…'
The makeup of the express had been the subject of considerable study and much discussion by the security staff at the Elysee to ensure maximum safety. Voiture Three was reserved for the American President who was expected to arrive from Orly at the last moment. And Voiture Four would be the preserve of Chancellor Langer when he boarded the train at Munich at 9.33 am. on the following morning.
Behind these four coaches was attached the communications coach which carried some of the most sophisticated equipment available. One section was devoted entirely to a link between the train and the White House in Washington. The president would be accompanied, as he was everywhere, by an official carrying the black box – the sinister device for signalling a nuclear alert in varying stages of urgency.
Flandres and his technicians had devoted a great deal of energy to equipping this coach, cooperating with the Americans who had installed their own devices.
As though to counter the austere purpose of this coach, the one behind was taken up by the restaurant car for the exclusive use of the western leaders. It was expected that during daylight hours they would confer at length while they hammered out a united policy before facing the Soviet leader in Vienna.
'I want more men on this barrier,' Flandres ordered as he passed through the second barrier temporarily erected on the platform, a barrier sealing off the VIP section at the front from the rest of the express.
'Surely we have enough men already,' Buzier protested.
Tor practical purposes, yes,' Flandres agreed. 'For public relations' purposes, no. The Americans are great believers in numbers. Bring ten more men from outside the station. That should impress them, should it not, Pierre?' Again he smiled cynically.
'If you say so…'
'I know O'Meara. If I am not mistaken I can hear the approach of the great man…'
'The American President?'
'No – O'Meara! Accompanied by the President!'
Beyond the second barrier was the rest of the train, the public section which comprised another six coaches. Two for first-class passengers (one a sleeping-car), three for second-class and, at the rear of the express, the public restaurant.
As he passed them alone – Buzier had hurried ahead to gather up ten more men – Flandres glanced at each window. Most of the blinds in the sleeping-car were closed but the station pulsated with a sense of expectancy. As he continued towards the main ticket barrier the little Frenchman scanned the other windows and eager faces stared back. He stopped to request that a window be closed. Until the train was moving the order was all windows must remain shut.
In the corridors on the other side of the express armed men of the French security services stood at intervals. At the main barrier he saw Howard waiting and pursed his lips. Having seen ' his own charge safely aboard, the Englishman was going to be present when the President of the United States arrived.
The distant sirens shrieking like banshees came closer. He must feel at home, Flandres reflected. He himself had been kept awake when he visited America by the hellish wail of patrol cars dashing through the night.
'He's only just on time,' Howard commented as Flandres reached the barrier. 'Why is it that Americans have to arrive at the very last minute?'
'Because they see no point in waiting. What they accomplish with the time saved is another matter…'
As the Frenchman had anticipated, O'Meara made a great performance of the arrival. When the motorcade swept into the station the American security chief leapt from the leading vehicle almost before it had stopped. Several men, their coats open at the front, followed him as he glared up the platform. The President rather spoilt the effect.
'I want men facing every window before the President moves up the platform,' O'Meara demanded.
'If they're going to take a pot-shot at me, Tim, they're going to,' said the President who stepped out from his car looking as cool and unaffected as a clerk walking home from work. 'And your remark is hardly a great compliment to M. Flandres
He extended a hand. 'It is Alain Flandres, isn't it?'
'A pleasure to see you again, Mr President…'
They shook hands while O'Meara moved restlessly and gestured for the American Secret Service men to form a circle round Flandres and the President. 'Washington, two years ago – am I right?' the President said.
'You have a remarkable memory…'
There was tension as the procession of men made their way along the platform, so many alert to danger which might come from any quarter – and the potential target was the most powerful leader in the western world. Flandres was disturbed and felt he must speak.
`I don't like being hemmed in like this…'
The President, smiling and amenable, stot ped. 'Tim, I think we must allow Alain to command the security operation. This, after all, is his territory.'
'More space, please!' Flandres spoke curtly to O'Meara. 'We must have a clear field of fire in an emergency…'
At the foot of the steps leading up into his coach the President lingered to speak again to the Frenchman. 'I just want you to know that I feel perfectly safe in your capable hands. And now, if you'll excuse me, I like an early night's sleep…'
Three minutes from departure time two unexpected events occurred. A chauffeur-driven limousine drove into the station and an elegant woman alighted and presented her ticket while the chauffeur brought her bags. The ticket collector noted that she had a sleeping compartment reserved. At the same time the Passport controller – brought to check the identity of all ordinary passengers – noted she was Swiss.
`You had better hurry, Madame,' the collector advised. 'The train departs in three minutes.'
Further down the platform at the second barrier Howard watched the elegant woman walking gracefully towards him while her chauffeur carried her luggage. She disappeared inside the sleeping-car and Howard turned to his deputy, Peter Haines, a short, wiry man.
`I wouldn't mind joining that one in her bunk,' he observed and climbed aboard the train.
The ticket collector was closing the barrier when a cab drew up.
A compact figure wearing glasses and a rumpled hat who had paid the fare earlier got out. He ran towards the barrier, carrying a small case.
He had his ticket ready and a plastic card which he presented to the Passport official. The latter glanced in surprise at the card which bore a photograph of its owner and then turned to hold up his hand to the guard indicating that the train must wait.
The late arrival moved rapidly down the platform to the second barrier opposite which Howard was standing in the open doorway to get a last-minute breath of fresh air. As he saw the passenger his face went rigid and he stepped down on to the platform.
'Tweed! I don't know what the hell you are doing here but I'm forbidding you to board this train
'I don't think you have the power.' Tweed showed his card with green and red stripes running across it diagonally. 'And you are holding up the train…'
'Say, what the devil goes on here?'
O'Meara had appeared behind Howard. Now Flandres stepped down from the other end of the coach and ran along the platform to join them. O'Meara peered over Howard's shoulder.
'Jesus Christ! She signed the pass herself!'
'This is outrageous!' Howard exploded. 'I was not informed..
'You were not informed for security reasons,' Tweed replied. 'If you are worried, why not wake up the lady and check? But I doubt whether she will appreciate the interruption…'
'Get aboard, my friend.' Alain Flandres had grasped Tweed's arm and was ushering him up the steps. 'You are most welcome.'
Tweed waited in the corridor as Flandres waved his hand towards the guard, climbed the steps and closed the door.