At his table inside the restaurant Marler was cramming himself with noodles. He worked much better on a full stomach. The man Klein was talking to had his wide back to him so he hadn't seen his face. A huge brute. The formidable Frenchman Klein had referred to? Maybe, maybe not. He went on eating.
'Back in that restaurant,' Klein was saying, 'I heard a couple of soldiers talking. Something about all Dutch marines being confined to barracks.'
'True. Just a precaution. Probably caused by that mysterious explosion at sea. So everything is going our way. Our little opening shot at that barracks will coincide with the storming of Euromast. All watches synchronized to the second.'
'No problems at all?' Klein persisted.
'Only Chabot.' He shrugged. 'I come back to the camp site and see him wandering through the entrance. Hipper tried to stop him leaving – with a gun. Chabot took the gun off him. He'd been out for an hour's walk. He did that frequently at Larochette, Hipper said. He's restless for action. Aren't we all? But now we're in business.' He grinned again.
'Just don't get over-confident,' Klein snapped. 'Our advantage is the element of surprise. No one knows we're here.'
43
'I've been sacked. At least, suspended from duty pending an enquiry,' Van Gorp announced to the assembled company inside Tweed's room at the Hilton.
His statement added to the atmosphere of tension and gloom. Seated in chairs, on a settee, were Tweed, Bellenger, Butler, Newman and Benoit. The reason for the pessimistic mood had been a report Van Gorp had received from a previous phone call from his deputy. No trace of anything suspicious had been found from the fleet of patrol cars touring the city and Europort. Now this from the latest phone call.
'Well,' Van Gorp continued cheerfully, 'it's happened twice before – and twice I've been reinstated.'
'For what reason this time?' Tweed asked.
The Minister discovered I'd cancelled all police leave. As if that wasn't enough to upset the entire Ministry of the Interior, I've given the S AS team permission to fly here from Schiphol. That was the Minister himself on the line. I was told to cancel the order. I had pleasure in telling him the team was already in the air, would soon land at Rotterdam.'
'My fault,' Tweed said, 'for urging you to take the decision.'
'But I agreed with you, my friend.' For a moment his air of bravado slipped. He looked pensive as he poured himself a small drink. 'My responsibility entirely.'
He doesn't think it's going to be third time lucky, Tweed thought. He believes he's out for good. And maybe he is – the Minister doesn't like him.
'Why did you want that team here when the Dutch marines are available?' asked Bellenger.
'Sixth sense. Can't explain it more than that…'
He broke off as the phone rang for the third time. Van Gorp took the call, then held out the receiver. 'For you, Tweed.'
Identifying himself, Tweed listened for a brief time, asked the caller to come to his room in three minutes, replaced the phone and looked round the room.
'Would you think me impolite if I asked everyone except Newman to return to their rooms for a short while? Thank you, gentlemen.' He waited until he was alone with the foreign correspondent. 'Blade, commander of the SAS team is on his way up. What's his rank?'
'Major.' Newman looked quizzical. 'You have a treat in store.'
Tweed opened the door after a sharp rapping and invited the visitor inside. Blade was about six feet tall, in his late thirties, his face lean and bony, his blue eyes cold, his nose aquiline. He reminded Tweed of a predatory hawk.
He had brown hair, very thick and cut short without a parting. He was wearing a pepper and salt sports jacket and sharply creased grey slacks. A bulky trench coat was neatly folded over his arm.
Tweed looked at Newman. 'I suppose there is no doubt this is Major Blade?'
'No doubt at all. There's only one.' Newman grinned. 'Fortunately.'
That's because I put him through the wringer.' Blade sat in a hard-backed chair when Tweed suggested he made himself comfortable. 'Mind you, he survived,' Blade went on in his crisp, no-nonsense manner. 'Which, coming from me, is a compliment. Can I raise a point, get down to business?'
'Do, please. We're short of time.'
'I'd have thought in an emergency the Dutch Government would call in their Marines.'
'They would – will.'
'Their marines are good – very good. But my men are trained to work strictly on their own. By the way, what's the problem?'
Tweed sketched in the situation in five minutes. He spoke tersely, telescoping events since he first arrived in Switzerland. Blade sat erect, cupped his squarish jaw in his left hand, his eyes never leaving Tweed's.
That's about it,' Tweed ended.
'As brilliant an appreciation as I've heard in a long while. You've had military experience?'
'Once. Military Intelligence.'
Thought so. This Klein sounds a murderous so-and-so. It strikes me he's had top-flight training with some professional organization.'
'He has,' Tweed said, 'but I can't tell you where.'
'My guess would be the French. They're a pretty tough lot. Still, mustn't guess. Any questions?'
'Where is your unit? How quickly could it get here – say to this hotel?'
'The Sabre Troop. Scattered in twos and threes round the airport. Flew here in a chartered aircraft, dressed like a bunch of football supporters – the well-behaved type. Our kit – uniforms, weapons – is inside the aircraft. Two men on guard. Van Gorp organized four plain vans which are standing by at the airport. One phone call from me - give them eight minutes to get kitted out. Another twelve minutes to get here. Answer to your question. Twenty minutes. Less if the lid blows off. As I see it, you don't know where or when Klein will strike. So we have to wait, let him make the first move. Par for the course with us.'
'Your equipment,' Tweed remarked. 'I did warn he has scuba divers
…'
'All my men have underwater equipment. What do we do now? I studied a map of Rotterdam and this Europort waiting at the airport. And flying in to Schiphol we were diverted – flew over this area pretty low. It's what we call dense territory. Could end up as a street fight. My impression from the bird's eye view.'
'Talking about a bird's-eye view,' Tweed commented. 'The place I want a look at is Euromast. Driving around I kept seeing that dominating tower. Come with us?' he suggested to Blade. 'I'll introduce you as my associate.'
'That's OK. We never let anyone see our ugly mugs…'
He broke off. The phone was ringing. Tweed answered it, his voice became cheerful, he said come up now, put down the phone.
'Paula has arrived.' He looked at Blade. 'One of my new staff. I'm breaking her in.'
'Breaking her in half,' Newman muttered.
She came into the room, carrying her case, looking fresh as paint. Tweed introduced her to Mr Blade. Her manner changed, became businesslike.
'Have I interrupted something?'
'No, but you must be tired…'
'Not really. Just off the flight from Brussels. I'm a bit of a mess, was going to tidy up, but that can wait – I sense something's happened…' She glanced at Blade and Tweed assured her she could talk freely. He poured her a cup of strong coffee while he brought her up-to-date and she sat listening intently, her shapely legs crossed. She drank a whole cup while Tweed was talking.
