Deadlock

'Don't you see?' Klein swung round to face Marler, his hand holding the control box at waist level, smiling savagely. 'She's a spy. We caught her entering the Hotel Central. She had been instructed to stay inside. I think she was phoning someone.'

'That's bloody ridiculous!' Lara shouted as her hands were bound behind her. 'I have done everything you ever asked me to…'

'And maybe a little bit more I didn't.'

'Klein, I'm inclined to agree with Lara. This is faintly ridiculous. Pure supposition.'

'Then how did Tweed turn up here so quickly?'

'No idea. Maybe he tracked you.'

'My security is meticulous. We will not discuss this matter any further. And I thought you wanted a drink of water.'

'So I did.' Marler grinned. Thank you so much for reminding me.'

He walked off in the direction of the restaurant. They were binding Lara's ankles together now. She tried to struggle but the two men held her tight. Klein waited until she was trussed up and then nodded to the man holding a looped rope.

'Now, tie that round her waist. Not too tight. Must allow her to breathe.'

The rope was lopped round her slim waist and for the first time Lara's fury gave way to fear. She bit her lip to stop showing any emotion. When the job was finished there was a length of rope extending from the centre of her back about twelve feet in length. The Luxembourger coiled it, lifted her up and spread her along a deep couch against the wall.

'What about this?' he asked, picking off the floor the rope noose he had dropped while tying the girl up. Like the other length round her waist it extended about twelve feet from the noose.

'Leave it near her feet for the moment.'

'What is it for?'

'Have you never noticed how sentimental the world is over the fate of a single individual as opposed to the lives of thousands? The average human mind cannot encompass the death of whole tribes in Africa. But if one single hostage is at risk it becomes high drama. We must use every psychological weapon to force the governments concerned to obey us. Public opinion will do the trick if all else fails. And it is a three-hundred-foot drop from the platform.'

49

The car taking Newman, Butler and Benoit to the airport followed Route One – a route Van Gorp had worked out carefully on a map and had cordoned off. On the way they passed a small convoy of three vans proceeding at high speed in the opposite direction.

The SAS team,' Newman said laconically. 'Thank God it was flown over – after what happened to the Dutch marines.'

'You think Tweed will ever use it?' asked Benoit.

'He'll use it. He's just waiting for Klein to make one slip – and Klein will do just that. He thinks he's infallible. No one is.'

'When we get to the airport,' Butler interjected, 'can we find out what type of machine was used to fly Brand and his so-called captor to Findel? It will help us when we get there. I mean Brussels Airport.'

'Good idea,' Benoit agreed. 'Should have thought of it myself.'

'He doesn't say a lot,' Newman commented, 'but when he does it's worth listening to. And if you ever see him coming towards you on a motor-bike,' he joked, 'run for your life.'

'Everyone has to have a hobby,' Butler replied.

'Yes, but not a lethal one.'

Newman was aware of a different atmosphere inside the car as the uniformed police driver approached the airport. Back at the improvised HQ near Euromast it had been claustrophobic. Now he was doing something active Newman felt a lifting of the spirits. He sensed the same reaction in his companions.

'Van Gorp has arranged for food to be taken aboard the jet,' remarked Benoit. 'Suddenly I'm ravenous.'

'I could do with a bite to eat myself,' agreed Butler.

'And I do believe we have arrived,' Benoit said as the car came to a stop. A police escort took them to the waiting machine and no one asked Newman questions about the scabbard he carried with the suitcase he'd picked up from the Hilton en route. Five minutes later the jet was airborne, leaving behind the deserted airport, heading through the night for Brussels.

In Luxembourg City inside the Banque Sambre on the Avenue de la Liberte, Brand and Hipper sat in the banker's office. On their way in they had paused in the empty street to attach the notice announcing the bank was temporarily closed to the front doors.

Hipper had played out his charade of acting as Brand's captor from the moment the Sikorsky landed at Findel. He had walked shoulder to shoulder with the banker to the waiting limousine where a chauffeur opened the rear doors for them.

They were driving along the highway into the city when the Sikorsky took off again, flying back to Rotterdam Airport to join Victor Saur's other machine.

Relaxing in his executive swivel chair, Brand had just called a senior director of the Deutsche Bank in Frankfurt who had already been alerted by Bonn. He picked up a glass of cognac and stared at Hipper, sitting like a sack of potatoes on the other side of the desk.

'They're saying they refuse to release the bullion,' Brand remarked in a lordly tone.

They must…'

'Relax, Hipper. That's the opening move I expected. It's like a chess game. We all go through the motions. But in due course they will release that bullion, permit it to be loaded aboard the waiting transport. Now, hadn't you better do your thing? Call the local police, tell them you have me here with a gun to my head? All that jazz. And if they try to break in here you'll shoot me out of hand. Whatever that weird phrase means,' he added blandly.

'I hope they're convinced…'

'Up to you to do just that – convince 'em. Then we wait until the bullion plane arrives and I trot out with you to Findel to check it's all in order.' He sipped his brandy and indicated a closed door. 'Lucky I have an efficient secretary. She has stocked up the fridge and the freezer. We shan't starve. You can cook, I take it?'

'I was once a cook in a restaurant.'

'Splendid! We can eat in the board's dining room. Might as well keep up a decent standard of living while Klein puts on the pressure. Now, that call to the police…'

Tweed came back into the room and Paula watched him anxiously, still worried about his lack of sleep. He walked briskly to his chair, sat down and clasped his hands.

'The PM has given me full authority to act in liaison with you, Van Corp. She's livid about the mining of the Sealink ferry – livid and worried. But she's chirpy, as always. She's already been in touch with the German Chancellor in Bonn, suggesting he permits release of the bullion when I give the word.'

'When will that be?' asked Van Corp.

'No idea. I've also asked Commander Bellenger to get over here fast from the Hilton. After he's phoned London to arrange for a specialist team of bomb disposal to fly here. Men who know the workings of this new sea-mine and bomb.'

'But,' objected Jansen, 'you've told us not to make any attempt to go near the threatened ships.'

'Correct. But when we've finished off Klein we'll need that team to go out and defuse those mines.'

'You sound very confident,' Paula ventured.

'He's a megalomaniac. He's sure he's got us in the palm of his hand – which he has at the moment. He'll make a mistake through over-confidence. Then we strike. Talking of striking, I thought I heard men arriving in the room beyond the place I was phoning from.'

'The SAS team arrived by the fire escape at the back. They're settling into their quarters. The other door from the anteroom leads into one of their rooms…'

Blade came into the room, wearing his civilian outfit. Speaking to Tweed, his manner was urgent.

'The troop commander wants to take his men out on to the roof so they can take a look at Euromast, size it up. It means we need the roof cleared of your men, if that's all right for a few minutes, Van Corp. They want you to go with them, Tweed – to brief them.'