Colin Forbes - Double Jeopardy

'The signature is a code-name,' he explained as the operator read the wording. Mason nodded his thanks to the pilot and left the cabin as the operator began transmitting.

Telephone number Munich. McNeil and! aboard Flight LH 037 from London. ETA.. Please arrange reception committee. Gustav.

In the Munich apartment a gloved hand picked up the phone as soon as it began to ring. The operator checked that she had the correct number and then began to transmit the message.

"McNeil and I aboard Flight LH 037…" '

`Thank you,' said Manfred, 'I have that correctly. Goodbye.'

The gloved hand broke the connection, lifted the receiver again and dialled a Munich number. It was answered by Erwin Vinz whose voice changed when he realised the identity of the caller.

'You will take a team of men to the airport…'

Manfred's instructions were precise, although masked in everyday conversation. When the call was completed he checked his watch. It was convenient that the airport was close to the city – Vinz's execution squad would be in position by the time Flight 037 had touched down.

And Mason, who was still over twenty thousand feet up, would have been appalled had he known the instructions.

'Kill them both – the man as well as the woman…'

Martel stood by a bookstall inside the exit area at Munich Airport, apparently studying a paperback. He also appeared to be on his own, which was not the case. At the other side of the large hall Claire, wearing dark glasses, stood with a small suitcase at her feet like a passenger.

The arrival of Flight LH 037 from London had been announced over the Tannoy. Passengers who had disembarked were hurrying across the hall for cabs and the airport bus. Martel scanned the small crowd and saw McNeil, carrying a brief-case in one hand, a suitcase in the other. He also saw Mason alongside her.

'Tell you what,' Mason was saying to her, 'I'll just dash over to that kiosk and get a pack of cigarettes – you go and grab a cab and then we shan't have to wait…'

'But we're being met…' McNeil shrugged. Mason was gone. 'Martel saw the separation and frowned. He dropped the paperback, picked it up and quickly returned it to the revolving rack. Claire was waiting for the signal and now she recognised McNeil from the description Martel had given her.

She also knew something was wrong. The dropping of the paperback had warned her. Had Martel simply returned the book to its rack it would have been no more than a recognition signal. Inside her handbag she gripped the 9-mm pistol. McNeil, an erect, slim woman, headed for the exit.

A man dressed in the uniform of a Lufthansa pilot standing near the exit produced a Luger equipped with a silencer from a briefcase. Erwin Vinz, carrying a light raincoat folded loosely over his arm, walked into the hall, dropped the raincoat and aimed the machine-pistol the garment had concealed.

'McNeil, drop flat!' Martel yelled.

It was remarkable: Claire was amazed. The middle-aged Englishwoman fell forward, dropped her suitcase, used her hands to cushion the shock of the fall and lay quite still, hugging the floor.

Martel pointed the Colt. 45 snatched from his shoulder holster and aimed at the most dangerous target – Vinz and his machine-pistol. He fired rapidly. Three heavy slugs hammered with tremendous power into Vinz's chest, hurling him backwards. His shirt crimsoned as he crashed to the floor, still clutching the weapon. He had not fired a single shot.

The Lufthansa 'pilot' aimed his Luger point-blank at his agreed target – Mason, who stood near a cigarette machine. Two bullets struck Mason who fell forward against the machine, clawing at it as he sagged to the ground. Claire aimed, steadying her pistol over her left arm. It was remarkable shooting – clear across the hall. Two bullets hit the killer and he toppled forward.

'McNeil, stay flat!' Martel yelled again.

Three men apparently waiting for passengers had produced hand-guns.

Martel had just shot Vinz… Claire was firing at the 'pilot'…

The three new Delta professionals were aiming their weapons at the still-prostrate form of McNeil… There was panic spreading among the other passengers… A woman screamed and went on screaming and screaming…

A steady drum-fire of fresh shooting filled the hall and Martel watched in amazement as all three Delta assassins fell to the floor. Men in civilian clothes appeared from different parts of the hall armed with Walther automatics. One of them came up to Martel, an identity card held up in his left hand.

`BND, Mr Martel. Josef Gubitz at your service. The others you see are my men.'

'How the hell did you know…'

The plane's pilot transmitted the message the Englishman on the passenger list named Mason had sent, transmitted it to Stoller as instructed.'

'Who instructed him?'

'A man called Tweed in London. Any signals sent by Mason from the aircraft to be immediately transmitted to us. Stoller reacted from Bonn by sending us here. It was kind of complicated…' The German, a small, well-dressed man, looked over his shoulder at the carnage in the hall. but it worked.'

'Thank God for that – and thank you.'

Claire was helping McNeil to her feet who was looking down at her grazed knees as Martel joined them. She looked at Martel. 'You know something? My nylons are ruined. Do you think I could indent for a new pair?'

Martel, Claire and McNeil were sitting in the Englishman's room at the Hotel Clausen. The two women drank tea as Martel checked the four photocopy dossiers McNeil had brought him. McNeil sat in an armchair next to Claire and placed her cup on the table. The Swiss girl was marvelling at her placidity.

'That tea you poured me was just right,' McNeil announced. 'It was nice and strong -just a dash of milk and no sugar. You can't beat a cup of tea after a bit of a dust-up.' She paused. 'Mason tried to get me killed, didn't he?'

'Yes,' said Martel. 'And they wiped him out because by now he had served his treacherous purpose. I'm certain he bugged Tweed's office. I'm equally sure he dressed up in the wind- cheater, beret and sun-goggles, made sure he was spotted by a policeman in Piccadilly and then took off his things – probably in a lavatory – and left them with the gun on a chair in Austin Reed's…'

'Why?' Claire asked.

'To confuse us. Manfred was never within hundreds of miles of London. And it must have been Mason who followed Tweed to London Airport before he boarded Concorde – then repor- ted it back to Manfred. It's odd Howard ever took on a man like that…'

McNeil was watching Martel who had closed the last file. 'Do they tell you anything?' she asked. 'Tweed gave the impression he couldn't find anything but I believe it's there…'

Martel took a sheet of the hotel notepaper, scribbled some- thing on it and showed it to McNeil. She read what was on it, tore the sheet into small pieces, got up and walked across to the toilet. They heard her flush the loo and she came out and sat down again.

'Well?' Martel enquired.

'I thought so, too,' McNeil replied. 'You can't trust Tweed, of course – he keeps so much to himself. The trouble will he proving it …'

`So we leave you here until it's all over with Stoller's armed guard on the door. Claire has some distance to travel – and I'm heading for a different destination. What scares me is we have so little time…'

Tuesday June 2: 2030-2335 hours

Charles de Gaulle Airport, 2030 hours. Flight BE 026 landed on schedule. Howard was among the first passengers to disembark. His special pass took him straight through Customs and Immigration and Alain Flandres was waiting for him with a large Citroen.

'This is what I call service,' Howard remarked as they settled back in the rear and the chauffeur-driven car glided away.