19
Inside the chateau kitchen there was furious, urgent activity. Paula was perched on a pair of steps taken from a cupboard. In her hand she carried a new instrument like a small torch with a grille over the front – what was known in the surveillance trade as a 'flasher'.
It detected the presence of listening devices and she had been taught how to use it by Butler on a refresher training course at a large isolated house in Sussex surrounded with extensive grounds. She had also learned certain physical skills which had tested her powers of endurance.
Newman stood on a working surface close to her, removing the bugs as she detected them. One was hidden in a corner on top of a tall cupboard; another behind the tall refrigerator. She even detected one concealed on top of a fluorescent tube.
Earlier they had witnessed a tragic scene on the terrace outside the front entrance when Delvaux had opened the door in response to Tweed's insistent ringing. The Belgian stared at Andover's body which Newman was holding. He came forward, his face tortured with anguish.
`They have killed my old friend, Gerald…'
Tweed had briefly told him what had happened beyond the entrance gates. Anguish was replaced by fury as Delvaux had stroked the back of his neck, a mannerism Tweed recalled when the Belgian was worked up.
`Now you have to tell me everything,' Tweed had lashed out in a cold voice. 'But first we must find a room inside where we can talk – after the listening devices have been removed.'
`I agree,' Delvaux had responded. 'They will know the devices have been tampered with – but I am now resigned to the fact that my wife Lucie is dead. I am going to hit back…'
They had laid Andover's body on a couch in the hall – after Paula had insisted on fetching a cushion for the head. The back of the skull was crushed in and bloody. She didn't want a blood-stained couch left to remind Delvaux of the murder on his doorstep every time he was crossing the hall.
Thirty minutes later Paula was satisfied they had traced every bug. Tweed said something about making assurance doubly sure. He switched on a radio which was playing a programme of classical music, then he turned on a tap.
`Even if you've missed one,' he told Paula, 'they will never be able to filter our conversation out of both the music and running water..'
Paula found that no one had eaten for hours. While Tweed talked with Delvaux and Newman perched on stools round the island unit she prepared food and drink. In a larder she found crusty rolls in a crock. Butter and ham were in the fridge. The larder had also contained coffee.
She made coffee in a cafetiere while slicing ham, cutting the rolls, buttering them, slapping ham inside. She passed round a large plate of the rolls, poured coffee into large mugs. Her customers began devouring the rolls and drinking large quantities of coffee. Tweed noticed the nourishment was stimulating Delvaux. He began probing.
`Gaston, your wife had been kidnapped. No ransom was demanded. You were forced to go into retirement. The same thing happened with Andover – but it was his daughter who was kidnapped.' He paused. It might help prepare Delvaux for the worst. 'They sent him her severed arm…'
`I know,' Delvaux nodded. 'Andover told me.'
`What he couldn't tell you – and thankfully I delayed telling him – is that his daughter's body was later dragged out of the sea. Who are these murdering swine?'
`I don't know…'
`But you must know what it is about.'
`I think it's about Stealth…'
Dr Wand sat in his luxury suite on the third floor of the Bellevue Palace Hotel on the equivalent of Park Lane in Brussels – the Avenue Louise. The only other occupant in the spacious room was his dark-haired, uniformed chauffeur, who still work dark glasses and sat behind a desk. He had just poured his employer a good measure of Napoleon brandy. Wand was swirling the liquid in the glass when the phone rang.
`Be so good as to answer that,' Wand requested.
The chauffeur picked up the gold receiver. He asked the caller to identify herself and she gave him a code-name.
`It's her,' the chauffeur reported.
`Then perhaps' – Wand checked the time on his Rolex – 'you would pass the phone to me, please.
`Yes,' he said into the mouthpiece, 'you have progress to report?'
`The first consignment has been dispatched to its ultimate destination,' the woman's voice told him. 'I emphasize ultimate.'
`And there were no problems, I trust?'
`Nothing I couldn't handle,' the woman assured him.
`Splendid. I congratulate you. What a pleasure to know someone who is always reliable. I will see you then. At the agreed time, at the agreed place. So, thank you for calling.'
The chauffeur was on hand to take away the phone. Wand swirled the liquid in the glass he had continued to hold in his large, right hand. Cognac needed warming and Wand was a very particular man. He glanced up at the chauffeur through his gold pince-nez, pursed his lips, twisted them into his cold smile.
`Very satisfactory,' he remarked. 'Most satisfactory indeed.' He swallowed some of the brandy. He had been referring to the execution of Sir Gerald Andover.
Not a dozen yards from the entrance to the Bellevue Palace Marler sat parked in his hired Mercedes. He was eating the last of three ham rolls purchased from a nearby cafe. Perched on the small platform beside him behind the gear lever was a cylindrical carton of coffee.
Marler felt pretty sure that would be the extent of his dinner for the night. Earlier he had used the car phone to call a Brussels number. A rough voice had answered in French. Speaking the same language, Marler had indicated in a roundabout way that he required one Armalite rifle and plenty of ammo.
There had been the usual haggle over price after Marler had identified himself as Charlie – the name known from previous transactions to the illegal supplier of guns. Marler had explained where he would wait for five minutes at an agreed time. No point in letting such a character know he expected to be staying there for hours.
He had the engine running when a shabbily dressed hulk of a Belgian appeared carrying a large, equally shabby, briefcase. Marler lowered the window but kept the door – which was locked – closed. The Belgian giant looked round the deserted street, leaned down, and his breath smelt of garlic as he spoke in French.
`The money first, my friend.'
Not until I've checked the merchandise.'
Marler had shown the Belgian a handful of notes rolled up in his left hand.
`Then switch off your engine.'
`I'm in a hurry,' Marler snapped.
But he switched off the motor, held up the key, and dropped it on the seat beside him. The briefcase was passed in through the window. Inside was a dismantled Armalite rifle. With expert and swift movements Marler assembled the weapon. Keeping it below the level of the window he pulled the trigger. It was in excellent shape and there was a generous supply of ammo in the case. He counted out a large number of thousand-franc notes, rolled them into a wad, passed them to the Belgian. The roll disappeared inside a pocket as the giant slouched off, vanishing down an alleyway.
Marler had then started up the engine, had driven to the end of the Avenue Louise where it met the Place Louise. He performed a complicated manoeuvre and drove back the way he had come, glancing down the alley, which was deserted. It was just a precaution in case the giant had taken it into his head to spy on him.
He had then parked in the same place. It took him no time to dismantle the rifle, to put it back inside the briefcase. He was glad he'd taken care to buy a carton of coffee with a tight lid. It was rolling on the floor.
That had taken place some time before. And earlier still he had followed Dr Wand's limousine from Zaventem Airport to this extremely expensive hotel. What had puzzled him then – and still did – was that the chauffeur had handed over the car to a porter to drive it into the underground garage.