Deadlock

'The target is Antwerp. I think.'

'Thank you. I got it that time…'

The line went dead before she finished speaking. Monica replaced the receiver slowly. Tweed had told her any message from Olympus was top priority, and for his ears only. Now she had to work out how to try and track down Tweed.

Had it been a man or a woman she was talking to? She had no idea – no inkling of sex or age or nationality. Only that the caller had spoken in English. She decided to try Chief Inspector Benoit in Brussels first.

32

That's the Avenue de la Liberte where you'll find the Banque Sambre,' Tweed told Butler. 'Leads up from the Place de la Gare. And there is the station. A train is just coming in from the Brussels direction.'

'It's a weird city. Spectacular,' Newman commented, peering over Tweed's shoulder.

The Alouette was flying at a height of several hundred feet, the whole city lay spread out below, the pilot was in touch with Findel control tower as he continued his descent, and the sun shone brilliantly.

Seen from the air, the site of Luxembourg City looks as though in ages past some pagan god wielded an immense axe and clove the ground, leaving behind a vast and deep gulch like a small Grand Canyon. In places the gulch approaches a quarter-mile in width, over a hundred feet in depth.

Possibly the greatest fortress city in Europe, the precipitous walls of the gorge provided a natural defence against armies which roved this part of the continent – a defence enormously reinforced by Louis the Fourteenth's brilliant architect of forts, Vauban.

The Alouette turned east, following the broad highway which leads through open country to the airport. It landed close to the modern building which houses all the facilities associated with airports, a building whose walls seemed to be constructed of glass.

'I want Cargolux,' Tweed told the pilot as they stood on the tarmac. 'If you want refreshment, we won't need you for a little while.'

Harry Butler had already left them, striding towards the airport building to hire a car. As he walked he folded a copy of an Identikit picture Tweed had given him, a facsimile of the photocopy of Igor Zarov given to Tweed in Switzerland. Tweed had simply told him this was probably a portrait of Klein.

'I need a car urgently,' he told the girl behind the desk. 'The make doesn't matter.'

'Would a Citroen suit you?' she asked in English. 'One of our clients has just left a car before boarding a flight.'

'I'll take it.' He began filling in the form as he spoke. 'How long for me to reach the Avenue de la Liberte?'

'At this time of day, no more than twenty minutes. I have a local map. I will mark out the route…"

Klein had leaned up to look out of the window of the compartment he occupied by himself. The express from Brussels was approaching Luxembourg City. It was the sight of the helicopter which caught his attention, flying several hundred feet up and almost parallel with the train.

He took out his monocular glass – the twin of the one he had given to Lara – and focused it on the machine, steadying the glass by perching his elbow on the window ledge. A police job. The word was clearly visible on the fuselage. With Belgian markings.

It appeared to be keeping pace with the express. Probably on traffic patrol. Klein pocketed the glass. No, that couldn't be the reason for its presence. Not in Luxembourg. Not with Belgian markings.

The express slowed, the platform of the station was gliding past, the train stopped. Klein took the light case he always carried off the seat beside him, stood up and prepared to alight. He was going straight to the Banque Sambre to find out what the devil Brand was up to. It was only a short walk from the station exit. Two minutes later he emerged from the booking hall into a blaze of sunshine.

**

Before boarding the Alouette at Dinant, Paula had asked Tweed for a private word. They strolled along the waterfront while the others went to where the machine was waiting on a section of open land on the opposite bank.

'I'm worried about Marline and Lucien,' she said. 'Could I stay here and see if I can locate them? If I can we'll have broken the hold Klein has over Haber.'

'Good idea in theory,' Tweed agreed. 'How are you going to set about it in practice?'

'Visit all the local estate agents. Have a look at all the properties on their books – especially any bought recently but where the deal hasn't been completed. Some place not too far away from here, but with a remote situation and which has been on the market a good while.' She frowned. 'I'mnot putting this very well, but I've a feeling I'll spot the sort of property Klein would choose when I see it.'

'You could give it a try. After I've made certain enquiries at Findel Airport we'll be flying back here. It's a bit vague though – your specification.'

'Oh, it has to have a telephone which is still in use.'

'I don't follow you.'

'What is the usual sequence of events when a kidnapping takes place? The victim still free – in this case Haber – demands proof from the kidnapper that his family is safe and well. The kidnapper gets over that one by letting him have a brief conversation with whoever has been kidnapped. That means telephone communication must be available. See what I'm driving at?'

'I should have thought of that myself.'

'You have got rather a lot on your mind,' she pointed out.

'Come with me. Before we board the Alouette I'll ask Benoit to liaise with the local police. You'll need one of them with you to have the authority to question estate agents…'

And so Tweed had left Paula in Dinant. While the helicopter was flying them to Findel Airport Paula, accompanied by a uniformed policeman, made a tour of the estate agents. She discovered several properties which were promising and was driven to each of them in turn.

It was dusk when they walked away from a property way out in the Ardennes, a large empty house which had once been a clinic for mental patients – and thus had bars on the windows. Paula was disappointed.

'I had high hopes of that place,' she said to Pierre, the handsome young policeman who was enjoying himself hugely in her company.

'Never mind, Miss, we can try again tomorrow. You still have several left for us to explore. I think we should get back to Dinant before dark.'

'I'm tired out,' she admitted. She studied one brochure before getting into the car. 'I'mwondering about this old mill. It looks pretty remote, was on the market for months before being bought by a Mr Hipper. And the phone is still working. How far away is it?'

Pierre checked the address. 'About fifteen miles from Celle. On a lonely country road which doesn't really lead anywhere. We could try that first tomorrow.'

'Let's do that. Now, back to Dinant.'

At the Cargolux counter at Findel the assistant manager was reluctant to provide any information. Benoit took over the conversation from Tweed, showing his warrant card.

'This is an emergency. Get me the chief of police in Luxembourg City on the phone, a man called Fernand Gansen. Then let me speak to him.'

Tweed glanced round the empty reception hall, its floor gleaming like glass. It was very quiet. He liked small airports. Beyond a window he could see a Luxair machine, its tail painted blue with a large white 'L' symbol. The grassy plain spread out into the distance; no sense of being within miles of a city.

Benoit, after conversing with his colleague, whom he obviously knew well, handed the phone to the airport official. 'Talk to him,' he snapped without a hint of his normal joviality. The conversation was brief, the official replaced the receiver.

'I'm authorized to answer any questions,' he said without enthusiasm.

'I want to know if a large cargo-carrying plane is due here – probably from Frankfurt – within the next few days. And its destination may be Rio do Janeiro,' Tweed suggested.