Deadlock

He left them, went into the next room to use the phone. Newman lit a cigarette. Van Gorp 'borrowed' one from him. It was Paula who made the comment.

Tweed is now at his most dangerous. He said he's giving in. Don't believe it. He's waiting his opportunity. No one is going to manipulate him.' She looked at Van Gorp. 'Didn't you notice when he said "no overt action" he added "yet"?'

'But I don't see what we can do. The governments will not agree, I'm sure. And if they don't Klein will close down Europe. It's deadlock.'

'I've told him we agree,' Tweed announced when he returned and sat at the table, 'He went on again about how he was in supreme command-the Napoleonic touch again. I just listened and repeated that we agree. He still wants me back at the base of the tower at 3 a.m. What's happened?' he asked seeing the expression on Van Gorp's face.

'I'm afraid there has been a further development.' It was Benoit who answered. 'A phone call from Brussels. Peter Brand has been kidnapped at gunpoint. I also spoke to his secretary who is in a state of near-hysterics. One of the police officers at Brand's house in Brussels told me he was seen at the airport – boarding a helicopter. It flew off in a south-easterly direction.'

Tindel Airport. The Banque Sambre in Luxembourg City.' Tweed glanced at Newman. 'Kidnapped! Another Klein smokescreen – to make Brand feel he's protected.

A go-between, as he called Brand, acting under so-called duress. Brand is going to be on the spot when the bullion is flown aboard that transport plane to Findel.'

'What do you suggest?' Benoit enquired.

'I'd like Newman and Butler to be flown at once to Findel. Bob knows Brand, has met him. With your permission, Benoit, I'd like to give Newman carte blanche to act as he thinks fit when he gets there.'

'And I'd like to take that rifle with me if possible,' Newman requested.

'Agreed,' said Van Gorp.

He took one of several form pads which had been placed on the table. Scribbling on a sheet, he signed it, handed it to Newman.

'That covers you for Holland. Benoit will, I am sure, grant you authority for the firearm later.'

'Of course,' Benoit said. 'But how quickly can we get moving on the flight at this hour?'

'I know a Royal Dutch Shell director who has an executive jet at Rotterdam Airport,' Van Gorp replied. 'I'll call him while the three of you are being driven to the airport.'

'A hand-gun might come in useful for me,' Butler suggested.

'A Browning automatic would do?' Van Gorp asked. 'Good. We will supply it, borrow it from one of my men.' He scribbled again on his pad, tore off the sheet and handed it to Butler. Writing something on another sheet, he handed it to Newman. 'That is the number here where you can contact Tweed. Anything else before I phone about the executive jet?'

'Yes,' said Tweed. 'Apart from checking on those fishing boats – as Klein suggested – I strongly urge you to ensure all his other instructions are obeyed. No searching for his men watching those ships, no attempt to use scuba divers to check the named vessels for those sea-mines. They are where he said they were. We just wait. One thing worries me intensely.'

'Which is?' asked Paula.

'His reference to hanging. That it was part of his scenario. I can't figure it out. But I don't like it. Now, I need the use of a scrambler phone to call the PM…'

'Just installed. The lines will be burning all night between here and The Hague. To say nothing of Bonn and God knows where else. Through that door. There's an anteroom leading to the quarters your SAS team will occupy. You can use the phone now. Don't forget to press the red button…'

Tweed closed the door behind him as a plain-clothes detective came into the room and spoke to Van Gorp in Dutch, then left. There was a lot of activity and Newman was impressed with the way everything seemed under control. No sign of panic. Van Gorp used the phone on the table, had a brief conversation in Dutch, ended the call, looked at Newman.

'The executive jet is at your disposal. The pilot will be at the airport waiting when you get there. And a car is waiting in the side street for you. Also a policeman on the ground floor will give you a scabbard to conceal that rifle. Butler, he will give you a Browning and a hip-holster – if that's OK?'

'Prefer them. Takes forever to haul it from the shoulder type.'

'One point,' Benoit intervened as he stood up with Newman and Butler, 'I'd like to call in briefly at Brussels Airport before we fly on to Findel. First, I can call the local chief of police in Luxembourg City. Second, Brand and another man were by chance seen at that airport. I'd like a first-hand report.'

'Tell the pilot. He is under your instructions to fly wherever you teli him.' He stood up, shook hands with all three men. 'Good luck. We'll keep in touch. This nightmare has to end soon – for better or worse…'

Inside Euromast at platform level Klein had finished checking that everything was to his satisfaction. He'd sent Chabot to organize defence at ground level. At this stage he would not risk being trapped in the elevator and out of touch. Everywhere he went he carried the control box.

The elevator doors opened and Chabot stepped out. He nodded to Klein.

'If they try to rush the building they'll be cut down. Furniture has been piled up into barriers. Men with machine-pistols are posted covering the entrance.'

'Expecting a spot of trouble?' drawled Marler who had walked in from the platform, rifle cuddled under one arm.

'Just taking every precaution,' Klein replied coldly. 'It's not likely while I hold this.' He extended his right hand, gripping the control box, thumb poised over the red button.

'And the whole shooting match really goes up if you pressed that little jigger?'

'Every ship I have named floating offshore – and a few more I haven't in the Maas.'

'Good show. You seem to be organized. Think they'll really pay up the dibs?'

'What option have they?' Klein turned away and addressed the Frenchman. 'Go fetch the girl. Time to prepare her.'

'Prepare her for what exactly?' Marler enquired.

'You'll see. In due course. Shouldn't you be watching on the platform?'

'With two of your sturdy lads out there guarding the fort? Incidentally, they're a bit tense. Tell from the way they grip their weapons. Persuade them to relax a bit when you next go out. Trigger-happy characters worry me. I could do with a drink.'

'There's only mineral water or coffee…'

'Water will do splendidly. Gets a bit thirst-making during the early hours…'

Earlier Klein had personally supervised the emptying down a sink of every bottle of alcohol stacked in the bar. No one was going to have his brain muddled with alcohol while the operation was in progress. Marler stared with vague interest as Chabot and a Luxembourger hauled Lara Seagrave out of the restaurant kicking and elbowing them in the ribs. She glared at Klein.

'What the hell do these thugs think they are doing?'

'Acting on my instructions. Tie her by the hands – behind her back – and by the ankles.'

A second Luxembourger appeared and grabbed her from behind. Chabot released her and walked towards Klein, his expression grim, his large hands clenched into fists.

'What exactly are you doing?' he demanded.

'I know you're sweet on her. That is immaterial. Go out on to the platform and check the situation. Then come back and report to me.'

Klein turned away and watched Lara as she protested violently. Marler lit a cigarette, tucked it in the corner of his mouth and spoke quietly.

'I also am interested in what you propose to do with her – has she misbehaved in some way?'

'Nothing to do with you.'

'I'll ask you once more,' Marler continued in the same even tone as Chabot disappeared outside. 'Has she misbehaved? I'm talking to you, Klein.'