Deadlock

Inside his apartment, Bouwman, a stockily built man of forty with a fuzz of thick dark hair, was still fully dressed. His wife sat stiffly in an armchair while the masked man held a Luger to the side of her skull.

'This could be the police checking those Sikorksys,' he warned. 'You know what to say. Get it right first time. Make any attempt to warn them and your wife loses her head.'

The phone went on ringing. Bouwman took a deep breath, lifted the receiver, announced his identity. He listened for a moment while the masked man used his left hand to listen in on the extension phone by the armchair.

'Yes, I remember you, Van Gorp. For God's sake why have you disturbed my sleep. My wife's too, for that matter…'

He listened, his eyes glued to the gunman's. 'Yes, that is correct,' he replied. Those two choppers are waiting to pick up a certain delegation for a conference. I will tell you the conference is very secret so please don't broadcast the fact. Some of the individuals involved don't want any publicity. And one machine may have to fly off to pick up some important papers needed urgently. Is that all? Maybe on another occasion you'd call at a more civilized hour.'

Bouwman put down the receiver. The gunman carefully replaced the extension at the same moment. The oil executive used his display handkerchief to wipe his moist forehead.

'For God's sake remove that pistol from my wife's head. The job's done now.'

Van Gorp put down his own phone. 'False alarm. Bouwman confirmed the machines are being held at his disposal. He also bit my ear off for waking him. Normal reaction.'

'Then how will Klein escape?' Paula demanded. 'He'll have a plan. You can bet your life on that.'

The trouble is we are betting so many lives on this business. Now who is it?' Van Gorp growled.

He picked up the phone again as it began ringing, listened and said yes, he'd pass the message on.

'Tweed. London wants you to call back. Some woman called Monica. She says you have the number.'

'I'll use the scrambler.'

Tweed went into the anteroom, closed the door, sat down and dialled. Monica came on the line immediately. The PM had asked her to inform him that the German Chancellor was on the verge of issuing the order to release the bullion. There had been an emergency meeting of the EEC Commissioners in Brussels. And could he call Moscow at the special number? Tweed said he understood, broke the connection and ran to the door which he opened, speaking briefly.

'Bonn is about to release the bullion. Van Gorp, could you get on to Bonn. Tell them to take as long as possible over loading the trucks. Warn them they may be watched. Pretend one of the truck doors is jammed, won't lock. Anything for a short delay. I've another call to make. And could you find me a green Verey pistol? Must be green. The Coastguard or someone must have one.'

'The police launches are two hundred yards from here,' Van Gorp replied. 'The ones at the end of Parkhaven basin. They will have one. We'll sneak one out for you.'

'And what on earth does he want a green Verey pistol for?' asked Bellenger.

'It's going to be all action soon,' Paula told him. 'I have heard about this change in Tweed from Butler. A long period of waiting, then he moves.'

'He has moved,' said Jansen with a rare flash of humour. 'He has gone back into the anteroom.'

Seated again at the table, Tweed dialled the special Moscow number Lysenko had given him during their clandestine meeting outside Zurich. A girl operator came on the line, he spoke to her in Russian and within seconds a familiar voice began talking.

'Where are you calling me from, Tweed?' demanded Lysenko.

'Somewhere in Europe. By scrambler. What is it?'

'We are getting reports of a big crisis building up in Rotterdam, Holland. I am also getting reports that American mavericks are involved – men with CIA training.'

'You mean you are spreading those reports. If you don't at once stifle those reports I'll reveal the whole story of Igor Zarov…'

'But we have an agreement…'

'Made invalid by any underhand manoeuvre on your part. I'm supposed to protect you. I also intend to protect the Americans. Are you going to keep quiet?'

'Providing you abide by our agreement…'

'Which I agreed to do. Stop talking nonsense. Why did you really call me?'

'Have you tracked down our traitor? Have you any clue as to where he might be? What steps are you taking now?'

Tweed sighed aloud. 'Now listen to me, Lysenko. I work in my own way. You should know that by now. I certainly have no intention of reporting every move I make. Leave the whole problem in my hands. And call off your propaganda lackeys or you will regret it. Anything else?'

'Not at the moment. Goodbye…'

The connection was broken. Paula came in after tapping on the door and hearing his assent to come in. She carried a tray with a plate of sandwiches and coffee.

'Close the door,' he said when she had put the tray on the table. 'This is the first chance we've had to be alone -to talk privately. And do sit down.'

'Problems? Or shouldn't I ask?' she enquired, seating herself opposite him as he tackled the food.

'The Americans have a saying. Between a rock and a hard place. That is my position at the moment. The Russians are the hard place, the Americans the rock. I have Cord Dillon, Deputy Director of the CIA descending on me any minute. I have Moscow wanting to know what is going on. I have to act to keep both happy – or at least quiet. The American alarm I can understand. I think at the very top in Moscow they understand the position – but the man who communicates with me is a pain. What is the atmosphere out there?' He nodded beyond the door to the HQ room.

'Pretty bloody. It's this waiting for Klein, waiting for a decision about moving the bullion – waiting, waiting – that is telling on their nerves.'

'It's corning up to three o'clock. I feel it will soon be over. Probably in one great thunderclap of action.'

'That sounds ominous. You're worried about someone inside Euromast, aren't you?' Paula suggested.

'I'm worried about all those people aboard the ships waiting offshore. Which reminds me,' Tweed said, standing up, 'I wonder how they've dealt with that problem.'

Van Gorp was on the phone again as Tweed went into the other room and took the same place at the table. The discussion continued for some time in Dutch and then Van Gorp put down the phone.

'That was the Dutch EEC Commissioner speaking from Brussels. They, also, have called an all night session. The Commissioners make the point that two hundred million pounds in gold is chicken feed compared with the vast sums which will be lost if Europort is wrecked. They're inclined to give in.'

'What have you done about informing the masters of all those ships which have been mined?' Tweed asked.

The only thing we could do. We sent each of them a signal telling them what had happened, leaving it to their discretion as to how much they told their passengers and crew. We also – through Marine Control – ordered them to stay where they are, to make no attempt under any circumstances to disembark passengers.' Van Gorp smiled bitterly. 'I have seen a copy of those signals from Marine Control. They all end up by saying the situation is under control. Like hell it is. Under the control of Klein they mean.'

'May I ask,' interjected Jansen, 'why you flew Newman and Butler to Findel?'

'Because they may well have a vital part to play at the climax,' Tweed replied and left it at that.

51

The executive jet carrying Newman, Butler and Benoit landed at the deserted airport of Findel. A car drove out to meet them as they descended the small step-ladder the pilot had unfolded.

'This will be the police,' Benoit said. 'If you don't mind I will handle them. We will talk in French so you will know what is going on.'