Deadlock (52 page)

'Never seen the biggest port in the world before,' he'd commented. The trip will complete my education.'

The second car was driven by a detective who had as passengers Benoit and Butler. Benoit asked the driver a lot of questions. Butler remained silent, listening and observing.

They had left the city behind when Tweed began to take a close interest in the view to his right - towards the river they had passed under. They were now moving along the southern bank.

To their left the view was bleak and monotonous. Like a desert, an impression increased by the sandy plain scattered with scrubby grass, a plain which ran for miles towards the horizon.

Gradually Tweed became more and more appalled as he studied the string of industrial and oil complexes bordering the New Waterway. They passed Shell-Mex One, Shell-Mex Two, Esso, Mobil and Gulf.

Each was a vast sprawl of storage tanks like giant white cakes, cat-crackers, refineries festooned with a spider's web of pipes. Each was like a small colony on its own separated from the next by open barren space. By the time they reached Gulf they were, Van Gorp informed them, coming closer to the sea. They passed another Esso depot.

'What do you think, Bellenger?' Tweed asked.

'A bomber's paradise,' the naval commander replied tersely.

'Like to look at the open sea?' Van Gorp suggested.

'Yes, I would.'

The Dutchman swung left round a sharp curve across a canal, turned right off the main highway on to a side road. They were now crossing a kind of no-man's land beyond Europort where the scrub ran away to a distant breakwater. Beyond the hard line of concrete a belt of blue sparkled in the sun. No living soul was in sight and through the open window Tweed felt the whisper of a breeze, smelt more strongly the tang of salt.

'How can you hope to protect all that lot?' Newman asked. 'I haven't seen a single patrol car since we left Rotterdam,'

'Ah!' Van Gorp lifted a hand from the wheel and made an expansive gesture. 'You have just paid me a compliment. My men are there but you don't see them - neither will the bandits, if they come.'

'Bandits? Odd word.'

'I object,' the Dutchman went on, 'to the way these days the term "terrorist" has almost assumed respectability -often the men with flabby minds say they have this cause, that cause. They are ruthless and murderous bandits. Now, I think we'll stop here, Tweed. Maybe have a little walk.'

The soft breeze had faded as Van Gorp led them towards a distant lighthouse alongside the breakwater. Tweed scrambled to the top of the breakwater, stared across the North Sea as calm as the proverbial millpond. In the lee of another arm of the breakwater a man sat in a large outboard dinghy with a fishing rod. Van Gorp, who had joined him, pointed out the lone figure.

'A favourite Dutch pastime - fishing. And out there the catch can be good.'

Tweed was staring at the entrance to the New Waterway where a large dredger with a scoop was working. Taking out his binoculars, he swept the vessel slowly. It was even larger than he had realized, a vast floating platform.

'We need to clear the channel constantly,' Van Gorp remarked. 'We cannot afford to let it get silted up. Those men are always working. Have you seen all you wish to?'

'I think so, yes.'

He strolled back with Bellenger and Newman to the cars parked some distance away. Van Gorp's long legs took him ahead with great strides accompanied by Benoit and Butler who hurried to keep up.

'What do you think?' Tweed asked. 'About the protection he's had the nerve to organize.'

'Undoubtedly he's done his best - probably better than most.' Bellenger paused. 'But from what you've told me about Klein I'm not happy - not happy at all.'

On their way back to Rotterdam they passed a chauffeur-driven BMW heading out towards where they'd come from. Tweed noticed the single passenger in the back, a man slumped with his hat tipped over his eyes. Obviously fast asleep. Some oil executive.

Inside the BMW Klein drove along the highway while from under his hat Marler peered at the vast installations. Ten minutes later Klein followed the same route over the canal and along the side road towards the breakwater.

'You are getting the picture?' Klein enquired.

'It's rather large.'

Marler, observing the road ahead was traffic-free, sat up and pushed his hat back over his head. He yawned. From Klein's expression in the mirror behind the tinted glasses he gathered his comment had not been appreciated.

'It is the biggest target on the European mainland,' Klein responded. 'And we have the power to destroy the whole thing.'

'Good for you. I wouldn't mind stretching my legs when we can.'

'Which is exactly what we are going to do.'

Klein pulled off the side road and bumped over the scrub land. He stopped close to the breakwater, switched off the engine, got out and opened the rear door. 'Just in case we are watched,' he explained, 'although it is unlikely.'

Thank you, my man.'

Pushing his hands inside his coat pockets, Marler ran agilely up the slanting wall of the breakwater, standing very close to where Tweed had perched earlier. Klein joined him after collecting a pair of high-powered binoculars. He glanced to where a huddled figure sat motionless with a fishing rod in a dinghy.

'Crazy waste of time. The Dutch are a dull nation.'

He focused the binoculars on the dredger, sweeping the lenses slowly from stem to stern. He handed the glasses to Marler. 'You might care to take a look while I check the boot.'

Returning to the car, he unlocked the boot, removed a sheet of canvas and picked up a length of rope he'd purchased from a ship's chandler. Another length lay looped in the corner. The rope he was holding had been tied at one end into a noose like a hangman's. He tested the knot to make sure it slid easily. The noose was roughly of the diameter needed to place round a human neck.

Satisfied that it worked, he replaced it inside the boot. He covered both lengths with canvas, relocked the boot and waited as Marler ran down the side of the breakwater. He handed the binoculars back as he made the remark.

'Big job, that dredger.'

'It will be the first to go - blocking the channel to larger shipping.'

'How many crew aboard? They'll go, too.'

'A crew of eighteen.'

Marler shrugged. 'It's your ball game. Remarkable the way you have the whole plan inside your head. But supposing we died in a car crash on the way back to Rotterdam?'

'The operation would go ahead.' Klein smiled bleakly. 'I have one other man who knows as much as I do. A formidable Frenchman you haven't met yet. I suggest we drive back now you've seen the vast location of the operation.'

'But why do I need to see that?' Marler pressed. He lit a cigarette as Klein paused. 'Come on, I have to know what I'm doing.'

'A situation could arise when your services could be called for out here. Doubtful, but not impossible.' Klein's natural impatience showed. 'Now, let's move. We'll eat at a small place on the way back. It may not be Cordon Bleu but it will fill our stomachs.'

'And when does the operation start?'

'Soon,' Klein assured him. 'Soon . . .'

The 50,000-ton cruise liner
Adenauer
was at sea off the West Frisian Islands, sailing steadily south on course for its rendezvous off Europort. Just before leaving Hamburg there had been a few minutes of excitement for passengers lining the rails.

A stretched black Mercedes limousine - accompanied by police outriders - had pulled in to the dockside. A late middle-aged man and a woman had emerged and boarded the ship quickly. One of the Americans looking down on the gangway grabbed his wife by the arm.

'Jesus, honey! That's the US Secretary of State, Waldo Schulzberger.'

'I do believe it is,' she'd replied with a note of awe.

The Secretary of State had been ushered by the captain himself to their most luxurious stateroom. The wire services were already buzzing with the report filed by an eagle-eyed German reporter on the dockside. Schulzberger was taking a brief respite from his arduous duties.

Approaching Europort from the south the 500,000-ton tanker had received from Rotterdam Marine Control a further signal warning that there might be a delay before it could dock. The master of the
Cayman Conqueror
acknowledged receipt of the signal, gave the order for a slight reduction in speed.

Twenty miles astern the 350,000-ton tanker,
Easter Island
, also received the same warning. Its skipper issued the same instruction to lose speed. Captain Williams shrugged and gave his First Officer a wry grin. 'It's going to be Piccadilly Circus at Europort. Business as usual. Keep an eye on that freighter astern . . .'

Captain Salvi aboard the 10,000-ton freighter
Otranto
reacted to his signal with resignation. It probably meant a further addition to the penalty clause for delay in delivery of his cargo. Well, that was not his problem. Let the lawyers sort it out when the time came. That was what they were paid their fat fees for. A uniformed waiter rushed on to the bridge and paused. Salvi asked what was the trouble now?

'The Director's wife is wondering where you are. She likes to have you at the dinner table.'

'Is that fat cow in love with me? All right, I'm coming . . .'

Astern of the
Otranto
the three large container vessels from Africa were manoeuvring for position, each trying to get ahead of the others to offload at Europort first. To get the best price for their cargo of soya bean meal. The signals caused a furious reaction from all three skippers, but they stopped the race, slowing down reluctantly.

* *

Klein drove back under the river through the Maastunnel, passed through Rotterdam and speeded up outside the city on the way to Delft. He glanced at Marler who had not said a word since they left the North Sea breakwater. The Englishman was gazing out of the window.

'See any signs of unusual activity?' Klein asked.

'Exactly what I've been looking for. Negative. I thought we were going to eat.'

'We are. They have no idea we're here.'

'I should damn well hope not.'

Klein glanced at his watch, saw they were early for his rendezvous with Grand-Pierre, changed his route. Instead of by-passing the town of Delft he turned into its maze of old cobbled streets lining the canals. Crossing a humpbacked bridge, he headed north out of the town and past a series of camp sites crammed with camper vehicles. He pulled up outside a single-storey building with a crooked roof and a view of tables laid for meals beyond the windows.

'We eat here,' he announced.

'About bloody time.'

They were half way through the main course when a large man wearing denims and a windcheater strolled past. Klein said he'd be back shortly and went outside. Grand-Pierre stood by the entrance, lighting a cigarette.

The street was deserted. Beyond the restaurant was a handful of small shops which served the camp sites as their main customers. The sun shone down out of a cloudless sky.

'Is everything going according to plan?' Klein demanded. 'I presume everyone is in position?'

'The scuba divers who will attach the mines to those ships are scattered along the coast, waiting in their dinghies.'

'I saw one fishing at the end of the breakwater near the dredger. The others join him later?'

'As planned. I still think we should have used underwater sleds to carry the divers and the mines to their targets - it would be quicker, less risk of being spotted.'

'We've argued that out earlier,' Klein said coldly.

Grand-Pierre showed an unusual trace of excitement. 'Have you seen the papers? A stop press item reports Schulzberger, the American Secretary of State, is aboard the Adenauer with his wife.'

'Yes. Which is good news and bad.'

'I don't understand , . .'

'Good because it will put more pressure on Washington not to interfere. Bad because there's likely to be extra security aboard the Adenauer. American security - and they may use sonar. Which shows I was right not to use those sleds - sonar would pick them up. Dinghies they'll miss. What about the fishing boats?'

Two are marked for our use. In each case the skippers' wives have been located. They'll be grabbed just before we seize the fishing boats, taken on board. With a knife at their throats the skippers will do what we want. One is allocated to take the dinghies close to the Adenauer, then drop them overboard. Later it deals with the Cayman Conqueror tanker. The second fishing boat mines the other vessels.'