Deadlock

He waited while Tweed took a quick look through the telescope. The platform appeared deserted. He swung the lens a few degrees and the restaurant came into view. All the lights were still on but over a number of windows there were hangings obscuring the interior. Either curtains had been drawn or they'd used table cloths. Figures moved beyond the clear windows and vanished.

'Don't go,' said Paula. 'It's too dangerous, Klein is crazy.'

'Maybe a little, but I'm going.'

'And I'm coming with you,' Newman said, still holding the rifle. He gave Paula a wink of reassurance.

The quarters Jansen suggested for use by the SAS team were one floor down, at the back of the building. Four rooms – with a bathroom – separated from the rest of the building. Over the windows blinds were drawn down. Tweed agreed they were suitable, Jansen produced a street plan, marked the route the team should follow, said he would send a motor-cycle outrider to escort them and then left Tweed alone to use the phone perched on a rough wooden table.

'Blade,' he said when he got through, 'situation here at Euromast serious. An armed group has taken possession. No, they didn't take hostages – just threw everyone out. A motor-cycle outrider is coming to guide you here with your team. I'll give him a note signed by me. It will include the word Olympus.'

'I'll get the lads geared up ready now. Somewhere we can wait? Discreetly?'

'Attended to.'

'Be with you shortly…'

Tweed sat motionless at the table for a few moments, thinking of his approach when he reached the tower. Then he dismissed the idea. Always best not to rehearse m advance. Play it off the cuff. He went outside where Newman was waiting tor him.

Tweed walked with a steady tread beyond the barrier cordoning off Parkhaven. He couldn't remember when he'd last slept but now the moment of crisis had arrived fresh adrenalin was pumping through his veins.

Hatless, he wore an overcoat, both hands in view, arms swinging gently. He was damned if he was going out there with his hands in the air. As he headed towards the police radio car parked behind the truck he slowed his pace, studying everything in sight at ground level.

Below Euromast the four rows of barges berthed alongside each other were still there, the barges he'd noticed looking down from the platform. The atmosphere was weirdly silent and deserted. No traffic movement on the Maas. He glanced at the three police launches moored at the end of the basin. From inside motionless figures watched him as he kept up his pace. He reached the police van.

Through the open window he saw a man behind the wheel on the side furthest from the tower. He leant his forearms on the edge of the window.

'Let me have the mike. I'm here with the authority of Inspector Jansen…'

'I know. You're Tweed. He's called through over the radio.' He handed over the microphone and Tweed saw it had a long cord. That was helpful. He gripped the mike, turned, walked to the foot of the steps and looked up. Two figures peered at him over the rail from the platform, one aiming a rifle, both masked.

Newman braced himself against the wall of the building where he had stayed when Tweed went into the open. His rifle was aimed at the waiting figures three hundred feet above.

Klein stood by the rail alongside Marler who held his rifle aimed at the figure below. Klein had a pair of night-glasses trained on the tiny figure at the base of the tower. The face was clear in the lenses and Klein sucked in his breath.

'God! What's he doing down there? How could he have got here so fast?'

'Who is it?' Marler enquired in a languid tone.

Tweed. The last man on God's earth I expected to confront.'

'Who is Tweed?'

'Deputy Director of the British Secret Service. One of the most wily and dangerous men in Europe. Time to scare the guts out of the bastard.' Klein switched on the throat microphone linked to Legaud's command vehicle and its amplifiers.

'Who are you?' Klein demanded in English.

His voice blasted out of the amplifiers on the roof of Legaud's van. Distorted, it had the weird echo of a ghost as it carried to Newman, to the watching police on top of the HQ building.

'My name is Tweed. I have the full authority of the Dutch police to talk to you. We want you to evacuate Euromast at once. And if your gunman pulls the trigger you are both dead within seconds.'

His own voice, broadcast by the speaker on top of the radio van, sounded normal, calm, as though this was a normal situation.

'Do not threaten me. You hold the lives of thousands of people in your hands.'

The voice was confident, chilling. Almost as though Napoleon were issuing orders for the battle of Austerlitz. Klein raised his other hand, holding a black box.

'Do you know what I am holding? The radio control to liquidate all those people aboard the ships waiting outside the Maas. If you shot me my thumb would depress a button – sending out a signal which would detonate the sea-mines.'

'What are you chattering on about?' Tweed asked, attempting to throw Klein off balance – to reveal too much.

'A large team of scuba divers has attached sea-mines to many ships. The Cayman Conqueror and Easter Island supertankers. The freighter from Genoa, the Otranto. Three container ships.' A pause. Tweed heard Klein suck in his breath before he went on. 'And above all, the Adenauer.'

'So you say…'

' Tweed! ' Klein's voice was ice-cold. 'Let me explain what I can do. This control box was designed by the Swiss. They are very good with sophisticated mechanisms. You have heard of the Swiss?' The tone was mocking.

'I believe so. Yes.'

It was a duel of nerves. Newman grasped that immediately as he watched the erect figure on the platform through his telescopic sight. Hatless, thick dark hair, wearing a leather military-type coat with broad lapels, Klein was determined to dominate the tiny figure at the foot of the tower. And Newman could hear every word of the exchanges. Could Tweed hold his own? A man almost dropping with fatigue.

'The box I am holding – which will be in my hands at all times – has a number of buttons. Each attuned to a different waveband, each linked in this way with the sea-mines under a particular vessel. Take your hand out of your pocket.'

Tweed, gripping the microphone at the end of the cable leading to the police van in his right hand, had thrust the other hand inside his coat pocket.

'I'm not here to pander to your whims,' he replied. 'Get on with what you have to say.'

'So, by pressing, say number one button, I can sink the Otranto by itself. The freighter will vapourize. The other vessels remain afloat. There is another button for the Cayman Conqueror, and so on. You understand what I am saying?'

'Highly ingenious.'

'Tweed, you had better take me seriously…'

'Oh, I'm doing just that. The reverse applies. You are surrounded, isolated, and Euromast can be stormed at one word of command.'

'I stiil do not think you have grasped the situation. On the control box! hold there is a red button. The one my thumb is poised over now. That is tuned to a different waveband – a waveband with a signal common to every vessel which has been mined. I press the red button and all the mines detonate, all the ships go down, including the Adenauer.'

'Highly ingenious…'

'Two hundred million pounds in gold bullion is the price. My researches tell me that gold is now held at the Deutsche Bank in Frankfurt for a South American loan. Have it loaded aboard the chartered Hercules transport waiting at Frankfurt Airport. I will later give you its destination. The crew for the plane is also waiting. Understood, Tweed?'

'Government sanction will have to be…'

'I haven't finished.'

Above the distortion of the amplifiers Klein's voice came like a whiplash.

'I can't hang about here all night,' Tweed informed him.