Deadlock

'Do, please. We're short of time.'

'I'd have thought in an emergency the Dutch Government would call in their Marines.'

'They would – will.'

'Their marines are good – very good. But my men are trained to work strictly on their own. By the way, what's the problem?'

Tweed sketched in the situation in five minutes. He spoke tersely, telescoping events since he first arrived in Switzerland. Blade sat erect, cupped his squarish jaw in his left hand, his eyes never leaving Tweed's.

That's about it,' Tweed ended.

'As brilliant an appreciation as I've heard in a long while. You've had military experience?'

'Once. Military Intelligence.'

Thought so. This Klein sounds a murderous so-and-so. It strikes me he's had top-flight training with some professional organization.'

'He has,' Tweed said, 'but I can't tell you where.'

'My guess would be the French. They're a pretty tough lot. Still, mustn't guess. Any questions?'

'Where is your unit? How quickly could it get here – say to this hotel?'

'The Sabre Troop. Scattered in twos and threes round the airport. Flew here in a chartered aircraft, dressed like a bunch of football supporters – the well-behaved type. Our kit – uniforms, weapons – is inside the aircraft. Two men on guard. Van Gorp organized four plain vans which are standing by at the airport. One phone call from me -give them eight minutes to get kitted out. Another twelve minutes to get here. Answer to your question. Twenty minutes. Less if the lid blows off. As I see it, you don't know where or when Klein will strike. So we have to wait, let him make the first move. Par for the course with us.'

'Your equipment,' Tweed remarked. 'I did warn he has scuba divers

…'

'All my men have underwater equipment. What do we do now? I studied a map of Rotterdam and this Europort waiting at the airport. And flying in to Schiphol we were diverted – flew over this area pretty low. It's what we call dense territory. Could end up as a street fight. My impression from the bird's eye view.'

'Talking about a bird's-eye view,' Tweed commented. 'The place I want a look at is Euromast. Driving around I kept seeing that dominating tower. Come with us?' he suggested to Blade. 'I'll introduce you as my associate.'

'That's OK. We never let anyone see our ugly mugs…'

He broke off. The phone was ringing. Tweed answered it, his voice became cheerful, he said come up now, put down the phone.

'Paula has arrived.' He looked at Blade. 'One of my new staff. I'm breaking her in.'

'Breaking her in half," Newman muttered.

She came into the room, carrying her case, looking fresh as paint. Tweed introduced her to Mr Blade. Her manner changed, became businesslike.

'Have I interrupted something?'

'No, but you must be tired…'

'Not really. Just off the flight from Brussels. I'm a bit of a mess, was going to tidy up, but that can wait – I sense something's happened…' She glanced at Blade and Tweed assured her she could talk freely. He poured her a cup of strong coffee while he brought her up-to-date and she sat listening intently, her shapely legs crossed. She drank a whole cup while Tweed was talking.

'I thought Rotterdam was the target,' she said, 'after you told me about poor Joseph Haber. He'd delivered the timers so – like the others before him – he was someone with dangerous information, someone this swine, Klein, no longer needed. What's the significance of Euromast?'

'I haven't a clue,' Tweed confessed. 'Maybe I'll find one when we get there.'

'Where have you been?' Klein asked as he sat at the table in the little restaurant outside Delft.

Marler's expression turned bleak as he sat down, glanced at the other tables, saw no one was near enough to hear him. He leaned forward.

'I've been to the loo. Let's get one thing straight between us now. You're paying me to do a job. You'll get value for services rendered. But I'm damned if I'm going to have you breathing down my neck when I go for a pee.'

'No need to get worked up…'

'I'm a good deal cooler than you are – to judge from the expression on your corpse-like face. End of discussion. Next?'

'I see you took your bag with you,' Klein remarked as Marler tucked it between his chair and the wall. 'Does that contain all the equipment you need for the job?'

'It does.'

'What about your clothes back at the Hilton? Could they be left there? For good? Your room is paid for. I assume you paid for meals as you had them?'

'I did. And the clothes are surplus to requirements. They carry no maker's labels. And two suits are the wrong size – crumpled to look as though they've been worn. That way no policeman can estimate my exact height and weight. Why?'

'Because when we leave here we're on our way.'

'Would it strain your security to the limits if I asked you where we are going?'

'No call for sarcasm.'

Marler's reply was to wipe his mouth carefully with his napkin, crumple it and leave it on the table. Independent bastard, Klein said to himself. But that, he reflected again, was what had made The Monk so effective.

'To storm Euromast,' Klein replied.

The call from Paris for Tweed came through just before they left his room to drive to Euromast. Paula was talking with Newman, telling him how she'd broken the news of her husband's death to Martine Haber. 'Pretty grim,' she said, 'but I did my best…'

Benoit was talking to Van Gorp and Butler. Blade stood alone by the window, gazing down at the traffic circling the large road intersection below.

'Lasalle here,' the voice on the phone informed Tweed. 'I've been checking up on the whereabouts of The Monk. God knows how many calls I've made to various countries but I got lucky. I know where he is – or supposed to be.'

Tweed's grip on the instrument tightened. 'Where, Rene?'

'Shut away in a clinic in Lucerne, Switzerland. Suffering a major nervous breakdown. No visitors allowed. Beck, chief of police in Berne just phoned me back. He was able to get a description of the patient. Fair-haired with a bald patch on the crown of his head.'

'So, he again has his alibi. He's somewhere here in Rotterdam. Maybe within a mile of where I'm standing. If he slips through our fingers he's in the clear again. I must go now. Thank you.'

The assembled group stopped talking as he put down the phone. Tweed again sensed the atmosphere of frustration, depression. He smiled broadly, spread his hands, his tone jaunty.

The Monk is supposed to be ill in a Swiss clinic.'

'You said he'd be here,' Blade barked. 'The deadliest marksman in Europe you called him.'

'But that proves to me he is here. He always provides himself with an ironclad alibi. You are coming with us, Van Gorp? Despite your suspension from duty?'

'Oh, that.' The Dutchman grinned. 'I told the Minister I needed the instruction in writing before I could accept it. Didn't you know? The Dutch are great ones for the formal procedures being observed? Drives me mad at times. On this occasion the tradition has its uses. The cars are ready – when you are.'

'Just before we leave…'Tweed's manner was exuberant. 'I don't think you realize we have one big ace up our sleeves.'

'I'd like to know what that is,' rapped back Newman.

'Klein has no idea we've caught up with him – that we have found the target, that we are already here.'

As they piled into the three waiting cars Tweed noted there was a change of atmosphere, morale had soared.

For Tweed it was a nightmare.

He stood with the others at the foot of the steps leading up to the entrance. He gazed up at the structure which reminded him of the most gigantic periscope in the world. The sheering tower, the overhanging viewing platform far above his head. And above that the slimmer needle of concrete spiralling its way endlessly to the final observation point at its tip.