'That a ramshackle outfit like the UTS could organize not one – but two – successful robberies. And from Swiss banks!'
'What's the answer?'
'No idea. Here we are. Let's dive inside. Come along to my room when you're ready. We'll talk about it a bit more.'
Tweed had taken off his lightweight Burberry, wishing he'd worn a heavier coat, had a quick wash, when he decided to call Charvet at his apartment.
'Alain, Tweed here again. That chap, The Recruiter, does this character have a name?'
'More like a ghost than a real person. It's all gossip like I told you…'
'But does he have a name? It is a man, I assume?'
'So the grapevine says. Which is about all it does say. And yes they do toss around a name. Common enough in a number of countries. It's Klein.'
16
Klein was the first passenger to get off the train at Basle. He hurried to the French station, which is attached to the main station. A curious city, Basle. Three countries meet here – Switzerland, France and Germany. Only a short train ride away is Basle Bad Bahnhof, the German station.
He used French francs to buy a single first-class ticket to Brussels. The express was waiting and he settled himself in an empty compartment. As the train began to move through the night he checked over in his mind a list of the tasks he had accomplished.
Timers. They were on their way aboard the Nestle truck bound for Larochette. By using trains Klein would arrive there before the truck. Gaston Blanc had been eliminated.
And no one could connect Klein with that episode. He had bought a single ticket from Geneva to Basle. Now he was travelling with another single ticket to Brussels. That severed the link with Switzerland.
But the day's work was not yet finished. There was still the problem of the Turkish driver bringing the timers. A problem he would solve soon. Klein settled back to sleep. He had an alarm clock inside his head, could always wake before he reached his destination…
Fifteen minutes before the express arrived at Luxembourg City, Klein woke, checked his watch. He extracted from his case a small slim black box, shoved it in his pocket and made for the toilet. He seemed to spend half his life inside lavatories he thought with macabre humour as he opened the box.
Among other articles in separate compartments in the velvet-lined box were a tube of foundation cream, a container of light-coloured face powder, cotton wool and a small brush. He worked quickly, rubbing into his face a little of the foundation cream with his fingers. He then applied some of the powder, brushing off the surplus with the complexion brush. He studied the effect in the mirror.
That make-up girl in the closed city of Gorky had taught him a thing or two. 'Most people don't realize,' she had said, 'that a man's complexion – especially someone with a high colour like yours – is one of their most distinguishing features.' Mind you, later he had taught her a thing or two stretched out on the leather couch.
The stark white image stared back at him. It gave him a somewhat sinister appearance. Intimidating. Satisfied, he racked his equipment back inside the box and returned to his compartment after taking a pee.
Again he was the first passenger off the express when it rolled into Luxembourg City. The Volvo station wagon was parked outside the station where Hipper had left it earlier, taking a cab back to Larochette.
Klein unlocked the car with the key Hipper had provided, slid behind the wheel, inserted the ignition key and drove off. Reaching the turn-off from the main highway, he pressed his foot down. Klein moved along the crag- walled winding road at even higher speed than Hipper had driven. Louis Chabot would have been terrified.
It was close to midnight when Louis Chabot returned from his walk through the deserted village and along the winding gorge where, Hipper had told him, the old railway had once run. My God, it was good to get away from that mausoleum, La Montagne. From the rooms with furniture covered with sheets. Only the kitchen was modern and in use.
He heard the car coming from the same direction he had been driven and stepped back inside a narrow alley. The Volvo braked suddenly, swerved into the drive in front of the hotel, sending up a shower of pebbles.
'Bloody maniac,' Chabot growled.
He remained hidden as the driver got out after dousing his lights. The figure was no more than a pale silhouette in the shadows as he disappeared round the side to the rear entrance. Chabot decided to wait, lit a Gauloise. He was good at waiting. Sometimes he'd had to wait hours for the target he'd been commissioned to kill.
He might learn something. Which was more than he ever would from that Hipper who was as informative as a wooden Indian. Half an hour later the Nestle truck arrived, pulled in by the side of La Montagne. Chabot went on waiting. There were some things it might be better not to know. And Hipper had let slip a cargo of timers was expected.
Klein was amiable with the Turkish driver after he had handed over the case containing the timers. He poured him a glass of red wine in the kitchen, illuminated by a harsh fluorescent tube, then perched his buttocks on a table as he chatted to the driver in French.
'You are heading for Brussels now, I understand?'
'Yes…'
The greasy-haired, swarthy-complexioned Turk's command of the language was limited. Klein spoke slowly, kept it simple.
There's been a landslide of rocks on the direct route. I will take you to Clervaux.' He produced a map folded to the right section, showed the driver. 'From there you can drive on to Brussels. You will never find the way on your own – at night it is easy to get lost in the Ardennes.'
'How you get back – from this Clervaux?'
'Easy. My friend here will follow in his car and bring me back. After I have taken you through the difficult bit.'
'You make me pay money for this?'
'God, no! The consignment of drugs you have brought is so important I am glad to see you safely on your way.'
A more intelligent mind might have wondered why such dangerous information had been revealed. But Klein had judged his man well. The Turk's Swiss work permit expired in two months and would not be renewed. He didn't worry about that. He'd be glad to get back to his family, to his wife, in the village a few kilometres outside Ankara.
He had saved a lot of money, sending it back home. But never before had he received so much for one simple job – a thousand-franc note. He had never even seen one before. He readily agreed to Klein's suggestion. He was standing up, finishing off his glass of red wine when Klein bumped against him, spilling wine down the Turk's front.
'I am so sorry…'
'It is nothing. Should we go now?'
Klein led the way to the truck, climbing up into the cab on the driver's side behind the wheel. The Turk stood looking up with a puzzled expression as Hipper ran to the Volvo.
'Get in the passenger seat,' Klein called down. 'I know the way. There are few signposts this side of Clervaux.'
The Turk shrugged, walked round the front and joined Klein. As the truck came out of the drive, heading away from Luxembourg City, followed by the Volvo, Chabot watched from inside his alley.
He didn't understand what was going on. Had the Nestle truck delivered the timers? He peered out of the alley, saw the red tail-lights of the Volvo turning left, driving north. He went back to La Montagne,
He found the open bottle of red wine in the kitchen, poured himself a glass, drank it, then began his search for the timers. He searched all three floors, using a torch he had taken from his case, which was still packed. Chabot had a feeling he might want to leave Larochette quickly. But he didn't find the timers.
