'Understood.'
'They're both OK. A bit stressed after their experience – we found them locked up in an old mill tower. I'll be catching a train to Namur, then another from there to Brussels. I'll catch the first flight to Rotterdam. See you at the Hilton.' Her voice changed again. 'Any news of Joseph Haber?'
Tweed braced himself. 'Are Martine and Lucien in the room with you?'
'No, I'm alone, but they're here. Why did you ask that?'
'Bad news, Paula…'
'Oh, no. He's not…?'
'Dead. Yes. Found by the Dutch in the middle of the night aboard the Erika in a docking basin here. His throat was cut. More of Klein's work.'
'I'll have to tell them – Martine and Lucien…'
'Get that policeman, Pierre, to break the news. Police are used to it.'
'I'll leave out the part about his cut throat.' Her tone was firm. 'But I'm going to tell them. Don't try and argue me out of it. See you at the Hilton. I'm going now.'
There was a click at the other end. Tweed replaced the receiver. Gutsy, very gutsy. He told the others the news. It was Newman who reacted first.
'She shouldn't come to Rotterdam. She's had enough. Hell is going to break loose here.'
'It goes with the territory,' Tweed said tersely. He opened his brief-case, took out the Identikit sketch of Igor Zarov and handed it to Van Gorp.
'That's Klein. You might want to make copies and distribute them to your men. And you asked where do we start before I took that call. If you can supply transport I'd like to go out to Europort with Newman – and maybe you, too, Benoit?'
The Belgian nodded agreement as Tweed continued.
'I'm getting to know how Klein's mind works. I might just see something useful. In any case…'He gave a grim smile. '… it always helps to survey the battlefield before the war starts. Incidentally,' he asked Van Gorp, 'what about the SAS team my PM was flying to Schiphol?'
'I was going to tell you. They've arrived. I offered to provide a room at the airport where they could all kip down while they waited. Their commander, chap called Blade, had other ideas. Insisted they should be scattered in two's and three's. They've left their kit in the chartered plane which flew them in. They're dressed like tourists. Some are sleeping in chairs in the departure lounge.'
That sounds like Blade,' Newman observed. 'Just as I remember him. Security comes before God with him.'
'Blade is anxious to see you, Tweed, when he can,' Van Gorp went on. 'It's about twenty kilometres to Europort, thirty to the North Sea if you want to go all the way.'
'All the way.'
'Then you could meet Blade here in about three hours' time.'
'Fix it for me.'
'Mind you…' Van Gorp hesitated as if embarrassed. The Minister was grateful to your PM for SAS support -but he pointed out if we face an emergency it will be up to our own Marines to make any assault on their own. They've already been confined to their barracks. Just in case, he said.'
'Still not convinced?'
'By no means. I doubt if he'll put a strong case before the Cabinet which is now in session. I did my best.' He shrugged, looked down at the Identikit sketch he was still holding. 'At least I can get copies made of this and they'll be distributed within the hour. Excuse me while I attend to it.'
He phoned the desk and shortly afterwards a plainclothes man joined them. Van Gorp gave him the Identikit, speaking in rapid Dutch. When the man had left the room he picked up his trilby.
The cars are ready. Let's get moving. If Klein is skulking round Rotterdam one of my patrol cars may well spot him with that picture.'
42
In room 904 at the Rotterdam Hilton Marler sat reading The Times when the phone rang. Reception informed him that his car was ready, his chauffeur waiting in the lobby. He said thank you, put down the phone.
His car? His chauffeur? What the hell was going on? Slipping on his Aquascutum coat, he unlocked a wardrobe, took out the sports bag containing his dismantled rifle and ammo. No point in leaving that behind.
He pressed the first floor button inside the elevator, got out and slowly descended the staircase for the last flight, his eyes scanning the lobby. A tall slim man in chauffeur's dark uniform and peaked cap stood gazing out of the entrance, gloved hands clasped behind his back.
Marler frowned, wandered over to the reception counter, asked the girl behind it about the call. She pointed to the man by the door.
'There is your chauffeur, sir.'
'Stupid of me.' Marler gave her a beaming smile. 'I missed seeing the chap. Thank you so much.'
As he strolled over the chauffeur swung round, staring at him from behind the tinted glasses so often affected by chauffeurs. Marler paused, still puzzled. The chauffeur spoke.
'Your car is ready when you are, sir,' he said in English.
Only then did Marler realize he was looking at Klein. Bloody clever, he thought. Who notices a chauffeur? Klein stood aside to let Marler walk out first, followed and led him to a BMW parked a few yards up the street.
Opening the rear door, he ushered Marler inside. Glancing up as he settled himself, Marler said, 'Thank you, my man.' He saw for a split second behind the glasses a flash of rage and then Klein got in behind the wheel and drove off, glancing at his passenger in the mirror.
'We are going for a tour of the city,' Klein informed him, 'a tour of the strategic sights.'
'So, at long last, we've reached the target?'
'Only if certain information reaches me. Otherwise we will be moving on again.'
'Oh, come off it, Klein! You used the word 'strategic'. I've got to know whether to take this seriously. I'm a professional – in case you've forgotten. If I know where I am I can be certain to be effective.'
The first item on our itinerary is Euromast. Remarkable nation, the Dutch. Some of their engineering feats are without precedent. You're carrying your rifle in that bag?'
'I'm not leaving it behind where some curious maid with a duplicate key can open up a wardrobe and start sniffing about.'
The conversation ended on that sharp note and Marler, taking out a street map, opened it up to follow their route. Details of layout, the first essential in any operation. Soon they were driving alongside a wide stretch of water off which stretched a complex system of endless docks. There were freighters, ships of every type, barges berthed everywhere. From his map Marler identified this as the New Waterway or New Maas (Dutch for the continuation of the Meuse into Holland) – the great lifeline of Europe joining up with the Rhine.
Ships' hooters whistled, great barges cruised across its surface, immense dockside cranes loomed in the distance. Klein slowed down as they drove alongside a large green park on the landward side. He turned a corner where the road ran by the edge of a basin. Marler leaned forward. At the far end of the basin several police launches were moored. Klein had stopped the car, parking it by the kerb.
'We have arrived. You may as well know this is the command centre for the attack.'
Marler alighted, carrying his bag, then stared upwards. It spired vertically towards the clear blue sky, an enormous and shapely circular tower of concrete, a thick column at its base, widening far above his head to a viewing platform, continuing above that – forever it seemed – as a narrower needle to a second viewing point at its distant summit.
'Euromast,' said Klein. 'We go inside. I am the chauffeur you have kindly taken with you to see the view. Check every aspect. This is where you will operate.'
The two unmarked police cars drove along the Maastunnel under the river – a stone's throw from Euromast. Van Gorp drove the first car with Tweed beside him and Newman and Bellenger in the back. The naval commander
