Colin Forbes - Deadlock

'Then Klein will know, too. I'm sure he had someone at Frankfurt Airport watching. Gentlemen…' Tweed laid his hand on the Verey pistol. '… we are close to the crunch.' He looked at Van Gorp. 'Don't forget Benoit – and Flashpoint. You have your man on the roof watching?'

'Yes. I don't understand your plan, but he's in constant contact with me through his walkie-talkie.' He picked up his own walkie-talkie off the table. 'And I'll call Benoit myself.'

'He may call you, ask you to keep the line open.'

'What do you plan to do?' asked Bellenger. 'Incidentally, a bit of good news. The bomb disposal lads have arrived at Schiphol outside Amsterdam. Why not fly them here?'

'Not yet. As to my plan, I have very little idea. I will have to react to events as they unfold – waiting for that one unguarded moment of Klein's. He, of course, will have been monitoring all communications through that CRS van, as I said earlier.'

'Don't worry about that,' Van Gorp assured him. 'I worked out a code for the police radio band. You've no idea how many prowlers we seem to have loose on the streets tonight.'

'How is Lara getting on?' Tweed asked quietly.

'Still suspended by that rope. That man is a fiend.'

'But a clever fiend. All along he has held us in a balance of terror. He has done enough to hold us in the deadlock. Sinking the dredger, Ameland. Blowing up Shell-Mex Two. Killing five policemen. The Lara thing. All enough to stop us daring to move. But nothing yet so tremendously appalling – like sinking the Adenauer – which might make us throw caution to the winds. I warned you – a master planner.'

'So what next?'

'At this moment we are in the hands of Newman.'

Benoit rushed into the cafe up to the table where Newman and Butler waited. He was breathing heavily and it was a moment before he could speak.

'Brand has asked permission to be driven to the airport. The transport with the gold is coming. He has warned us the man holding him will shoot him dead if we attempt to interfere.'

'You were able to persuade the local police chief to leave the airport free of his men?' Newman asked, standing up, looping the scabbard with the rifle over his shoulder.

'With difficulty, yes. He agreed.'

Then let's get moving. Pretty damn quickly – to get there before Brand and his so-called captor.'

Five minutes later, with Benoit seated beside him, Newman was driving the Lamborghini across the viaduct, crossing the chasm. No traffic about. He rammed his foot down, exceeding the limit, swerving round corners, then on to the highway direct to the airport. Benoit pressed his tingling feet against the floor, trying to preserve his portly aplomb.

Newman increased speed on the highway. Benoit watched the needle on the speedometer creep steadily higher. Something streaked past them. A motor-cycle. The rider hunched under his crash helmet.

'God! He's moving,' Benoit gasped.

'Butler. Wheels off the ground. Ever seen a motor-bike flying? New experience for you.'

'The whole thing is a new experience…'

No sign of life at the airport. Lights on inside the main reception building. Newman drove round the side and parked out of sight. Brand mustn't see the Lamborghini. Benoit levered his stiff limbs out of the car, carrying a large torch in one hand.

'Why did you want me to bring this?'

'I'll be out somewhere on the airfield when the machine gets here. I want you by a window facing the airfield, with the telephone in your hand. The moment Rotterdam gives the go-ahead – Flashpoint – you signal with that torch. On and off six times. That's vital. I'm hamstrung-so is Butler – until Tweed sends his own signal…'

Butler had perched his motor-cycle on the side of the building closest to the airfield. He was checking his Browning automatic when they found him.

'Hear it coming?' Butler asked.

'I can see it,' said Newman.

'I'd better get to security, find a phone, the right position,' said Benoit.

The night sky was clear, moonless, star-studded. There were two mobile stars, one green, one red. From the east came the rumble of the approaching transport plane carrying the gold bullion.

One of the double doors of the Banque Sambre opened. Brand – arms extended in front of his body – emerged slowly. Hipper, a slouch hat pulled over his forehead, a handkerchief masking his face, came alongside him, holding the Luger against the banker's skull.

They walked slowly along the Avenue de la Liberte as police marksmen on the roof covered Hipper. Turning down the side street, they approached the waiting limousine where the chauffeur held open the rear door.

The inspector, hidden inside a doorway, spoke into his walkie-talkie to the marksmen. 'Don't attempt it. The gunman's reflex action would pull the trigger. Brand must reach Findel alive…'

The limousine drove off slowly past the barriers which had been removed. Reaching the street leading to the viaduct, the chauffeur accelerated. He kept up the same speed until he arrived at the airport. As Brand stepped carefully out, followed by Hipper, the huge transport machine from Frankfurt landed.

The plane is at Findel,' Klein said as he put down the phone. 'So is Brand. He's just called from the security office. In a few minutes he will check the bullion, then report back to me over the aircraft's radio.' His voice was still detached, calm.

'When do you call up the Sikorsky?' Marler enquired.

'The moment Brand reports he's checked the gold. It is only a few minutes' flight from Rotterdam Airport. Legaud's van will ensure all communications work…'

Inside the CRS vehicle the professorial Legaud had sent one of the four men to sit behind the wheel through the door linking the cab with the interior of the van. He felt quite safe as he sat in front of a console of dials and switches, wearing a headset as he listened to the police radio band.

Three more armed men sat in the van behind him. The vehicle was bullet-proof, the few windows made of armoured glass. A telephone receiver lay on its side by his left hand, keeping him in constant touch with Klein. The whole operation had hinged on his expertise, or so Legaud preened himself.

Inside the HQ room Tweed sat with his hand close to the Verey pistol. Van Gorp was talking to Benoit. He put the receiver on the table.

'We now have an open line permanently to Benoit. He says the plane has landed. Brand has arrived. He's going aboard the aircraft. How long to check the gold?'

'No idea. Again, we wait.'

'So drink more coffee,' said Paula.

'I'm swimming in the stuff, but thank you, yes.'

'It will be soon, then?' asked Inspector Jansen.

'Soon,' Tweed replied and drank more coffee.

'There's something very wrong,' Newman said to Butler who sat astride his Honda.

They were near the end of the runway, at take-off point. Newman had suggested they walk the long distance in the dark as he clutched his rifle. Butler was mystified why they were waiting there.

'What's wrong?' he asked.

'That transport plane. When it landed it taxied to the other end of the main runway, then turned slowly through a hundred and eighty degrees.'

'Why did you expect?'

'The control tower would have instructed it to move on to one of the approach paths. It's positioned itself where it could make an immediate take-off. I don't like it. I sense some trick.'

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.'