`I would like to meet you again,' he said, leaning his arms on the table. 'I've never met a girl quite like you.' He looked uncomfortable again, a complete contrast to his normal assured manner. 'Sorry, I heard myself say that. God, it sounded like the usual cheap come-on. I hope you'll excuse me?'
`You're excused,' she replied, smiling, more confused than ever.
`Then could we make a date for dinner? I don't want to put any pressure on you. It's entirely for you to decide.'
`Maybe.' She pondered. 'It would have to be at the Hilton. I get important phone calls at all hours,'
The Hilton would suit me fine. The Baron de Boeuf or the Sky Room? It's up to you.'
`My, we are pushing the boat out.' She smiled again. `The Tete d'Or first, now the Baron de Boeuf. This is costing you a mint.'
`I have a job with a big salary at the moment,' he replied curtly. Then he moderated his tone. 'So it is a date – when you can manage it?'
`If I can manage it,' she corrected him.
He paid the large bill – in cash, she noted. On their way to find a taxi he didn't again take hold of her arm as he had done when they'd left the Hilton. She sensed he was being careful not to push her, an action she appreciated.
`When we get back,' he said, 'I'll see you safely inside and then I've got to go across the road to the money exchange. And, if you don't mind my saying so, don't go out alone at night. Brussels isn't the safest city any more…'
`I can't go on calling you Mr Mordaunt,' she said in the cab. 'What is your first name?'
`Joseph.'
Dr Wand sat behind his desk in the Waterloo villa studying a map of Africa. He checked the date on his calendar and then measured a distance from the Cape of Good Hope with a plastic ruler. On the floor by his side a copy of La Libre Belgique was spread out. A short story carried the headline in French: DUTCH VESSEL DISAPPEARS OFF CAPE OF GOOD HOPE
He pursed his lips in annoyance at the distraction when Jules entered the darkened room. His instinct was to throw down the ruler but instead he carefully placed it parallel to the top of the map. A very precise, controlled man, Dr Wand.
`Yes, Jules.'
`Joseph is on the phone. Speaking from a public call box. He sounds agitated.'
`Wait. Sit down.'
Only the unusual terse instruction told Jules his chief was annoyed. Wand spoke in his usual mellow tone as he answered the phone.
`It is, as always, a pleasure to hear from you, Joseph. Is there some unforeseen problem I may be able to help with?'
`There is.' He heard Joseph swallow as though gearing himself up to continue. 'I'm asking to be relieved of the assignment you asked me to carry out.'
`Really, Joseph. Now that I find a most intriguing request. Would it be possible for you to give me your reason for this unique attitude?'
`Certainly. It is quite simple. I doubt whether I am capable of carrying out the assignment. I wouldn't like to let you down.'
`Quite simple?' Wand repeated softly. 'I think that I understand. And, as always, Joseph, you are right. I would not wish you to let me down as you put it. May I express my appreciation for your being so honest with me. Under the circumstances, our mutual trust remains unbroken. Now, I have a quite different instruction for you. Behind the Hilton is a large garden area, the Parc d'Egmont. You know it? Good. This is what I wish you to do…'
When he had ended the call Wand leaned forward to replace the receiver. For a moment his face was reflected in the desk lamp. To Jules it seemed the Devil incarnate. Wand leaned back out of the light, steepled his large hand under his chin.
Jules Starmberg was from Luxemburg. He had undergone intensive training at a camp in the countryside outside Hankow,, deep in the interior of China. Stocky, powerfully built, he possessed great physical strength and part of his training – to test his nerve – had been for him to break a man's neck, a man like a bull. Starmberg had passed that test with flying colours.
Officially the butler, Starmberg was really Wand's right-hand man. Reflecting his profession, Wand sometimes called the Luxemburger his Chief of Staff. There were two men in the West completely trusted by Wand – Jules Starmberg and Vulcan.
`Jules, we are faced with one of those little problems, I fear.'
`Of course there will be a solution, sir,' Starmberg responded.
`The problem is Joseph.' Wand sighed regretfully. 'Oh dear, human nature can be a problem. Who would have foreseen Joseph would fall madly for the charms of Miss Grey?'
`He refuses to carry out your order?'
`Not expressed in the most subtle way – but in your blunt manner I am afraid you have summed up the problem. Could you be so good as to phone Vulcan? Please tell him to go to a public phone and call me. I have to give him some instructions to pass on to Anne-Marie. The groundwork is already laid. Joseph will be waiting in the Parc d'Egmont at an agreed hour. And, Jules, this solution has also the advantage of rattling Miss Grey and Newman. Tweed, too, if he returns to Brussels.'
`We have to crush the weak sisters as we would a cockroach,' Jules agreed.
`Not quite how I would have phrased it,' Wand commented. 'I have just been studying the map. I calculate the Mao III and the Yenan – bearing in mind the considerable speed at which they move – should by now be well north off the west coast of Africa. The news in the paper rather confirms this since it gives the date when the Dutch vessel Texel left behind the woes of this world.'
`And that is the really important team those ships are carrying to Denmark,' Jules remarked, standing by Wand's side to look at the map.
`We are still at an early stage of Operation Long Reach,' Wand pointed out. 'At least I think so. And you are quite correct – the trained men aboard those ships are the elite leaders trained to take command. On the other hand, events may be moving faster than was anticipated. Europe is throwing away its defences. I have had a signal warning me that the operation may be launched much earlier than originally planned.'
`You said you wished me to contact Vulcan,' Jules reminded his chief.
`I was just about to ask you to call him. The Parc d'Egmont will be famous by nightfall.'
The sky was a sea of grey storm clouds as Mordaunt walked up to the narrow entrance to the Parc d'Egmont. He checked his watch by the illuminated hands – it was so damned dark it might have been night. He wore a trench coat, collar turned up against the cold, and a trilby hat. No one else about and he was on time.
He felt relieved about the outcome of his phone call to Dr Wand. Before lifting the receiver and dialling the number he'd had to assert all his will power. He had never disobeyed an order before. Looking back, he wondered how he'd had the nerve to do it. His mind had been half on Paula. She had given him the impetus to refuse the order.
Mordaunt's brain was still reeling with the impact the girl had made on him. For the first time he had become infatuated with a woman whose personality had – over one lunch – captured him body and soul. He smiled at himself for thinking in such terms.
He was walking now quietly along the the soggy path into the area of grass and trees. As he'd expected, no one else was in the park. It had rained heavily for a short time in the afternoon. He stopped and listened. The only sound was the steady dripping of water off the trees, a noise which for some reason got on his nerves. Like the Chinese water torture.
Get a hold on yourself. You're only a few yards from the back of the Hilton. At times he could see the lights inside the Cafe d'Egmont, the matrons of Brussels in their expensive clothes taking tea. He was in the middle of civilization.
He wandered deeper into the park – away from the Hilton and towards the distant walls of villas at the bottom of the sloping grass. Who was he supposed to meet? And where the devil were they?