by Colin Forbes
'Crazy waste of time. The Dutch are a dull nation.'
He focused the binoculars on the dredger, sweeping the lenses slowly from stem to stern. He handed the glasses to Marler. 'You might care to take a look while I check the boot.'
Returning to the car, he unlocked the boot, removed a sheet of canvas and picked up a length of rope he'd purchased from a ship's chandler. Another length lay looped in the corner. The rope he was holding had been tied at one end into a noose like a hangman's. He tested the knot to make sure it slid easily. The noose was roughly of the diameter needed to place round a human neck.
Satisfied that it worked, he replaced it inside the boot. He covered both lengths with canvas, relocked the boot and waited as Marler ran down the side of the breakwater. He handed the binoculars back as he made the remark.
'Big job, that dredger.'
'It will be the first to go - blocking the channel to larger shipping.'
'How many crew aboard? They'll go, too.'
'A crew of eighteen.'
Marler shrugged. 'It's your ball game. Remarkable the way you have the whole plan inside your head. But supposing we died in a car crash on the way back to Rotterdam?'
'The operation would go ahead.' Klein smiled bleakly. 'I have one other man who knows as much as I do. A formidable Frenchman you haven't met yet. I suggest we drive back now you've seen the vast location of the operation.'
'But why do I need to see that?' Marler pressed. He lit a cigarette as Klein paused. 'Come on, I have to know what I'm doing.'
'A situation could arise when your services could be called for out here. Doubtful, but not impossible.' Klein's natural impatience showed. 'Now, let's move. We'll eat at a small place on the way back. It may not be Cordon Bleu but it will fill our stomachs.'
'And when does the operation start?'
'Soon,' Klein assured him. 'Soon . . .'
The 50,000-ton cruise liner Adenauer was at sea off the West Frisian Islands, sailing steadily south on course for its rendezvous off Europort. Just before leaving Hamburg there had been a few minutes of excitement for passengers lining the rails.
A stretched black Mercedes limousine - accompanied by police outriders - had pulled in to the dockside. A late middle-aged man and a woman had emerged and boarded the ship quickly. One of the Americans looking down on the gangway grabbed his wife by the arm.
'Jesus, honey! That's the US Secretary of State, Waldo Schulzberger.'
'I do believe it is,' she'd replied with a note of awe.
The Secretary of State had been ushered by the captain himself to their most luxurious stateroom. The wire services were already buzzing with the report filed by an eagle-eyed German reporter on the dockside. Schulzberger was taking a brief respite from his arduous duties.
Approaching Europort from the south the 500,000-ton tanker had received from Rotterdam Marine Control a further signal warning that there might be a delay before it could dock. The master of the Cayman Conqueror acknowledged receipt of the signal, gave the order for a slight reduction in speed.
Twenty miles astern the 350,000-ton tanker, Easter Island, also received the same warning. Its skipper issued the same instruction to lose speed. Captain Williams shrugged and gave his First Officer a wry grin. 'It's going to be Piccadilly Circus at Europort. Business as usual. Keep an eye on that freighter astern . . .'
Captain Salvi aboard the 10,000-ton freighter Otranto reacted to his signal with resignation. It probably meant a further addition to the penalty clause for delay in delivery of his cargo. Well, that was not his problem. Let the lawyers sort it out when the time came. That was what they were paid their fat fees for. A uniformed waiter rushed on to the bridge and paused. Salvi asked what was the trouble now?
'The Director's wife is wondering where you are. She likes to have you at the dinner table.'
'Is that fat cow in love with me? All right, I'm coming . . .'
Astern of the Otranto the three large container vessels from Africa were manoeuvring for position, each trying to get ahead of the others to offload at Europort first. To get the best price for their cargo of soya bean meal. The signals caused a furious reaction from all three skippers, but they stopped the race, slowing down reluctantly.
* *
Klein drove back under the river through the Maastunnel, passed through Rotterdam and speeded up outside the city on the way to Delft. He glanced at Marler who had not said a word since they left the North Sea breakwater. The Englishman was gazing out of the window.
'See any signs of unusual activity?' Klein asked.
'Exactly what I've been looking for. Negative. I thought we were going to eat.'
'We are. They have no idea we're here.'
'I should damn well hope not.'
Klein glanced at his watch, saw they were early for his rendezvous with Grand-Pierre, changed his route. Instead of by-passing the town of Delft he turned into its maze of old cobbled streets lining the canals. Crossing a humpbacked bridge, he headed north out of the town and past a series of camp sites crammed with camper vehicles. He pulled up outside a single-storey building with a crooked roof and a view of tables laid for meals beyond the windows.
'We eat here,' he announced.
'About bloody time.'
They were half way through the main course when a large man wearing denims and a windcheater strolled past. Klein said he'd be back shortly and went outside. Grand-Pierre stood by the entrance, lighting a cigarette.
The street was deserted. Beyond the restaurant was a handful of small shops which served the camp sites as their main customers. The sun shone down out of a cloudless sky.
'Is everything going according to plan?' Klein demanded. 'I presume everyone is in position?'
'The scuba divers who will attach the mines to those ships are scattered along the coast, waiting in their dinghies.'
'I saw one fishing at the end of the breakwater near the dredger. The others join him later?'
'As planned. I still think we should have used underwater sleds to carry the divers and the mines to their targets - it would be quicker, less risk of being spotted.'
'We've argued that out earlier,' Klein said coldly.
Grand-Pierre showed an unusual trace of excitement. 'Have you seen the papers? A stop press item reports Schulzberger, the American Secretary of State, is aboard the Adenauer with his wife.'
'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 bef
ore 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 hand, 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 . . .'
