He had established close links with one of the city's top pickpockets, a man who, when not languishing in prison as a guest of the state, could abstract any wallet from any pocket at ease. These he bought outright for cash from the thief. He also had at his disposal the services of a master forger who, having come badly unstuck in the late forties over the production of a large amount of French francs in which he had inadvertently left the «u' out of 'Banque de France' (he was young then), had finally gone into the false passport business with much greater success. Lastly, when he needed to acquire a firearm for a customer, the client who presented himself at the gunsmith's with a neatly forged ID card was never himself but always an out-of-work and out-of-jail petty crook or an actor resting between conquests of the stage.
Of his own «staff' only the pickpocket and the forger knew his real identity. So also did some of his customers, notably the top men in the Belgian underworld, who not only left him alone to his devices but also offered him a certain amount of protection in refusing to reveal when captured where they had got their guns from, simply because he was so useful to them.
This did not stop the Belgian police being aware of a portion of his activities, but it did prevent them ever being able to catch him with the goods in his possession or of being able to get testimony that would stand up in court and convict him. They were aware of and highly suspicious of the small but superbly equipped forge and workshop in his converted garage, but repeated visits had revealed nothing more than the paraphernalia for the manufacture of wroughtmetal medallions and souvenirs of the statues of Brussels. On their last visit he had solemnly presented the Chief Inspector with a figurine of Mannikin Piss as a token of his esteem for the forces of law and order.
He felt no qualms as he waited on the morning of July 21st, 1963, for the arrival of an Englishman who had been guaranteed to him over the phone by one of his best customers, a former mercenary in the seance of Katanga from 1960 to 1962 and who had since masterminded a protection business among the whorehouses of the Belgian capital.
The visitor turned up at noon, as promised, and M. Goossens showed him into his little office off the hall.
«Would you please remove your glasses?» he asked when his visitor was seated, and, as the tall Englishman hesitated, added: «You see, I think it is better that we trust each other in so far as we can while our business association lasts. A drink, perhaps?»
The man whose passport would have announced him as Alexander Duggan removed his dark glasses and stared quizzically at the little gunsmith as two beers were poured. M. Goossens seated himself behind his desk, sipped his beer and asked quietly, «In what way may I be of service to you, monsieur?»
«I believe Louis rang you earlier about my coming?»
«Certainly,» M. Goossens nodded, «otherwise you would not be here.»
«Did he tell you what is my business?»
«No. Simply that he knew you in Katanga, that he could vouch for your discretion, that you needed a firearm, and that you would be prepared to pay in cash, sterling.»
The Englishman nodded slowly. «Well, since I know what your business is, there is little reason why you should not know mine. Besides which, the weapon I need will have to be a specialist gun with certain unusual attachments. I… er… specialise in the removal of men who have powerful and wealthy enemies. Evidently, such men are usually powerful and wealthy themselves. It is not always easy. They can afford specialist protection. Such a job needs planning and the right weapon. I have such a job on hand at the moment. I shall need a rifle.»
M. Goossens again sipped his beer, nodded benignly at his guest.
«Excellent, excellent. A specialist like myself. I thinly I sense a challenge. What kind of rifle had you in mind?»
'It is not so much the type of rifle that is important. It is more a question of the limitations that are imposed by the job, and of finding a rifle which will perform satisfactorily under those limitations.»
M. Goossens' eyes gleamed with pleasure.
«A one-off,» he purred delightedly. «A gun that will be tailor-made for one man and one job under one set of circumstances, never to be repeated. You have come to the right man. I sense a challenge, my dear monsieur. I am glad that you came.»
The Englishman permitted himself a smile at the Belgian's professorial enthusiasm. «So am I, monsieur.»
«Now tell me, what are these limitations?»
'The main limitation is of size, not in length but in the physical bulk of the working parts. The chamber and breech must be no bulkier than that.. ' He held up his right hand, the tip of the middle finger touching the end of the thumb in the form of a letter O less than two and a half inches in diameter.
'That seems to mean it cannot be a repeater, since a gas chamber would be larger than that, and nor can it have a bulky spring mechanism for the same reason,» said the Englishman. «It seems to me it must be a bolt-action rifle.»
M. Goossens was nodding at the ceiling, his mind taking in the details of what his visitor was saying, making a mental picture of a rifle of great slimness in the working parts.
'Go on, go on,» he murmured.
«On the other hand, it cannot have a bolt with a handle that sticks met sideways like the Mauser 7.92 or the Lee Enfield.303. The bolt mast slide straight back towards the shoulder, gripped between forefinger and thumb for the fitting of the bullet into the breech. Also there must be no trigger guard and the trigger itself must be detachable so that it can be fitted just before firing.»
«Why?» asked the Belgian.
«Because the whole mechanism must pass into a tubular compartment for storage and carrying, and the compartment must not attract attention. For that it must not be larger in diameter than I have just shown, for reasons I shall explain. It is possible to have a detachable trigger?»
«Certainly, almost all is possible. Of course, one could design a single-shot rifle that breaks open at the back for loading like a shotgun. That would dispense with the bolt completely, but it would involve a hinge, which might be no saving. Also it would be necessary to design and manufacture such a rifle from scratch, milling a piece of metal to make the entire breech and chamber. Not an easy task in a small workshop, but possible.»
«How long would that take?» asked the Englishman.
The Belgian shrugged and spread his hands. «Several months, I am afraid.»
«I do not have that amount of time.»
«In that case it will be necessary to take an existing rifle purchasable in a shop and make modifications. Please go on.»
«Right. The gun must also be light in weight. It need not be of heavy calibre, the bullet will do the work. It must have a short barrel, probably not longer than twelve inches…
«Over what range will you have to fire?»
«This is still not certain, but probably not more than a hundred and thirty metres.»
«Will you go for a head or chest shot?»
«It will probably have to be head. I may get a shot at the chest, but the head is surer.»
«Surer to kill, yes, if you get a good hit,» said the Belgian. «But the chest is surer to get a good hit. At least, when one is using a light weapon with a short barrel over a hundred and thirty metres with possible obstructions. I assume,» he added, «from your uncertainty on this point of the head or the chest that there may be someone passing in the way?»
«Yes, there may be.»
«Will you get the chance of a second shot, bearing in mind that it will take several seconds to extract the spent cartridge and insert a fresh one, close the breech and take aim again?, 'Almost certainly not. I just might get a second if I use a silencer and the first shot is a complete miss which is not noticed by anyone nearby. But even if I get a first hit through the temple, I need the silencer to effect my own escape. There must be several minutes of clear time before anyone nearby realises even roughly where the bullet has come from.»