Marler, in the Ford Escort, had parked a distance away where he could just see the entrance to Dr Wand's mansion. And he wasn't worried about the explosion which had shaken his car: Butler was very capable of looking after himself.
When he was convinced of the Daimler's destination he picked up the microphone. The car was equipped with a high-powered radio system, tuned to the waveband of the receiving station in the communications centre in another building at Park Crescent.
`Parker Transport calling base. Have collected fare and now on way to London Airport…'
Once his message was acknowledged, Marler closed up on the Daimler. He began whistling again. The tune was `Nothing Can Come Between Us'.
16
Marler parked the Escort in a long-term bay at London Airport. It seemed the logical thing to do: Dr Wand's chauffeur-driven Daimler was parked nine bays away. Marler sat twiddling a king-sized cigarette between his fingers as he watched. The uniformed chauffeur alighted, opened the rear door, and Wand climbed out. Blinking, he adjusted his gold pince-nez.
A perfect opportunity. Marler whipped out a small camera from the glove compartment, raised it to his eyes, pressed the automatic self-focus, and within seconds he'd taken six shots.
The chauffeur, wearing a peaked cap and dark glasses, was opening the boot, taking out two cases. Louis Vuitton. Nothing but the best for Dr Wand. Marler took two shots of the chauffeur. A tall, slim type, well built, aquiline nose, and with an athletic stride. He locked the car and Marler locked his own, following them at a distance.
Looped round Marler's neck was a compact pair of field-glasses as he carried his case. Five minutes later he was watching through the lenses as a motorized passenger trolley carried Wand, chauffeur, and luggage to a waiting Lear executive jet. Marler registered the number, then ran all the way to the office of Jim Corcoran, Chief of Security. He was lucky: Corcoran was sitting at his desk staring glumly at a pile of reports.
`Don't bother about those boring old things, sport,' Marler greeted him. 'I've got something far more interesting for you do do.'
`Oh, yes? And what might that be? Trouble, I'm sure. The last time your boss was here we ended up with a body.'
`And this just might be connected with that,' Marler guessed wildly. 'Lear jet on the tarmac. Registration number-. A Dr Wand has just gone aboard. Apparently Customs and Passport Control go out to OK His Highness.'
`Dr Wand?' Corcoran wrinkled his long nose in disgust. `He carries clout. All because he's running some refugee aid outfit. What do you want – and I know I'm going to wish I hadn't asked.'
`Nothing much. Just find out where he's going. And delay his departure.'
`Is that all?'
`Tweed would want it,' Marler said, 'and you've got a superb memory. So you'll recall you owe him While you're doing that mind if I smoke?'
`With all the 'No Smoking' signs glaring at you? Go ahead – you will anyway. I'll check his flight plan. As to delaying his flight, you wouldn't have any ideas how I might go about that?'
`Easy again. You say you've received a bomb threat to an unidentified executive jet. Send men out to the Lear. You can say later it turned out to be a hoax.'
It amused Marler to use the same tactic Tweed had told him on the phone the enemy had used in Washington – to give time for an assassin to be waiting for Hilary Vane.
`This is really important, I suppose?' Corcoran demanded.
`Case of national security,' Marler said jauntily, using the magic phrase.
He wandered round, puffing his cigarette, using a tin lid as an ash-tray, while Corcoran busied himself on the phone. Eventually the tall, red-faced, alert-eyed Corcoran put down the phone, started rattling off information.
`Dr Wand's pilot put in a flight plan for Zaventem Airport, Brussels. A bomb squad has gone out to the jet to do their stuff, God help 'em. Maximum time they can keep the jet on the tarmac three-quarters of an hour. Anything else?'
`Now that you ask, just one more favour. Book me a seat on the first flight to Brussels. Business Class. When is the first flight?'
`They're calling it now, first call, that is.' Corcoran sighed, picked up the phone again. A brief call this time. `One Business Class ticket waiting for you at the counter. Sabena flight. Now could I make a request? Good. Nice to have had you around. And get to hell out of here.'
`One final question,' Marler called out as he reached the door. 'Will my Sabena flight beat that Lear to Brussels?'
`It will do just that. Close the door quietly, won't you?'
Inside the Sabena jet Paula sat in a window seat with Tweed alongside her. Across the corridor Newman occupied the aisle seat. Passengers were still boarding. From the few waiting in the final departure lounge the flight was half empty. Paula nudged Tweed, whispered.
`Look who has arrived.'
Marler, carrying his small case – which meant he wouldn't be delayed waiting at the carousel, could walk straight off the plane – was heading up the aisle. He didn't even glance at the trio.
Reaching the front of the aircraft, he appeared to change his mind, walked back past them. Paula waited a moment, then glanced back. Marler was sitting three rows behind them, occupying a window seat on her side with an empty seat next to him.
`He's taken up a position to watch over us,' Tweed said in a low tone. 'Odd he should be on the same flight.'
Paula glanced back as though to see how many more passengers were coming into Business Class. Marler was staring through the window, his compact pair of binoculars pressed against his eyes. Round the Lear jet in the distance a team of men were swarming. The retractable steps were still down.
As he watched, a heavily built man wearing a dark overcoat with an astrakhan collar padded down the steps. He began to pace slowly up and down. He stopped, stared towards the Sabena aircraft. He had a large head, fair hair, and gold pince-nez were perched on his strong nose.
Marler left his seat, peered back into Economy. More passengers still boarding. He walked up to the front of the aircraft and asked the stewardess a question.
`Can you give me some idea of the flight time to Brussels?'
`Fifty minutes, sir.' She looked at Marler, liked what she saw. The passenger seemed restless. 'There are plenty of other seats if you wish to change,' she suggested.
`I'm the athletic type.' He grinned at her. 'Like to get a bit of exercise – find I get cramped sitting down. And you look very chic in that uniform.'
`Thank you, sir…'
Marler was on his way back to his seat, walking slowly. The stewardess watched him with interest. He hadn't made the usual coarse pass she was used to – he'd just paid her a genuine compliment. Marler was timing it carefully, field-glasses clenched in his hand. A woman passenger was coming towards him. They met alongside Tweed.
Marler appeared to stumble as he stood aside to let the new arrival pass. He fell across Tweed, dropped the binoculars in his lap.
`I'm so sorry, sir.' He lowered his voice. 'Lear jet over there. Could be Dr Wand pacing up and down. Destination Brussels.'
Apologizing again, he returned to his seat. Paula picked up her glasses, raised them to her eyes. They were already focused on the Lear. As she studied the large man he stopped and again stared towards the Sabena plane. In the lenses his face came up close. Remote eyes behind the pince-nez. She shivered.
`What's the matter?' Tweed asked in a normal voice.
