'Anything you say.'
Staring up, Tweed saw the tiny figure beside Klein raise his. rifle. In the shadows of the building behind him two Dutch marksmen had taken Newman's place.
'Is the bullion on its way to Frankfurt Airport?' Klein called out through the amplifier on top of Legaud's vehicle. 'If not, I can provide you with a further demonstration.'
The British, German and Dutch governments are considering your demands. And you are one hour early. Our appointment was for three o'clock.'
'I'm advancing the schedule…'
'Say what you like, you know such a decision can't be taken in five minutes.'
'Considering are they?' Klein's voice was icy. 'I believe that was the word you used. They need something to encourage them to decide now. I'm holding the control box, Tweed.'
'I assumed you would be…'
'I'm going to press button number eight…'
Fifteen odd miles away down the Maas a detective called Beets, wearing a dark suit and holding an automatic, was treading very cautiously inside Shell-Mex Number Two. His companion was close behind him. Sent in by Van Gorp – with orders that they must not be seen – they made their way in the dark silence close to the river.
Above them a grid of pipes stretched away; close to them to their left loomed the shadow of a futuristic- looking cat-cracker. In the near distance Beets could see oil storage tanks which had reminded Tweed of giant white cakes. The only sound was the lapping of water against the wharves on the Maas.
Probably Beets' first warning of danger was the hammer blow of the shock wave, but this would have coincided with the deep rumble of the explosion.
Within seconds the complex was a sea of flame and fire as it engulfed everything. An incandescent sheet must have swallowed up Beet and his companion -later their charred and cindered corpses were found, impossible to distinguish one man from another. A deafening boom thundered upriver as the complex became an inferno of high temperature, a red beacon in the night.
Tweed heard the distant boom. He froze. Resisting the impulse to turn round he continued staring up at the platform. Klein was leaning forward, left hand on the rail, right hand out of sight.
'And that was the first oil complex to go up. Would you say that might encourage your so-called governments to consider a little faster. Do look downriver. A spectacular sight. The sun is coming up early today – but from the west.'
Tweed turned round slowly. In the distance the sky was illuminated with a fiery red glow. They would see that aboard the ships offshore was his first thought. He turned back to the tower.
'Which one, if I might enquire?'
'Shell-Mex Two. Totally destroyed. Go away, Tweed!
Come back at three o'clock. With news that the bullion has been loaded.'
A new arrival greeted Tweed when he entered the HO room. Commander Bellenger was standing, wearing a duffel coat. Van Gorp and Jansen, seated at the table, looked grim and Paula watched Tweed intently. Bellenger, bluff and calm, was the first to speak.
'Happened to be taking a shufti on the roof when that little lot went up. Heard every word our Mr Klein said. I'd guess he had two of the larger bombs planted inside the oil complex. Judging from the volume of sound, the intensity of the fire glare. He's prodding us, I take it.'
'Something like that.'
Tweed sank into his chair, drank some coffee, ate a ham sandwich. He was surprised to find he was ravenous. Bellenger joined them at the table as he went on reporting.
'The bomb disposal team is on its way. Flying in. A Captain Nicholls is in charge. Says he met you, Tweed. In Norfolk.'
Tweed glanced at Paula. 'Remember him? His squad defused the bomb on your doorstep.' He looked at Bellenger. 'He has experience of underwater work?'
'Bit of an all-rounder, our Nicholls. Answer is yes. He's an expert scuba diver, has defused mines before. Only chap I know who works on land and sea. Bringing in a mixed team – some of his lot, some of my naval chaps. Bit of a sticky situation we've got ourselves into, I gather.'
Two of my men were probably inside the Shell complex when it was wiped out,' Van Gorp said sombrely. 'And an observer on the opposite bank has confirmed to me the place is a ruin.'
'Sorry to hear that,' Bellenger said. 'Casualties of war.' He turned to Tweed. 'Is there nothing more we can do?'
He looked up as Blade appeared in the doorway to the anteroom. The SAS commander wants one of his men stationed on that roof. Is that all right?'
'Of course,' agreed Van Gorp. Tweed had best accompany him. Otherwise his appearance will scare the wits out of my men.'
Tweed went ahead of the masked SAS man who appeared, recognized that this was Blade's deputy, Eddie. He came back after a few minutes and took his seat at the table, then he explained to Bellenger.
'I know who Klein really is. He has a background of highly professional military training. He's a master planner, probably one of the most brilliant in Europe. He foresees every contingency…'
'A ruddy genius,' Bellenger growled.
'Look at the way he's planned this vast operation,' Tweed persisted. 'He made sure the bullion was easily available. He's got a transport plane standing by at Frankfurt large enough to shift that bullion. He has several thousand lives at his mercy as a bargaining counter for the gold. He's chosen the most strategic target in Europe and laced it with bombs, I'm sure – Europort.'
'And he won't allow us to move the bodies of my two men thrown down from the platform,' Van Gorp commented. 'I requested permission while you were on the phone. Answer? No.'
'Hideous,' Tweed agreed. 'But that's a deliberate display of his total ruthlessness…'
'One thing which puzzles me is his escape route,' Paula said. 'How does he hope to get away? He can't even use that beastly box as a threat once he's out of range. And we can't be sure of what the range is.'
'Twenty-five to thirty miles,' Bellenger informed her. 'In London we studied blueprints supplied by Tweed…'
'The ones they found in the Swiss research director's safe which Beck gave me in Geneva,' Tweed explained.
'… and those blueprints were detailed drawings of the radio mechanism,' Bellenger continued. 'We were able to work out the range.'
'Which gives him control from Euromast of all those vessels he's mined,' Van Gorp confirmed.
'His escape route,' Tweed commented, 'which Paula raised. I was coming to that. I doubt it will be a number of cars – as Paula pointed out, once he's beyond the range of detonating those sea-mines we'd have him. I also doubt it's the river – for the same reasons. I've been thinking of the air…'
'So have I,' said Van Gorp. 'I've had my men check Rotterdam Airport. There's a Sikorsky waiting there, a big job. Pilot is an Austrian, a Victor Saur. Says he's waiting to collect a number of oil executives – on instructions from a Royal-Dutch senior director called Bouwman. I happen to know him. I've put in a call to his home address to check…' The phone began ringing. '… and this could be him.' He picked up the receiver.
'Chief of police, Van Gorp, here. Sorry to call at this hour. We met once at a reception. I have an important question to ask you.. .'
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…'
