that wipe-out he planned two years ago for Duisburg.” The oil and propane storage tanks on that huge stretch of docks on the Rhine would have started a fire storm. Claudel’s voice turned bitter. “Don’t underestimate our dear little Erik with his noble, noble ideals.”
Erik’s career, until he was caught in Bombay, had been ten years of violence. Born in Venezuela, educated in Mexico City, then at Lumumba University, then in a Communist training camp in North Korea, he had become the founder of Direct Action in Berlin, an anarchist group that had bombed and robbed, committed arson and murder and brutal kidnappings. As for the reason for his appearance in Bombay, he had been in flight from West Germany after his plans for Duisburg’s waterfront had been discovered, travelling as an innocent American eastward across Europe, through Turkey and Iran and Pakistan, selecting extreme left-wingers for training and coordination into an international force of terrorists. Dangerous? He was lethal. We won’t underestimate Erik, thought Renwick grimly. “Now, let’s get to the second main point in Moore’s information: Exports Consolidated, founded by Mitchell Brimmer.”
Gilman spoke with distaste. “Arms trafficking.”
“Illegal arms.”
“What?”
“Bought with bribes and lies, shipped with false declarations, sold to foreign countries who send them on to terrorist-training areas. Brimmer is now supplying instructors to teach the use of these weapons. Also, Exports Consolidated is expanding, has merged with a European firm—Klingfeld & Sons.”
Gilman and Claudel looked at each other. “Never heard of it,” Gilman said.
“New to me,” said Claudel.
“Details in here,” Renwick reminded them, tapping the cigarette case. “Third main point: Brimmer has a list of names which his sense of humour calls his “Plus List”. People with power or in sensitive places who have been most helpful to Brimmer and now have the amounts paid to them, and the dates of these payments, all nicely noted under their names.”
“Bribery and corruption,” Gilman said slowly.
“The whole bloody mess.” Claudel shook his head. “Idiots! Did they never think what they were getting into?”
“Fourth main point,” Renwick pressed on, glancing at his watch. “There’s another list which he calls his “Minus List”. I was given a copy of that.”
“Men who are not helpful to Brimmer?” Gilman asked. “Dangerous to him?”
“So he thinks. So Klingfeld & Sons think.” Renwick pulled the list out of his pocket. “It’s in Brimmer’s writing, mostly dictated by Klingfeld. No heading. Just nine names. Men to be eliminated.”
“Assassinated?” Claudel asked, lips tightening.
“Apparent accidents or suicides.” Renwick passed the list over. Gilman and Claudel seized it, shared its reading. “Four Americans, five Europeans,” Renwick went on. “We’ll have to warn—”
“Good God!” Claudel burst out, while Gilman raised his eyes from the list to stare at Renwick. “Your name is—”
“Yes. Doesn’t get so much space as the other eight. Minimal information. Does that mean only one source?”
Gilman’s calm face was furrowed with worry. “Someone inside Interintell?”
“Looks like it. My telephone number was given to Brimmer— or Klingfeld—by someone who has used it. The name of the Red Lion, also given by someone who has met me there. My change of address, by someone who knew my studio, heard that I had moved but—so far—hasn’t been invited to our new flat. No mention that I’m married, as yet. But Nina could be added to the list any day.” Like the other wives... There was a long pause. “I’ll get him,” Renwick said, too quietly. “But now we concentrate on warning the other names on that death list. Ron—you approach your friends in D15 here and those in French and Italian Security, get them to offer some protection. I’ll handle the American angle. Pierre will have
Erik’s career, until he was caught in Bombay, had been ten years of violence. Born in Venezuela, educated in Mexico City, then at Lumumba University, then in a Communist training camp in North Korea, he had become the founder of Direct Action in Berlin, an anarchist group that had bombed and robbed, committed arson and murder and brutal kidnappings. As for the reason for his appearance in Bombay, he had been in flight from West Germany after his plans for Duisburg’s waterfront had been discovered, travelling as an innocent American eastward across Europe, through Turkey and Iran and Pakistan, selecting extreme left-wingers for training and coordination into an international force of terrorists. Dangerous? He was lethal. We won’t underestimate Erik, thought Renwick grimly. “Now, let’s get to the second main point in Moore’s information: Exports Consolidated, founded by Mitchell Brimmer.”
Gilman spoke with distaste. “Arms trafficking.”
“Illegal arms.”
“What?”
“Bought with bribes and lies, shipped with false declarations, sold to foreign countries who send them on to terrorist-training areas. Brimmer is now supplying instructors to teach the use of these weapons. Also, Exports Consolidated is expanding, has merged with a European firm—Klingfeld & Sons.”
Gilman and Claudel looked at each other. “Never heard of it,” Gilman said.
“New to me,” said Claudel.
“Details in here,” Renwick reminded them, tapping the cigarette case. “Third main point: Brimmer has a list of names which his sense of humour calls his “Plus List”. People with power or in sensitive places who have been most helpful to Brimmer and now have the amounts paid to them, and the dates of these payments, all nicely noted under their names.”
“Bribery and corruption,” Gilman said slowly.
“The whole bloody mess.” Claudel shook his head. “Idiots! Did they never think what they were getting into?”
“Fourth main point,” Renwick pressed on, glancing at his watch. “There’s another list which he calls his “Minus List”. I was given a copy of that.”
“Men who are not helpful to Brimmer?” Gilman asked. “Dangerous to him?”
“So he thinks. So Klingfeld & Sons think.” Renwick pulled the list out of his pocket. “It’s in Brimmer’s writing, mostly dictated by Klingfeld. No heading. Just nine names. Men to be eliminated.”
“Assassinated?” Claudel asked, lips tightening.
“Apparent accidents or suicides.” Renwick passed the list over. Gilman and Claudel seized it, shared its reading. “Four Americans, five Europeans,” Renwick went on. “We’ll have to warn—”
“Good God!” Claudel burst out, while Gilman raised his eyes from the list to stare at Renwick. “Your name is—”
“Yes. Doesn’t get so much space as the other eight. Minimal information. Does that mean only one source?”
Gilman’s calm face was furrowed with worry. “Someone inside Interintell?”
“Looks like it. My telephone number was given to Brimmer— or Klingfeld—by someone who has used it. The name of the Red Lion, also given by someone who has met me there. My change of address, by someone who knew my studio, heard that I had moved but—so far—hasn’t been invited to our new flat. No mention that I’m married, as yet. But Nina could be added to the list any day.” Like the other wives... There was a long pause. “I’ll get him,” Renwick said, too quietly. “But now we concentrate on warning the other names on that death list. Ron—you approach your friends in D15 here and those in French and Italian Security, get them to offer some protection. I’ll handle the American angle. Pierre will have
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