of the sloping grass. Who was he supposed to meet? And where the devil were they?
He stopped again in the small neglected wilderness. The drip-drip-drip of water dropping off the trees was getting on his nerves. Apart from that unsettling sound it was so silent. He could be miles from any city…'
`Joseph! Over here…'
A woman's muffled voice. A vague shadow slipped out from behind the trunk of a tree, waited for him to approach. She was muffled too – in a long raincoat, the hood pulled well down over her head. He walked towards her. She held something in her hand.
`Joseph, put on these dark glasses. You must not risk being recognized when we meet someone to give them the package.'
He guessed now what his role was: to act as bodyguard during some transaction. He reached out his right hand, took the dark glasses, raised his arm to put them on. The woman's right arm jerked up, plunged down. He felt something sharp rip the cloth of his raincoat, penetrate his suit and shirt, stab painfully into his upraised arm.
There was a brief flash of pain, then a ferocious attack of white-hot burning inside his body. He gurgled horribly, waved his hands futilely for a millisecond, sagged to the soaked grass, lay very still.
33
In London it was afternoon as Tweed slowly paced round his office while Monica watched him. Philip Cardon had completed his report, then had been overwhelmed by fatigue.
He had phoned his girl friend's flat to tell her he was coming home. She'd told him her flat was no longer home for him: in his long absence she had acquired a substitute boy friend. Tweed had immediately called in Butler, who had agreed to take Cardon by car to his own pad. When he came back he said Cardon was sleeping like a babe
