Colin Forbes - Deadlock

'If something is planned I don't think so,' Tweed said. 'I fear it could be something much bigger. Don't ask me what. But Calgourli did provide at long last what I've been looking for. Some facts.'

'Such as?' asked Newman.

'Explosives, scuba divers, and a top marksman. The Monk.'

'Come to check up on me?' Marler asked cheerfully. 'Making sure I was still in Bouillon?'

'I came to reassure you on our mutual friend's instruction,' Hipper said as they wandered through the streets of the small town. 'To tell you we should be ready soon now. It is very important you remain available at the Panorama…'

'I'm not staying hemmed in by the four walls of a hotel bedroom day after day. If you phone and I'm out, call back.'

'That is not entirely satisfactory…'

'Nothing in life ever is.'

'I will leave you here. Go straight back to your hotel.'

'On the double. Sir.'

Marler gave the Luxembourger a brief mock salute, turned and disappeared round a corner. He ran to where he had parked his newly-hired Volvo, unlocked it, got behind the wheel and started the engine. Ramming a black beret on his head, he perched a pair of dark glasses on his nose and drove to the corner where Hipper was just getting into a Peugeot station wagon.

He followed Hipper past the castle relic which loomed over the town and settled down to keeping the Peugeot in sight. They had left him marooned in the nowhere place of Bouillon. Not good enough. He needed some idea of where Hipper was based. You couldn't know too much about your employer in his line of business.

Hipper drove north through the Ardennes, then turned west. Marler had managed to avoid being spotted when Hipper arrived in Givet, the small French town just inside the frontier and south of Dinant.

Marler drove across the bridge over the river Meuse, turned on to the Quai des Fours, and realized he'd lost Hipper. He parked the Volvo and went into a cafe overlooking the waterfront for some coffee. 'Can't win them all,' he thought as he gazed out of the window.

A barge was gliding past, moving steadily upstream after passing through the lock. The Gargantua. Marler never gave it a second look as he finished his coffee and called for the bill.

In Paris Lara Seagrave came out of the public phone box and walked to Smiths' tea-room for morning coffee. She looked round after ordering to see if Tweed happened to be there. He was nowhere in sight. Well, she was used to drinking her coffee alone.

'I have a call to make,' Tweed told Newman after Lasalle had dropped them at the France et Choiseul. 'From a phone box. Only take a minute. There's one up this street.'

'I'll wait outside then,' Newman replied. 'Take your time. I've plenty to think about. I have an idea I've forgotten to tell you something significant.'

Tweed entered the booth, dialled his Park Crescent number. Paula came on the line immediately. Only a brief greeting, then she came to the point.

'Jacob Rubinstein called you. Said he had something urgent to report. He'll only talk to you. Have you his number?'

'Yes. I'm still in Paris. I'll phone him when I've finished this call. There may be a call from someone calling themselves Olympus. Like the mountain in Greece…'

They called fifteen minutes ago. Is it a man or a woman?'

'Can't tell you that.' Tweed sounded anxious. 'What was the message?'

'The voice was muffled – like someone talking through tissue paper. Couldn't tell whether it was a man or a woman. I got them to repeat the message. It's very short. It's the Meuse, the river Meuse. That was it. OK?'

'Very,' said Tweed.

Noticing Tweed's absorbed expression Newman kept quiet until they were inside Tweed's room at the France et Choiseul. He waited again until room service had brought the coffee Tweed ordered.

'I haven't remembered the significant bit, but I have recalled a couple of other items I didn't tell you. I must be slipping.'

'You didn't have much time after you arrived at Park Crescent. Then you drove me to Heathrow. The plane was full, so we couldn't talk then. And Lasalle met us at Charles de Gaulle. What are the two items?'

'First, checking Portch's movements after he left Brighton I found there was a six-month gap before he took over at Cockley Ford. The barman whose place overlooks the harbour at Blakeney told me Portch arrived with his furniture, found there was some cock-up in the timing, and went to Holland for about six months.'

'Probably took a locum job.' Tweed was studying a Michelin map of the general area of the Meuse he'd purchased at Smiths' bookshop. 'What was the other thing?'

'You said there were six new graves of villagers who died during the meningitis epidemic. I didn't have much chance to take a good look – Portch and that thug, Grimes, were breathing down my neck. But I'm sure there were seven. Could you have miscounted?'

He had Tweed's full attention now. Tweed pursed his lips in an effort to think back to his night at Cockley Ford. Such a lot had happened since.

'I can't be sure,' he admitted. 'But we can't worry about it now. We have to split forces. I have to take the express to Brussels to check on that banker, Peter Brand. And damnit, I forgot to call Jacob Rubinstein. I'll do that on our way out to get a quick snack. Here it's a full-dress effort, will take too long.'

'You said we have to split forces…'

'Yes. I want you to hire a car and drive to Dinant on the Meuse just across the border in Belgium. Klein may have made one mistake. Which is what I have been waiting for.'

'What mistake?'

'This.' Tweed opened a drawer, took out a tissue-wrapped package and handed it to Newman. The foreign correspondent unfolded the paper and stared at the small gingerbread house. He looked at Tweed and shook his head.

'A couque,' said Tweed. 'A speciality type of gingerbread – and one of the local industries of Dinant. When you arrive, find a bargee, see if this Klein has ever been seen in the area. Follow it up in any way you like. And if you want to get in touch with me quickly call this number.' He wrote on a page from his notebook, handed it to Newman. "That's the number of Brussels police headquarters off the Grand' Place. Chief Inspector Victor Benoit is an old friend of mine – and a very tough policeman. Now, let's get moving.'

'Hold on a sec. Why this interest in barges?'

'I may have been thick. A chance remark Paula made while we were back in Basle at the Drei Konige came into my mind before I fell asleep last night. That bullion I told you about – the big haul stolen from those two banks in Basle – may just have been transported from under the noses of the Swiss police. By barge down the Rhine, then maybe via the Canal de Haul Rhin and north to Dinant.'

"That's a long shot,' Newman objected as they stood up to leave.

'The whole business is a very long shot…'

Tweed used the same phone box he had called Paula from to contact Jacob Rubinstein. The bullion merchant came on the line and Tweed announced his identity.

'Could you tell me, first, what you were wearing the day you came to see me? If you don't mind…'

'I applaud your caution. Navy-blue serge suit, white shirt, polka dot tie, a Burberry…'

'I won't mention names on the phone, Mr Tweed. I am referring to the man whose name I gave you. Do you understand?'

'Perfectly. Please go on.'

'In my business we hear things. We are on the phone daily to most of the world financial centres. We hear rumours – sometimes very unusual ones. We get so we can sort out the wheat from the chaff, to discount nonsense. Regarding the man we spoke of, I have just heard he has arranged for a truly enormous amount of bullion to be held available by the Deutsche Bank in Frankfurt. It is supposed to be for a loan to some unnamed South American country. I find it peculiar – the amount combined with the urgency.'