Colin Forbes - Deadlock

'Klein doesn't miss a trick,' Brand snapped after a glance at the notice.

'He is a great organizer,' Hipper agreed in his normal soft voice.

Brand puffed at his cigarette. The Sikorsky dipped and pitched for a few seconds. Brand felt the sweat on his hands. All those Dutch marines killed. There would be a tremendous outcry. He was wondering whether Brazil would be remote and safe enough for him when this was all over. As for his Belgian wife, owner of the bank and frolicking about in New York, he didn't give a damn. Be glad to get rid of the bitch who never stopped yacking away. But this marine business… Hipper seemed to sense his misgivings as the Sikorsky flew over the lights of Namur below. Maybe it was that second cigarette, Brand thought later.

'No turning back now, Mr Brand,' Hipper remarked. 'Only one way. Forward. According to plan. You are going to be a very rich man.'

'Do shut up. Let me think.'

Chabot sat behind the wheel of his parked van, pretending to read as he watched people walking up and down the flight of steps. Above him loomed Euromast, a blaze of lights shining from the restaurant windows three hundred feet up. He wore a boiler suit, the type of garment favoured by a plumber or electrician. Beside him on the seat was a large bag which might have contained the tools of his trade.

'What's the situation?'

Chabot stiffened, looked out of the side window into the face of Klein who was now wearing a military-type leather overcoat and a peaked cap of the type often liked by German students. He had changed from his chauffeur's uniform in a back street.

'Two minutes to go.' Chabot had checked his watch. 'Situation normal. A number of people dining in the restaurant – no sign of security. But those launches at the end of the basin have police aboard. IN! O more than half a dozen. They are taking no interest in Euromast.'

'Your men are ready? And those in the vehicles parked just a short distance away? I don't see Legaud and his command vehicle.'

'Just pulled in behind me,' Chabot commented, looking in his wing mirror. 'Everyone is ready.'

'And Faltz knows what to do when you reach the restaurant.'

'I've told him enough times. He's dressed like a certain kind of American. Behind me in this van.'

A cluster of visitors, leaving, appeared at the entrance. They moved slowly on full stomachs, spreading across the steps as they began to descend to the street. Klein took one last look round.

'Now!' he said. 'Storm the tower.'

'A pleasure…'

Klein moved back, carrying an executive case, as Chabot got slowly out of the car after beating a tattoo on the rear of the cab. The rear doors opened, men climbed out, also clad in boiler suits, carrying bags.

The driver of the vehicle behind Legaud saw the movement and hammered the same tattoo signal. The rear doors of his vehicle opened and five men wearing sports clothes and carrying various cases emerged.

They converged towards the crowd of visitors as the third vehicle spilt out more men. Marler walked alongside Klein, carrying his sports bag as Lara followed them. There was a muddle on the steps. Visitors stood aside, apologizing and nodding their heads.

Inside the entrance a Luxembourger went straight up to the ticket counter, walked round it, thrust an automatic hard against the collector's hip. The weapon was below counter level and could not be seen by other visitors leaving the elevator.

'Stay cool,' the Luxembourger advised. 'Why get killed for what they pay you? Just keep your eyes down, go on counting the money. Act normal – you may live…'

Faltz, wearing a loud check sports jacket and light khaki slacks, carrying a large holdall, entered the empty elevator. A heavily-built man, he squeezed close to the control panel as Klein, Marler, Lara, Chabot and three other men crammed themselves inside. Faltz pressed the button for restaurant and was the first to step out of the lift. Carrying the hold-all in his left hand he walked into the restaurant, looked round.

It was half-full of diners eating, drinking, staring out at the lights of the city. He walked across to an empty table at the far side where he could cover the whole room. Perching his hold-all on a chair, he unzipped it.

Three masked men burst into the restaurant through the entrance, armed with Uzi machine-pistols. The leader stood in the centre of the trio and shouted his command in English.

This is a raid. No one will get hurt unless they resist. You get up slowly from your tables, hands stretched out in front…'

There was a stunned silence for several seconds. In the sudden silence the only sound was the clatter of cutlery dropping on to plates.

'Get moving!' the leader shouted. 'Assemble by the lift. Now!'

The scrape of chairs being pushed back, the shuffle of feet as men and women stood up and extended their hands in front of them. Two men stood up suddenly from one of the elevated tables. Each held a pistol, gripped in both hands, aimed at the intruders.

Faltz whipped out his own Uzi, took quick aim, shot them both in the back. One crashed forward on the table, scattering plates on the floor; his companion slumped back and disappeared below the table. A woman screamed. Everyone turned to look at Faltz. The leader of the trio at the entrance shouted again.

'Nothing will happen to you if you move fast. Come on – into the hall by the elevators…'

'No more casualties,' the masked Klein whispered. 'We just want them out of here – out of the building.'

The diners were filing forward now, hands extended, threading their way between the tables, women clutching handbags under their arms. The trio parted on either side of the exit, their weapons aimed at the crowd. Klein backed into the hall, watching over the black silk handkerchief tied round his face. Other men were below at ground level, one man in a boiler suit at the door stopping other people entering, telling them there was a fault in the elevator system. His companions would be out of sight, waiting to escort diners from the building as they left the elevator.

Klein pushed his way inside the restaurant. Yes, they had remembered: waiters and staff were being hustled out of the kitchen. Faltz, holding his Uzi, slipped across the room to where Klein stood.

The bodies – two of them. I checked their pockets. They were police. They're dead. What do we do with them?'

'Later.' Klein's tone was abrupt. They'll come in useful.'

Marler had disappeared. Leaving the elevator, he had made straight for the outside platform. Carrying his bag, he walked slowly round, close to the rail, staring down. No sign of hostile activity. Yet. The restaurant windows – plus their height – would have muffled the shots from the police launches at the end of the basin.

He didn't know it but inside the launches the river police were eating a quick meal prior to their turn to patrol the Maas. He continued his tour until he reached a point in the shadows out of sight of anyone. Opening his bag, he assembled his rifle, screwed on the infra-red telescopic sight and shoved the stock hard against his shoulder.

He was looking down into the deserted park. Small shrubs came up so close in the lens he felt he could reach out and touch them. Holding rifle and bag below rail level, he completed his circuit of the platform and stood back from the entrance to the interior.

The first elevator load had gone down, the cage had returned, more customers and staff were being escorted inside. They moved silently, slowly, fearfully and shuffled their feet.

Klein checked his watch. The marine barracks would have been destroyed. Prussen would be on his way to Euromast- and soon the alarm would be raised. The crowd of diners hurrying down the steps outside would be seen, would find someone to tell about their ordeal.