Sonia Karnell checked the time. 2.30 a.m. Berlin was a man who preferred to conduct his business and to travel by night.
'Who lives during the dark hours?' was one of his favourite sayings.
She turned on the pocket torch always kept in her handbag and followed Berlin into the street. The houses in the Hoogste van Brugge, all joined together and all built centuries ago, were like up-ended matchboxes the thin side facing the street. Berlin had taken a beret from somewhere and crammed it on his head.
'You're sure you mean the word is to go out at all levels?' she said.
'Right up to the top?'
'Right up to the top,' he assured her.
There was no change of expression behind the thick pebble glasses as her torch caught the lenses for a second, but Berlin knew the reason for her checking, for her surprise. The word would now go out which was rarely invoked, the word which would alert a whole army of watchers to observe and report on the activities, movements and conversations of Jules Beaurain, head of Telescope. The code-word was Zenith.
It would go out to hotel receptionists, airport personnel, railway staff, petrol station attendants, Customs and Immigration officials at ports. Theoretically it would be impossible for Jules Beaurain to move in western Europe without his movement immediately being reported to Berlin.
But the word would also go out to a much more exalted level. Most important of all and this was what had so shaken Sonia Karnell when she had fully grasped this was a Zenith call the word would go out to men controlling banks and industries who, with the same urgency and motivated by the same fear as the lowliest baggage handler, would report on all and any contact they might have from now on with Jules Beaurain. It would become known throughout western Europe that the Belgian was a marked man. The next codeword would be the one sent out to kill him.
From the first-floor window of the house opposite, Fritz Dewulf had busily operated his cine-camera. The pictures of the woman would be good. The results on the man should be even better — Dewulf was confident. He had him on film full-face as he had stared up and down the street. He hoped it was the man Dr. Goldschmidt was most interested in because the doctor paid according to value — the market value.
An d I wonder who Goldschmidt hopes to sell these pretty pictures to in due course, Dewulf mused as he settled down to wait out the rest of the night vigil. It was just possible the owner of No. 285 would return later, although Dewulf doubted it; there had been an air of finality about the way the fat man had shuffled off down the street. For the next few hours at any rate. A sudden thought crossed the photographer's mind and he grinned. Maybe Goldschmidt would sell the film to the fat man who starred on the reel! It had happened before.
It was not a conclusion Dewulf would have drawn had he known anything about the personalities involved.
Berlin sat silent and motionless in the passenger seat of the Peugeot as Sonia Karnell headed towards Ghent and Brussels. Sonia, who could drive almost any car with the expertise and panache of a professional racing driver just one of her many talents which Berlin appreciated was careful not to break the silence. Experience had taught her to be sensitive to her chief's moods; the slightest misjudgement could provoke a vicious outburst. When taking a decision he might not speak for an hour.
'The darkness helps my concentration,' he had once explained.
'I am a natural creature of the night, I suppose. Most people fear it. I like it.'
They were passing open fields on both sides with no sign of human habitation visible in the dark when she turned off the main road, slowing as she negotiated a sharp downward incline and proceeded cautiously along a cinder track with her headlights full on. Berlin stirred as though emerging from a coma.
'We are there already?' he demanded in some surprise.
'Yes, you have been thinking.' She said it in the way someone might say, You have been sleeping.
Turn the car round so if there is an emergency…'
Only with a considerable effort of will was she able to stop herself bursting out in irritation. Unlike Berlin, who never seemed fatigued, she was tired and edgy and the prospect of bed seemed infinitely desirable. Of course she would have turned round. And what Berlin meant was that if she ran into trouble where she was going he must be in a position to drive away from the danger, leaving her to fend for herself. Sonia did not resent this; she understood the necessity for it. But the fact that he thought she needed reminding infuriated her.
She dipped the headlights, switched off the engine and left the key in the ignition. Next, without a word, she reached under her seat for the Luger. She placed the weapon in his lap and turned away, opening her door.
'Be careful to check that Frans and that bitch are alone before you go on board.'
The warning astonished her. Something momentous was imminent, or he wouldn't treat her like this. They must be close to the climax of the operation against Telescope, she decided. Gripping a torch she made her way down the little-used track. The stench of the canal was in her nostrils. Now she had to climb again, to mount the embankment to where Frans Darras' barge was moored. As she reached the top of the track her thin torch beam shone on the large bulk of the barge. Then a searchlight so it seemed to her — blazed on and glared into her eyes.
She could see nothing at all, for Christ's sake. Was it the police?
And inside her bag was a Walther automatic with a spare magazine. She raised one hand to fend off the fierce glare. From nearby she heard Frans' voice speak in French.
'It is her, Rosa. You can put out the light.'
Sonia, blinded still, gave full vent to her feelings.
'You stupid bitch! You could have called out instead of lighting up the whole world with that bloody lamp.'
It w as Frans who came out of the darkness, holding a shotgun, and with her own torch pointed the way onto the barge.
'We've got a Zenith, Frans. That's why I'm here.'
' Zenith! 'Keep your voice down, man.'
Frans took the lamp from Rosa and handed her the shotgun.
'Keep a lookout on deck,' he said. He continued in hushed tones to Sonia, gesturing to where the car was parked.
'He is here?'
'He is here. He won't be pleased with that idiocy with the searchlight.' They went below-deck.
'It was my fault I told her to aim the lamp while I stayed in the dark with the shotgun. We heard the car how could we be sure it was you and not the police or the other people?'
'Wh at other people?'
Sonia forced herself to speak casually, but could not meet his eyes for fear of revealing her shock at what he had just suggested he knew.
'I mean Telescope, of course…' He stopped in mid-sentence.
'I will transmit the signal,' he mumbled, opening a cupboard.
'What is the complete message? I'll write it down.'
'Yes, you had better do just that,' she said coldly, watching his every movement now. Transmit over the whole network, 'Jules Beaurain ex-Chief Superintendent Belgian police lives apartment off Boulevard Waterloo Brussels Zenith repeat Zenith'.'
Removing a bundle of screwed-up clothing from the lower shelf of the cupboard, Darras fiddled with a corner of the roof and the apparently solid back slid aside, exposing a high-powered transceiver. He pressed another button and a power-operated aerial emerged on deck and climbed into the night alongside the TV mast. Now he was ready to transmit and the signal he would send out was so strong it could reach any part of western Europe. He also set a clock-timer for three minutes, which must be the duration of the transmission. Police radio- detector vans normally n eeded five minutes to get a fix on any transmission their listening posts picked up.
'I will leave you,' Sonia said in the same cold voice.
'You will get the barge moving before you actually transmit?' she demanded of Darras.
'I was just waiting for you to leave.'
'Then hurry.'
Climbing the greasy steps to the deck, she felt the planks under her feet vibrate gently as Darras started up his ancient engine. Rosa was nowhere to be seen. Sonia scrambled back down the path and then up the nettle-
