Tweed took the binoculars from another pocket, adjusted the focus, aiming them at the mouth of the Maas. The giant dredger was still working, the scoop bringing up muck from the bottom of the river entrance. He raised a little the angle of the glasses, slowly scanned the sea.
Some distance offshore a large liner was approaching from the north, moving very slowly, speckled with lights. He swung the glass further south. Much further away another vessel coming in, a ship which had to be very big – from its silhouette he guessed it was a supertanker. Directly opposite the mouth of the Maas his glass picked up a tiny speck. The Sealink ferry sailing in from Harwich? Some idea twitched at the back of his mind, then it was gone.
He stood very stiffly, sweat forming on his brow, his legs like jelly. If only the damned thing would keep still. He forced his body to turn round, to look in another direction. Two large helicopters were flying in from the north, about to land at Zestienhoven – Rotterdam Airport. A couple of Sikorskys. He watched them drop out of sight.
From that height he could see the spires and towers of The Hague, the home of that stupid Minister of the Interior. Still, he thought, we have enough of those back home.
He popped another mint in his mouth, took one last look down at the layout below. Rotterdam was studded with lights – more coming on every second. What the devil was that idea he'd had at the back of his mind? He pursed his lips, pressed the button for the elevator.
'Are you all right?' Paula strolled forward as he stepped out on to the platform level. She had been waiting for him, pretending to be taking another look at the view. No one was about as she took his arm.
'I'm OK. How high was I?'
'Six hundred feet!'
'Felt a bit like it. Oh, and they move the floor around to give more excitement. You get used to it…'
'You've lost colour. The others are in the restaurant. A drop of fresh air – just at the entrance to the platform -would work wonders.'
They stood for a minute or two and Tweed took in deep breaths. He suddenly felt better, almost normal. He lifted one leg, then another. The strength was coming back into them. Thanking her, he said he was ready for a cup of coffee.
The restaurant had tables at two levels – those perched up further away from the windows. Van Gorp, sitting next to a window with Butler alongside him, waved. No one else occupied a table near them.
Tweed saw the huge windows which slanted outwards. Again he experienced the being-pulled-over-the-edge sensation. Paula sensed his disquiet. 'Let's take one of the tables higher up,' she said brightly.
'No, we'll join them.'
Paula went ahead, sat down in the window seat and Tweed took the chair beside her. He ordered coffee for both of them and stared out of the window. The congestion of shipping inside the basins, moving up and down the Maas, was enormous.
'Enjoy yourself on top?' Van Gorp enquired breezily.
'A unique experience. Quite unique.' He leaned forward. 'Why do I feel this place should be watched?'
'Just asked the very same question myself,' said Butler.
'It is,' the Dutchman replied, lowering his voice. 'You see those two men sitting at a table by themselves? My men. Armed. I could only spare a couple – I'm stretched to the limit checking the river and the docks.'
'Where are the others?' Tweed asked.
'Touring round the place. Especially Blade and Newman. That colleague of yours, Blade, wants to see everything. Even had a look at the toilets. Some kind of specialist?'
'He does my leg work.' Tweed kept his voice low. 'Sea-mines. Thirty of them, as I mentioned. What do they suggest to you?'
'A plan to block the Maas. I have men swarming among those docks and basins – looking for the unusual. And we're watching the oil installations you saw. Nothing so far. I'd know.' He picked up his heavy raincoat, pulled something a short way out of the pocket. A walkie-talkie.
'So still we wait,' Tweed ruminated.
'When the others get back we'll take a drive along the Maas – see if anything's stirring. Ah, here they come.'
Tweed swallowed his second large cup of coffee. The experience of his recent battle with vertigo had dehydrated him. He felt parched as the Sahara, refilled the cup as Blade and Newman arrived, followed by Benoit.
'They had coffee before you came down,' Van Gorp explained. He seemed restless, anxious to move on. 'All except Mr Blade.' he continued. 'Care for some coffee before we go?'
'Not for me, thank you.'
Tweed glanced at Blade sharply. The SAS leader's mind seemed far away; instead of sitting down he stood by the window, staring down.
They descended in the elevator, walked to the parked cars and got inside. Tweed sat alongside Butler in the rear seat of the vehicle driven by Van Gorp. An orange-coloured helicopter was flying downriver, a hundred feet or so above the Maas.
'We ought to be able to work out how Klein will launch an assault,' Tweed said, worrying away at the problem. 'How would we launch it? Remembering he has a team of scuba divers.'
'As I said earlier,' Van Gorp replied, 'by using the mines in the Maas – blocking the entry to all shipping. See that chopper which just flew over? No police markings – but it has my men aboard. We are watching from the land, from the air.'
'But not underwater?' queried Paula who sat beside Van Corp.
'We can hardly have skin-divers permanently swimming around under the Maas,' he told her gently.
'But what I don't understand,' she persisted, 'is they will have to change into wet suits before they plant the mines. Where on earth can they do that – without risk of being seen?'
'No idea.' He started the engine. 'Let's cruise around -this time, Tweed, along the north bank towards the Hook of Holland.' He glanced in the mirror. 'You look thoughtful.'
It was something Paula had said. Tweed suddenly realized the police chief had spoken to him. 'Nothing,' he replied. 'The Hook of Holland, you said. While I was in the Space Tower I saw a dot on the horizon, could have been the Sealink ferry.'
Van Gorp checked his watch, switched on his headlights. 'It would be. She's due to dock soon. Always on time.'
As he pulled away from the kerb Butler turned in his seat to look at Euromast through the rear window. The car containing Newman and the others was following. Tweed also turned in his seat, gazing up at the immense structure.
'Something about that place that worries me,' Butler remarked. 'What it is I can't pin down.'
'It worries me, too,' said Tweed.
44
The Dutch fishing vessel, Utrecht, which should have reached its home port, was stationary. A quarter of a mile astern of the stately floating glow-worm which was the Adenauer.
The huge liner was almost stationary on the dark sheen of the smooth sea, waiting for the lighters to come out with passengers. Two large dinghies with outboard motors slid across the water, midway between the Utrecht and the Adenauer. Painted black, they were invisible.
One dinghy was directly astern of the liner – less than four hundred yards away. The second dinghy, launched from the Utrecht earlier, was approximately a quarter-mile ahead of the liner, its motor turned off, drifting gently with the current.
Four scuba divers slipped over the side of the first dinghy, paddled water as two specially-constructed nets were handed down to them. Each net was grasped by two men who then went under the surface, hauling a net between them.
Each net contained two sea-mines with the switches tuned to a specific radio band. They swam on under water with ease – the contents of the nets were light in weight, shaped like large eggs, painted a dull metallic non-reflecting grey colour, with squat clamps like suckers protruding.
The first team reached the liner, swam deeper under the vast hull, and paddled on until they were just beyond amidships. Here they stopped paddling, bobbing up and down beneath the dark shape above them. With practised hands they opened the net, released the mines which floated upwards, attracted by the fumes inside the engine room.