Colin Forbes - Deadlock

'The executive jet is at your disposal. The pilot will be at the airport waiting when you get there. And a car is waiting in the side street for you. Also a policeman on the ground floor will give you a scabbard to conceal that rifle. Butler, he will give you a Browning and a hip-holster – if that's OK?'

'Prefer them. Takes forever to haul it from the shoulder type.'

'One point,' Benoit intervened as he stood up with Newman and Butler, 'I'd like to call in briefly at Brussels Airport before we fly on to Findel. First, I can call the local chief of police in Luxembourg City. Second, Brand and another man were by chance seen at that airport. I'd like a first-hand report.'

'Tell the pilot. He is under your instructions to fly wherever you teli him.' He stood up, shook hands with all three men. 'Good luck. We'll keep in touch. This nightmare has to end soon – for better or worse…'

Inside Euromast at platform level Klein had finished checking that everything was to his satisfaction. He'd sent Chabot to organize defence at ground level. At this stage he would not risk being trapped in the elevator and out of touch. Everywhere he went he carried the control box.

The elevator doors opened and Chabot stepped out. He nodded to Klein.

'If they try to rush the building they'll be cut down. Furniture has been piled up into barriers. Men with machine-pistols are posted covering the entrance.'

'Expecting a spot of trouble?' drawled Marler who had walked in from the platform, rifle cuddled under one arm.

'Just taking every precaution,' Klein replied coldly. 'It's not likely while I hold this.' He extended his right hand, gripping the control box, thumb poised over the red button.

'And the whole shooting match really goes up if you pressed that little jigger?'

'Every ship I have named floating offshore – and a few more I haven't in the Maas.'

'Good show. You seem to be organized. Think they'll really pay up the dibs?'

'What option have they?' Klein turned away and addressed the Frenchman. 'Go fetch the girl. Time to prepare her.'

'Prepare her for what exactly?' Marler enquired.

'You'll see. In due course. Shouldn't you be watching on the platform?'

'With two of your sturdy lads out there guarding the fort? Incidentally, they're a bit tense. Tell from the way they grip their weapons. Persuade them to relax a bit when you next go out. Trigger-happy characters worry me. I could do with a drink.'

'There's only mineral water or coffee…'

'Water will do splendidly. Gets a bit thirst-making during the early hours…'

Earlier Klein had personally supervised the emptying down a sink of every bottle of alcohol stacked in the bar. No one was going to have his brain muddled with alcohol while the operation was in progress. Marler stared with vague interest as Chabot and a Luxembourger hauled Lara Seagrave out of the restaurant kicking and elbowing them in the ribs. She glared at Klein.

'What the hell do these thugs think they are doing?'

'Acting on my instructions. Tie her by the hands – behind her back – and by the ankles.'

A second Luxembourger appeared and grabbed her from behind. Chabot released her and walked towards Klein, his expression grim, his large hands clenched into fists.

'What exactly are you doing?' he demanded.

'I know you're sweet on her. That is immaterial. Go out on to the platform and check the situation. Then come back and report to me.'

Klein turned away and watched Lara as she protested violently. Marler lit a cigarette, tucked it in the corner of his mouth and spoke quietly.

'I also am interested in what you propose to do with her – has she misbehaved in some way?'

'Nothing to do with you.'

'I'll ask you once more,' Marler continued in the same even tone as Chabot disappeared outside. 'Has she misbehaved? I'm talking to you, Klein.'

'Don't you see?' Klein swung round to face Marler, his hand holding the control box at waist level, smiling savagely. 'She's a spy. We caught her entering the Hotel Central. She had been instructed to stay inside. I think she was phoning someone.'

'That's bloody ridiculous!' Lara shouted as her hands were bound behind her. 'I have done everything you ever asked me to…'

'And maybe a little bit more I didn't.'

'Klein, I'm inclined to agree with Lara. This is faintly ridiculous. Pure supposition.'

'Then how did Tweed turn up here so quickly?'

'No idea. Maybe he tracked you.'

'My security is meticulous. We will not discuss this matter any further. And I thought you wanted a drink of water.'

'So I did.' Marler grinned. Thank you so much for reminding me.'

He walked off in the direction of the restaurant. They were binding Lara's ankles together now. She tried to struggle but the two men held her tight. Klein waited until she was trussed up and then nodded to the man holding a looped rope.

'Now, tie that round her waist. Not too tight. Must allow her to breathe.'

The rope was lopped round her slim waist and for the first time Lara's fury gave way to fear. She bit her lip to stop showing any emotion. When the job was finished there was a length of rope extending from the centre of her back about twelve feet in length. The Luxembourger coiled it, lifted her up and spread her along a deep couch against the wall.

'What about this?' he asked, picking off the floor the rope noose he had dropped while tying the girl up. Like the other length round her waist it extended about twelve feet from the noose.

'Leave it near her feet for the moment.'

'What is it for?'

'Have you never noticed how sentimental the world is over the fate of a single individual as opposed to the lives of thousands? The average human mind cannot encompass the death of whole tribes in Africa. But if one single hostage is at risk it becomes high drama. We must use every psychological weapon to force the governments concerned to obey us. Public opinion will do the trick if all else fails. And it is a three-hundred-foot drop from the platform.'

The car taking Newman, Butler and Benoit to the airport followed Route One – a route Van Gorp had worked out carefully on a map and had cordoned off. On the way they passed a small convoy of three vans proceeding at high speed in the opposite direction.

The SAS team,' Newman said laconically. 'Thank God it was flown over – after what happened to the Dutch marines.'

'You think Tweed will ever use it?' asked Benoit.

'He'll use it. He's just waiting for Klein to make one slip – and Klein will do just that. He thinks he's infallible. No one is.'

'When we get to the airport,' Butler interjected, 'can we find out what type of machine was used to fly Brand and his so-called captor to Findel? It will help us when we get there. I mean Brussels Airport.'

'Good idea,' Benoit agreed. 'Should have thought of it myself.'

'He doesn't say a lot,' Newman commented, 'but when he does it's worth listening to. And if you ever see him coming towards you on a motor-bike,' he joked, 'run for your life.'

'Everyone has to have a hobby,' Butler replied.

'Yes, but not a lethal one.'

Newman was aware of a different atmosphere inside the car as the uniformed police driver approached the airport. Back at the improvised HQ near Euromast it had been claustrophobic. Now he was doing something active Newman felt a lifting of the spirits. He sensed the same reaction in his companions.

'Van Gorp has arranged for food to be taken aboard the jet,' remarked Benoit. 'Suddenly I'm ravenous.'

'I could do with a bite to eat myself,' agreed Butler.

'And I do believe we have arrived,' Benoit said as the car came to a stop. A police escort took them to the waiting machine and no one asked Newman questions about the scabbard he carried with the suitcase he'd picked up from the Hilton en route. Five minutes later the jet was airborne, leaving behind the deserted airport, heading through the night for Brussels.