`We've talked enough for one night,' Tweed decided. 'I suggest you all get off to bed now…'
It was the middle of the night when the phone woke Tweed. Earlier, on arrival in his room at the Hilton, he had made a brief call to Monica in London, giving her his hotel and room number. He switched on the light, picked up the phone, and it was Monica. She phrased her message carefully.
`Sorry to disturb you, but I've had a call from Cardon, our Far Eastern representative. From Bangkok. He's had a three-day holiday in Chengmai. He's flying home later today via the Persian Gulf. He'll be calling me before he boards his flight to give me his ETA.'
Tweed's blood ran cold. Chengmai. The Thai centre of drug distribution from the notorious Golden Triangle area. What on earth had drugs to do with this crisis? Nothing at all, he'd have thought.
Tweed's sixth sense was working overtime. He had the most awful foreboding. All this flashed through his mind in seconds while Monica waited for him to reply. He took an instant decision.
`He's travelling under his own credentials?' he asked. `I gather so.'
`Monica, when he calls you again give him this order. Stress in the strongest terms it is an order. He is to fly straight back to Hong Kong – using his other credentials. He is then to take the Pacific route, repeat, the Pacific route, to San Francisco, cross the States, catch Concorde to London.'
`I'll tell him. Rely on me. Good-night – or rather, good morning…'
If Tweed had been asked, he couldn't have explained why he had taken this decision. But he had learnt over the years his sixth sense never let him down – that it could be fatal to ignore it.
Sitting up in bed against a propped pillow, he reached for his copy of Anthony Trollope's Barchester Towers. He didn't go to sleep again. The shadowy pattern formed in his mind of what was going on had been shattered. Drugs? On a huge scale? That meant vast sums of money. A glimmer of an idea twitched at the back of his mind, then faded.
It was still dark when he got up, had a leisurely bath, dried himself, got dressed slowly. Then he watched dawn break over the muddled mess of a city which was Brussels.
Marler made his move some time after dawn broke but before the city had woken up. If Dr Wand was going anywhere he wasn't likely to start out as early as this.
It was cold and the streets were pretty much deserted as he hurried along the Avenue Louise between tall, boring- looking buildings. After a night inside the confines of the car he welcomed walking into the spaciousness of the Place Louise with its two main one-way highways – the first one he crossed to the wide pavement island in the centre dividing it off from the Boulevard de Waterloo.
He walked briskly up to the Hilton. He still had the room he'd paid for and the computer-card key was in his wallet. The uniformed doorman saluted him, suppressing a smile. He thinks I've had a night out on the tiles with some girl, Marler thought.
He continued his brisk pace past the empty lounge on his left, heading for the bank of elevators. Then he slowed down. A familiar figure, hands clasped behind its back, was pacing slowly up and down near the entrance to the Cafe d'Egmont. Tweed.
Marler was stunned. He paused as Tweed saw him, walked swiftly towards him, took his arm, guided him to the bank of elevators, pressed a button. No. 20.
`You're on top of the world,' Marler remarked to say something.
`Twentieth floor,' Tweed replied once they were inside the elevator and the doors had closed.
There was no more conversation until Tweed had ushered Marler into Room 2009. Marler spread his hands in amazement and smiled ironically.
`You won't believe this but I came here to phone Monica to find out where you were…'
He explained tersely how he had tailed Dr Wand from the airport, the incidents at the Bellevue Palace, how he had taken a room at the Hilton. Tweed listened, then spoke.
`I woke very early. I was downstairs waiting for the coffee shop to open. You have done very well – very well indeed. So Dr Wand is a mere ten-minute walk or less from here. I find that interesting – in view of what has happened.'
`If you can tell me later, I think I'd better hoof it back to the Bellevue Palace. If Wand goes somewhere I want to know where to.'
`Agreed. But you need some back-up. No, don't argue.. Tweed phoned Newman's room. The phone was answered but Newman's tone was disgruntled.
`What is it, Tweed? At this hour?'
`Come and see me immediately.'
`I was in the shower. I'm in my birthday suit. Be with you in ten minutes…'
Tweed had just put down the phone, was going to explain the situation to Marler, when someone tapped three times on the outside door lightly. Tweed looked through the spyhole, opened it. Paula, dressed in a navy blue suit, carrying a trench coat, her shoulder-bag over her arm, walked in.
`Couldn't sleep,' she said. 'I wondered whether you'd be up. Marler, you look dressed for action.'
`He is…'
Tweed swiftly explained the problem. Marler was spreading prints of Dr Wand taken at London Airport on a table. The special small camera designed in the Engine Room in the Park Crescent basement automatically developed and produced high-definition prints.
`Here is the devious bastard,' he said cheerfully. 'I will keep one, leave the rest to you.'
`We can't wait for Newman,' Tweed said impatiently. `So Paula is coming with you instead.'
`Then let's get out of here fast before Newman comes rushing in,' Marler snapped.
Paula settled herself in the passenger seat beside Marler and handed him one of the two covered plastic cups containing coffee. She had slipped into a nearby bar while Marler moved the car a few yards.
`They had ham rolls,' she said. 'I could go back.. `Don't. Thanks, but I'm up to here with ham. I've eaten nothing else for the past twelve hours or more.'
`Me too.'
Paula liked Marler. On the continent, with his upper- crust drawl and London clothes, he was often taken for the typical Englishman, an impression he cultivated. Paula was also amused at the speed with which he'd hustled her out of the Hilton. Newman and Marler were old sparring partners, neither really liking the other – but in an emergency they knew they could rely on their colleague to the limit.
They chatted animatedly and Paula gave Marler a brief outline of their grim experience in Liege and, later, their encounter with Burgoyne, Willie, and their two women. Marler watched her as she eyed him through her long lashes while she talked.
`Something's happening,' he said suddenly.
It was almost two hours since they had reached the car. Marler was glad he'd slipped into the toilet while Tweed was phoning Newman. In those two hours Brussels had come alive. Street cleaners wearing yellow jackets and trousers, pushing rubber-wheeled trolleys carrying tall rubbish bins had appeared. Small ochre-coloured trams were trundling towards Place Louise.
`What is it?' Paula asked.
`That big Mercedes 600 coming up out of the garage. It brought Dr Wand here from Zaventem Airport.'
Paula watched as the huge black limo paused half-way out of the exit. A car was blocking the way. The uniformed chauffeur with a peaked cap and dark glasses opened his door, got out to call to the doorman. Marler stared as the doorman, a guest's keys in his hand, rushed to move the vehicle.
`There's no one else in the car,' Paula objected. 'Do we want to know where a chauffeur is going?'
`No. Except I don't think that is the chauffeur. His build is too bulky, he moves more ponderously. Someone is playing Clever Dick.'
'I don't get it.
`I'll bet a month's salary that's Dr Wand inside that uniform. So where is he off to that he doesn't want anyone to know about? Here we go. Hold on to your hat.'
The Merc. 600 reached the Place Louise, turned right up the Avenue de la Toison d'Or, running parallel to the Boulevard de Waterloo where traffic moved in the opposite direction. And there was traffic now. Marler was in his element, weaving in and out among private cars and rumbling juggernauts. Belgian drivers are aggressive but Marler beat them to it every time, leaving behind tooting horns as he skilfully kept one vehicle between himself and the Merc. 600.
