Deadlock (39 page)

'Better and better.' Benoit rubbed his hands. 'I'll just go and instruct those men coming down the path. Back soon.'

Tweed waited until they were alone. 'Quick, ask Newman to join me. And tell Butler to hold that Joris woman's attention in the kitchen. I'm sure she doesn't understand English. Speak rapidly . . .'

Sonnet had followed Lasalle into the front garden where they were talking to the new arrivals. Tweed held the Luxair brochure in his hand when Newman arrived with Paula. This is what I found almost under the bed upstairs. I think the abductor dropped it out of his pocket, Martine saw it, kicked it under the bed. One thing I'd bet money on - Klein sent one of his thugs to do the job.'

'What makes you think that?' asked Newman as he studied the brochure.

'Klein would never have let Martine get away with the signals she left us. The unwashed dishes in the sink, the rumpled bed, this brochure. He's sharp as a knife . . .'He grimaced at the simile. 'Well, we know how he uses knives.'

'This brochure points to Luxembourg City . . .'

'And Peter Brand has a branch of his Banque Sambre there. We haven't the time - but I think we'd better go there now. Benoit may let us use the Alouette . . . Talk of the devil.'

Benoit came into the room, spread his hands. 'Good news and bad. Sonnet has heard over his radio a forensic team arrived aboard the
Gargantua
. But it could be days before a report lands on my desk in Paris. The corpse of Broucker is glued in by heavy mud. At least they've made a start.'

'And the bad news?'

'Telephone strike here in Belgium - overtime ban officially. Which makes phoning from lock to lock difficult - to locate the
Erika
. I've organized a team of police cyclists to ride the towpaths. It siows down the check.'

'Why not start at the far end?' Tweed suggested.

'Which is the far end? Where was the
Erika
bound for?'

'You have a point,' Tweed admitted. 'I have a favour to ask. Could we borrow the Alouette to fly us to Luxembourg City?'

'Ah! You're on to something. Only on condition I fly with you. There's close cooperation between the Luxembourg and Belgian police. I might even come in handy.'

'You're most welcome. Has the search started for that poor girl Marline and her son? You do see how it all begins to link up? Haber had carried out some commission for Klein - transporting the stolen bullion, I'm sure. Then he'd had enough - possibly when Klein asked him to transport those timers aboard the
Erika
. But Klein, the clever bastard, had foreseen Haber might kick up. So first he arranges for one of his minions to kidnap Haber's family. With that hanging over his head Haber
has
to do anything Klein demands - even including standing by when Klein murders his employee, Broucker. Someone else had become expendable - this time Broucker. The track record shows how Klein deals with anyone he no longer needs.'

'He must be a fiend incarnate,' Benoit mused.

'Oh, he's all of that. Can we get moving? One of those cars could take us back to Dinant - where the chopper is.'

Klein was livid with rage. In Brussels he had just visited the Banque Sambre headquarters in the Avenue Louise to see Peter Brand.

'Mr Brand is in Luxembourg City,' the attractive receptionist informed him. 'He flew there in his executive jet this morning. Can I take a message for . . .'

'When is he expected back?'

'He will be at his office in Luxembourg City all day. You could phone him ..."

'But I can't because there is a phone strike,' Klein said harshly.

'I am really very sorry, sir. Who shall I say called?'

She was talking to the air. The visitor, wearing a smart grey business suit had walked off to the entrance with long strides. Klein had changed from the black outfit with the wide-brimmed hat he had often worn in France. There he had frequently been mistaken for a priest. Which had been his intention; like a postman, he merged with the landscape and was forgotten within minutes of being noticed.

He hailed a cab in the Avenue Louise, told the driver to take him to Brussels Midi, and forced himself to relax. In his mind he was recalling from his phenomenal memory the times of the trains to Luxembourg City. If the cab kept moving he'd just be in time to catch the express which went on to Basle.

Arriving at Midi, he hurried to the ticket counter, bought a first-class return, checked the departure board and ran up the steps. He sank into the seat of an empty compartment as the express began to move.

He never made advance appointments with anyone -they were dangerous because they forecast your movements. But Brand had told him he would be available at the Banque Sambre. It had never occurred to Klein he might mean the branch in Luxembourg City. And he was puzzled what Brand was doing in that part of the world -the last place he wanted attention drawn to.

31

The Alouette flew in brilliant sunshine on a south-easterly course bound for Luxembourg City. Tweed sat with Newman, a map spread across their laps, while Benoit chatted with Butler in front. Butler stared down through the window at the corrugated landscape of wooded ravines and ridges which were the Ardennes.

'According to your markings on that map we're flying in the wrong direction,' Newman observed.

'So it would seem,' Tweed agreed.

The unfolded map of Western Europe carried route markings in felt-tip ink, markings which ended in bold arrows pointing north, always north.

One route began at Marseilles and proceeded north direct to Paris. From where Klein had hired the explosives expert, Chabot - and where Chabot's girl friend, Cecile Lament, the bar girl, had been dragged from the sea with her throat cut.

A second route started at Geneva, went on to Basle, continued to Dinant and up the Meuse to Namur. Tweed had added a dotted line from Namur, following a circuitous route to Antwerp. Newman pointed to this.

'What does that suggest?'

'It looks like
Antwerp
. You want facts? Lara Seagrave ended her photographic expeditions in Antwerp - before returning to Brussels - only a short train ride from the port. I am also convinced that missing barge is carrying the timers to the target. Follow the Meuse, see how you can branch off it north of Liege along the Albert Canal - direct to where? Antwerp.'

'So why are we flying south - away from the possible target area?'

'Because of that brochure I found in Marline's cottage. It was folded to the Cargolux page - as I showed you. There is a huge fortune in gold bullion being held at the Deutsche Bank in Frankfurt - only a short flight from Findel.'

'Findel?'

'The airport we are heading for- only six kilometres from Luxembourg City. And the word
Rio
was written on that brochure. Rio de Janeiro. In Brazil. A country with no extradition treaty. I asked Lasalle before he left to return to Paris to check with Interpol on Brazil. A long shot.'

'What was? Stop being so cryptic.'

'I remembered the infamous Ronald Biggs, the Great Train Robbery villain. We couldn't extradite him even with the most solid evidence. Why? Because he had made a Brazilian girl pregnant. Interpol will try to check whether a man with a German-sounding name - Klein, whatever -has fathered a child by a Brazilian mother. Then, whatever crime he commits he will be safe.'

'And you think he'll try and fly to Rio from Findel?'

'I think he might fly the gold bullion obtained by a terrible terror threat to Brazil via Findel.'

'As you said, a long shot.'

'The one thing that keeps nagging at me is the explosives. I simply can't see that they were transported by barge. Far too big a consignment, far too dangerous.'

'And every time you mention them,' Newman commented, 'I feel I know something I haven't told you and can't recall. Why is Harry Butler coming with us?'

'To watch the Banque Sambre in Luxembourg City. You give him a description of Peter Brand when we reach Findel, he hires a car and drives to take up watch on Brand's bank in the Avenue de la Liberté.'

Lara Seagrave was becoming bored by the luxury of the Mayfair Hotel in Brussels. She had explored the shops, visited the famous Grand'Place where medieval buildings of different periods walled each side of the square. She'd also noticed a uniformed policeman leaning out of a window and had located to police headquarters.

She sat in front of the dressing-table mirror, brushing her long hair. She picked up the envelope which had been waiting when she arrived. The outside simply carried her typed name. On a blank sheet of paper inside was typed a message.

It won't be long now. Have patience. No long absences from the Mayfair. K.

Klein had foreseen there was a limit to the time she could be kept dangling - that she would grow restless. Hence the letter.

Lara was thinking about something else. She was not convinced by Klein's apparent rejection of Antwerp The fact he had given her no fresh port to explore she felt was highly significant. Giving her appearance a final check, she left the hotel.

* *

Hipper noted the deserted country lane ahead, looked in his rear view mirror to make sure nothing was in sight behind, then swung off along the tarred track. The old windmill - which had long ago lost its sails when converted into a private house - reared up behind the trees like a mis-shapen Martello tower.

He parked the car inside the trees, collected the package of tinned foods, bread and thermos of coffee from the back seat, and walked to the solid wooden door at the base of the tower. In his right hand he carried a bunch of keys on a ring. Selecting a large old-fashioned key, he unlocked the door, went inside, relocked it.

A musty smell of a building unoccupied for a long time met him as he climbed the circular staircase to the next floor. On the landing he again selected another key as he stood in front of a heavy wooden door.

He took a minute or so arranging himself. The package of food was tucked under his left arm, his left hand held the key while the right gripped the Walther automatic, safety catch off. He unlocked the door and pushed it wide open.

Martine Haber sat on a chair in front of a crude wooden table, one hand behind her back. No sign of the boy, Lucien. The Luxembourger pursed his lips. His soft voice was slow and menacing as he aimed the gun.

Tell the kid to come out from behind the door. Tell him to stand behind that table or I will shoot you within the next ten seconds.'

Crestfallen, a sullen look of frustration on his face, the lad emerged from behind the door, dropped the leg of the chair he had wrenched from it, and walked to the other side of the table.

'Don't try that again,' Hipper warned. 'And you, woman, put your other hand on your lap.'

With a sigh Martine brought her hand into sight, dropping the container of pepper. She would have risked it when Hipper came closer, but she couldn't risk Lucien's life.

The Luxembourger came closer, the gun now aimed at Lucien. Martine sat very still as Hipper dropped the package on the table. Still pointing the gun at Lucien, he examined the strong padlock which locked the closed shutters over the window.

The Elsan bucket needs emptying,' Martine protested.

'Next time . . .'

'How much longer . . .' she began, then stopped.

Hipper had backed to the door, slammed it shut, re-locked it. At the foot of the staircase he checked the telephone cord he had detached from the wall socket. There was an extension phone in Marline's room.

Klein had foreseen at some stage Haber would insist on proof that his family was alive, that they were well. He had called La Montagne, arranged with Hipper to be at the mill at a certain time, then permitted Haber to have a brief conversation with his wife from a public call box.

It was Hipper who had kidnapped Martine and Lucien. He drove back at speed to Larochette. Chabot, the explosives expert from Marseilles, was becoming a pain in the arse. Too restless for Hipper's liking. At least he had accomplished the kidnap well, leaving behind nothing to give the police a clue.

Arriving back at La Montagne, Hipper entered the derelict hotel beneath the cliff face and was immediately grabbed from behind. A vicious knife touched his throat. He froze as he heard Chabot's voice. An almost empty bottle of red wine stood on the sideboard. Chabot's voice was slurred. Oh, God! Chabot was drunk.

'No more screwing around,' Chabot snarled. 'I want to know the target. Now! Or I'll slit your gizzard . . . '