26
Tweed missed catching the express to Brussels as he'd planned. He made one last phone call to Lasalle to tell him he was leaving Paris. The Frenchman said he had further information and could they meet?
Inside the DSI chief's office Tweed sat drinking coffee while Lasalle explained.
'After our interview with that Corsican villain, Calgourli, I checked with the police chiefs of all major cities. I wanted data on any unusual happenings. I may have come up with something in Marseilles.'
'That's a long way south…'
'Wait, my friend. You recall Calgourli referred to his rival in Marseilles, Emilio Perugini? This is confidential - we have a snout inside Perugini's organization. A man called Klein visited Perugini at his Cassis villa – these rats live high. Through Perugini Klein hired a very hard case called Louis Chabot. Freelance type…'
'What type?'
'Bodyguard, killer – you name it. The Marseilles police report Chabot has disappeared from his normal haunts. Vanished into thin air was the phrase used. And he's an expert on explosives, also a professional scuba diver. The qualifications Klein laid down to Calgourli.'
'Sounds like a member of the team Klein is forming.'
'Wait!' Lasalle repeated. There's more. Chabot had a girl friend, a bar girl called Cecile Lamont. Her body was dragged out of the sea. The screws of a large liner sailing for Oran sliced her clean through the middle…'
'You think Chabot…'
'No, I don't. He was fond of the girl – and his record has no trace of him ever attacking a woman. The post- mortem showed how she died – before she was thrown into the sea. Her throat was cut from ear to ear.'
Tweed sighed. 'That's getting to have a familiar sound. And it sounds like Klein. He's a ruthless bastard,' he said with feeling. 'You can see the pattern. He never leaves anyone alive who could help us. Did you check with Interpol – get them to put Klein through the computer?'
'Yes. Result, a blank. I asked my colleague for any other recent murders. I don't think this is relevant, but they've found a Swiss Nestle truck driver dead in the Ardennes near Clervaux. Turkish driver on his way to Brussels with a delivery from the Nestle factory at some place called Broc…' He paused, seeing Tweed's expression. 'What's the matter?'
This Klein is a ghost.' He took a map from his pocket of Western Europe. 'Can we spread this out on your desk? I'd like to see if we can track this ghost…'
Tweed talked as he made crosses on the map, starting with Broc in Switzerland, moving on to Geneva, Basle and Clervaux as he explained the events in Geneva and Basle. The murder of the Swiss research genius in watch- making, the bullion robberies in Basle.
He made more crosses on Marseilles and Paris. Then he drew a route line through the crosses, with off- shoots to Marseilles and Paris. Standing up, he tapped the map with his felt-tip pen.
'You see?'
'He appears to be moving north, always north. Where the hell is he heading for? And why the cross on Dinant. That takes us into Belgium.'
'My thanks to you there – for putting me on to Lara Seagrave.' Tweed produced a tissue-wrapped package from his coat pocket, showed Lasalle the couque. 'Lara gave me that in Smiths' tea-room. Speciality made in Dinant. I think Klein has reached the Meuse. I've sent Bob Newman to poke around in that area. And I think the bullion stolen from Basle travelled this route aboard a barge…' He traced a route south of Basle, along the Canal de la Marne et Haut Rhin, continuing up the Canal de l'Est, crossing the border with Belgium and stopping at Dinant.
'That gold,' Tweed went on, 'I'm convinced was the money which originally financed Klein's operation. You heard what he offered Calgourli. Now, I need the fence who handled the bullion – converted it into hard cash for Klein. I may know who the fence is. What I need now is a link between the fence and Klein.'
'What's the significance of the Nestle truck and its Turkish driver? The Belgians are convinced it was murder. They've asked for the assistance of Chief Inspector Benoit in Brussels since the Belgian capital was its ultimate destination.'
'Like you, Benoit never gives up,' Tweed mused, studying his map. 'Any idea where Lara Seagrave is now?'
'Antwerp,' Lasalle said promptly. 'While she was here The Parrot followed her to Cherbourg. Same procedure as down in Marseilles and Le Havre. She took a lot of photographs of the harbour area. I'd have arrested her, grilled her by now if you hadn't asked me to hold off.'
Thank you. She could just be our only lead to Klein. How do you know she's in Antwerp? North again. And it's beginning very much to look like Belgium.'
The Parrot followed her when she took a train to Brussels, then another to Antwerp. I've already called Benoit to tell him. After all, The Parrot is on foreign soil. Benoit was very cooperative, has permitted The Parrot to continue tracking Seagrave. He's given my man back-up. What the blazes could be the target? We've had these persistent rumours of a hijack of a ship.'
'I happen to know Klein may be skilled at throwing out a smokescreen to cover his real operation. We'd better watch it. Under Klein's instructions – if she is – Lara could be leading us astray.'
'Don't follow that.'
'She could already have visited the target – in France. I'm suspicious she may now be pointing us in the wrong direction. Further north than the real target.'
'I tell you something in confidence,' Lasalle replied. 'We have sent out a general alert to all ports from Marseilles up the Atlantic coast to Le Havre. Two more things which may be of interest. Lara Seagrave is staying at the Plaza Hotel in Antwerp. And Interpol told me a number of known hard cases have disappeared from Luxembourg City.'
'Interesting. You know one of the Luxembourger's favourite sports?'
Tell me.'
'Scuba diving. And Luxembourg is close to the Meuse.'
They had eaten an excellent lunch of salmon steak aboard the Evening Star. Newman was getting the hang of the set-up on the vessel. Alfredo was a skilled dogsbody – he acted as cook as well as barman and general factotum. Sergeant Bradley did little except give orders to the crew. Josette did damn-all except look beautiful and listen to Ralston's pronouncements.
Under the surface he sensed an atmosphere of tension. He put it down to the colonel's sudden choleric outbursts of temper when something displeased him. Finishing off his lunch at the head of the table with a couple of cognacs, he was in a good humour as he stood up and beckoned to Newman to follow.
On deck he extended one short thick arm towards the right bank. The boat had changed course, was heading diagonally across the river as the hooter sounded continuously, warning other craft that might lie behind a nearby bend..
'Brand's estate at Profondeville,' Ralston barked. 'Ten acres he's got – and land here costs gold dust.'
'Being a banker maybe he's got plenty of gold bullion,' Newman remarked casually.
'What's that you said? Plenty of?'
'Gold bullion. After all, you said he's a banker.'
'Don't know a thing about his business. Except his HQ is in Brussels – with a branch in Luxembourg City. Lives in a fabulous mansion in Brussels on the Avenue Franklin Roosevelt. Park Lane of Brussels. Here he comes.'
The sun was shining out of a clear blue sky as Bradley ran about issuing orders. The cruiser was approaching a landing stage at the foot of a vast sloping green lawn. Spaced out across the trim green were shrubs sculpted in the shapes of various animals. There were life-like boars, stags, leopards and lions. A tall slim man wearing white flannels and holding a tennis racquet stood waiting on the landing stage.
'Christ!' Ralston burst out. 'Damn helmsman is bringing her in at the wrong angle…'
He bounded up the steps to the bridge. Inside the wheel-house Newman watched him push the helmsman
