Deadlock

36

Leaving the Sheraton, carrying his bag, Klein headed for a public phone box near the Porte Louise. It was almost dark. Car headlights whipped up the Boulevard de Waterloo, the neon signs had come on, casting a weird light in the dusk. He entered a phone box, dialled a number in Germany.

He was calling the Hessischer Hof Hotel in Frankfurt. Kurt Saur, the Austrian helicopter pilot, answered the moment he was put through to his room. Klein spoke in German.

'Klein here. Are you ready to make delivery?'

'We await your instructions. Both machines are available.'

'Fly at once to Schiphol. You will be met by my agent, Grand-Pierre. Got the name?'

'Grand-Pierre. We will arrive roughly two to three hours from now.'

'Do it.'

Klein put down the receiver, lifted it again, called Delft and passed on the information to Grand-Pierre. The pilots speak French, he told him. Grand-Pierre said he would drive to Schiphol at once.

It was news to the Frenchman that two large Sikorsky helicopters were coming. Once again Klein had kept the different members of the assault force in separate cells. On arrival at the Dutch airport near Amsterdam Saur would tell the airport officials both machines were in need of maintenance. They would be held in reserve at Schiphol until required.

Standing in front of a shop window, Klein went over in his mind the Sikorsky element. Unlike the CRS command vehicle – which had to be stolen because it couldn't be bought on the open market – the Sikorsky machines had been legitimately hired for cash. And he could rely on Saur who led the four men of the helicopter team.

Kurt Saur, from Graz in the Austrian province of Styria, was forty years old. He'd spent his life hiring himself out for smuggling operations. So far he hadn't been caught. But he felt his luck was running out. He needed one big 'score' to give him the money for a life of leisure. Klein had provided that opportunity.

Klein was in an edgy mood – and knew why. Several members of his team were now in Brussels. The concentration at this moment was inevitable – they had to be close to the target.

But it went against all his instincts for security to do this. He was very close to the Mayfair where Lara Seagrave waited. He'd better go and have a word with her, see whether she was becoming restless.

First he took a cab to Midi station. Here he left his case in a luggage container – which reminded him of the bag he'd deposited at Geneva Cornavin, the bag containing the blood-soaked raincoat after murdering the Swiss, Blanc. So long ago, it seemed.

He took another cab back to the Porte Louise, paid it off, then walked up the opposite side of the Avenue Louise to where the Mayfair was located. He stood for a while behind a file of cars, deciding the line he would take with Lara.

He stiffened suddenly as he saw Lara leave the entrance to the Mayfair. Dressed up to the nines in a gaberdine suit. Where could she be going at this hour? She had strict instructions to wait in her room, to eat at the Mayfair.

On the far side of the street she walked towards the Porte Louise, clasping her shoulder bag. Klein followed at a discreet distance. When the lights were green she crossed the Boulevard de Waterloo. Turning right along the sidewalk, she walked up the Boulevard, stopped briefly to look in a shop window, walked on and entered the Hilton.

Inside the spacious lobby Lara walked briskly past the long counter for the concierge, reception and cashier. She was seething inwardly. Not one damn word from Klein. Would she ever set eyes on him again? Had the swine cut her out of the operation. Anxiety mingled with fury as she pressed the button for Floor One.

A tall American guest arrived as the elevator doors opened. 'Please, after you. Kinda warmish this weather…' She smiled her thanks, stepped inside. The American followed and Klein stepped after them a second before the doors shut.

Lara stared at him, then looked away. He'd been following her. She was livid. The lift ascended, stopped at the first floor, the American again ushered her in front of him. Klein caught up with her as she entered the Maison de B?uf, a large room with an air of luxury, quiet and with only a few tables occupied. An open grille behind a serving counter faced her; behind the counter a young man with a chefs white hat looked up.

'What the hell do you think you're doing?' Klein whispered.

He gripped her by the forearm. He needed somewhere quiet without people to sort her out. Discipline. Control…

'What does it look like?' she snapped. 'Coming out to have dinner …'

'Who with?'

'Let… go… of… my… arm,' she demanded, letting her rage show. 'I'm not your serf.'

'We'll go back to the Mayfair.'

'No!' This was like dealing with her bloody step-mother, Lady Windermere. 'I'm eating here. The Mayfair can wait.'

Smoking one of his rare cigarettes, seated in a cosy corner next to the grille, Marler watched the encounter with half-closed eyes. The last man on God's earth he'd expected so soon was Klein. It was only eight o'clock. And who was the girl? It was hardly a friendly meeting.

Lara gave Klein the mockery of a beaming smile. 'If you don't let go of me I'll create one hell of a scene.'

'Later then, at the Mayfair.'

Klein released his grip. The last thing he wanted was a scene drawing attention to himself. He turned abruptly and went back to the elevators.

Marler rose from his table, walked over to Lara before the head waiter could reach her. He smiled, still holding his napkin in his left hand.

'Excuse me,' he said, 'but I'm dining alone. Something I never enjoy. Unless you've someone waiting for you, I'd be delighted if you'd share my table. David Ashley. For dinner, I mean – just dinner.'

She was obviously English and he'd deliberately spoken in that language to reassure her. Being careful not to touch her, he gestured towards his table. 'I'mover there in the corner -you can sit nearest the next table. It's all rather convenient.'

'What is?' she asked, sizing him up, liking what she saw.

'The table. Next to the grille. If you order a steak you can watch, shout "stop!" if you like it rare and he's overdoing things.'

'I like mine well done.'

She had joined him as he followed her to the table, A considerate man. That little touch about letting her sit in the outside seat – enabling her to leave easily if she wanted to. He reached for a bottle cloth-shrouded in a silver bucket.

'All girls like champers, so I've heard. Care for a drop while you study the menu?'

'Thank you. I'd love some. It will calm me down.' 'Then here's to a pleasant evening. I'm rather good at chatter. Even if at nothing else…'

Klein walked into the bar leading off the lobby of the Hilton. It was dimly lit, which suited him. He sank into an armchair, ordered mineral water, automatically checking the other drinkers.

Lara's outburst was exactly what he had feared. The long wait was telling on nerves. He'd been so taken up with getting her out of the place he hadn't noticed who was dining in the room, a rare oversight.

He sat sipping his Perrier, his mind racing over every aspect of the operation. He'd have moved them all out of Brussels that very night – but he couldn't up-date the operation. It all hinged on the fleet of ships moving towards Europort.

He decided against visiting the cafe Manuel to check on Chabot and Hipper. No one could possibly be aware of his presence in Brussels, but this was the moment not to move about the city.

Klein had no intention of sleeping anywhere tonight. Without a hotel room he didn't exist. He'd get a quick meal at the cafe Henry further up the Boulevard, have a drink while Marler dined in the Sky Room, then spend half the hours of darkness in a night club.

An attractive woman sat in a nearby chair facing him, crossed her legs, and gave him a long look. He smiled briefly, looked away. There'd be plenty of time for that later. He was thinking that the Sikorsky helicopters would at this moment be flying from Frankfurt to Schiphol. An essential element in the enterprise.

The woman signalled her availability, moving one crossed leg up and down. Yes, plenty of time later. When he was safely in Brazil.