Deadlock

'As planned. I still think we should have used underwater sleds to carry the divers and the mines to their targets – it would be quicker, less risk of being spotted.'

'We've argued that out earlier,' Klein said coldly.

Grand-Pierre showed an unusual trace of excitement. 'Have you seen the papers? A stop press item reports Schulzberger, the American Secretary of State, is aboard the Adenauer with his wife.'

'Yes. Which is good news and bad.'

'I don't understand,..'

'Good because it will put more pressure on Washington not to interfere. Bad because there's likely to be extra security aboard the Adenauer. American security – and they may use sonar. Which shows I was right not to use those sleds – sonar would pick them up. Dinghies they'll miss. What about the fishing boats?'

Two are marked for our use. In each case the skippers' wives have been located. They'll be grabbed just before we seize the fishing boats, taken on board. With a knife at their throats the skippers will do what we want. One is allocated to take the dinghies close to the Adenauer, then drop them overboard. Later it deals with the Cayman Conqueror tanker. The second fishing boat mines the other vessels.'

'And the sea-mines are aboard these dinghies?'

Grand-Pierre checked his watch. 'They will be within the hour.'

'And Legaud's CRS command vehicle?'

'Tucked away inside that garage we hired in Rotterdam.'

'What about the team which will assault Euromast?'

'Inside another resprayed van on the camp site. They will be leaving soon now.'

Klein frowned. 'A bit early, surely?'

'My idea. It will park close to Euromast. The driver and one of the team inside will pass the time apparently changing a wheel.'

'Not a bad touch, that,' Klein admitted grudgingly. 'And they all have their weapons and plenty of ammo?'

'Uzi machine-pistols, grenades, rifles – automatic. All we took from that raid on the Herstal armaments depot in Belgium a couple of days ago.' Grand-Pierre went on quickly before Klein could ask the question. 'And we dropped that piece of paper with the faked details for robbing a bank.'

'I think that's it. I'd better get back.'

'You have someone with you -I saw him as I passed the window.'

'A man you may have heard of – coming from Paris. The Monk.'

'You have him?' Grand-Pierre couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. 'My God! You must be paying him a fortune.'

'He's a key figure in the operation.' Klein ignored the implied question as to how much Marler was being paid. He was watching the Englishman over Grand-Pierre's shoulder as Marler tucked into his meal.

Til go now then,' the Frenchman said.

'Do that.' Klein clapped a hand on his shoulder. 'One more thing. The bombs for the refineries?'

Grand-Pierre was used to this ploy. Klein had a habit of finishing a conversation and then throwing him a leading question.

That team is already inside the oil complexes. They slipped in when the security guards changed duty rosters. We intercepted the new guards before they reached the gates, grabbed their uniforms and our men explained the normal guards were ill with flu. There's a lot of it about.' He grinned wolfishly.

'What about the passwords?'

'Obtained at knife point – before the knives went home – as I'd planned. Bodies dumped into a waiting van and dropped into the sea later. Weighted with chains as you instructed.'

'And the two Sikorsky helicopters at Schiphol?' Klein went on.

'I met Victor Saur, that Austrian pilot. He's flown them to Rotterdam Airport. They're supposed to be waiting to pick up top Royal-Dutch Shell executives.' He put a large finger to his hooked nose. 'Very hush-hush.'

At his table inside the restaurant Marler was cramming himself with noodles. He worked much better on a full stomach. The man Klein was talking to had his wide back to him so he hadn't seen his face. A huge brute. The formidable Frenchman Klein had referred to? Maybe, maybe not. He went on eating.

'Back in that restaurant,' Klein was saying, 'I heard a couple of soldiers talking. Something about all Dutch marines being confined to barracks.'

'True. Just a precaution. Probably caused by that mysterious explosion at sea. So everything is going our way. Our little opening shot at that barracks will coincide with the storming of Euromast. All watches synchronized to the second.'

'No problems at all?' Klein persisted.

'Only Chabot.' He shrugged. 'I come back to the camp site and see him wandering through the entrance. Hipper tried to stop him leaving – with a gun. Chabot took the gun off him. He'd been out for an hour's walk. He did that frequently at Larochette, Hipper said. He's restless for action. Aren't we all? But now we're in business.' He grinned again.

'Just don't get over-confident,' Klein snapped. 'Our advantage is the element of surprise. No one knows we're here.'

43

'I've been sacked. At least, suspended from duty pending an enquiry,' Van Gorp announced to the assembled company inside Tweed's room at the Hilton.

His statement added to the atmosphere of tension and gloom. Seated in chairs, on a settee, were Tweed, Bellenger, Butler, Newman and Benoit. The reason for the pessimistic mood had been a report Van Gorp had received from a previous phone call from his deputy. No trace of anything suspicious had been found from the fleet of patrol cars touring the city and Europort. Now this from the latest phone call.

'Well,' Van Gorp continued cheerfully, 'it's happened twice before – and twice I've been reinstated.'

'For what reason this time?' Tweed asked.

The Minister discovered I'd cancelled all police leave. As if that wasn't enough to upset the entire Ministry of the Interior, I've given the S AS team permission to fly here from Schiphol. That was the Minister himself on the line. I was told to cancel the order. I had pleasure in telling him the team was already in the air, would soon land at Rotterdam.'

'My fault,' Tweed said, 'for urging you to take the decision.'

'But I agreed with you, my friend.' For a moment his air of bravado slipped. He looked pensive as he poured himself a small drink. 'My responsibility entirely.'

He doesn't think it's going to be third time lucky, Tweed thought. He believes he's out for good. And maybe he is – the Minister doesn't like him.

'Why did you want that team here when the Dutch marines are available?' asked Bellenger.

'Sixth sense. Can't explain it more than that…'

He broke off as the phone rang for the third time. Van Gorp took the call, then held out the receiver. 'For you, Tweed.'

Identifying himself, Tweed listened for a brief time, asked the caller to come to his room in three minutes, replaced the phone and looked round the room.

'Would you think me impolite if I asked everyone except Newman to return to their rooms for a short while? Thank you, gentlemen.' He waited until he was alone with the foreign correspondent. 'Blade, commander of the SAS team is on his way up. What's his rank?'

'Major.' Newman looked quizzical. 'You have a treat in store.'

Tweed opened the door after a sharp rapping and invited the visitor inside. Blade was about six feet tall, in his late thirties, his face lean and bony, his blue eyes cold, his nose aquiline. He reminded Tweed of a predatory hawk.

He had brown hair, very thick and cut short without a parting. He was wearing a pepper and salt sports jacket and sharply creased grey slacks. A bulky trench coat was neatly folded over his arm.

Tweed looked at Newman. 'I suppose there is no doubt this is Major Blade?'

'No doubt at all. There's only one.' Newman grinned. 'Fortunately.'

That's because I put him through the wringer.' Blade sat in a hard-backed chair when Tweed suggested he made himself comfortable. 'Mind you, he survived,' Blade went on in his crisp, no-nonsense manner. 'Which, coming from me, is a compliment. Can I raise a point, get down to business?'