The Main chance

36

Skirting well clear of the grim fortress-like building with its tall communications turret, Tweed, with Paula by his side in the Land Rover, followed Philip's vehicle. Parked at the summit, he pointed as the others joined them.

Close to the rear fortress walls was a huge lake with a big dam at one end. Attached to the wall of the lake near the Chateau was a sizeable box with a thick coiled hose on top. `What's the plan?' Tweed asked. `Harry and I will lower the dam and a vast amount of water fed by natural springs on the top of that knoll will pour into the lake. Prior to that I'll have attached that hose to the inlet into the air-conditioning system. The other end of the hose I'll drop into the lake. On a recent recce I looked into a number of windows in the Chateau. All the rooms have a large air-conditioning grille let into the wall.' `Will it work?' Paula wondered. `You've forgotten Philip was a top engineer before he joined us. `And,' Harry remarked, 'the walls of the Chateau look shaky to me.' `And Harry was once in the building trade,' Tweed added.

They watched as Harry dug inside a deep pocket in his windcheater, produced a chisel. Paula was amused. Harry would not go anywhere without his tool kit, now hidden in his spacious pockets. They watched as he bent close to the wall of the Chateau, hammered quietly at the mortar, which fell out. Brick-shaped stones above started to slide down. `Whole miserable chute could collapse. No maintenance,' he said when he returned.

Philip waved to Harry to accompany him. First he hurried to the large aluminium chamber controlling the air-conditioning. Unscrewing a round plate with Feu stamped on it, he then forced one end of the thick rubber pipe inside the hole. The other end was dropped into the lake. `I think that plate he removed,' Tweed said, 'is in case the air-conditioning system ever catches fire. The whole Chateau would be enveloped in flames. Unless huge quantities of water poured into it.' `If you say so,' Paula replied dubiously.

Philip and Harry had now taken up positions at either end of the dam behind huge wheels they began turning. Paula gazed in fascination as the top of the dam, smeared with green slime, began to sink rapidly. A wave of water penned up on the far side poured into the lake, then became a great flood as Philip and Harry continued turning their wheels. `That's enough,' Philip said as he ran back with Harry.

Tweed felt in his overcoat pocket, pulled out something he'd forgotten was there. It was the crinkled-face mask worn by the thug he'd hurled over the chalk pit near Gladworth. He gave it to Philip. `A peculiar object…' `Made in Paris,' Philip told him, `by the most expert mask maker in the world. Costs a fortune – it's so flexible. I think I'll wear this. Might gain us entry through the main door without a fuss.'

Arriving at the door, he hammered the heavy iron knocker. A man's face appeared when a Judas window was opened. The face looked startled. `Oh, Mr Calouste. I thought you were in your office.'

Harry stood out of sight to one side of the door, truncheon in his hand. Turning of three keys, removal of several chains. Philip walked in, flipped his truncheon, smashed it on the man's head. He collapsed. Another man with a dagger appeared, raised it to strike Philip. Harry's truncheon struck his elbow. He gasped with pain, dropped the dagger as Harry broke the other arm with his truncheon. A hard tap on the forehead and he collapsed on top of his fellow guard. `That corridor ahead is straight and level,' Philip remarked. 'The one to our left slopes downward. Calouste is a mole. We'll find him somewhere along here underground…'

Paula slipped ahead of him, turned a corner, still going down, stopped. She pointed. Vague lighting showed a trapdoor, the lid raised vertically. Followed by the rest of the team she descended six steps after crossing a platform. The cellar-level room was large, dim except for a desk lamp at the far end. A figure was hunched over a desk with its back to her.

Harry paused, used a blurred torch to check the edges of the opening. Electrically operated. He took a small tube from his pocket, squirted a small amount of gunge between two of the electrodes. The gunge hardened immediately.

With their thick-rubber-soled boots they made no sound as they all descended to the platform. Beyond six stone steps led down into the weird room. Paula crept down to the floor.

Blinding lights flashed on. Calouste had crept up onto the platform above his desk. The team's eyes blinked in the glare. Calouste held a Glock pistol in his hand, aimed point-blank at Paula. Tweed, now at floor level, glanced anxiously at her as she stood with her back to the wall. Calouste spoke sneeringly in public-school English. `All present and correct. If anyone moves an inch I will shoot Miss Grey in the chest.'

The team froze.

Paula glanced along the wall. Close to Calouste's platform an air-conditioning grille of some size was dribbling water. Calouste, in his velvet suit, was speaking again, theatrically. `None of you will leave the Chateau alive.' His tone became sadistic. 'Your bodies will be eaten by crows, which round here are vicious. Not vegetarians.'

He chuckled. Not a pleasant sound. His eyes were as dead as his soul. Paula noticed the floor sloped down from where they stood. She fainted, sliding down the wall. Calouste was amused. `She is scared to death. Quite rightly so. This is what is coming to her…'

The air-conditioning grille near Calouste was hurled across the room under the pressure of the water which had built up. A great flood rushed into the room as the second grille gave way. Calouste was momentarily distracted. Paula aimed her Browning, shot him in the left kneecap. Screaming with agony, Calouste dropped his Glock pistol, used both hands to clap his knee, still screaming. He lost his balance, fell off the platform into more than a foot of water.

The entire lake seemed to be entering the room.

Water surged towards where Tweed was standing. It was now at least three feet deep. He ran up the steps, ordering a general evacuation. When they had all reached the corridor the water below was six feet deep. Calouste was desperately trying to swim to their steps, with an odd dog-paddle of a movement. He reached the steps, clawed his way up to the platform as water slid across it. His face was now a picture of terror as he looked up, waving a claw-like hand. `Please save me,' he screeched. 'Save me. I will give you millions!'

Harry stared down at him. He used one hand to lever the heavy trapdoor shut. Paula was sure she heard the crunch of skull bone. They were hurrying along the corridor when Harry pointed at water seeping through the walls, mortar coming loose. `Let's get the hell out of here – the whole place is coming down.'

From near the summit of the knoll, where they had parked the cars, they watched the dramatic scene below. The Chateau was coming apart. The tall turret in the middle of the roof, with the fabulously expensive communications equipment, was tilting slowly towards the front wall. Its tempo of disintegration increased. It fell towards the wall facing the Ardennes slope, split into several sections and hammered a huge hole in the wall. `Time we got moving,' Philip said. `We're going to run the Brussels gauntlet again,' suggested Paula. `No. We're driving down through the tiny state of Luxembourg. Heading for the airport outside the city. A late plane will leave for Heathrow. You've all got reserved seats. Here are your tickets. We must leave now.'

Philip's Land Rover led the way south. Tweed was seated next to him. Paula travelled in the rear seat. They quickly descended from the heights into narrow roads through defiles. On either side massive limestone cliffs hemmed them in with an occasional clump of trees by the roadside. Paula felt relieved to look at different scenery.

As a golden dawn glowed in the east they approached the airport, which was very quiet. A single plane waited some way out on the tarmac. Before passing easily through the formalities Tweed used Paula's mobile to call Monica and instruct her to use staff from Communications. His second call was to Jim Corcoran, Chief of Security at Heathrow, who said a bus would meet their plane. Finally, Tweed turned to Philip, shook him by the hand and thanked him warmly. `Isn't Philip coming with us?' Paula asked.

Not this time,' Philip said with a grin. 'My work is here in Europe. I'll be travelling a long way east…'

It was broad daylight when their plane took off. Paula looked at Tweed, asked him what he was thinking about. `Who killed Bella, then Mrs Carlyle.'