Deadlock

'She stays out there, you fool,' Klein rapped back. He extended the control box in front of his waist, thumb poised over the red button. 'Put that gun back into your holster now. This very minute.'

'It's too much…'

'Shut up! Listen!' Klein's voice became matter-of-fact as he explained. 'Your knowledge of mass psychology is zero. They now have TV cameras recording the scene out there and soon pictures will appear all over the world.'

'What's that got to do with my request?'

The tense expression on Klein's face, the poised thumb, the steel in his voice frightened him. He slid the gun back inside his hip holster as Klein continued.

'People are stupid, very sentimental. This is something the tiny minds of those watching can take in. One girl on the verge of eternity. One slash of a knife and she hangs from her neck, choking her life out until she is dead. They can take in the fate of a single individual. The idea that two thousand people aboard those ships are at risk is too much for their feeble minds. Using Lara Seagrave as our hostage is my masterstroke. You will see.'

'I still don't like it,' Chabot repeated obstinately.

Then go down to ground floor level and stay there. Someone else can go up to the Space Tower. You are now in charge of the defences at the entrance. And remember, Chabot, if they should attack they will shoot down everyone in their way – if you let them get inside. So, if that happens, you kill them first. Go to the elevator. Don't come back.'

'The French can be so sentimental,' Klein remarked as Chabot disappeared inside the elevator.

'I don't like it too much myself,' said Marler who had walked in from the platform. 'You could have pushed them a shade too far.'

'Ah, that is a point of tactics you raise. You British can be very ruthless in your gentlemanly way. My judgement of psychology is better in this case. Now we are alone for a moment I will tell you your role in the escape plan.'

'Which is?'

'A Sikorsky will take off from Rotterdam Airport where it is now waiting for my signal. It will land on one of those large barges moored below. I shall board it with a team of men – still holding this control box. Your job will be to stay on the platform to cover me. From this height – with your talent with that rifle – you will be able to shoot down anyone foolish enough to try and prevent my escape.'

'Won't work. The moment your chopper is out of range of the ships offshore they'll be after you.'

'My dear Marler, I have thought of that. The Sikorsky will fly downriver above the Maas – towards the ships. The range will narrow, not widen.'

'Clever.' Marler leaned against the wall. 'What after that?'

The Sikorsky flies low, well below radar level. It flies on over the Adenauer and heads north for a certain Frisian island. There a large power cruiser is waiting to take us on board. By then they will have lost us. The cruiser takes us to a certain destination where we board a waiting executive jet. Comments?'

'You've left me carrying the can…'

'No, carrying this.'

From behind the seat where Lara had lain trussed up he produced an executive case, dumped it on the seat, snapped open the catches with his left hand. He gestured to the contents.

Marler blinked. Holding the rifle in one hand, his finger inside the trigger guard, he stooped over the case. Packed with neat bundles of banknotes. He sorted through several stacks at random. Fifty-pound notes. He made a quick calculation.

'One hundred thousand pounds,' Klein said.

Marler extracted one note, held it up to the light. He examined it carefully then stuffed it in his breast-pocket behind his display handkerchief. Closing the case, he replaced it behind the seat, straightened up.

'Hope you didn't print those yourself. If you have done, I will certainly find you. What about the big balance?'

'In bearer bonds, negotiable anywhere in the world.'

Klein patted his pocket. 'I give you them when the Sikorsky has landed.'

'Very neat. Except it leaves me here to face the music.'

'The second Sikorsky picks you up five minutes later. The pilot knows the route – again along the Maas- to another power cruiser waiting in the Frisians. You take the rest of the team with you. All the time I have you covered -with the control box aboard my helicopter.'

'Communication. In case of a spot of bother?'

"The pilot of the second Sikorsky will be in constant touch with my pilot. Any interruption and I press the button. You can explain the position to Tweed. He's an understanding type of chap, as you'd say.'

'What comes next?'

'The signal from. Brand at Findel – confirming the bullion is genuine, the right amount. Then the first Sikorsky arrives.'

'Neat,' Marler said again. 'What could possibly go wrong?'

54

Seated with Butler in the cafe overlooking the Avenue de la Liberte, Newman stared at the TV screen above the serving counter. The proprietor had left the machine on -even though it showed only a blank screen.

'They get so used to that damn thing,' he said, 'they leave it on when there's nothing on…'

He stopped, gripped Butler by the arm, nodding towards the TV. An announcer had appeared. He began talking. 'The crisis at Rotterdam.. .' Pictures flashed on to the screen.

'Oh, my God!' Newman said hoarsely.

'It's bestial,' Butler commented.

The camera had zoomed in close on Euromast. The figure of Lara Seagrave suspended from the platform came up. The camera zoomed in closer. A shot of her face, distraught, stricken with terror. The camera panned slowly up and down the side of the immense tower.

The announcer was explaining the position in detail. The fact that only two ropes held her, the second a noose round her neck. Newman swore, went over to the phone on the counter and told the proprietor this was a security call. The man vanished through a door. Newman dialled the number Tweed had given him.

Tweed here.'

'Bob. We've just seen Euromast on TV. The girl hanging in mid-air. Klein is a sadist…'

'More a brutal psychologist. I was just going to phone you. We're close. Gold loaded at the other end. Plane due to fly off. May have done so now. Don't forget to get Benoit to keep on an open line from Findel so he can contact you. The codeword for taking action is Flashpoint. Once you're told that word take any action you like to stop the plane taking off again.'

'You can synchronize it like that?'

'I don't know. I can only hope and pray.'

'Flashpoint,' Newman repeated.

At the house in Eaton Square, London, Lady Windermere was furious as she climbed out of bed and slipped into a peignoir over her night-dress.

'Why have you woken me at this hour?' she snapped at her Spanish maid. 'What's all this nonsense about something terrible, Anita?'

'Please to come and look at the television…'

The TV? Are you mad. It's not on…'

'But it is, your Ladyship. Please to come and look…'

Tightening her thin lips, Lady Windermere followed Anita down the curving staircase into the study. She paused at the entrance, surprised. The TV screen was showing pictures.

'It's Lara,' Anita said, almost sobbing. 'Look for yourself.'

'Where is this happening?'

'Rotterdam – in Holland.'

With a face like stone Lady Windermere sat in an armchair. The camera was scanning the full height of Euromast as the commentator explained. Then another close-up of Lara hanging from the platform. Lady Windermere clenched her hand.

'The little fool. I said she'd get into some awful scrape. Now this dreadful publicity – and Robin's wedding is on Saturday. It really is too bad of her. She could spoil everything. What a disgusting spectacle.'