Deadlock

The outboard dinghies brought the assault teams ashore to a quiet part of the coast. Chabot was waiting with three four-wheel drive covered trucks. Within minutes the men were aboard, leaving behind the punctured dinghies to sink.

Chabot led the way, driving the first truck over the rough terrain of scrub and sand. He turned on to a main highway and pressed his foot down, heading for the centre of Rotterdam.

Klein drove past the Hilton and along the Kruisgade while Marler sat beside him. He slowed down and cruised as he stared ahead. A girl walking from the direction of the precinct was hurrying towards the entrance of the Hotel Central. She passed under a street light. Lara Seagrave.

Klein pulled in to the kerb, left the engine running, caught hold of her by the arm seconds before she went inside. She stared at his uniform, his tinted glasses without recognition. She was tugging her arm to free it when he spoke and she knew it was Klein.

'You were supposed to stay in the hotel. Where have you been?'

'For a short walk,' she snapped. 'I'm not staying cooped up inside any hotel hour after hour…'

'Your bill was paid in advance. You're coming with me now.'

'I'm going up to the loo first, If you don't mind…'

'I do. There's a toilet where we're going.'

'I said I was going to the loo. I'll be down in a minute.' She tugged loose from his grip, her eyes flaming. 'My case is packed. Do I bring that?'

'Leave it…'

Before he could say another word she'd dashed inside the hotel. Klein was furious. Independent little bitch. He calmed down, began striding slowly up and down past the entrance, a chauffeur waiting for his client. Twice he checked his watch. When she emerged, wearing a camel hair coat, he escorted her to the BMW, opened the rear door and waited while she slid into the rear seat.

Marler stared as he saw her coming, the girl he'd dined with at the Maison de B?uf in Brussels. He decided it would be wise to pretend he'd never met her. She had glanced at him as she reached the car and looked away.

Klein closed the door, went round the back of the car, made sure the boot was locked, the boot which contained the two lengths of rope, one tied into a hangman's noose. Climbing behind the wheel he paused before starting the engine.

'This is Martin Shand,' he told her. 'Martin, this is Lara. Just Lara…'

He turned the ignition, and drove off through the night. The traffic had slackened to almost nothing as he made for the Euromast.

Inside the garage Klein had hired Legaud, the communications expert, sat behind the wheel of the resprayed CRS truck. He checked his watch for the third time in half an hour. Beside him sat a Luxembourger clad in windcheater and denims with a small rug spread across his lap. Beneath the rug he held a Uzi machine gun. The Uzi fires at the rate of six hundred rounds per minute.

Legaud was slim with a clever face which slanted down to a pointed, fox-like chin. He wore rimless glasses, which gave him a professorial appearance. In the main compartment behind the cab was a complex of dials and switches with metres indicating wavelengths. It was also occupied by four men dressed in the same garb as the guard beside Legaud. They were equipped with machine guns and Browning pistols.

Again Legaud checked his watch. He nodded to the guard who descended from the cab, pressed the button on the wail which operated the automatic door. The moment it elevated Legaud backed carefully into the quiet darkened street, turned and headed for his objective. Euromast.

'How long does Euromast stay open?' Butler asked as Van Gorp drove close to the river front.

'Until ten at night. People go there for dinner in the restaurant – and to see the view at night. Why?'

'I just wondered,' Butler replied and lapsed into his normal silence.

Tweed had been sitting gazing out of the window, not seeing the river, his mind squirrelling away. It was a mood Butler was used to and Paula, glancing back once, was careful not to say anything.

'Stop the car!' Tweed said suddenly. 'I've been a complete idiot.'

'What's the matter?' asked Van Gorp, parking by the kerb.

'If you wanted to send a top security message could you do it over your radio – or would it be more secure from police HQ?'

'From police HQ. Amateur radio hacks often tune in to police wavebands. Why?'

'It was staring me in the eyes when I was inside the Space Tower. I failed to grasp its significance.' He didn't mention that it had been his feeling of disorientation which had clogged his brain. 'Paula was right when she queried whether it was really the Maas…'

'Still don't follow you,' the Dutchman commented.

Those thirty sea-mines. Sea -mines! What are they used for in wartime?'

'To sink ships…'

'Exactly. And from the Space Tower I saw God knows how many of them approaching Europort. There was even a large liner.'

'The Adenauer. Stopping to take on board more passengers before it sails for its cruise in the Mediterranean. It also has the US Secretary of State aboard – with his wife.'

'Lord help us. Don't you see? Those ships are the objective, the main one anyway. Klein is going to use those sea-mines to hold them to ransom. That's how he will get his two hundred million pounds in gold bullion. I've puzzled over that a lot – what could be worth such a king's ransom? All those ships must be warned. They're in great danger.'

'Police headquarters,' said Van Gorp and drew away from the kerb, accelerating.

Hipper, driving the Fiat he had transferred to after leaving one of the four-wheel drive trucks at an isolated spot, pulled in by the entrance to Rotterdam Airport. He now wore a plain grey business suit and carried a brief-case.

Inside the reception hall he walked across to a small bullet-headed man with black hair plastered close to his skull. The description fitted and the man dressed in pilot's clothing was standing by the bookstall, looking at a paperback.

'Excuse me, sir,' Hipper said in German, "out would you by any chance be Victor Saur?'

'I would. Who are you?'

Cold brown eyes like glass marbles stared back at the Luxembourger. A cigarette dangled from the Austrian's thin lips.

'Hipper. You have transport to Brussels for me?'

'Benny will fly you there. That bloke in flying kit over at the drinks counter with an orange juice.'

'Thank you most kindly, sir.'

Creep, thought Saur as he watched Hipper waddle towards Benny, a heavily-built man several inches taller than Saur. There was a brief conversation and the two men went off together as Saur walked outside where he could see the night sky. A few minutes later a Sikorsky helicopter rose above the building, described a half circle and flew off south for Brussels Airport. Saur checked his watch. Dead on time.

A lot of people were going to be dead on time.

On top of the high-rise building overlooking the barracks of the Dutch marines Prussen also checked his watch. Through his night-glasses he saw the laundry van pass through the gates after showing his pass. The van proceeded across the parade ground towards the side entrance where it would park.

Prussen took the control box from his pocket and held it in one hand while the other pressed the glasses to his eyes. The van seemed to crawl. Prussen felt beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He licked his lips once.

Then he remembered his dark glasses. He nearly panicked. He forced himself to remain calm. Placing the binoculars and the box on the wall-top, he took out the glasses and put them on. He raised the binoculars again. The laundry van was just pulling up outside the entrance.

Prussen took hold of the control box, his thumb half an inch above the button. He took a deep breath as he saw a marine emerge to collect the laundry. Now was the moment. His thumb jammed down hard. He braced himself.