Deadlock

**

Brand had climbed the ladder lowered by the air crew into the plane. Hipper, Luger aimed at his back, had followed. As Brand stepped aboard the pilot pulled him out of sight.

'We are ready when you tell us the cargo is OK. We have now dealt with the air crew which took off from Frankfurt.'

'Dealt with them?'

'Shot them, of course. When we're over the Atlantic we can drop the bodies. Now, we are short of time. You come this way.'

He led Brand into the cargo hold where long wooden boxes roped down were stacked. The ropes had been removed from several boxes. The pilot explained they'd work as a team for speed. He would rope down each box after Brand had checked it while his co-pilot unroped others for Brand's inspection. The radio op. was at his post in the pilot's cabin, keeping in touch with Euromast.

Brand took a leather pouch from his pocket, unfolded it and extracted from its leather compartment a small glass pipette containing a liquid. Standing over the open box, staring at the large ingot stamped with German markings, he held the pipette over it, let slip a tiny drop. It sizzled as it landed on the ingot.

'Gold,' Brand said. 'Let's keep moving. Next box…'

'Klein wants to talk again. Wait while I check we're ready.' Van Gorp put down the phone, picked up the other one lying on the table and spoke to Benoit. He nodded to Tweed as he lay it on its side. 'Benoit is waiting. Brand still checking that gold.' He picked up the walkie-talkie, its aerial already extended, exchanged a few words in Dutch with his man watching on the roof. 'Communications in order.'

'And your man on the roof understands the signal I told you both in private he would receive – if my plan works?'

'Didn't understand it – as I don't – but he'll recognize the signal, inform me instantly. Then I pass the codeword to Benoit. Good luck.'

Three minutes later Tweed handed the Verey pistol to Blade who was still waiting with his Sabre Troop. 'Keep that for me,' Tweed requested. 'Collect it from you when I get back.'

Standing at the base of Euromast with the microphone in his hand, Tweed stared up. Klein began talking immediately in a brusque manner, giving orders.

The gold is checked. Sensible of you to carry out my orders. Now listen. Don't interrupt. A Sikorksy is flying in here. It will land on one of those barges behind you. I shall leave the Euromast with a number of my men. Others will stay inside Euromast. When I leave to board the machine I will be holding the control box, thumb over the red button. Shoot me, my last act will be to press the button. Everything goes up. A second Sikorksy will arrive – to take off the rest of my team. My Sikorsky will fly downriver – closing the range with those floating deathtraps. Any interference, I press the button – both Sikorskys will be in constant radio touch.'

'That was not the arrangement…'

'I said don't interrupt. That is the arrangement now. All those people's lives are in your hands. I shall remain in communication with Findel. The plane will be allowed to take off. Any interference with that take-off – you know what will happen. And in case you doubt my will to do as I say…'

Klein tapped his right leather-soled shoe twice. Marler was further round the platform, rifle aimed at Tweed. Inside the lobby a Luxembourger sawed through the rope holding Lara by her waist. The last strand broke…

She fell a dozen feet. The noose tightened round her neck. She swung slowly in space. The TV cameras zoomed in, recording the sight of her extended neck, her bulging eyes.

Tweed gazed up, frozen with shock and disbelief. Chilled to the bone. His eyes glued to the suspended figure, hanging like a marionette, a broken rag doll. He realized he was in shock, gripping the mike like a vice. His legs felt paralysed. He couldn't move. It wasn't happening…