underclothes, he switched off the lights, peered out behind the closed curtains. The view was panoramic – the enormous green dome surmounting the Palace of Justice seemed near enough to reach out and touch. A building larger than St Peter's in Rome. And Marolles is down there, he was thinking – where the murdered cab driver had been found. So close to the Hilton.
In his suite at the Bellevue Palace Dr Wand was working late. When the phone rang the chauffeur answered, handed him the instrument.
`Someone called Vulcan wishes to speak to you.'
`Yes,' Wand opened the conversation. 'You recognize my voice. What is it, please?'
Wand always kept his communications with Vulcan short. It was so important to keep his caller's identity secret.
`I thought you should know,' the voice said in English, `that the Hilton has three new visitors. Your good friend Tweed, Paula Grey, and Robert Newman, the foreign correspondent. Just in case you wished to have cocktails with them sometime.'
`Thank you so much for your call. I will think about it.'
Wand put down the phone. Vulcan had phrased the information carefully. Any switchboard operator listening in would not understand the implications.
Wand pursed his lips and did not smile. Watching him furtively, the chauffeur knew he was disturbed. And he was right.
Wand sat thinking, tapping a slow tattoo with his gold pencil. Tweed first in Liege and now in Brussels. He is coming too close, he thought. He picked up the phone and dialled a number from memory, a Brussels number. A woman with a working-class voice answered and Wand asked to speak to Dr Hyde.
`Hyde speaking. Who is this?' The voice was hoarse, and spoke in English. 'I said who is this?' Hyde repeated.
`You know who I am, my friend,' Wand replied. 'I think it might be wise if you moved to a hotel in Liege. It is possible you could have a patient requiring treatment. Either in Belgium or Germany. In the near future. Goodnight..
Handing the receiver to the chauffeur, Wand took out his slim notebook. He turned to the last page where he had noted down in pencil – easy to erase – twenty-five names. They comprised the elite of Western Europe – and there were few politicians. These were the men – and women – Wand feared might detect the plan. Operation Long Reach.
The first three names were Andover, Delvaux, Westendorf. He drew a line through Andover. Dealt with. He paused, his pencil poised. Then he inserted a fresh name after Westendorf. Tweed. Alongside the name he put a question mark. It was a little early to be sure whether Tweed should be subjected to treatment.
Brussels has three main stations, running roughly from east to west – towards the sea. Midi, Centrale and Nord The undistinguished Hotel Hermitage was situated in a small side-street near Centrale station – not the most upper-crust section of Brussels.
Dr Carberry-Hyde – to give him his full name – was packing his case after receiving the phone call. A tall, heavily built man in his fifties, he had a permanent stoop from bending over patients' beds. He had a large head, a hooked nose, thinning grey hair above a tall forehead. Clean shaven, he possessed a perfect set of teeth which he often showed when he smiled at nervous patients. It was not a sincere smile and never reached the eyes behind rimless glasses: he assumed it for his bedside manner.
Dr Hyde wondered whether Liege would offer him the same facilities for relaxation as Brussels: he doubted it. He had recently returned from a certain street where the company of an attractive girl could be obtained for money – rather a lot of money.
He opened a smaller case. Neatly arranged inside were his surgical instruments. He picked up a scalpel and lovingly polished it. Dr Hyde was a man who enjoyed his work.
22
Tweed, Paula, and Newman walked out of the elevator on the ground floor and headed straight for the poker- playing quartet. Burgoyne was just sitting down again in his chair. Tweed, threading his way between tables, caught his words.
`Sorry about the interruption. Could do without business calls at this hour. In any case, the game is over. Lee has cleaned us out.'
In front of Lee was the hand she'd displayed. A Royal Flush. Fanshawe jumped up, insisted that Paula took his chair. He began talking non-stop.
`What a coincidence. And what a pleasant one. Delighted to have your company. No, I'll get more chairs for our welcome guests. Yes, amazing coincidence. Last time it was the New Forest. Who'd have thought we'd have the pleasure of your company here in Brussels? Tweed, you sit here next to Lee. Rich woman. So just your cup of tea. You two will get on famously…'
Newman was helping Willie to bring more chairs. Tweed noticed Burgoyne hadn't stirred a muscle to give a hand. He introduced Newman to the party. Burgoyne then reacted with a barbed comment.
`The notorious foreign correspondent. Everyone will have to watch their words. We'll find ourselves reported in the national press.'
`I'm taking that as a joke.' Newman leaned forward towards the Brigadier. 'In case you hadn't heard, I retired.'
`So would I,' the Brigadier retorted, 'if I'd made the fortune you did out of that sensational bestseller you wrote. What was it now? Kruger: The Computer That Failed. Read it. Not bad. Must have made you a millionaire.'
`It depends on which currency you're talking about,' Newman countered.
`Why don't you two stop fencing and enjoy yourselves?' Lee remonstrated. 'This is supposed to be a fun party.'
`Then let's have some more to drink,' Burgoyne decided. 'More champagne?'
`Perfect,' Lee agreed. 'I have something to celebrate.'
`Then you ought to pay,' Burgoyne growled. He summoned a waiter with a beckoning gesture of his index finger. Just like summoning some poor squaddie in the officers' mess, Tweed thought. 'Two more bottles of Krug – same as last time,' Burgoyne specified.
Tweed took the opportunity to order ham sandwiches for three. And a glass of white wine for himself. He wanted a clear head for this gathering.
Paula was watching Lee. She had a pile of Belgian-franc notes in front of her. Methodically, she was sorting them into a neat pile. That girl likes money, Paula was thinking: there was an aura of pure delight in the way Lee handled the money, a considerable amount. She moved her chair closer to Tweed's, rested her bare arm against his sleeve. She turned to face him with a glowing smile.
`I'm paying for your order. Now, no argument. And when you've eaten please join me in a cognac.'
`Let's see how I feel later. It's a bit stuffy in here.' `Then if you feel like a breath of fresh air later I'll be glad to join you for a walk. To the Copenhagen Tavern.' `We might do that,' Tweed agreed amiably.
She was pressing her arm against his and he could feel the warmth of her body through his suit. Helen Claybourne had stood up, was collecting the cards, shuffling them into a pack. She paused next to Lee, bent down and picked something off her right shoe.
`A few bits of undergrowth and pine needles,' Lee remarked. 'Which I must have collected when I had a stroll in the Parc d'Egmont behind the hotel.' She looked at Tweed. 'That was before dinner with Willie at the Cafe d'Egmont. It's high-class coffee house, but the food is good.'
`It's better at the Baron de Boeuf on the first floor,' said Burgoyne. 'That's where you get a first-class meal.'
`At first-class prices,' Willie commented. Newman was reminded of a doleful St Bernard. 'Still,' Willie brightened up, 'we're all having one helluva time. I like nothing better than good company, good food. What else is there in the world?'
