Colin Forbes - Deadlock

'We should be sending men there now,' he was saying when Van Gorp came back.

The Dutchman had recovered his normal poise, stood erect and pulled at his moustache before he spoke. His manner was crisp, commanding.

'Guess what? The Minister has reinstated me. I asked for it to be put in writing.' He grinned cynically and then became businesslike. 'The warning to all shipping lying offshore is being transmitted at this moment – with the full backing of The Hague.'

'It may be too late,' Tweed warned.

'We'll take it as it comes. More important. The Dutch PM is calling your PM, asking for permission to use the S AS force if necessary. I suspect the Minister of the Interior is taking full credit for that general alert I sent out earlier – even in an emergency like this politicians never lose a chance to gain kudos.'

'In that case,' said Tweed, 'I'd like a private word with my colleague, Blade. I can send him out to the airport to alert the SAS team.'

'Do it. He's waiting downstairs with the others.'

Tweed was talking to Blade in a small room on their own when Van Gorp appeared. During their few minutes alone Tweed had told Blade about the destruction of the Dutch marine unit.

'Ruthless type of bastard, this Klein,' Blade had commented. 'Still, with us it's always no holds barred. I'll drive at once to the airport, get the lads to kit up inside the charter aircraft. We'Sl need three plain vans backed up to the machine. That way we can leave unseen the moment you tell me where to head for…'

Van Gorp was terse. 'Permission granted to use the SAS unit. Your PM laid down one condition – which was accepted. The unit takes its orders from you, Tweed.'

'I'll pass on the message to the troop commander,' Blade said and left.

'It's carnage out at the marine barracks," Van Gorp told Tweed. 'Pure carnage. Reports keep coming in, every one worse than the last.'

'In that case we'd better get to Euromast fast. With plenty of armed men. I want Newman and Butler with me. Benoit will come, too, I'm sure…'

Alighting from the Sikorsky at Brussels Airport, Hipper told the pilot to wait, found the hired car he'd phoned ahead for, and drove straight to Peter Brand's headquarters in the house of Avenue Franklin Roosevelt.

When the front door was opened after he'd used the speakphone, Brand's secretary, Nicole, a Belgian brunette, found herself looking at a small plump man wearing a trilby pulled down over his forehead which did not quite conceal shocks of red hair. He also wore a handkerchief tied below his eyes and dark glasses. His right hand held a Luger pistol.

'Oh, my God! I thought you were Mr Hipper…'

'That's because I'm a good mimic.' His voice was gravelly.

As he replied Hipper shoved the Luger muzzle into her midriff, backed her into the palatial marble-floored hall, slammed the door shut with his right foot.

'Who else is in the house?' Hipper demanded. 'Fool with me and I'll blow a hole right through you.'

'No… one. The servants have been given the day off…'

'Except Peter Brand. Take me to him.'

He followed her up the broad winding staircase and along a landing to a heavy mahogany door. She rapped on it automatically with a shaking hand. A voice called out, 'Enter.'

She opened the door and was propelled inside by the muzzle of the Luger. Peter Brand was sitting behind a vast desk whose surface was empty except for three telephones in varying colours.

'This gentleman…' She felt silly as soon as she had spoken.'. .. forced his way in and asked for you. I thought it was Mr Hipper.'

Brand jack-knifed upright out of his chair.

'What the bloody hell is going on…'

His right hand reached for an alarm button concealed under the desk. Hipper placed the muzzle against the side of the girl's skull.

'One mistake and she's dead. That's better.' He reached inside his trench coat pocket and produced a length of strong twine, threw it on the desk. 'Tie her hands behind her back. She lies on the carpet on her stomach while you do it. Then lash her ankles. Try anything funny and she goes first.'

'I'm sorry about this, Nicole,' Brand said as he came round the desk, 'but we'd better do what he says.'

'What about you?' Nicole bleated.

'Don't worry. It will work out in the end. It's a kidnapping, a ransom demand will follow, I expect…'

Brand knelt by the prone girl holding the two strands of twine. He bound her wrists, then her ankles as Hipper stood well back, the Luger aimed at Nicole. On his knees, he looked up at Hipper.

'What happens next?'

'Open that wall cupboard over there.'

'It's my private bathroom…'

'Open the bloody thing. That's better. Now carry her inside and dump her on the floor. Get on with it. We're leaving in a minute.'

Brand hoisted up the girl, carried her inside the luxurious bathroom, placed her gently on the floor, resting her head on a bathmat he rolled into a makeshift pillow.

'Hurry it up,' snarled Hipper. 'Now shut the door.'

Brand closed the heavy door, walked to the far side of his spacious office as Hipper lowered the gun and pulled the handkerchief down over his neck. He joined the banker.

'Can she hear us?' he whispered.

'No chance. That door is inches thick. I tied her loosely so she'll free herself within the hour. Now she's a witness to the fact I've been kidnapped. How is everything at Rotterdam?'

'Marine barracks blown up on schedule. It's the talk of the city from something I overhead at Rotterdam Airport. All the marines wiped out…'

Brand was startled. 'I didn't bargain for anything like that. Klein said the minimum of force would be used. I don't like this.. .'

'But then there's nothing you can do about it now. The machine is in motion, can't be stopped. Hadn't we better get moving? How did you get rid of all the servants?'

'Gave them the night off…' Brand sounded nervous as he slipped on his coat. 'Told them I was holding a confidential conference of bankers.'

'And were you doing that?'

'Of course. To cover myself. Don't worry. They won't start arriving for another hour. We hold these nighttime meetings to avoid publicity. I'm ready. You have a car?'

'Of course.'

Before he alighted from the car at Brussels Airport Hipper, still wearing his outsize dark glasses, pulled up the collar of his trench coat to hide the lower part of his face.

He walked very close to Brand as they walked across the reception hall on their way to the helicopter. He had a nasty shock when one of a pair of policemen patrolling called out to the banker.

'Good evening, sir. Off on your travels again?'

Brand, who rarely smoked, took a cigarette out of his pack and lit it slowly as Hipper stood shoulder to shoulder with him. The cigarette incident would be remembered later, would indicate he'd been in a nervous state. Nicole would confirm he had given it up, that he only smoked at times of high tension.

'It's a fact,' he called back in French. 'Sometimes I think I spend more time in the air than I do on the ground.'

They walked on and Hipper let out his breath through moist lips. The pilot was waiting, reached up and lowered the stepladder leading inside the Sikorsky. A few minutes later they were airborne. Destination: Findel Airport, Luxembourg City.

'How many marines were killed?' Brand asked as the Sikorsky flew on through the night, red and green lights flashing. He had lit another cigarette.

'No idea.' Hipper had lost interest. 'We have this ready to put up outside your bank in the Avenue de la Liberte.' He opened up the brief-case he had propped against the seat.

This was a notice in French, German and English. It announced that the Banque Sambre was temporarily closed owing to an electrical breakdown. Business would be resumed as soon as possible.