He stopped talking as Marler appeared from the platform holding his rifle loosely in his right hand. The Englishman was still showing no signs of the strain which was growing among the rest of the team.
'Bit of activity out there,' Marler remarked. 'Down by those police launches at the end of the basin.'
'Show me.'
Gripping the control box in his right hand, looking like a commanding general in his leather greatcoat, a monocular glass looped round his neck, Klein followed Marler on to the platform, standing by the rail as Marler raised his rifle.
Klein lifted the glass to his eye and gazed down in the same direction. There was movement in the shadows astern of the police launches. He caught a brief glimpse of Tweed, crouched low, who disappeared behind the bulk of the wheelhouse.
'Wasn't that Tweed?' Marler called out.
'Yes. Don't shoot him. Yet. We still need him – to conduct the negotiations.' His voice rose to a high pitch. They are testing our willpower. I warned them not to move anywhere in sight of Euromast. Those policemen. Shoot them. That will demonstrate we mean what we say.'
'How many do you want?' Marler enquired.
'All police who move. Shoot them down.'
Tweed slipped aboard the police launch and ran for cover. He was met behind the wheelhouse by the river police chief of the flotilla, Spanjersberg. He gave him instructions as he stood up cautiously, his binoculars aimed at the platform.
The figure of Klein in his military-style outfit stood out in the lens clearly. A few yards further along a figure with a rifle aimed. The Monk.
'Here is the Verey pistol I was going to bring you,' Spanjersberg said. 'Loaded with a green. Now I will tell my men…'
They had been confined aboard the cramped launch for hours. Spanjersberg approached each of the four men separately where they had taken up different viewing points. He spoke to them in whispers, retreated back to the safe side of the v/heelhouse and made a gesture with his hand, a downward chopping gesture.
The four men began running towards the stern at the same moment, zigzagging as they pounded along the deck. For a second the only sound in the deep silence of the night was the thud of their boots on planking. Then came a fresh sound.
The dull crack of a rifle being fired. In rapid succession. So rapid it was almost a continuous and single sound. Marler was pressing the trigger, moving the muzzle a fraction, pressing the trigger.
Blade saw it from the shelter of the wall where he crouched. Four running men, spread out. The first fell, rolled, stopped. The second cried out, dropped like a sack of cement with a thud Blade didn't hear. The third man nearly made it to the wheelhouse, then threw up his hands and sprawled inert on the deck. The fourth man dived down the steps of a companionway which swallowed him up.
'That bastard,' said Blade, his tone mild.
'We don't move?' Eddie, crouched next to him, asked.
'Not till Tweed fires the green signal. You know that. God, Tweed will be raving inside.'
'I see why you were so keen on my skill with a moving target,' Marler commented. 'Must be out of practice.'
'Why do you say that?' Klein asked in surprise.
'Only three out of four. Should have got the lot. I'll get better as we go on.'
'We've made our point,' Klein snapped. 'When Tweed tries to get back let him go. That little demonstration must have shaken his nerve.'
'Which is the crux of your strategy?'
'Always keep the enemy off balance. Surprise him. Break him down.'
They had moved off the platform when Marler asked his question. First he lit a cigarette.
'This elusive bullion we keep hearing about. Any sign of our getting our hands on the loot?'
'Brand is under guard in Luxembourg City. He has phoned me to say Bonn is weakening. I expect to have good news soon. Has everyone eaten?' he asked Chabot who appeared from the direction of the restaurant, munching a sandwich. 'Full stomachs are what an arrny marches on. Napoleon.'
'They have taken it in shifts to eat,' Chabot reported. 'The food we brought with us, that is. And, before you ask, they have drunk nothing but the mineral water or the coffee we also brought with us.'
Klein nodded. He had known there would be food and drink in the restaurant food store but inside two of the cases his men had carried in to Euromast there had been canned meats, butter and bread, cans of coffee, condensed milk and bottles of mineral water. Klein believed in relying on his own supplies. Drinking water from the kitchen taps had been banned. The Dutch might get clever and introduce some poisonous element into the water supply.
'Now,' he said, 'we will prepare the major shock for the next encounter with Tweed.'
'It may be some time yet,' Tweed warned Blade as he passed the masked figure crouched behind a wall.
Van Gorp was waiting for him when he entered the HQ room via the back staircase. The Dutchman stood up, his expression bleak. He waited until Tweed was seated.
'I was on the roof when that incident occurred. Three of my men are dead – or badly injured..'
'Dead. Spanjersberg said they had to be. He's waiting with them on the launch…'
'I am not prepared to stand by while that swine kills off my men one by one. What happened?'
'Spanjersberg indicated they wanted to leave. We thought if all four ran at once there would be too many targets. The marksman on that tower is even better than I thought. It's appalling, I agree.' Tweed looked straight at Van Gorp. 'If you wish to take control of the operation I am in your hands. After all, we are on Dutch soil.'
The Dutchman sat down slowly, spread his hands. 'I realize it is a matter of psychology – dealing with that megalomaniac. You know him better than any of us. Please carry on. And I see you have your Verey pistol.'
Tweed had laid it on the table, exposing his right hand. A blob of blood welled up from the back of the hand. Taking a bloodstained handkerchief from his pocket Tweed dabbed at it.
That needs attention,' Paula burst out.
'A sharp chip of wood flew up from the deck when a bullet hit it. Nothing to fuss about.'
'I'm not fussing. It needs washing. I've got Elastoplast in my shoulder bag. I'm dealing with it…'
While she attended to his hand Tweed went on talking to Van Gorp. 'What's the latest met. report? You have a new one?'
Silently, the Dutchman pushed a sheet of paper across the table. They had been receiving regular weather forecasts at Tweed's suggestion for some time. He read the latest and Paula felt him stiffen.
'What is it?' she asked.
'More bad news,' Van Gorp told her.
'I wonder,' said Tweed. 'Major weather change on the way. A heavy sea mist expected and little drizzle. It's a new factor.'
'You mean Klein won't be able to see what's going on out at sea, that we might be able to move the ships out of range?' Van Gorp suggested.
'Certainly it will eliminate their visibility to the lookout I am sure Klein keeps up in that Space Tower. As to moving the ships, too dangerous. Remember, he said he had men watching on the coast. They'll be in radio communication with him. If they report movement he'll press that button.' He looked at Paula. 'Thank you,' he said as she completed staunching the flow of blood. 'No,' he continued, 'it is here at Euromast the deadlock must be ended. It is conditions here which count.'
He waited as Van Gorp took another phone call. Another conversation in Dutch. Van Gorp swore as he put down the receiver.
'The news is really leaking out. That Reuter report started it of course. Now newspaper reporters, TV crews are trying to slip through the cordons for a view of the tower. Some are bound to get through. And who the hell is this?' He picked up the phone again, listened, handed it to Tweed.
'It's for you. Newman on the line…'
Tweed? This is an open connection. I'm talking from a cafe near a certain bank…' Tweed thought Newman sounded strained, tired. Lack of sleep. '… and we're waiting for the banker to leave for the airport. He's being held
