Deadlock (43 page)

Several of them in the lobby glanced his way as he walked out of the hotel and up the street.

Lara Seagrave walked back off the Avenue Louise into the Mayfair Hotel and took the elevator to her room. She had the key in her shoulder bag. It gave you that extra bit of mobility in an emergency.

Inside her room she lit a cigarette, paced restlessly. She was going spare. No word from Klein. If the bastard thought she was going to hang around waiting on his whim all evening he had another think coining. She was going out on the town, maybe meet some interesting man. Just for the evening and dinner. Nothing heavy.

Lara had learned to do everything quickly. She had a ten-minute bath, changed into a navy blue gaberdine suit and a white blouse with ruffles. She carefully chose court shoes with
medium
heels: in case she had to run for it.

Two minutes in front of the dressing-table mirror for a touch of blusher, powder, lipstick and eye shadow. She was ready for anything - anyone. 'I want some new place tonight,' she thought. 'Somewhere close. I'll try the Hilton.'

Behind the wheel of the Renault station wagon Chabot was driving into Brussels. A silent and sullen Hipper sat beside him. There had been a row when the Luxembourger told Chabot without warning they were leaving immediately for Brussels in the newly hired Renault.

'I'll drive,' the heavily built Frenchman had told him.

'No!' Hipper had squeaked in the kitchen at La Montagne. 'I am in charge . . .'

'Not of me, you're not. Klein pays me. Klein is my boss - and if I don't like something
he
says I tell him. So, let's not bugger about. I'm driving. Got it? And I'll be bloody glad to leave this prison ..."

He'd glanced back as he moved out of the drive at the bleak shuttered stone hulk of a building lying under the cliffs. Bloody glad. And although Hipper wouldn't talk about it, Chabof guessed the operation must be pretty close, thank God. Earlier, with a knife at his throat, Hipper had said the target was Antwerp. Now they were heading for Brussels - only a short train ride from Antwerp.

Entering Brussels, Hipper guided the Frenchman. He drove up the Boulevard de Waterloo, following the same route Marler had taken earlier, turning round at the top and coming down the side street past the Hilton.

'Where are we staying?' he asked. 'And if you don't answer I'll drive this frigging car round Brussels till dawn.'

'The Marolles,' his plump companion, sagging in his seat, replied. Turn right at the bottom past the Palais de Justice. It's a poor quarter they are renovating. We stay at the café Manuel, a Spanish place. The owner has rooms he lets out. No registration.'

Hipper guided Chabot down a curving street behind the Palais de Justice which emerged into a rabbit warren of old streets. Chabot peered up at four-storey buildings which had an abandoned look. The wooden doors padlocked. Roofs collapsing, exposing crumbling rafters like ancient bones. Other buildings were newish, seven- and eight-storey apartment blocks. He grimaced at the old quarter.

'Renovation, you said. They're pulling down the comfortable old places, putting concrete blockhouses up instead.' A minute later. That's the café Manuel.'

'Park the car round the back.'

Chabot didn't bother to ask how long they'd be stuck in this dump. The operation had to be pretty soon - now they'd moved him into the open.

Disembarking at Brussels Airport, Butler followed Klein through Passport Control and Customs, hailed the next cab after the one Klein had entered. He climbed in quickly.

'That cab just leaving. Please follow it. And please don't lose it. I'm sure the passenger is going to meet my wife. I want to be there when it happens.'

'Understood.' The driver looked at Butler in his mirror as he pulled away from the kerb, gave a knowing grin. 'Life is full of problems. What would we do without them?'

'I could do without this one,' Butler replied and subsided into silence.

Over half an hour later Klein's cab stopped at the Sheraton and Butler's pulled in a few yards behind. Butler tipped him generously and followed Klein inside. He moved close enough to the counter, hatless, to hear a reservation had been made in advance. The reception clerk addressed him as M. Andersen.

Klein glanced round as the porter took his case. Butler was studying a brochure he'd extracted from a display piece on the counter. He didn't think he'd been spotted; four more taxis had pulled up behind his own outside. He waited until the elevator had closed, then wandered over and watched the lights. Klein got off at Floor 12.

Butler went into the street to find a public phone booth, to call Park Crescent.

Klein sat in his bedroom, drinking mineral water, his case untouched. He wouldn't be staying here for more than a short time. He was going over his mental check list in his mind.

Chabot and Hipper
. They would soon be in Brussels staying at the café Manuel in the Marolles. A safe enough spot for a short time. He just hoped Hipper would be able to control Chabot - who would undoubtedly wish to explore the city after being penned up at Larochette. Probably looking for a woman.

The Monk
. Marler would soon be installed at the Hilton. There would be no problem with him. He could look after himself in any situation. Independent as the devil. A little too much so for Klein's liking.

Legaud and the stolen CRS command truck
. Already in Holland at the appointed rendezvous outside Delft. By now the vehicle should be resprayed - unrecognizable and equipped with Dutch number plates stolen with a car - a car owned by a man away from his apartment on business.

Grand-Pierre's team of scuba divers
. They would be coming back from their training in the remote north of Holland, assembling at Delft.

Spread out over the continent for weeks, even months, Klein was now concentrating his forces close to the target. Europort.

34

Jumbo jets were still flying into Hamburg Airport - each carrying a number of American passengers bound for the cruise liner
Adenauer
. The stately 50,000-ton ship with its twin squat funnels dwarfed the dock where a steady stream of taxis and limousines deposited men, women and children eager to start the great adventure.

Unlike other cruise liners plying the world the
Adenauer
was not one class. It had been designed on the model of pre-World War Two transatlantic leviathans. There was
de-luxe
class - with the most expensively furnished staterooms afloat. Below came first class. Below that second class. Each level had its own restaurant and was sealed off from other classes.

Texas millionaires, wearing Stetson hats, stood by the rails, watching the other passengers file aboard. The Captain had informed his First Officer there was even some of the 'quiet' money from Philadelphia. From these he'd chosen those honoured to sit at his table.

And even when the majestic queen of the seas sailed from Hamburg down the Elbe she would not yet have taken aboard her full complement of passengers. She would heave to in the North Sea to pick up from lighters further passengers. From Rotterdam.

The 500,000-ton tanker,
Cayman Conqueror
, fully loaded with oil for Europe, had left behind the balmy winds blowing off the shores of Africa. She was now proceeding north off the coast of France, heading for the English Channel.

Her master, Homer Grivas, had been warned he would arrive at the moment the
Adenauer
would be lying offshore, taking aboard passengers. It would take some skilful manoeuvring to bring his giant vessel into port but he was confident there would be no problem. He would make Europort at the agreed ETA.

Twenty miles astern of the
Cayman Conqueror
the 350,000-ton tanker,
Easter Island
, also proceeded on a steady course for the English Channel. Its master, Captain Williams, had given orders to keep a sharp lookout on the sophisticated radar system.

He had been informed not only about the
Adenauer
but also of the presence of the
Conqueror
sailing ahead of his vessel. It was important that the distance between the two tankers should not dose any further. Apart from that he was quite confident all would be routine. Europort could handle an incredible number of large ships.

Captain Luigi Salvi, skipper of the 10,000-ton freighter
Otranto
, out from Genoa, was sweating with anxiety. His radar operator had the
Easter Island
clearly on his 'scope, moving ponderously ahead of his own ship. He knew he'd have to keep 'in line' - allow the tanker to pass up the channel first, but this would mean late arrival, a fact he'd already reported to the Dutch authorities.

The trick was to stay as close to the tanker as regulations permitted, to cut down the delayed arrival to the minimum. He was carrying a cargo which bore a penalty clause for every hour of the delay.

On top of that, the
Otranto
was equipped to carry ten passengers, one of whom was a director of the line with his wife. The woman expected constant attention. Salvi was therefore constantly moving from his seat at the dinner table to check with the radar operator. He mopped sweat from his forehead. Keep cool, he told himself, you will only arrive at Europort a few hours late. Then he remembered that damned cruise ship, the
Adenauer
. This trip would require all his seamanship.

Trailing behind the
Otranto
three large container ships up from Africa steamed across the oil-like sea, leaving astern three fan-shaped wakes. Visibility was excellent at this point and their masters could see each other's vessels. They carried soya bean meal and were racing to be first to offload. Their three masters were equally annoyed by the presence dead ahead of the
Otranto
. If nothing changed it would be up to the harbour master at Europort to decide which would come ashore first.

The British Sealink ferry service was in normal operation plying between Harwich and the Hook of Holland - the port downriver from Rotterdam and opposite Europort.

The number of passengers varied with each ferry. But it never fell below two hundred souls. Often a ferry would be crammed with up to three hundred passengers. Sealink continued its shuttle, going about its lawful occasions.

* *

The Dutch marine controllers at Europort - and the Hook of Holland - were well aware of the number of vessels approaching. They were in radio communication with each ship, they regularly received up-to-the-minute reports from their computers, they had no doubt at all they could handle the situation. This was Europort. The gateway to Europe.

35

Butler had to walk some distance to find a public phone box. He dialled the Park Crescent number. Monica came on the line. Butler sensed immediately she spoke she was in a state of tension.

'Harry, where is Tweed? I have to contact him urgently.'

'No idea. I'm calling from a street phone in Brussels. The last I saw of him he was in Luxembourg City. Findel Airport to be exact. With Bob Newman and Benoit . . .'

'I've tried to locate Benoit. No success. I have two very urgent messages for him.'

'Care to tell me? I'm pretty sure I've located Klein . . .'

'You have! Tweed will want that information, too. Give me a moment to think. You've enough money for the phone?'

'Bags of coins.'

Stupid question, Monica thought. Of course Butler would be prepared for any occasion. His quietness concealed a brain which was always looking ahead.

'Don't toll me if you'll regret it,' Butler warned.

That decided her. She first took the precaution of making absolutely sure who she was talking to - although she recognized his voice clearly. How? Her mind was fogged

- she'd not slept in twenty-four hours, holding the fort. 'Who is your usual partner, the man you often work with - and how does he dress?'

'Pete Nield. Snappy dresser. Smart business suits. Has dark hair and a neat moustache ..."

'OK, Harry. I knew it was you. I've had two calls today reporting the target is Antwerp. "I think," the caller added the first time. Not the second. Now I'll try Grand'Place again. See if they've located Benoit - and Tweed.'

'I'll inform Grand'Place of where I'm staying when I've taken a room. If Tweed contacts you, I've tracked Klein to the Sheraton. I think.'

'Again! That man's a shadow. Take care, Harry.'

Butler walked quickly back to the Sheraton, carrying his bag. He hadn't liked leaving the place unwatched - but you couldn't phone Park Crescent from an instrument which went through a hotel switchboard. He sat down in the lobby to wait a while. He had no way of knowing Klein had just left.