Deadlock (64 page)

Seated again at the table, Tweed dialled the special Moscow number Lysenko had given him during their clandestine meeting outside Zürich. A girl operator came on the line, he spoke to her in Russian and within seconds a familiar voice began talking.

'Where are you calling me from, Tweed?' demanded Lysenko.

'Somewhere in Europe. By scrambler. What is it?'

'We are getting reports of a big crisis building up in Rotterdam, Holland. I am also getting reports that American mavericks are involved - men with CIA training.'

'You mean you are spreading those reports. If you don't at once stifle those reports I'll reveal the whole story of Igor Zarov . . .'

'But we have an agreement . . .'

'Made invalid by any underhand manoeuvre on your part. I'm supposed to protect you. I also intend to protect the Americans. Are you going to keep quiet?'

'Providing you abide by our agreement . . .'

'Which I agreed to do. Stop talking nonsense. Why did you really call me?'

'Have you tracked down our traitor? Have you any clue as to where he might be? What steps are you taking now?'

Tweed sighed aloud. 'Now listen to me, Lysenko. I work in my own way. You should know that by now. I certainly have no intention of reporting every move I make. Leave the whole problem in my hands. And call off your propaganda lackeys or you will regret it. Anything else?'

'Not at the moment. Goodbye . . .'

The connection was broken. Paula came in after tapping on the door and hearing his assent to come in. She carried a tray with a plate of sandwiches and coffee.

'Close the door,' he said when she had put the tray on the table. 'This is the first chance we've had to be alone -to talk privately. And do sit down.'

'Problems? Or shouldn't I ask?' she enquired, seating herself opposite him as he tackled the food.

'The Americans have a saying. Between a rock and a hard place. That is my position at the moment. The Russians are the hard place, the Americans the rock. I have Cord Dillon, Deputy Director of the CIA descending on me any minute. I have Moscow wanting to know what is going on. I have to act to keep both happy - or at least quiet. The American alarm I can understand. I think at the very top in Moscow they understand the position - but the man who communicates with me is a pain. What is the atmosphere out there?' He nodded beyond the door to the HQ room.

'Pretty bloody. It's this waiting for Klein, waiting for a decision about moving the bullion - waiting, waiting - that is telling on their nerves.'

'It's corning up to three o'clock. I feel it will soon be over. Probably in one great thunderclap of action.'

'That sounds ominous. You're worried about someone inside Euromast, aren't you?' Paula suggested.

'I'm worried about all those people aboard the ships waiting offshore. Which reminds me,' Tweed said, standing up, 'I wonder how they've dealt with that problem.'

Van Gorp was on the phone again as Tweed went into the other room and took the same place at the table. The discussion continued for some time in Dutch and then Van Gorp put down the phone.

'That was the Dutch EEC Commissioner speaking from Brussels. They, also, have called an all night session. The Commissioners make the point that two hundred million pounds in gold is chicken feed compared with the vast sums which will be lost if Europort is wrecked. They're inclined to give in.'

'What have you done about informing the masters of all those ships which have been mined?' Tweed asked.

The only thing we could do. We sent each of them a signal telling them what had happened, leaving it to their discretion as to how much they told their passengers and crew. We also - through Marine Control - ordered them to stay where they are, to make no attempt under any circumstances to disembark passengers.' Van Gorp smiled bitterly. 'I have seen a copy of those signals from Marine Control. They all end up by saying the situation is under control. Like hell it is. Under the control of Klein they mean.'

'May I ask,' interjected Jansen, 'why you flew Newman and Butler to Findel?'

'Because they may well have a vital part to play at the climax,' Tweed replied and left it at that.

51

The executive jet carrying Newman, Butler and Benoit landed at the deserted airport of Findel. A car drove out to meet them as they descended the small step-ladder the pilot had unfolded.

'This will be the police,' Benoit said. 'If you don't mind I will handle them. We will talk in French so you will know what is going on.'

'Be my guest,' said Newman, hoisting the rifle scabbard over his shoulder with a strap.

Benoit carried on a terse conversation with the Luxembourger inspector of police who alighted from the car to greet him. Yes, Peter Brand had landed earlier from a Sikorsky with a small plump man Brand introduced as his bodyguard. Yes, he had then left the airport in a chauffeur-driven limousine waiting for him. Now there was a crisis in the Avenue de la Liberté . . .

'What about the Sikorsky pilot and his machine?' Benoit asked.

'We only heard from him after the limousine had driven off and reached the Banque Sambre,' the inspector explained. 'The pilot had been forced to take off from Rotterdam by Brand's so-called bodyguard - who was actually his kidnapper. The pilot had been warned to wait twenty minutes before he said a word. If a police car intercepted the limousine Brand would be shot instantly.'

'Of course!' Newman commented ironically.

'Do go on,' Benoit urged the inspector. 'What happened to the pilot?'

'He said he must return immediately to Rotterdam where some VIP passengers would arrive at any time to be flown to some secret destination. Something to do with Royal-Dutch Shell.'

'And this crisis at the Banque Sambre?'

'You had better come and see for yourself. We have a police car which will take you there now.'

'It's a bloody muddle,' Butler commented when Newman translated what had been said as they followed Benoit and the inspector to the airport building.

'Agreed,' Newman whispered back. 'And Tweed would call it a smokescreen. Let's see what's happening first.'

The Avenue de la Liberté, normally deserted at this hour, was a hive of activity. The whole street was cordoned off with barriers and police cars. All side streets leading into it had been closed off. Police carrying arms patrolled somewhat aimlessly.

'That building is the Banque Sambre,' the inspector explained, pointing to the closed doors of an edifice with lights on in the first floor. That is Brand's office - up there with the lights on.'

'What exactly is going on?' Newman demanded.

'We have a state of siege . . .'

'Why?'

The kidnapper phoned police headquarters, said Brand was being held at gunpoint. The gunman warned no attempt should be made to storm the building or Brand would be shot. He also said he is being held to check a gold shipment due to arrive at Findel. I have no idea what he means.'

'We have,' said Newman. 'It's all linked to what is happening in Rotterdam. Is there any way we can get inside that building over the rooftops. Myself and Butler, I mean.'

'It is impossible!' The inspector was appalled and his normal air of stolidity vanished. 'Peter Brand's life is at stake. Don't you understand what I have said? He is a most important person.'

The cat's whiskers,' said Newman.

'I beg your pardon?'

'Nothing. Have any other conditions been laid down -apart from not storming the building?' Newman enquired.

'Yes, there must be no attempt to interfere with his telephone communications with the outside world. No attempt to tap his lines. Rotterdam has requested us to abide by these conditions. Some man called Tweed . . .'

'We know about Tweed,' Newman told him. 'I think we'll stay here awhile,' he said to Benoit. 'Meantime,' he went on in French, 'I'd like a very fast car made available for my use.'

'Brand has a Lamborghini in a garage nearby,' the inspector said. 'But I don't think he'd like it being used.'

'He's a prisoner,' Newman pointed out. 'What he likes or doesn't like is irrelevant. What happened to the chauffeur-driven limousine which brought him from the airport?'

'Parked in a side street close to the Banque. The chauffeur has been told to stay with trie car by Brand.'

'Then get me the Lamborghini now, please. Park it nearby in the street leading across the Viaduct to the airport. With the keys in the ignition and a police guard watching it.'

'May I ask what you foresee?' Benoit enquired.

'Sooner or later Brand is going back to Findel to check the gold shipment corning in. You said so yourself. When that happens I want to reach Findel first. Butler and myself.'

'I know what I'd really like,' said Butler. He looked at a police outrider sitting with his legs straddling a Honda. 'That motor-bike.' He turned to Newman. 'With you inside the Lamborghini and me on the motor-bike it will give us more flexibility for action. And a crash helmet that fits my big head.'

'Good thinking,' Newman decided.

Within a few minutes Butler had his Honda. He tried on several helmets the inspector obtained from other outriders, found one that fitted, left it on his head with the ear flaps dangling.

'You have a plan?' asked Benoit. 'You know what is coming?'

'Just pray that I'm right.'

Aboard the
Adenauer
passengers were dining late, making their meal last. Anything rather than go to bed and not sleep. The liner's master, Captain Brunner, after receiving the signal from Marine Control had taken a strong decision. He would inform everyone of the exact position.

Waldo Schulzberger, US Secretary of State, was the first to be told as he sat in his stateroom with his wife and Cal Dexter, the lanky chief of security.

'I'll signal Washington now,' said Dexter, springing to his feet. 'Find some way of getting you both off this floating bomb.'

'You'll do nothing of the sort,' Schulzberger ordered him. 'I don't mind you contacting Washington, but we're staying aboard.' He turned to Captain Brunner. 'You say you're informing all the passengers of the situation?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Then my wife and I will not take dinner here in our stateroom. We'll eat in the first-class dining room . . .'

The rumour spread quickly - no one found out how it started - that the Secretary of State and his wife would be taken off the
Adenauer
secretly. It caused a sensation when Schulzberger appeared in the dining room. He stopped to chat with guests at several tables.

'It's a load of hogwash that Lucy and I are leaving the ship,' he told one industrialist who posed the question. 'We've paid our fare like the rest of you folks. We intend to enjoy the cruise soon as those people in Rotterdam have sorted this thing out. Which I know they will . . .'

He also declined to sit at the captain's table, joining a group of passengers at a large table. The news spread like wildfire through the ship. Soon the crew heard of his decision. Morale soared. If Schulzberger was staying the danger couldn't be all that great. One boisterous woman said as much to Brunner, who smiled and walked on.

'God help us,' he whispered to his First Officer. 'From that signal I received - reading between the lines - I'd put our chances of survival at fifty-fifty. If that . . .'

Tweed was talking to Blade on their own in the anteroom.

'When do you want to get your troop into position for the assault? The situation could develop very fast from now on. The bullion is being loaded at Frankfurt Airport aboard a transport aircraft bound for Findel.'

'Now. They are ready. And I don't want them cooped up any longer than is necessary. Mainly, I want every man on the ground so he can see for himself the lie of the land. Will you lead the way?'

'We move now then. Down the back staircase. Van Gorp has warned his men. One thing, I want to try and get aboard one of those police launches - to take a look at Euromast from another angle. Whatever happens, your troop doesn't attack until I fire a green Verey light. Whatever happens,' he repeated.

Five minutes later they were making their way along the side street towards the line of buildings screening them from the Euromast. It was 2.45 a.m. Fifteen minutes before Tweed was due for another confrontation with Klein.

Inside Euromast at platform level Klein watched the elevator door open. Chabot, returning from the Space Tower at the summit, stepped out holding a pair of night-glasses. Klein had sent him up there at regular intervals. He never went up himself since that would have isolated him from what was happening below.