'What do you think?' Tweed asked. 'About the protection he's had the nerve to organize.'
'Undoubtedly he's done his best – probably better than most.' Bellenger paused. 'But from what you've told me about Klein I'm not happy – not happy at all.'
On their way back to Rotterdam they passed a chauffeur-driven BMW heading out towards where they'd come from. Tweed noticed the single passenger in the back, a man slumped with his hat tipped over his eyes. Obviously fast asleep. Some oil executive.
Inside the BMW Klein drove along the highway while from under his hat Marler peered at the vast installations. Ten minutes later Klein followed the same route over the canal and along the side road towards the breakwater.
'You are getting the picture?' Klein enquired.
'It's rather large.'
Marler, observing the road ahead was traffic-free, sat up and pushed his hat back over his head. He yawned. From Klein's expression in the mirror behind the tinted glasses he gathered his comment had not been appreciated.
'It is the biggest target on the European mainland,' Klein responded. 'And we have the power to destroy the whole thing.'
'Good for you. I wouldn't mind stretching my legs when we can.'
'Which is exactly what we are going to do.'
Klein pulled off the side road and bumped over the scrub land. He stopped close to the breakwater, switched off the engine, got out and opened the rear door. 'Just in case we are watched,' he explained, 'although it is unlikely.'
Thank you, my man.'
Pushing his hands inside his coat pockets, Marler ran agilely up the slanting wall of the breakwater, standing very close to where Tweed had perched earlier. Klein joined him after collecting a pair of high-powered binoculars. He glanced to where a huddled figure sat motionless with a fishing rod in a dinghy.
'Crazy waste of time. The Dutch are a dull nation.'
He focused the binoculars on the dredger, sweeping the lenses slowly from stem to stern. He handed the glasses to Marler. 'You might care to take a look while I check the boot.'
Returning to the car, he unlocked the boot, removed a sheet of canvas and picked up a length of rope he'd purchased from a ship's chandler. Another length lay looped in the corner. The rope he was holding had been tied at one end into a noose like a hangman's. He tested the knot to make sure it slid easily. The noose was roughly of the diameter needed to place round a human neck.
Satisfied that it worked, he replaced it inside the boot. He covered both lengths with canvas, relocked the boot and waited as Marler ran down the side of the breakwater. He handed the binoculars back as he made the remark.
'Big job, that dredger.'
'It will be the first to go – blocking the channel to larger shipping.'
'How many crew aboard? They'll go, too.'
'A crew of eighteen.'
Marler shrugged. 'It's your ball game. Remarkable the way you have the whole plan inside your head. But supposing we died in a car crash on the way back to Rotterdam?'
'The operation would go ahead.' Klein smiled bleakly. 'I have one other man who knows as much as I do. A formidable Frenchman you haven't met yet. I suggest we drive back now you've seen the vast location of the operation.'
'But why do I need to see that?' Marler pressed. He lit a cigarette as Klein paused. 'Come on, I have to know what I'm doing.'
'A situation could arise when your services could be called for out here. Doubtful, but not impossible.' Klein's natural impatience showed. 'Now, let's move. We'll eat at a small place on the way back. It may not be Cordon Bleu but it will fill our stomachs.'
'And when does the operation start?'
'Soon,' Klein assured him. 'Soon…'
The 50,000-ton cruise liner Adenauer was at sea off the West Frisian Islands, sailing steadily south on course for its rendezvous off Europort. Just before leaving Hamburg there had been a few minutes of excitement for passengers lining the rails.
A stretched black Mercedes limousine – accompanied by police outriders – had pulled in to the dockside. A late middle-aged man and a woman had emerged and boarded the ship quickly. One of the Americans looking down on the gangway grabbed his wife by the arm.
'Jesus, honey! That's the US Secretary of State, Waldo Schulzberger.'
'I do believe it is,' she'd replied with a note of awe.
The Secretary of State had been ushered by the captain himself to their most luxurious stateroom. The wire services were already buzzing with the report filed by an eagle-eyed German reporter on the dockside. Schulzberger was taking a brief respite from his arduous duties.
Approaching Europort from the south the 500,000-ton tanker had received from Rotterdam Marine Control a further signal warning that there might be a delay before it could dock. The master of the Cayman Conqueror acknowledged receipt of the signal, gave the order for a slight reduction in speed.
Twenty miles astern the 350,000-ton tanker, Easter Island, also received the same warning. Its skipper issued the same instruction to lose speed. Captain Williams shrugged and gave his First Officer a wry grin. 'It's going to be Piccadilly Circus at Europort. Business as usual. Keep an eye on that freighter astern…'
Captain Salvi aboard the 10,000-ton freighter Otranto reacted to his signal with resignation. It probably meant a further addition to the penalty clause for delay in delivery of his cargo. Well, that was not his problem. Let the lawyers sort it out when the time came. That was what they were paid their fat fees for. A uniformed waiter rushed on to the bridge and paused. Salvi asked what was the trouble now?
'The Director's wife is wondering where you are. She likes to have you at the dinner table.'
'Is that fat cow in love with me? All right, I'm coming…'
Astern of the Otranto the three large container vessels from Africa were manoeuvring for position, each trying to get ahead of the others to offload at Europort first. To get the best price for their cargo of soya bean meal. The signals caused a furious reaction from all three skippers, but they stopped the race, slowing down reluctantly.
**
Klein drove back under the river through the Maastunnel, passed through Rotterdam and speeded up outside the city on the way to Delft. He glanced at Marler who had not said a word since they left the North Sea breakwater. The Englishman was gazing out of the window.
'See any signs of unusual activity?' Klein asked.
'Exactly what I've been looking for. Negative. I thought we were going to eat.'
'We are. They have no idea we're here.'
'I should damn well hope not.'
Klein glanced at his watch, saw they were early for his rendezvous with Grand-Pierre, changed his route. Instead of by-passing the town of Delft he turned into its maze of old cobbled streets lining the canals. Crossing a humpbacked bridge, he headed north out of the town and past a series of camp sites crammed with camper vehicles. He pulled up outside a single-storey building with a crooked roof and a view of tables laid for meals beyond the windows.
'We eat here,' he announced.
'About bloody time.'
They were half way through the main course when a large man wearing denims and a windcheater strolled past. Klein said he'd be back shortly and went outside. Grand-Pierre stood by the entrance, lighting a cigarette.
The street was deserted. Beyond the restaurant was a handful of small shops which served the camp sites as their main customers. The sun shone down out of a cloudless sky.
'Is everything going according to plan?' Klein demanded. 'I presume everyone is in position?'
'The scuba divers who will attach the mines to those ships are scattered along the coast, waiting in their dinghies.'
'I saw one fishing at the end of the breakwater near the dredger. The others join him later?'