with the keys. When he backed the car round the corner in front of the pub and went inside Nield was still conscious, sipping mineral water provided by Mick. The glass suddenly tumbled from his hand, rolled across the floor.
'Never mind that, sir. Ups-a-daisy. Car's outside.'
'Get me… to King's Lynn… Duke's Head,' Nield mumbled, his face ashen.
'You're going to 'orspital. Come on now.'
With the barman's aid Nield stood up, stumbled towards the door. He nearly tripped at the exit but the barman's firm grip saved him. Nield's last clear vision of Blakeney was of the coaster, the crane swivelling another loading net to the hold. He fell into the back of the car, rested his swimming head on the head-rest, then blacked out.
38
'A lot of urgent messages for you, Tweed,' Chief Inspector Benoit said as they settled in his office at police HQ off Grand'Place. He pushed a sheaf of typed notes across his desk.
Newman sat in a corner chair where he could survey the whole room. He lit a cigarette while Tweed sorted through the pile, arranging it in a certain order.
The Alouette had flown them from the football field to Brussels Airport. As arranged over the radio by Benoit, unmarked police cars had been waiting to drive them into Brussels.
No one had eaten for hours and Newman felt very tired. He also detected rare signs of fatigue in Tweed, his face drawn but the eyes behind his glasses were still alert. Tweed looked at Benoit.
'You have a scrambler phone? I have to call Lasalle in Paris.'
Benoit pushed one of the two phones on his desk forward after pressing a red button on the instrument. 'Installed since the growth of terrorism. Help yourself. You know the number?'
'Yes.' Tweed dialled from memory, wondering whether Lasalle would still be at rue des Saussaies. It was nine in the evening. Lasalle himself answered.
'Tweed? Been trying to get you for hours. I contacted Interpol about whether any German in Brazil had fathered a child. Didn't expect anything but a reply came back fast. Bit of a scandal – the woman involved comes from a good family. A man called Kuhn gave her a son a few months ago. They plan to marry. Nothing on present whereabouts of this Kuhn. Best I can do.'
'Thank you very much…'
'Getting anywhere?'
'Nothing definite. Be in touch.' Tweed put down the phone, looked at the other two men. 'Man called Kuhn had an affair with an upper-class Brazilian girl. Result, a son. Supposed to be going to marry her. He's disappeared. Klein. Kuhn. The names are similar.'
'Not conclusive by a mile,' Newman objected. 'Any description?'
'I gather not. It's a miracle Interpol extracted that much information.'
'But if Klein were Kuhn,' Benoit pointed out, 'it would give him a bolt-hole you'd never penetrate. No extradition from Brazil if he has an offspring by a Brazilian girl – even out of wedlock.'
'It's a long shot,' Newman insisted. 'What positive evidence have we got about anything? None. Klein, as someone said earlier, moves like a phantom.'
'I have to call Monica next,' Tweed said.
He was reaching for the phone when there was a knock on the door, a uniformed officer appeared when Benoit called out ami the man whispered in his ear. The Belgian police chief looked at Tweed.
'Harry Butler is outside. Ask him to come in,' he told the officer.
'I found Klein, I'm sure,' Butler announced as he sagged into a chair. Then I lost him,' he said in a tone of disgust.
'Where?' rapped out Tweed with a burst of fresh energy.
'Here in Brussels…'
He described his recent experiences, starting with following Peter Brand to the Hotel Cravat in Luxembourg, his decision to track the stooped man with glasses and a pipe, ending with his losing Klein at the Sheraton.
'Is he still booked in at the Sheraton?' Tweed asked.
'Officially yes, for two more days. I don't think he will come back. The room is paid in advance. But I chatted up one of the girl receptionists and she saw him leave with his bag. That was while I was calling London, trying to contact you. I mucked it up.'
'I don't think so,' Tweed disagreed. 'You are sure it was Klein despite his changed appearance?'
'Bet my pension on it.'
Tweed looked round the room. 'We do have definite evidence on several points. Colonel Ralston confirmed Klein visited Brand several times. Brand, therefore, is the banker for the coming operation. Now we have Klein placed in this city. At long last we've tracked him, we're close…'
'And the target?' Newman queried.
'I'll call London. I may be able to answer that question after talking with Park Crescent.'
The air of tension, added to by fatigue, grew in the room while Tweed made his call. Benoit, normally calm and jovial, tapped his desk with the fingers of one hand. The news that Klein was in Brussels had shaken him. Newman stirred restlessly in his chair, staring at a wall map of Belgium. Only Butler remained unmoved, waiting the next development.
Tweed's call to Monica was fairly brief. He let her do most of the talking. Near the end of the conversation he asked if she'd any word from Nield in King's Lynn. He put down the receiver.
'I'm reliably informed the target is Antwerp…'
'Oh, my God!' Benoit stiffened.
'But,' Tweed went on, 'I don't believe it. Klein is diabolically clever. When I take a hotel room I prop his Identikit picture where I can see it – rather as I once read Montgomery did with Rommel before Alamein…'
'I hope,' Benoit broke in, 'you're not suggesting we're facing another Alamein?'
'With the huge armoury of explosives at his disposal we could face enormous casualties. The man is ruthless -maybe beyond the point of sanity.'
'Why not Antwerp?' Benoit demanded.
'Because Klein is past master at the art of spreading smoke-screens to conceal his true objective. Looking at his picture, I realize he's bound to know that by now we're aware he's planning something. He's too clever not to realize with the number of men he's recruited someone will have raised the alarm.'
'But your reliable source, as you termed it,' Benoit persisted, 'says it is Antwerp.'
'They think. I'd hoped for a totally positive statement. I haven't got it.' Tweed leaned forward. 'I think Klein is so clever he's probably fooled his own team – just in case someone lets a clue drop.'
'I can't take a chance on that.' Benoit stood up. 'I have to inform the Minister. We have to alert Antwerp, immediately take certain precautions in that great port. You yourself said Klein is in Brussels…' He turned to Butler. 'And I'm convinced you have located Klein.' He shook his head. 'No, gentlemen, I can't risk it. What are you going to do in the meantime? Tonight, I mean.'
'Get a light meal and some sleep,' Tweed replied. 'Fatigue is a bad counsellor and we are all very tired. Also, I want to go back over the whole history of this business with Newman. He said not long ago maybe we know more than we realize we know. That could be the case. Hard thought may give me the clue I'm seeking – to the ultimate target.'
Klein made three phone calls from an outside call box. One to Lara, another to Marler, the third to Hipper. In each case the gist of the calls was the same.
'The conference is now arranged. Please leave immediately for Antwerp. A reservation has been made for you in your name…' A false name was given for each member of the team. 'You stay at this hotel…' A different hotel was allocated for each of them. 'I will contact you there soon after you arrive. Please have meals in your room. Other people have to be contacted re the sales conference.'
It was Klein's sixth sense which caused him to take this lightning decision. Something about Brussels didn't
