by Colin Forbes
'I'll take that,' said Pierre, 'for analysis . . .'
'My husband, Joseph. Is he all right? Do you know where he is? Who are these madmen?'
'We'd better get you both back to Dinant,' Paula said. 'Then I can enquire further.'
Entering the Hilton, Tweed was approached by the concierge who told him there was a gentleman waiting for him in the breakfast room, a Commander Bellenger. Tweed hurried to the room.
'Hello, Tweed. Thought I'd have a spot of breakfast while I waited. Flew over as soon as I'd got the message. Luckily we checked with Brussels before I took off. They told us you were on your way here. Are you on your own?'
'No.' Tweed lowered his voice. The Dutch Chief of Police is waiting in my room when you've finished your meal . . .'
'Finished now, old chap. Duty calls.' Bellenger stood up, wiping his mouth with a napkin, leaving his half-eaten meal. 'Get used to sudden calls to action in the Navy,' he continued as they made their way to the elevator. 'Snatch a bite to eat between watches - and before you've swallowed two mouthfuls there's an emergency. There's one here, isn't there?'
'Let's talk with everyone present. And thank you for flying over so quickly. I want you to impress on these people what we're facing. That armoury of explosives -Triton Three - is now hidden somewhere near here, I'm convinced. Target - Europort.'
'Oh God,' Bellenger said as they stepped out of the elevator. 'They could shut down a continent . . .'
In his room Van Gorp waited with Newman, Benoit and Butler. Tweed made quick introductions, then poured another cup of coffee for the bluff, ruddy-faced Bellenger who perched on the arm of a chair.
'Tell them,' said Tweed. He looked at Van Gorp, standing with his back to the window. 'But first you should know a huge quantity of new type of explosive was stolen from a depot inside Soviet Russia . . .'
He phrased the next bit carefully, embroidering to keep his promise of secrecy to Lysenko not to mention Igor Zarov.
'Klein organized the theft of thirty sea-mines and twenty-five bombs of a very advanced type. He used the so-called Free Armenian Movement and others he bribed. That armoury was transported aboard a Greek ship, the Lesbos, which vanished into thin air. Only very recently did we realize it is now a wrecked hulk which has lain off the Norfolk coast for months. The armoury was smuggled ashore, hidden inside a hundred-year-old crypt. The whole operation was brilliantly organized - because in Klein we are up against one of the most ruthless men I've ever encountered. I've lost count of the people he's murdered personally to cover his tracks.' Tweed addressed Bellenger. 'I've just returned from viewing his latest victim - Joseph Haber, a bargee from Dinant. He's lying in his own load of gravel aboard a barge in Waalhaven near here, his throat slashed from ear to ear. That was how the timers and control boxes - designed by a Swiss - came to be smuggled into Holland. We've reached today.'
'Very bad news,' Bellenger commented, 'that bit about Swiss-made timers and control boxes.' He looked at Van Gorp. 'I can't tell you how, but I do know the one crude element used in the Soviet mines and bombs is the detonating device.'
'These mines and bombs,' Van Gorp commented, 'must be pretty large - difficult to hide so many.'
'Not at all. It's a great technical breakthrough-achieved, I suspect, with East German scientists. Both bombs and mines will be very light in weight, exceptionally small in size.' He cupped his hands. 'One no larger than a pineapple could entirely destroy a small ship.'
'What about a seven hundred ton coaster?' Newman enquired.
'Wipe it off the face of the earth. You'd have trouble finding any bits left.' He glanced at Tweed. 'I've heard reports there was a mysterious and huge explosion in the North Sea off the Dutch coast last night.'
'That was the coaster - bringing across the armoury. We're sure the armoury was off-loaded on to smaller vessels in the middle of the sea passage from Norfolk to here. Then a bomb was used to eliminate the coaster.'
'Entirely possible,' Bellenger agreed. He looked at Van Gorp. 'And a frightening prospect for you.'
'Just how powerful are these miniaturized mines and bombs?' the Dutchman asked. 'I mean I'd like some idea of the explosive power of this new stuff.'
'Very crudely put, midway between conventional high-explosive and an atom bomb.'
'I see.' Van Gorp's expression was unusually grim. 'As you say, I might have a problem. Where do we start?' he asked Tweed. 'You've been in on this business from the start. You know more than any of us about this Klein. Incidentally, I've informed the Minister of your status with the Anti-Terrorist Squad. You know what he replied? "Well, that regularizes the situation." Just that . . .'
He broke off as the phone rang, picked it up, spoke a few words in English, then handed it to Tweed. 'For you. A Paula Grey, speaking from Dinant.'
'How is it going, Paula?'
'Fine. Marvellous news!' She sounded jubilant. 'We've found Martine and her son, Lucien.' Her voice became guarded. 'I'm speaking from Dinant police HQ - over an open line.'
'Understood.'
'They're both OK. A bit stressed after their experience - we found them locked up in an old mill tower. I'll be catching a train to Namur, then another from there to Brussels. I'll catch the first flight to Rotterdam. See you at the Hilton.' Her voice changed again. 'Any news of Joseph Haber?'
Tweed braced himself. 'Are Martine and Lucien in the room with you?'
'No, I'm alone, but they're here. Why did you ask that?'
'Bad news, Paula . . .'
'Oh, no. He's not ... ?'
'Dead. Yes. Found by the Dutch in the middle of the night aboard the Erika in a docking basin here. His throat was cut. More of Klein's work.'
'I'll have to tell them - Martine and Lucien . . .'
'Get that policeman, Pierre, to break the news. Police are used to it.'
'I'll leave out the part about his cut throat.' Her tone was firm. 'But I'm going to tell them. Don't try and argue me out of it. See you at the Hilton. I'm going now.'
There was a click at the other end. Tweed replaced the receiver. Gutsy, very gutsy. He told the others the news. It was Newman who reacted first.
'She shouldn't come to Rotterdam. She's had enough. Hell is going to break loose here.'
'It goes with the territory,' Tweed said tersely. He opened his brief-case, took out the Identikit sketch of Igor Zarov and handed it to Van Gorp.
'That's Klein. You might want to make copies and distribute them to your men. And you asked where do we start before I took that call. If you can supply transport I'd like to go out to Europort with Newman - and maybe you, too, Benoit?'
The Belgian nodded agreement as Tweed continued.
'I'm getting to know how Klein's mind works. I might just see something useful. In any case . . .'He gave a grim smile. '. . . it always helps to survey the battlefield before the war starts. Incidentally,' he asked Van Gorp, 'what about the SAS team my PM was flying to Schiphol?'
'I was going to tell you. They've arrived. I offered to provide a room at the airport where they could all kip down while they waited. Their commander, chap called Blade, had other ideas. Insisted they should be scattered in two's and three's. They've left their kit in the chartered plane which flew them in. They're dressed like tourists. Some are sleeping in chairs in the departure lounge.'
That sounds like Blade,' Newman observed. 'Just as I remember him. Security comes before God with him.'
'Blade is anxious to see you, Tweed, when he can,' Van Gorp went on. 'It's about twenty kilometres to Europort, thirty to the North Sea if you want to go all the way.'
'All the way.'
"Then you could meet Blade here in about three hours' time.'
'Fix it for me.'
'Mind you . . .' Van Gorp hesitated as if embarrassed. The Minister was grateful to your PM for SAS support -but he pointed out if we face an emergency it will be up to our own Marines to make any assault on their own. They've already been confined to their barracks. Just in case, he said.'
&nb
sp; 'Still not convinced?'
'By no means. I doubt if he'll put a strong case before the Cabinet which is now in session. I did my best.' He shrugged, looked down at the Identikit sketch he was still holding. 'At least I can get copies made of this and they'll be distributed within the hour. Excuse me while I attend to it.'
He phoned the desk and shortly afterwards a plainclothes man joined them. Van Gorp gave him the Identikit, speaking in rapid Dutch. When the man had left the room he picked up his trilby.
The cars are ready. Let's get moving. If Klein is skulking round Rotterdam one of my patrol cars may well spot him with that picture.'
42
In room 904 at the Rotterdam Hilton Marler sat reading The Times when the phone rang. Reception informed him that his car was ready, his chauffeur waiting in the lobby. He said thank you, put down the phone.
His car? His chauffeur? What the hell was going on? Slipping on his Aquascutum coat, he unlocked a wardrobe, took out the sports bag containing his dismantled rifle and ammo. No point in leaving that behind.
He pressed the first floor button inside the elevator, got out and slowly descended the staircase for the last flight, his eyes scanning the lobby. A tall slim man in chauffeur's dark uniform and peaked cap stood gazing out of the entrance, gloved hands clasped behind his back.
Marler frowned, wandered over to the reception counter, asked the girl behind it about the call. She pointed to the man by the door.
'There is your chauffeur, sir.'
'Stupid of me.' Marler gave her a beaming smile. 'I missed seeing the chap. Thank you so much.'
As he strolled over the chauffeur swung round, staring at him from behind the tinted glasses so often affected by chauffeurs. Marler paused, still puzzled. The chauffeur spoke.
'Your car is ready when you are, sir,' he said in English.
Only then did Marler realize he was looking at Klein. Bloody clever, he thought. Who notices a chauffeur? Klein stood aside to let Marler walk out first, followed and led him to a BMW parked a few yards up the street.
Opening the rear door, he ushered Marler inside. Glancing up as he settled himself, Marler said, 'Thank you, my man.' He saw for a split second behind the glasses a flash of rage and then Klein got in behind the wheel and drove off, glancing at his passenger in the mirror.
'We are going for a tour of the city,' Klein informed him, 'a tour of the strategic sights.'
'So, at long last, we've reached the target?'
'Only if certain information reaches me. Otherwise we will be moving on again.'
'Oh, come off it, Klein! You used the word "strategic". I've got to know whether to take this seriously. I'm a professional - in case you've forgotten. If I know where I am I can be certain to be effective.'
The first item on our itinerary is Euromast. Remarkable nation, the Dutch. Some of their engineering feats are without precedent. You're carrying your rifle in that bag?'
'I'm not leaving it behind where some curious maid with a duplicate key can open up a wardrobe and start sniffing about.'
The conversation ended on that sharp note and Marler, taking out a street map, opened it up to follow their route. Details of layout, the first essential in any operation. Soon they were driving alongside a wide stretch of water off which stretched a complex system of endless docks. There were freighters, ships of every type, barges berthed everywhere. From his map Marler identified this as the New Waterway or New Maas (Dutch for the continuation of the Meuse into Holland) - the great lifeline of Europe joining up with the Rhine.
Ships' hooters whistled, great barges cruised across its surface, immense dockside cranes loomed in the distance. Klein slowed down as they drove alongside a large green park on the landward side. He turned a corner where the road ran by the edge of a basin. Marler leaned forward. At the far end of the basin several police launches were moored. Klein had stopped the car, parking it by the kerb.
'We have arrived. You may as well know this is the command centre for the attack.'
Marler alighted, carrying his bag, then stared upwards. It spired vertically towards the clear blue sky, an enormous and shapely circular tower of concrete, a thick column at its base, widening far above his head to a viewing platform, continuing above that - forever it seemed - as a narrower needle to a second viewing point at its distant summit.
'Euromast,' said Klein. 'We go inside. I am the chauffeur you have kindly taken with you to see the view. Check every aspect. This is where you will operate.'
The two unmarked police cars drove along the Maastunnel under the river - a stone's throw from Euromast. Van Gorp drove the first car with Tweed beside him and Newman and Bellenger in the back. The naval commander had immediately accepted the invitation to join them.
'Never seen the biggest port in the world before,' he'd commented. The trip will complete my education.'
The second car was driven by a detective who had as passengers Benoit and Butler. Benoit asked the driver a lot of questions. Butler remained silent, listening and observing.
They had left the city behind when Tweed began to take a close interest in the view to his right - towards the river they had passed under. They were now moving along the southern bank.
To their left the view was bleak and monotonous. Like a desert, an impression increased by the sandy plain scattered with scrubby grass, a plain which ran for miles towards the horizon.
Gradually Tweed became more and more appalled as he studied the string of industrial and oil complexes bordering the New Waterway. They passed Shell-Mex One, Shell-Mex Two, Esso, Mobil and Gulf.
Each was a vast sprawl of storage tanks like giant white cakes, cat-crackers, refineries festooned with a spider's web of pipes. Each was like a small colony on its own separated from the next by open barren space. By the time they reached Gulf they were, Van Gorp informed them, coming closer to the sea. They passed another Esso depot.
'What do you think, Bellenger?' Tweed asked.
'A bomber's paradise,' the naval commander replied tersely.
'Like to look at the open sea?' Van Gorp suggested.
'Yes, I would.'
The Dutchman swung left round a sharp curve across a canal, turned right off the main highway on to a side road. They were now crossing a kind of no-man's land beyond Europort where the scrub ran away to a distant breakwater. Beyond the hard line of concrete a belt of blue sparkled in the sun. No living soul was in sight and through the open window Tweed felt the whisper of a breeze, smelt more strongly the tang of salt.
'How can you hope to protect all that lot?' Newman asked. 'I haven't seen a single patrol car since we left Rotterdam,'
'Ah!' Van Gorp lifted a hand from the wheel and made an expansive gesture. 'You have just paid me a compliment. My men are there but you don't see them - neither will the bandits, if they come.'
'Bandits? Odd word.'
'I object,' the Dutchman went on, 'to the way these days the term "terrorist" has almost assumed respectability -often the men with flabby minds say they have this cause, that cause. They are ruthless and murderous bandits. Now, I think we'll stop here, Tweed. Maybe have a little walk.'
The soft breeze had faded as Van Gorp led them towards a distant lighthouse alongside the breakwater. Tweed scrambled to the top of the breakwater, stared across the North Sea as calm as the proverbial millpond. In the lee of another arm of the breakwater a man sat in a large outboard dinghy with a fishing rod. Van Gorp, who had joined him, pointed out the lone figure.
'A favourite Dutch pastime - fishing. And out there the catch can be good.'
Tweed was staring at the entrance to the New Waterway where a large dredger with a scoop was working. Taking out his binoculars, he swept the vessel slowly. It was even larger than he had realized, a vast floating platform.
'We need to clear the channel constantly,' Van Gorp remarked. 'We cannot afford to let it get silted up. Those men are always working. Have you seen all you wish to?'
'I think so, yes.'
&
nbsp; He strolled back with Bellenger and Newman to the cars parked some distance away. Van Gorp's long legs took him ahead with great strides accompanied by Benoit and Butler who hurried to keep up.
'What do you think?' Tweed asked. 'About the protection he's had the nerve to organize.'
'Undoubtedly he's done his best - probably better than most.' Bellenger paused. 'But from what you've told me about Klein I'm not happy - not happy at all.'
On their way back to Rotterdam they passed a chauffeur-driven BMW heading out towards where they'd come from. Tweed noticed the single passenger in the back, a man slumped with his hat tipped over his eyes. Obviously fast asleep. Some oil executive.
Inside the BMW Klein drove along the highway while from under his hat Marler peered at the vast installations. Ten minutes later Klein followed the same route over the canal and along the side road towards the breakwater.
'You are getting the picture?' Klein enquired.
'It's rather large.'
Marler, observing the road ahead was traffic-free, sat up and pushed his hat back over his head. He yawned. From Klein's expression in the mirror behind the tinted glasses he gathered his comment had not been appreciated.
'It is the biggest target on the European mainland,' Klein responded. 'And we have the power to destroy the whole thing.'
'Good for you. I wouldn't mind stretching my legs when we can.'
'Which is exactly what we are going to do.'
Klein pulled off the side road and bumped over the scrub land. He stopped close to the breakwater, switched off the engine, got out and opened the rear door. 'Just in case we are watched,' he explained, 'although it is unlikely.'
Thank you, my man.'
Pushing his hands inside his coat pockets, Marler ran agilely up the slanting wall of the breakwater, standing very close to where Tweed had perched earlier. Klein joined him after collecting a pair of high-powered binoculars. He glanced to where a huddled figure sat motionless with a fishing rod in a dinghy.
