Deadlock

He gave her an aerosol can, kissed her again on the cheek and left the room. She timed five minutes and hurried down the staircase, past the counter without a glance at the leering madame, and walked rapidly back out of Boekstraat. The Parrot, concealed in a shadowed doorway, frowned as he began to follow her. He felt that he had missed something.

**

The atmosphere was tense as the meeting went on at Park Crescent. Tweed had deliberately created the mood of a 'council of war' to impress on everyone present the seriousness of the situation. The phone rang again, Paula took the call, then looked at Tweed, handing him the instrument as she spoke.

'It's Olympus for you.'

Tweed here. Any news? Time could be running out…'

He listened. 'What's that? Please repeat. Thank you.'

He handed the phone back to Paula, picked up a pencil and began tapping it on the table. Paula was beginning to read his gestures. He was worried. He looked round the table.

'Don't ask me how I know. It looks like Belgium. Maybe Brussels itself. HQ of NATO.'

'That doesn't make sense,' Bellenger protested. 'You have been talking about a huge number of sea-mines.'

'I know. I agree.' He glanced at the wall map. 'But it could be Antwerp – the pistol pointed at the heart of Europe, as Churchill once called it in World War One.'

'Makes more sense,' Bellenger agreed. 'What about time running out? You used that phrase.'

'We may have very little of it left.'

'And what, I am curious to know,' Howard enquired, 'is this Olympus business?'

He had said very little up to now, listening instead of talking, which wasn't his style. Paula lowered her head, began doodling in her notebook. How would Tweed deal with this one?

'Oh, that,' Tweed replied casually, 'is just a codeword so I know who is making the report. We change it daily.'

'I'm still puzzled,' Bellenger said. 'Could you briefly sum up the history of this problem – and tell us what progress, if any, we've made?'

'Hear! Hear!' commented Howard and straightened his tie.

'I'll cut corners to make it brief,' Tweed began. 'A bomb was placed outside Miss Grey's house at Blakeney. The bomb disposal team only survived because of information earlier provided by Commander Bellenger. Explosive used was TNT.'

'What about the thirty sea-mines…' Howard began.

'Assumed to be armed with the same deadly Triton Three. Colossal explosive power. Plus twenty-five bombs…'

'Probably twenty-four now,' Bellenger pointed out. 'One already used at Blakeney.'

'All smuggled out of Russia,' Tweed continued, 'by Igor Zarov, master planner, expert at deception operations, who walked away from the Soviets. Definitely not your normal defector. Lone wolf type. Wants to make a huge fortune while he's still young…'

'Don't we all,' said Howard, but no one laughed.

'Zarov may be using the name Klein. He persuaded a top Swiss watch designer to make him special timer devices and control boxes…'

'The one crude aspect of the sea-mine we grabbed,' Bellenger remarked.

'Zarov murders the Swiss as soon as he gets his hands on the timers and boxes. A Turkish Nestle driver is used to transport this lot from Switzerland to some unknown destination. He ends up at the foot of a precipice with his truck. More of Klein's work. Leave no one behind who could help us.'

The bullion stolen in Basle,' Paula interjected.

'Coming to that. Prior to obtaining the timers Klein plans a raid on two Basle banks, uses Triton Three -confirmed by Bellenger's experts from debris taken from the bank vaults. That's converted into ready cash – I'm guessing here – to pay for the very large team of professional cutthroats he's hired.'

'Any idea of the size of that team?' Butler asked.

'From what Lasalle told me, those recruits include Frenchmen, Luxembourgers and maybe other nations. I can only guess – but I'd say that team numbers between twenty and thirty…'

'Oh, my God!' It was Howard who had jerked upright. 'I had no idea it was on that scale…'

'Which,' Tweed pointed out, 'indicates a target of some very great magnitude. And that's the two hundred million pound question.' He glanced at the wall map. 'Where is the target? As you see, Klein appears to be moving steadily north from southern Europe. He's also recruited The Monk, the top marksman on the continent. And as Bellenger has emphasized, a huge amount of high-explosive is involved. Also a unit of scuba divers. A curious combination. So, can anyone look at that map and make a stab as to what the target might be?'

'Why two hundred million pounds?' Howard enquired. 'That is a gigantic sum.'

'Because a dubious banker – I won't name him – has arranged to have that sum available in gold bullion for some other purpose I don't believe in. Our friend, Klein, has a love of bullion, as you may have gathered.'

'What on earth could he be planning to persuade anyone to hand over money like that?' Howard sounded sceptical.

'Oh, a major catastrophe,' Tweed told him. 'He specializes in organizing them.'

'So what action do you propose to counter this horrendous danger?'

'First, I'd like Commander Bellenger to fly with his experts tonight to SAS HQ in Hereford where the SAS unit is assembling. He can explain to their bomb disposal men about what he's nicknamed the Cossack mines and bombs.'

'Happy to oblige,' Bellenger replied. 'We can be ready to move in one hour. Transport?'

'Two choppers are waiting for you now at Heathrow.' Tweed's tone became grave. 'I must stress to everyone in this room the vital importance of total security. Nothing told you must be even hinted at to anyone else.' He looked at Bellenger. The SAS commander at Hereford has no idea of what I've been talking about. So it must remain.'

'You said "first",' Howard pointed out. 'What else have you in mind?'

Tomorrow I'm flying to Belgium to meet Bob Newman – who at the moment is staying underground…'

'Exactly where?' asked Howard, staring at the map.

'If I told you with five of us sitting round this table he'd no longer be underground.' He stood up and walked over to the map, pointing to a certain area. 'We have to make a trip to a stretch of this river known as Les Dames de Meuse. I think there may be interesting developments.'

'Of what sort?' Howard persisted. 'You say you're short of time. I don't see the point.'

'What I have to do,' Tweed explained patiently, 'is to find a link between the banker who handled the bullion stolen from Basle – and Klein himself. I hope to find it there.'

'Why?'

'Because if I'm right the same banker has arranged to have two hundred million pounds more of bullion available. And I am now convinced these waterways – this network of canals from near Basle to the Meuse – is the route along which the bullion travelled. By barge. Maybe the timers and control boxes, too.'

'Sounds like a pleasure trip,' Howard snorted.

'It may turn out to be anything but that.'

28

After leaving Lara, Klein drove north from Antwerp. He crossed the border near Roosendaal into the flatlands of Holland, driving on through the night along Route D. He had changed cars in Antwerp, hiring an Audi and using false papers in the name of Meyer.

It was still dark when he drove through Rotterdam, north again, to the ancient town of Delft. Dawn was breaking as he moved along narrow cobbled streets lined with ancient buildings. In the middle of the streets flowed canals crossed by hump-backed bridges. The place was deserted as he left the town, drove a short distance further and turned into a large camping site.

Neat rows of campers lined the tracks. In many there were lights as the early-rising Dutch prepared breakfast. Grand-Pierre, alerted by his phone call from Antwerp, ushered him inside a larger camper.