by Colin Forbes
'But I don't see what we can do. The governments will not agree, I'm sure. And if they don't Klein will close down Europe. It's deadlock.'
'I've told him we agree,' Tweed announced when he returned and sat at the table, 'He went on again about how he was in supreme command-the Napoleonic touch again. I just listened and repeated that we agree. He still wants me back at the base of the tower at 3 a.m. What's happened?' he asked seeing the expression on Van Gorp's face.
'I'm afraid there has been a further development.' It was Benoit who answered. 'A phone call from Brussels. Peter Brand has been kidnapped at gunpoint. I also spoke to his secretary who is in a state of near-hysterics. One of the police officers at Brand's house in Brussels told me he was seen at the airport - boarding a helicopter. It flew off in a south-easterly direction.'
Tindel Airport. The Banque Sambre in Luxembourg City.' Tweed glanced at Newman. 'Kidnapped! Another Klein smokescreen - to make Brand feel he's protected.
A go-between, as he called Brand, acting under so-called duress. Brand is going to be on the spot when the bullion is flown aboard that transport plane to Findel.'
'What do you suggest?' Benoit enquired.
'I'd like Newman and Butler to be flown at once to Findel. Bob knows Brand, has met him. With your permission, Benoit, I'd like to give Newman carte blanche to act as he thinks fit when he gets there.'
'And I'd like to take that rifle with me if possible,' Newman requested.
'Agreed,' said Van Gorp.
He took one of several form pads which had been placed on the table. Scribbling on a sheet, he signed it, handed it to Newman.
'That covers you for Holland. Benoit will, I am sure, grant you authority for the firearm later.'
'Of course,' Benoit said. 'But how quickly can we get moving on the flight at this hour?'
'I know a Royal Dutch Shell director who has an executive jet at Rotterdam Airport,' Van Gorp replied. 'I'll call him while the three of you are being driven to the airport.'
'A hand-gun might come in useful for me,' Butler suggested.
'A Browning automatic would do?' Van Gorp asked. 'Good. We will supply it, borrow it from one of my men.' He scribbled again on his pad, tore off the sheet and handed it to Butler. Writing something on another sheet, he handed it to Newman. 'That is the number here where you can contact Tweed. Anything else before I phone about the executive jet?'
'Yes,' said Tweed. 'Apart from checking on those fishing boats - as Klein suggested - I strongly urge you to ensure all his other instructions are obeyed. No searching for his men watching those ships, no attempt to use scuba divers to check the named vessels for those sea-mines. They are where he said they were. We just wait. One thing worries me intensely.'
'Which is?' asked Paula.
'His reference to hanging. That it was part of his scenario. I can't figure it out. But I don't like it. Now, I need the use of a scrambler phone to call the PM . . .'
'Just installed. The lines will be burning all night between here and The Hague. To say nothing of Bonn and God knows where else. Through that door. There's an anteroom leading to the quarters your SAS team will occupy. You can use the phone now. Don't forget to press the red button . . .'
Tweed closed the door behind him as a plain-clothes detective came into the room and spoke to Van Gorp in Dutch, then left. There was a lot of activity and Newman was impressed with the way everything seemed under control. No sign of panic. Van Gorp used the phone on the table, had a brief conversation in Dutch, ended the call, looked at Newman.
'The executive jet is at your disposal. The pilot will be at the airport waiting when you get there. And a car is waiting in the side street for you. Also a policeman on the ground floor will give you a scabbard to conceal that rifle. Butler, he will give you a Browning and a hip-holster - if that's OK?'
'Prefer them. Takes forever to haul it from the shoulder type.'
'One point,' Benoit intervened as he stood up with Newman and Butler, 'I'd like to call in briefly at Brussels Airport before we fly on to Findel. First, I can call the local chief of police in Luxembourg City. Second, Brand and another man were by chance seen at that airport. I'd like a first-hand report.'
'Tell the pilot. He is under your instructions to fly wherever you teli him.' He stood up, shook hands with all three men. 'Good luck. We'll keep in touch. This nightmare has to end soon - for better or worse . . .'
Inside Euromast at platform level Klein had finished checking that everything was to his satisfaction. He'd sent Chabot to organize defence at ground level. At this stage he would not risk being trapped in the elevator and out of touch. Everywhere he went he carried the control box.
The elevator doors opened and Chabot stepped out. He nodded to Klein.
'If they try to rush the building they'll be cut down. Furniture has been piled up into barriers. Men with machine-pistols are posted covering the entrance.'
'Expecting a spot of trouble?' drawled Marler who had walked in from the platform, rifle cuddled under one arm.
'Just taking every precaution,' Klein replied coldly. 'It's not likely while I hold this.' He extended his right hand, gripping the control box, thumb poised over the red button.
'And the whole shooting match really goes up if you pressed that little jigger?'
'Every ship I have named floating offshore - and a few more I haven't in the Maas.'
'Good show. You seem to be organized. Think they'll really pay up the dibs?'
'What option have they?' Klein turned away and addressed the Frenchman. 'Go fetch the girl. Time to prepare her.'
'Prepare her for what exactly?' Marler enquired.
'You'll see. In due course. Shouldn't you be watching on the platform?'
'With two of your sturdy lads out there guarding the fort? Incidentally, they're a bit tense. Tell from the way they grip their weapons. Persuade them to relax a bit when you next go out. Trigger-happy characters worry me. I could do with a drink.'
'There's only mineral water or coffee . . .'
'Water will do splendidly. Gets a bit thirst-making during the early hours . . .'
Earlier Klein had personally supervised the emptying down a sink of every bottle of alcohol stacked in the bar. No one was going to have his brain muddled with alcohol while the operation was in progress. Marler stared with vague interest as Chabot and a Luxembourger hauled Lara Seagrave out of the restaurant kicking and elbowing them in the ribs. She glared at Klein.
'What the hell do these thugs think they are doing?'
'Acting on my instructions. Tie her by the hands - behind her back - and by the ankles.'
A second Luxembourger appeared and grabbed her from behind. Chabot released her and walked towards Klein, his expression grim, his large hands clenched into fists.
'What exactly are you doing?' he demanded.
'I know you're sweet on her. That is immaterial. Go out on to the platform and check the situation. Then come back and report to me.'
Klein turned away and watched Lara as she protested violently. Marler lit a cigarette, tucked it in the corner of his mouth and spoke quietly.
'I also am interested in what you propose to do with her - has she misbehaved in some way?'
'Nothing to do with you.'
'I'll ask you once more,' Marler continued in the same even tone as Chabot disappeared outside. 'Has she misbehaved? I'm talking to you, Klein.'
'Don't you see?' Klein swung round to face Marler, his hand holding the control box at waist level, smiling savagely. 'She's a spy. We caught her entering the Hotel Central. She had been instructed to stay inside. I think she was phoning someone.'
'That's bloody ridiculous!' Lara shouted as her hands were bound behind her. 'I have done everything you ever asked me to . . .'
'And maybe a little bit more I didn't.'
'Klein, I'm inclined to agree with Lara. This is faintly ridiculous. Pure supposition.'
'Then how did Tweed turn up here so quickly?'
'No id
ea. Maybe he tracked you.'
'My security is meticulous. We will not discuss this matter any further. And I thought you wanted a drink of water.'
'So I did.' Marler grinned. Thank you so much for reminding me.'
He walked off in the direction of the restaurant. They were binding Lara's ankles together now. She tried to struggle but the two men held her tight. Klein waited until she was trussed up and then nodded to the man holding a looped rope.
'Now, tie that round her waist. Not too tight. Must allow her to breathe.'
The rope was lopped round her slim waist and for the first time Lara's fury gave way to fear. She bit her lip to stop showing any emotion. When the job was finished there was a length of rope extending from the centre of her back about twelve feet in length. The Luxembourger coiled it, lifted her up and spread her along a deep couch against the wall.
'What about this?' he asked, picking off the floor the rope noose he had dropped while tying the girl up. Like the other length round her waist it extended about twelve feet from the noose.
'Leave it near her feet for the moment.'
'What is it for?'
'Have you never noticed how sentimental the world is over the fate of a single individual as opposed to the lives of thousands? The average human mind cannot encompass the death of whole tribes in Africa. But if one single hostage is at risk it becomes high drama. We must use every psychological weapon to force the governments concerned to obey us. Public opinion will do the trick if all else fails. And it is a three-hundred-foot drop from the platform.'
49
The car taking Newman, Butler and Benoit to the airport followed Route One - a route Van Gorp had worked out carefully on a map and had cordoned off. On the way they passed a small convoy of three vans proceeding at high speed in the opposite direction.
The SAS team,' Newman said laconically. 'Thank God it was flown over - after what happened to the Dutch marines.'
'You think Tweed will ever use it?' asked Benoit.
'He'll use it. He's just waiting for Klein to make one slip - and Klein will do just that. He thinks he's infallible. No one is.'
'When we get to the airport,' Butler interjected, 'can we find out what type of machine was used to fly Brand and his so-called captor to Findel? It will help us when we get there. I mean Brussels Airport.'
'Good idea,' Benoit agreed. 'Should have thought of it myself.'
'He doesn't say a lot,' Newman commented, 'but when he does it's worth listening to. And if you ever see him coming towards you on a motor-bike,' he joked, 'run for your life.'
'Everyone has to have a hobby,' Butler replied.
'Yes, but not a lethal one.'
Newman was aware of a different atmosphere inside the car as the uniformed police driver approached the airport. Back at the improvised HQ near Euromast it had been claustrophobic. Now he was doing something active Newman felt a lifting of the spirits. He sensed the same reaction in his companions.
'Van Gorp has arranged for food to be taken aboard the jet,' remarked Benoit. 'Suddenly I'm ravenous.'
'I could do with a bite to eat myself,' agreed Butler.
'And I do believe we have arrived,' Benoit said as the car came to a stop. A police escort took them to the waiting machine and no one asked Newman questions about the scabbard he carried with the suitcase he'd picked up from the Hilton en route. Five minutes later the jet was airborne, leaving behind the deserted airport, heading through the night for Brussels.
In Luxembourg City inside the Banque Sambre on the Avenue de la Liberté, Brand and Hipper sat in the banker's office. On their way in they had paused in the empty street to attach the notice announcing the bank was temporarily closed to the front doors.
Hipper had played out his charade of acting as Brand's captor from the moment the Sikorsky landed at Findel. He had walked shoulder to shoulder with the banker to the waiting limousine where a chauffeur opened the rear doors for them.
They were driving along the highway into the city when the Sikorsky took off again, flying back to Rotterdam Airport to join Victor Saur's other machine.
Relaxing in his executive swivel chair, Brand had just called a senior director of the Deutsche Bank in Frankfurt who had already been alerted by Bonn. He picked up a glass of cognac and stared at Hipper, sitting like a sack of potatoes on the other side of the desk.
'They're saying they refuse to release the bullion,' Brand remarked in a lordly tone.
They must . . .'
'Relax, Hipper. That's the opening move I expected. It's like a chess game. We all go through the motions. But in due course they will release that bullion, permit it to be loaded aboard the waiting transport. Now, hadn't you better do your thing? Call the local police, tell them you have me here with a gun to my head? All that jazz. And if they try to break in here you'll shoot me out of hand. Whatever that weird phrase means,' he added blandly.
'I hope they're convinced . . .'
'Up to you to do just that - convince 'em. Then we wait until the bullion plane arrives and I trot out with you to Findel to check it's all in order.' He sipped his brandy and indicated a closed door. 'Lucky I have an efficient secretary. She has stocked up the fridge and the freezer. We shan't starve. You can cook, I take it?'
'I was once a cook in a restaurant.'
'Splendid! We can eat in the board's dining room. Might as well keep up a decent standard of living while Klein puts on the pressure. Now, that call to the police . . .'
Tweed came back into the room and Paula watched him anxiously, still worried about his lack of sleep. He walked briskly to his chair, sat down and clasped his hands.
'The PM has given me full authority to act in liaison with you, Van Corp. She's livid about the mining of the Sealink ferry - livid and worried. But she's chirpy, as always. She's already been in touch with the German Chancellor in Bonn, suggesting he permits release of the bullion when I give the word.'
'When will that be?' asked Van Corp.
'No idea. I've also asked Commander Bellenger to get over here fast from the Hilton. After he's phoned London to arrange for a specialist team of bomb disposal to fly here. Men who know the workings of this new sea-mine and bomb.'
'But,' objected Jansen, 'you've told us not to make any attempt to go near the threatened ships.'
'Correct. But when we've finished off Klein we'll need that team to go out and defuse those mines.'
'You sound very confident,' Paula ventured.
'He's a megalomaniac. He's sure he's got us in the palm of his hand - which he has at the moment. He'll make a mistake through over-confidence. Then we strike. Talking of striking, I thought I heard men arriving in the room beyond the place I was phoning from.'
'The SAS team arrived by the fire escape at the back. They're settling into their quarters. The other door from the anteroom leads into one of their rooms . . .'
Blade came into the room, wearing his civilian outfit. Speaking to Tweed, his manner was urgent.
'The troop commander wants to take his men out on to the roof so they can take a look at Euromast, size it up. It means we need the roof cleared of your men, if that's all right for a few minutes, Van Corp. They want you to go with them, Tweed - to brief them.'
'I'll attend to it now,' Van Gorp replied.
He stood up and went up the staircase on to the roof. He was back very quickly. 'All clear. Warn them to crouch low - it is probable Klein has men with glasses scanning all the surrounding buildings.'
They'd do that anyway, but thanks. I've been asked to stay in their quarters while they're away - to guard certain special equipment.'
He glanced at Tweed and disappeared into the anteroom. 'Do we stay?' asked Jansen. 'I've heard no one ever sees their faces.'
'I don't think you will,' observed Tweed, 'so I'd have some more coffee and stay where you are.'
There was a delay of only a few minutes. Only Tweed realized Blade was changing into his SAS gear before he led the troop to the rooftop. The ante
room door opened without warning and Paula gave a gasp, her hand flying to her throat.
A file of men padded into the room, moving past the table at either end. To Paula they seemed incredibly sinister. They moved so silently. Each man was wearing a Balaclava helmet shrouded with a camouflage net so only the eyes showed. They were clad in complete battle gear and most wore a series of canvas pouches attached round their waists. Most carried an ugly-looking squat sub-machine gun but three were armed with rifles. They slithered through the room like ghosts and were gone as Tweed led them upstairs.
'Oh, my God,' Paula said, 'I wouldn't like to have them after me. What was that funny gun most of them carried?'
'A 9 mm Ingram MAC 11. Has a range of a hundred and fifty feet, equipped with a collapsible stock. Fires at the rate of six hundred rounds a minute. The magazine takes forty rounds,' Van Gorp explained.
'Sounds deadly.'
'It is. And some of them had the type of Browning automatic we gave Butler before he left for Findel. That has an effective range of two hundred feet. Those boys are really tooled up for action . . .'
'I counted fifteen men.'
'A formidable force . . .'
Out on the roof Tweed crouched low and ran for the wall with an agility which surprised Blade, close behind in his battle gear. They squatted on their haunches behind the wall as the rest of the troop spread out on either side. Blade had Tweed on his right, his deputy to his left.
'Get the picture, Eddie?' he asked. 'And if anything happens to me you take your orders from Tweed. No move to be made without his sanction. Well, there's the target. How does it look to you?'
Eddie peered through the mounted telescope, adjusted the focus, swivelled the instrument very slowly, stopping, moving on. He lowered the angle to study the entrance at the top of ihe steps.
'We've tackled worse,' he replied eventually. 'Main problem is it's isolated - no buildings close enough to operate from - and we won't be scaling that tower.'
