It amused Marler to use the same tactic Tweed had told him on the phone the enemy had used in Washington – to give time for an assassin to be waiting for Hilary Vane.
`This is really important, I suppose?' Corcoran demanded.
`Case of national security,' Marler said jauntily, using the magic phrase.
He wandered round, puffing his cigarette, using a tin lid as an ash-tray, while Corcoran busied himself on the phone. Eventually the tall, red-faced, alert-eyed Corcoran put down the phone, started rattling off information.
`Dr Wand's pilot put in a flight plan for Zaventem Airport, Brussels. A bomb squad has gone out to the jet to do their stuff, God help 'em. Maximum time they can keep the jet on the tarmac three-quarters of an hour. Anything else?'
`Now that you ask, just one more favour. Book me a seat on the first flight to Brussels. Business Class. When is the first flight?'
`They're calling it now, first call, that is.' Corcoran sighed, picked up the phone again. A brief call this time. `One Business Class ticket waiting for you at the counter. Sabena flight. Now could I make a request? Good. Nice to have had you around. And get to hell out of here.'
`One final question,' Marler called out as he reached the door. 'Will my Sabena flight beat that Lear to Brussels?'
`It will do just that. Close the door quietly, won't you?'
Inside the Sabena jet Paula sat in a window seat with Tweed alongside her. Across the corridor Newman occupied the aisle seat. Passengers were still boarding. From the few waiting in the final departure lounge the flight was half empty. Paula nudged Tweed, whispered.
`Look who has arrived.'
Marler, carrying his small case – which meant he wouldn't be delayed waiting at the carousel, could walk straight off the plane – was heading up the aisle. He didn't even glance at the trio.
Reaching the front of the aircraft, he appeared to change his mind, walked back past them. Paula waited a moment, then glanced back. Marler was sitting three rows behind them, occupying a window seat on her side with an empty seat next to him.
`He's taken up a position to watch over us,' Tweed said in a low tone. 'Odd he should be on the same flight.'
Paula glanced back as though to see how many more passengers were coming into Business Class. Marler was staring through the window, his compact pair of binoculars pressed against his eyes. Round the Lear jet in the distance a team of men were swarming. The retractable steps were still down.
As he watched, a heavily built man wearing a dark overcoat with an astrakhan collar padded down the steps. He began to pace slowly up and down. He stopped, stared towards the Sabena aircraft. He had a large head, fair hair, and gold pince-nez were perched on his strong nose.
Marler left his seat, peered back into Economy. More passengers still boarding. He walked up to the front of the aircraft and asked the stewardess a question.
`Can you give me some idea of the flight time to Brussels?'
`Fifty minutes, sir.' She looked at Marler, liked what she saw. The passenger seemed restless. 'There are plenty of other seats if you wish to change,' she suggested.
`I'm the athletic type.' He grinned at her. 'Like to get a bit of exercise – find I get cramped sitting down. And you look very chic in that uniform.'
`Thank you, sir…'
Marler was on his way back to his seat, walking slowly. The stewardess watched him with interest. He hadn't made the usual coarse pass she was used to – he'd just paid her a genuine compliment. Marler was timing it carefully, field-glasses clenched in his hand. A woman passenger was coming towards him. They met alongside Tweed.
Marler appeared to stumble as he stood aside to let the new arrival pass. He fell across Tweed, dropped the binoculars in his lap.
`I'm so sorry, sir.' He lowered his voice. 'Lear jet over there. Could be Dr Wand pacing up and down. Destination Brussels.'
Apologizing again, he returned to his seat. Paula picked up her glasses, raised them to her eyes. They were already focused on the Lear. As she studied the large man he stopped and again stared towards the Sabena plane. In the lenses his face came up close. Remote eyes behind the pince-nez. She shivered.
`What's the matter?' Tweed asked in a normal voice.
He'd already checked. No one in the two rows ahead or behind them. Paula swallowed.
`If that is Dr Wand there's a streak of pure cruelty in the man.'
`Well, from what's happened so far the mastermind behind it all is certainly cruel – almost to the point of sadism.'
`You mean the severed arm of Irene, then her body floating in the Solent?'
`That – and many other things. A sadist capable of the most appalling mental cruelty – as well as physical. Unless I'm wrong in the theory taking shape.'
`No point in asking you what theory, I suppose?' `Not until I'm sure.'
The aircraft was in midair, crossing the North Sea, when Paula decided to go to the toilet. Some instinct made her put on tinted glasses. In the aisle she glanced into Economy section and nearly froze.
Sheer will power – plus SIS training – kept her moving. When she returned she waited until Tweed had settled himself in his seat. Then she leaned close to him.
`I've had a shock. You'll never guess who is travelling with us. In Economy.'
`You know I don't like guessing.'
`Willie Fanshawe, Brigadier Burgoyne, and Helen Claybourne. Helen has the window seat. Willie is next to her. The Brig. is across in the next aisle seat – like Newman with you. Willie was leaning over, chatting to Burgoyne.'
Did any of them see you?' Tweed enquired.
`No. I'm certain of it.'
`Any sign of Lee Holmes?'
`Absolutely not. And Economy is full up.'
`Maybe she caught an earlier flight to Brussels. I find it significant – the absence of Lee.'
`In what way?'
Tweed ignored her question. Taking off his glasses he began to clean them on his handkerchief, which meant his mind was racing. He asked her the question as he put on his glasses.
`You never got a chance to give me your impressions of the relationships between Burgoyne and Holmes and between Willie and Helen. Now might be a good time.'
`At first I made the obvious assumption – both men had their mistress living with them. Nothing odd about that. Then it did become odd. I decided I was wrong. Perhaps only another woman would sense it. The lack of little things indicating intimacy. Before we left each house I was convinced my first impressions had been wildly off the mark.'
`So what is the relationship?'
`Odd, as I said. Both women obviously manage house and do the normal jobs wives would do – or some mistresses…'
`You're becoming as cynical as me.'
`Let me go on. I had the strongest feeling both women are working for the men in some professional capacity. It's a business relationship, if you like.'
`Anything else?'
`Yes. Lee has to handle Burgoyne with kid gloves. Basically he's still the Brigadier, accustomed to giving orders and expecting instant obedience. With Helen I had the opposite impression. Willie is an amiable soul – has all his marbles though. But Helen is calling the shots.'
`I find your conclusions illuminating. Thank you.'
`Good. Glad to be of service,' she said ironically. Her tone changed. 'You look worried.'
`I am wondering how many more have to die before we bring this business to a climax. So far the body count is three, probably four. Harvey Boyd, Irene Andover, Hilary Vane – and I doubt whether we'll ever find Mrs Garnett of Moor's Landing alive.'
`You seem to be in a great rush to reach Brussels. What do you expect us to find there?'
`My worst fears confirmed.'
`I don't understand,' said Paula.
`You think it's a coincidence that Dr Wand is leaving for Brussels aboard that Lear jet? You think it's another coincidence that Burgoyne, Willie, and Helen are on board this plane?'