'Depends whose death it is,' Newman snapped.
Klein left the night train at Antwerp Central. The car he had phoned the hire people for was waiting for him outside the station. A black BMW. He showed identification in the name Peter Conway in the form of a forged driving licence. He paid the fee for the special service involved, climbed behind the wheel and drove to the Plaza Hotel.
He parked a short distance back from but with a good view of the entrance. At Brussels Midi he'd seen Lara board a coach of the same express he'd travelled on. He sat waiting, knowing she would arrive soon. Taxis had been scarce at Antwerp station in the middle of the night. But sooner or later she would arrive. Then he would have to move quickly.
'One thing I forgot to tell you,' Benoit said when he returned to his office. 'That French ferret who never lets go – The Parrot – reported Lara Seagrave left the Mayfair Hotel earlier this evening. She had dinner at the Hilton. A restaurant called the Maison de B?uf, he thinks. He nearly lost her. She was on foot and he had to park his motor- cycle. He walked into the lobby just in time to see her enter an elevator in the distance. It stopped at the first floor and came down again empty. That restaurant is on the first floor. He sat it out in the lobby until she reappeared and walked back to the Mayfair.'
'Doesn't he ever give up?' asked Tweed.
'Never. We've offered him relief, to put one of our own officers on the job. He agrees – for a few hours. Then he's back again. Highly irregular- a French detective operating here. But his sheer doggedness has impressed the hell out of us. Says that he followed her from Marseilles!'
'He did just that,' said Tweed. 'Ferret is the word. Now, I need to keep in close touch with Park Crescent.'
'All arranged. When that Monica of yours phones we'll give her your room number at the Hilton, Rotterdam. And we can take a message while we're airborne.'
'The Alouette is ready?'
'Quintin, the pilot, phoned me. He'll take off the moment we reach Brussels Airport.' Klein watched Lara get out of the cab in front of the Plaza. She took her time paying the fare and while she did this a second cab appeared in his rear view mirror and crawled to a stop about thirty yards behind him. Klein waited for someone to alight from the second cab. No one did.
He cursed inwardly as Lara disappeared inside the hotel. At the last moment she was being tracked. How the devil could that have happened? He waited several minutes and then a small man alighted from the cab and trudged along the sidewalk,
Hands in pockets, The Parrot walked past the BMW. Glancing inside he saw a man wearing a trilby hat slumped behind the wheel, head turned away, obviously fast asleep. Probably resting after an evening's hard drinking. The Parrot went inside the hotel, approached the receptionist behind the counter. He spoke in English.
'I have a message for a young lady I believe has just arrived. A Miss Smith.'
The sharp-eyed night clerk shook his head. 'No one of that name registered here.'
'I thought I saw her walk in just a few minutes ago,' The Parrot persisted.
'You must be mistaken. No one of that name here.'
The Parrot walked back to his cab. He'd hoped to extract the name Lara was using. He climbed inside the cab, settled down to wait. He must be losing his grip. He felt incredibly tired. Eyes pricking, every limb aching.
Klein, watching him in the mirror, cursed again. He took one of his quick decisions. Starting the engine, he revved it up several times as though he'd had trouble starting it. Which would explain his parking at the kerb in the middle of the night. Then he drove off.
Arriving at Boekstraat, he parked at the entrance, put on a pair of dark glasses and walked to the sleazy hotel where he'd met Lara during her earlier trip to Antwerp, the hotel where Chabot and Hipper were staying.
The same sordid woman was sitting behind her counter. He gave the names his men were using, obtained the room numbers and went up and woke them in turn. He handed Hipper an unmarked map of Delft, the ancient Dutch town a few miles north of Rotterdam. His index finger pin-pointed the location of a camp site.
'It's near Delft-Noord. Get dressed at once. Drive straight to this site. A man called Legaud will receive you. Did you deal with Haber's family at the mill?'
'They'll be dead by now.'
His next stop was at the hotel where Marler was staying under an assumed name. Unlike Hipper and Chabot, Marler was fully dressed.
'I had a hunch you'd turn up tonight,' he drawled.
'Why?' There was a whiplash in Klein's tone, his suspicion surfacing instantly.
'After hanging about forever in Bouillon you suddenly start moving me about like a chess piece. Obvious conclusion? We are about to start the operation. Where to now?'
'You leave at once. You've had bad news…'
'Maybe that's true…'
'I don't like jokes. Drive to Rotterdam. A room has been reserved at the Hilton. In the name Harvey Miller. I want you there by morning.'
'Piece of cake…'
Still fuming, Klein left and drove back to the district where the Plaza was located. Marler always managed to irk him. He drove round, studying the layout until he came to a one-way street – traffic to come the other way only. A straight street and deserted at that hour. He checked his map. The ideal place to shake off whoever was watching Lara.
He pulled in by a call box, got out and dialled the Plaza's number, asking for Lara by the name she'd registered under. She sounded surprisingly alert. He began talking about nothing in particular, like a boy friend calling, then his voice changed.
'Stop listening to our conversation. Get off the bloody line or I'll report you to the manager…'
There was a click. On the switchboard the bored night operator swore. How the hell had the caller guessed?
Klein then gave her specific instructions as to what to do. He rang off, went back to the car.
He reached the Plaza earlier than he'd expected, pulling in at the kerb a distance behind the cab which was still parked in the same place.
His eyes narrowed as he saw Lara, carrying her case, walking back up the street and going back inside the Plaza. Checking his watch, Klein saw he was five minutes early. Why was she wandering about?
Precisely five minutes later Lara reappeared, walking down the street in the opposite direction, again carrying her case. The cab started up, crawling after her. Klein tapped fingers on the wheel, waiting. She was almost out of sight when he started the car, drove forward at speed.
The Parrot saw the BMW pass his cab at high speed. It pulled in alongside Lara, who hauled open the passenger seat door, jumped inside, and the BMW sped off. 'Don't lose that car!' The Parrot called out to his driver.
'All right, all right. He's exceeding the limit…'
'There's a big tip to keep up,'
The cab driver increased speed. The BMW was still in sight. It braked suddenly, swung left into a side street, accelerated. Arriving at the entrance the cab driver stopped.
'Can't follow him up there. One-way street…'
'Follow him! Here…' The Parrot shoved a handful of banknotes at the driver. 'That makes it worth your while…'
'Nothing makes it worth my while to lose my licence. Meet a patrol car and…' The driver glanced down the street. 'In any case, he's gone.'
The Parrot followed his gaze. The street was empty. Yes, blast it, he'd gone.
A short while earlier at Park Crescent the call had come through to Monica. In the middle of the ruddy night. She'd hauled from a cupboard Tweed's camp bed, fixed it up with blankets and a pillow. She'd just laid her head on that pillow when the phone rang.
Switching on the table lamp she'd perched against the back of a chair, she reached for the phone. Sitting up straight she suppressed a yawn, then came awake suddenly. It was Olympus.
