Colin Forbes - Deadlock

'In bearer bonds, negotiable anywhere in the world.'

Klein patted his pocket. 'I give you them when the Sikorsky has landed.'

'Very neat. Except it leaves me here to face the music.'

'The second Sikorsky picks you up five minutes later. The pilot knows the route – again along the Maas- to another power cruiser waiting in the Frisians. You take the rest of the team with you. All the time I have you covered -with the control box aboard my helicopter.'

'Communication. In case of a spot of bother?'

"The pilot of the second Sikorsky will be in constant touch with my pilot. Any interruption and I press the button. You can explain the position to Tweed. He's an understanding type of chap, as you'd say.'

'What comes next?'

'The signal from. Brand at Findel – confirming the bullion is genuine, the right amount. Then the first Sikorsky arrives.'

'Neat,' Marler said again. 'What could possibly go wrong?'

Seated with Butler in the cafe overlooking the Avenue de la Liberte, Newman stared at the TV screen above the serving counter. The proprietor had left the machine on -even though it showed only a blank screen.

'They get so used to that damn thing,' he said, 'they leave it on when there's nothing on…'

He stopped, gripped Butler by the arm, nodding towards the TV. An announcer had appeared. He began talking. 'The crisis at Rotterdam.. .' Pictures flashed on to the screen.

'Oh, my God!' Newman said hoarsely.

'It's bestial,' Butler commented.

The camera had zoomed in close on Euromast. The figure of Lara Seagrave suspended from the platform came up. The camera zoomed in closer. A shot of her face, distraught, stricken with terror. The camera panned slowly up and down the side of the immense tower.

The announcer was explaining the position in detail. The fact that only two ropes held her, the second a noose round her neck. Newman swore, went over to the phone on the counter and told the proprietor this was a security call. The man vanished through a door. Newman dialled the number Tweed had given him.

Tweed here.'

'Bob. We've just seen Euromast on TV. The girl hanging in mid-air. Klein is a sadist…'

'More a brutal psychologist. I was just going to phone you. We're close. Gold loaded at the other end. Plane due to fly off. May have done so now. Don't forget to get Benoit to keep on an open line from Findel so he can contact you. The codeword for taking action is Flashpoint. Once you're told that word take any action you like to stop the plane taking off again.'

'You can synchronize it like that?'

'I don't know. I can only hope and pray.'

'Flashpoint,' Newman repeated.

At the house in Eaton Square, London, Lady Windermere was furious as she climbed out of bed and slipped into a peignoir over her night-dress.

'Why have you woken me at this hour?' she snapped at her Spanish maid. 'What's all this nonsense about something terrible, Anita?'

'Please to come and look at the television…'

The TV? Are you mad. It's not on…'

'But it is, your Ladyship. Please to come and look…'

Tightening her thin lips, Lady Windermere followed Anita down the curving staircase into the study. She paused at the entrance, surprised. The TV screen was showing pictures.

'It's Lara,' Anita said, almost sobbing. 'Look for yourself.'

'Where is this happening?'

'Rotterdam – in Holland.'

With a face like stone Lady Windermere sat in an armchair. The camera was scanning the full height of Euromast as the commentator explained. Then another close-up of Lara hanging from the platform. Lady Windermere clenched her hand.

'The little fool. I said she'd get into some awful scrape. Now this dreadful publicity – and Robin's wedding is on Saturday. It really is too bad of her. She could spoil everything. What a disgusting spectacle.'

'But, your Ladyship, shouldn't we call your husband?'

'No, certainly not. He's in Manchester on business. At this hour he'll be fast asleep.' Thank God, she thought. If Rolly knew he'd be on the phone, making a fuss.

'On no account are you to ring him,' she ordered. 'You've already spoilt my night's sleep. Switch that thing off, I do not wish to see any more. If it goes on it will take the spotlight off Robin's marriage in the papers. I'm going back to bed.'

How perfectly infuriating, she said to herself as she mounted the staircase.

'An American, Cord Dillon, is waiting to see you in a car parked in the side street,' Van Gorp informed Tweed. 'He wanted to come up but the guard stopped him.'

'I'd better go down and talk to him in the car,' Tweed said, standing up. 'Call me instantly if there's a development.' He looked at Paula. 'Like to come with me?'

A crimson Cadillac was standing by the kerb in the dark side street. A uniformed chauffeur opened the rear door and Tweed, followed by Paula, got inside. The Deputy Director of the CIA was a tall, well-built man in his fifties with a craggy face. He had a shock of thick brown hair, was clean shaven had a strong nose, prominent cheekbones and ice-blue eyes.

'Who is she?' he snapped, gesturing to Paula.

'My personal assistant. Totally vetted. Paula Grey. Meet Cord Dillon.'

'This talk with you was to be between the two of us.'

'Paula stays. If you're going to talk about what I think you are she may be able to help.' Tweed waved his hand, indicating the spaciousness of the car. Paula sat turned sideways in one corner, Dillon in the other of the rear seat with Tweed between them. 'Where did you get this wheeled palace?'

'US Embassy at The Hague met me at the airport. What I want to talk about…'

'Just a moment,' Tweed interrupted. 'You'll want what I may tell you off the record – so switch off the tape recorder, if you don't mind.'

Dillon reached down below the seat, turned a switch. 'Off the record. I'm in a hurry. So are you. Let's get to it. We have had strong rumours an ex-CIA man is mixed up in this Rotterdam business. I think Moscow is spreading the poison. My worry is it could be true. Remember Lee Foley?'

'Left you – with all his expertise – to set up CDA, the Continental Detective Agency, in New York. I last encountered him in Switzerland…'

'He's gone missing.'

Despite his normal manner of iron self-control, Tweed sensed anxiety under the surface. There was as much tension inside the Cadillac as in the HQ room.

'How long ago was this?' Tweed asked.

'Six months. Boarded a flight for London, left Heathrow and vanished. Foley was good at that trick. We've used good men to track him. They've come up with zilch. A guy doesn't just walk out on a profitable business and disappear. Foley did.'

'Paula,' Tweed suggested, 'tell him very briefly about your experience at Blakeney and on the road to Cockley Ford.'

He listened, checking his watch several times, while Paula recalled what had happened tersely. Including the bomb on her doorstep. Dillon grunted when she'd finished.

'Tweed,' he began, 'if Foley is involved here, I'm going to ask you a favour. Don't care how you do it. Just make sure any part Foley has played never goes public. The Russians would tear us to pieces. OK? Then I'll owe you one.'

'I'll do my best. Now, fly back to London. Wait for me at your Grosvenor Square Embassy. I'll contact you when I can.'

'I have another problem. Cal Dexter, Schulzberger's security chief aboard the Adenauer, reports Schulzberger won't leave the ship.'

'Good for him. You have no problem. Go back to London as I suggested. Now I must get back.'

'What happened?' Dillon asked as Paula reached for the door handle. To Foley, I mean.'

'He shook hands with the devil.'

'The bullion is on its way to Findel,' Van Gorp told Tweed as he came back with Paula. 'The governments are putting a heavy burden on you. They're assuming somehow you'll get the gold back. Luckily no hint of this surrender has reached the outside world. Yet,' he added.