Colin Forbes - Deadlock

' Flashpoint! '

Inside the HQ room Van Gorp grabbed for the phone which linked him to Findel.

'You there, Benoit? Flashpoint! Flashpoint! '

Blade's men had reached the entrance. Several hurled stun grenades over the crude barrier of furniture. The grenades exploded with a deafening crack. Balaclava-masked figures leapt straight over the barrier. They were firing their Ingram machine-pistols as they landed.

Dazed by the stun grenades, nine of Klein's team armed with Uzis attempted to aim their weapons. Swift, short fusillades of bullets hit them. They crumpled, fell to the ground in grotesque attitudes.

On the roof of the HQ building Blade's trooper holding the bazooka aimed it carefully, pulled the trigger. The missile hammered through the restaurant windows three hundred feet up, detonated inside.

On the platform Marler heard the whoosh of the missile coming, dived down behind the railing. The platform shook with the force of the explosion. Most of Klein's men at that level had been inside the restaurant. Marler pulled out his bright red scarf, let it fall over his jacket. He risked a glance over the rail. The Sikorsky was still on the barge, its rotors whirling.

Tweed, waiting by the side of the building the SAS troop had attacked from, also stood watching the helicopter. Someone came up behind him, tapped him on the shoulder. A familiar voice spoke. Captain Nicholls. From the bomb disposal squad at Blakeney.

'Bellenger sent me to join you. I've just arrived. Balloon's gone up… '

'Klein must be dead. I'm worried about the control box he was carrying. It can…'

'I know. Bellenger explained. Why don't we walk over there?'

The Sikorsky had begun to lift off. Saur had panicked. As the machine climbed higher they had a clear view of the deck of the barge. Tweed saw the two bodies lying there.

'Let's move,' he said.

They walked at a normal pace towards the barge. From Euromast came the sound of desultory machine-pistol fire. A series of sharp cracks. No one else on the waterfront. Tweed kept an eye on the elevating helicopter. It was now turning, heading for the Maas above the docking basin.

On the platform Marler heard the Sikorsky taking off. Standing up, he raised his rifle. He aimed carefully for the section which held the petrol tanks. He waited, seeing Tweed walking with another man, far below – waited for the Sikorksy to get far enough away. It reached the end of the basin, flew on over the Maas. Marler pulled the trigger three times in rapid succession.

Nothing happened for a few seconds. Marier estimated the Sikorsky was thirty feet above the water. A tongue of fire appeared, expanded into a flaring flame. Saur, his flying kit on fire, dived from the doorway. The fire enveloped him as he dropped into the river. The Sikorksy exploded, showering the air with fragments. In seconds it was a glowing fireball. It plunged into the Maas. The water sizzled. A second petrol tank exploded. A geyser of water as dramatic as one in Yellowstone Park rose from the river, then collapsed. The dark surface of the Maas became smooth and still as the grave.

Marler walked inside the entrance to Euromast, glanced round the lobby, holding the rifle he had reloaded. No one. He was watching the elevator – which had started to climb from the base of the tower. He sat at a table half-sheltered by an upended couch, took out from his pocket a wad of cotton wool he used to freshen himself up with eau-de-Cologne. Wetting two tufts with his tongue, he stuffed one in each ear,

He sat at the table with his forearms, leaning on it, his hands extended, fiat on the table's surface. The rifle he left on the floor. The elevator had arrived at the platform.

The doors opened. Inside, both men pressed against the wall, stood Blade with Eddie. The moment the doors opened they hurled the stun grenades. Despite the cotton wool, the sound was deafening. The two men jumped out, Ingrams aimed. Eddie saw Marler, swivelled his weapon. Blade saw the red scarf. A second before Eddie fired he yelled.

'Don't! Red scarf…!'

Eddie automatically approached the platform while Blade, his eyes slits behind the Balaclava, advanced on Marler, Ingram aimed. Marler gestured towards the British passport he had tossed earlier on the table.

'Don't shoot the pianist,' he said. 'He's doing his best.'

Blade flicked open the passport, compared photo with the man seated at the table. 'You nearly had it that time,' he said.

'Nearly is close enough. Look, I have to get down on to the waterfront. Tweed may need a little help. Satisfied? I've a rifle I'd like to take with me. Use that phone to warn the chaps below I'm coming down. And there's still one up in the Space Tower.'

There was a brief rattle of machine-pistol fire from where Eddie had gone. 'The bazooka must have missed a couple,' Marler commented. 'And the elevator went down, is coming up again.'

'More of my chaps. I'll send one down with you. No time to use phones…'

One of Klein's men appeared from nowhere. Marler nodded but Blade had seen him. He half-turned. The man, ashen-faced, had his hands up. Blade shot him twice.

On the waterfront Tweed waved a hand. The three policemen Marler had 'shot' stood up, raced off the launch ashore.

Tweed and Nicholls stepped on to the barge cautiously. The drizzle was still falling, the deck surface was coated with a greasy sheen. Then the two men froze. The Sikorsky over the Maas had just exploded.

There's the control box,' Tweed said, pointing.

'I see it. You wait here. I know how it works. Those blueprints from Switzerland you handed to Bellenger in London were shown to me by his naval chaps. Their bomb disposal lot is still waiting at Schiphol. I came on ahead in case you needed a spot of help…"

And he had used his loaf, Tweed thought. Nicholls was wearing civvies, dressed in a dark suit under a raincoat, carrying an executive case. He laid it on the deck, squatting on his haunches, opened it, took out a small leather pouch.

'Don't worry,' he assured Tweed.

'A lot of lives are connected to that damned box.'

'I know. Like I said, wait here…'

He walked across the deck which pitched slightly, moving to bump against the wharf, then drifting out to collide heavily with the barge moored alongside. Using a torch, Nicholls checked the neck pulses of both bodies, then walked slowly round the control box, which lay about four feet away from Klein's wrecked hands. Bending down, he used the thumb and forefinger of his right hand to lift the box. He walked back to Tweed, asked him to hold the torch.

'You'll be surprised how simple this is…'

Tweed stared at the rows of numbered buttons, then his eyes locked on the red button. Using his left hand, Nicholls opened the leather pouch, selected a small screwdriver and shoved the pouch back inside his pocket. He unscrewed the screw at each corner of the top of the box, tucking them inside his pocket. The distant rattle of a machine-pistol drifted down to them from the Euromast platform. Nicholls ignored the sound, lifted the top of the box carefully and slid that into his pocket. A maze of wires led from what looked like a battery. Nicholls substituted a small pair of pliers for the screwdriver, snipped ten wires, including one coloured red. Lifting out the battery, he handed the box to Tweed.

'Press any button you like. Nothing will happen. The box is disarmed.'

Thanks, but no thanks,' Tweed replied, handing the box back to Nicholls.

He looked up as footsteps, a swift deliberate tread, came across to the barge. Marler. Rifle held loosely in both hands.

'I'd better get back,' Nicholls said. 'Next job is link up with the team waiting at Schiphol, get out to those ships…'

'I wonder how this happened,' Tweed enquired, pointing a foot to Klein's dead body.