This United State

by Colin Forbes

  Their table was placed next to a large window looking out over the river. The water actually flowed below them. Sharon sat down and her hypnotic green eyes stared at Newman. She seemed unaware of the stir she was causing at other tables.

  'I hope this suits you, Bob,' she said in her soft voice. 'Perfect. You must have clout to have secured this table.'

  'Not really. I used the Ambassador's name. I don't really want to be well known. The waiter's here. Let's order our aperitifs.'

  She was very calm, almost withdrawn, her movements slow and dignified. Her eyes held his, without in any way being aggressive or come-hitherish. They touched glasses when the aperitifs arrived.

  'Here's to a memorable evening,' Newman said buoyantly.

  'I'll drink to that,' she agreed quietly.

  'How are you settling in at the Embassy? Must be a major change from Washington.'

  'I prefer London. After all, my mother was English.

  So I feel at home here. Washington is rather a bear garden. I have a nice house in Dorset.'

  'And yet everything important in your life happened in America.'

  'You're probably referring to my four husbands. Let's study the menu. This is my treat, by the way.'

  'No, it isn't...'

  'I hope you don't mind, but you can't do much about it. I have opened an account here.'

  'Wicked of you.' He grinned. 'Next time it's my treat.'

  'I'll look forward to that.'

  They took time examining the large selection. Newman glanced out of the window and saw a massive barge tied up for the night. He stared. Be very careful of the barges. Kurt's warning in his last communication flashed into his mind.

  'A penny for your thoughts,' said Sharon.

  'Sorry. The reflections in the river look wonderful.' 'Dreamy...'

  'Like the outfit you're wearing. Purple really suits you.'

  'Thank you.'

  He noticed there was not a trace of an American accent in her voice. She spoke as though she had lived all her life in England. He found her voice, her calmness very attractive. It was no effort to talk to her. He just felt comfortable. And her greenish eyes were remarkable, although she made no effort to use them as a weapon the way some women did. They said little as they consumed a magnificent meal. Looking round the tastefully appointed restaurant, he saw a lot of the in crowd were present, most of whom he disliked. Sharon brought up the subject when they were drinking coffee.

  'I hope you don't mind but I'm also in the way of a messenger tonight. I've been asked whether you'd consider writing an article urging a closer special relationship between Britain and America.'

  'May I enquire who asked you to do that?'

  'I'm sorry, Bob, but I'm not supposed to say. It comes from someone very high up...'

  Paula and Pete Nield had arrived at Santorini's a few minutes before Sharon and Bob entered. Paula had used Howard's name to ask for a secluded table. Howard, a member of several clubs, could get any table he wanted in London. Their table was in an alcove and Paula had a clear but distant view of the table over the river.

  'What do you think of her?' Nield asked as they finished their main course.

  'They seem to be getting on very well together. What do I think of Sharon? I'm not sure. She's beautifully dressed. Real taste in every way.'

  'That's not what I asked.'

  'She's poised. Quite at home in a place like this. She has an unusual technique for impressing a man.'

  'Go on.'

  'She's cool, very calm on the surface. A good listener - and that appeals to a man. She has control of the situation, without appearing to do so.'

  'You used the phrase "on the surface".'

  'I just wonder what she's really like under that appearance of unusual calm. I'm honestly not sure.' 'Not sure of what?' Nield smiled. 'Come on. Give.' 'I'm simply dist— puzzled. She's hard to read.'

  'You were going to say disturbed and then altered it to puzzled. What is it about her that disturbs you?' 'Maybe a touch of envy.' Paula smiled. 'She's a very beautiful woman.'

  'Be cagey, as you'd say to Tweed. And for my money you're looking like a present from Heaven.'

  'Thank you, Pete.' She almost blushed. 'Do you want pudding?'

  'I'm full up — this meal I've had will last me for days. But you go ahead.'

  'I'm in the same state as you. Talking about Tweed, I know the Raging Stag stays open late. He may still be there. Do you mind if we have coffee there? I feel we ought to check there are no thugs in that area.

  'Good idea. I'll get the bill.'

  They had chosen a moment when Sharon and Newman's table was masked by other guests also leaving. Nield drove them back towards Piccadilly, found the only empty parking slot in Mayfair and grabbed it. They made the rest of the journey on foot.

  Paula clasped the collar of her coat round her neck. A wind which must have originated at the North Pole was blowing. Their natural route took them down Albemarle Street, which was deserted. It brought back to Paula the evening when she had bumped into Cord Dillon outside Brown's, the nerve-racking moment when a bullet fired from the Cadillac had smashed the glass behind them as they stood in front of it.

  Nield made no comment on the incident but took Paula's arm and hurried her even more briskly. They slowed down as they approached the Raging Stag. Both their eyes were everywhere, checking for men waiting in the shadows. Piccadilly, also, was deserted.

  Entering the expensively decorated pub-cum-restaurant, Paula scanned the place, saw Tweed, among the crowd sitting at a table in the restaurant further in. He had his back to her and next to him sat Ed Osborne. Nield had also spotted them.

  'Two stools free at the bar,' he said. 'I'll take them.. He reached the stools seconds before two men, who looked annoyed and tried to muscle their way in. Nield shook his head.

  'Those are our places,' a large middle-aged man said aggressively.

  'Sorry, but I have a lady with me. You wouldn't want her to have to stand, I'm sure.'

  Paula backed him up by slipping past and perching herself on one of the stools. She turned, spoke to the aggressive man.

  'Thank you so much. That was very kind of you.'

  'You worked that well,' said Nield as the two men went away, muttering. 'What are you having to drink?'

  'I'll stick to wine, I think. A glass of medium dry French.'

  The place was as crowded, even at that hour, as Santorini's. Paula found she was in an ideal position to observe Tweed's table - she had a clear view of it reflected in the mirror behind the bar. She slipped off her coat, folded it in her lap as the drinks arrived, then she stiffened, held her glass motionless.

  Tweed and Osborne sat on chairs close together. She had the impression they were having a friendly argument as Osborne waved his hands about and Tweed nodded. What had made her stiffen was the sight of a bulging briefcase perched against Tweed's chair.

  'Something wrong?' Nield enquired:

  'Nothing.'

  She wrapped her scarf round her head to conceal her hair. A waiter had brought back the bill to Osborne, placing his credit card on it, which Osborne whipped up and slipped inside his wallet. Nield slumped further forward across the bar. He was wearing a new suit and he'd sensed Paula didn't want Tweed to see them. The two men who had tried to take their stools were standing behind them now, holding drinks, chatting. In the mirror it seemed to Paula they were concealed from anyone leaving. She saw Butler hidden in a corner.

  Osborne was standing up. He slapped Tweed on the shoulder and made his way towards the exit, pushing aside anyone who got in his way by his sheer bulk. He wasn't even wearing a coat. It must be all that flesh on his large frame which enabled him to stand the arctic weather outside, Paula thought.

  'We wait?' Nield asked.

  'If you don't mind. Just a bit longer. It's only the second time I've been in this place. It's lively.'

  Tweed waited at his table for a few minutes after Osborne had left. When he stood he was holdin
g the briefcase in his right hand. Unlike Osborne, he threaded his way through the crowd politely.

  'Excuse me... thank you... excuse me...'

  Paula felt a chill down her spine as Tweed walked out into the night, still carrying the briefcase. She had never seen him own anything like it. She waited a few minutes longer, then finished her drink.

  'If it's all right by you, Pete, I think I've had enough.'

  Something in her voice, in the way she held herself, caught Nield's attention. He waited until they were walking back to the car before he spoke.

  'Is something worrying you?'

  'Nothing at all. I've had a wonderful evening. I'm grateful to you, Pete...'

  Nield had assumed he would be driving Paula back to her flat in the Fulham Road. She surprised him when they reached the car and had jumped inside it to escape the cold. He started the engine, turned up the heater.

  'Be warm in a minute. Back to your flat?'

  'No, Pete. I'd appreciate it if you dropped me at Park Crescent. I've got some work I want to deal with. I can drive myself back in my own car later.'

  'No good. You need a bodyguard.'

  'Pete! I'm not a puppy that has to be kept at the end of the leash,' she snapped. -

  'You are worried about something. A worry shared is a worry halved.'

  'I'm sorry, Pete — sorry that I flared up. That was awful of me after the marvellous evening we've had together. But I do want to call in at Park Crescent.'

  'Fair enough. Why don't I drive on and check out your flat and the area round it? Someone very hostile knows where you live.'

  'You're right, of course. And I'm grateful. Here's the keys to my flat so you can get inside.'

  'If you don't mind I'll wait until you arrive.'

  'Don't mind at all...'

  She was silent during their drive. Furious with herself for the unjustified outburst, she couldn't think

  of anything to say. She gave him a kiss on the cheek, squeezed his hand before she got out at the entrance to Park Crescent. There was a light on in Tweed's office.

  'Evening, Paula,' George greeted her. 'Mr Tweed's gone up to have a bath. Monica's still here.'

  She went quietly up the stairs and opened the door. Monica wasn't there, she had probably gone upstairs to make herself a snack. She closed the door and stared. She almost trembled with trepidation. The bulging briefcase was propped up in the knee hole under Tweed's desk, the flap fallen open. Standing very still, she tried to make up her mind. She had never been one to snoop. But she felt she had to know the truth or the uncertainty would torture her mind.

  Bending down, she carefully pulled out the case. She looked inside it and felt sick. It was stuffed with stacks of one-hundred-dollar bills. Each package had an elastic band round it. Taking one out, she quickly counted. One hundred US banknotes. With the number of packages there the case must contain thousands of dollars.

  She replaced the case exactly where — and as — she had found it. Dazed, she stood up. She had to get out of the building before Tweed reappeared. She couldn't face him tonight. She ran down the stairs, paused to speak to George.

  'Don't bother to tell anyone I was here. Tweed thought I was going to have an early night.'

  'Very good, miss...'

  She sat in her car after starting the engine, waiting to calm down. Then she drove back to her flat, thankful that there was no traffic, that the streets were empty — as empty as she felt.

  15

  At about-the time when Paula and Nield were tackling their main courses at Santorini's, Marler was dining with Denise Chatel at the Lanesborough. The brunette, her long dark hair perfectly coiffeured, wore a silk trouser suit. He was immediately impressed by her stunning appearance and told her so when they'd sat down at their table.

  'That's a nice compliment. I appreciate it,' she said with a warm smile. 'Thank you, Alec.'

  Later he asked her to choose the wine and she selected a very good vintage in the medium-price range. They chatted easily and 'he found she was the sort of woman you quickly felt you had known for years in the nicest way. She gazed round the restaurant and her blue eyes stared into his.

  'This is a wonderful place. No wonder it is full of people.'

  'Used to be a big hospital before they converted it into this hotel. Have some more wine...'

  They went into another room to have coffee and she crossed her shapely legs after sitting down on a couch. Alongside her, he thought about complimenting her on them, but decided it was a bit early in their acquaintance. It was a chance remark on his part which triggered off a development, the consequences of which he could not foresee.

  'I remember you said you had a French father and an American mother. That's pretty cosmopolitan.'

  'I was...' She hesitated. 'I was going to bring up that subject. I hope you won't regard this as trying to pump your business knowledge on the cheap.'

  'Of course not.' He leaned forward. 'I'm interested in everything about you. Fire away.'

  'When I was at Park Crescent I mentioned they had been killed together in a car crash. There was something mysterious about it and it still bothers me. They were killed just across the state line in Virginia at a small place I'd have to write down...'

  'Here's a notebook,' he said, producing one from his pocket. 'I'd like all the details.'

  'I called the sheriff in charge of the investigation. A man called Jim Briscoe. I'll write that down. He agreed for me to go and see him. He seemed nice enough but I sensed he was embarrassed. Which didn't make sense. He said these accidents unfortunately happened. I asked him if the accident had occurred at a black spot. He said it wasn't.'

  'You didn't go out to view the location, I suppose?'

  'Actually I did. Jim Briscoe took me there at my suggestion. There were no signs of skid marks near the bridge where it happened. I pointed that out. Again he seemed embarrassed, said a lot of traffic could have wiped them out. The only thing is it was a quiet road. I got the idea someone had rubbed out any skid marks.' She smiled ruefully. 'You'll think me paranoid.'

  'No I won't. I believe you. What did you want me to do?'

  'Well, Sharon said in passing that Tweed ran a special insurance outfit - that you insure prominent people against being kidnapped. Then, if they are, you negotiate their release unharmed. Which means you have investigators.'

  'You could say that is our business.'

  'Later, I tried to get in touch with Sheriff Briscoe again. A strange voice told me he'd retired early on full pension. I thought that peculiar - Jim Briscoe couldn't have been a day over forty. I said I wanted the FBI brought in - my parents had crossed a state line. The new sheriff was unpleasant - told me the investigation was closed for ever. He said I could be sued for wasting their time.'

  'Odd, very odd. Can you describe the scene where this so-called accident took place?'

  'Yes. A wide highway crosses a bridge over a deep gorge. Reluctantly, Jim Briscoe showed me a photo of the car my parents had died in. There was a huge dent in the side of the car - as though a heavy vehicle had driven into it. And at the exact point just before the bridge started, where they'd be sent straight down into the gorge.

  'It's a wonder their car didn't burst into flames - or did it?'

  'No, it didn't. My father had quick reflexes. He'd obviously turned off the engine as they went over. I asked Briscoe about that and he confirmed the engine had been switched off.'

  'Have you got Briscoe's present phone number?'

  'No, I haven't. But the new man said he'd retired to a house in the same town. The unpronounceable one I've written down. I've also written down the name of the new sheriff and his phone number. Probably you can't do anything.'

  'Don't be so sure about that.' Marler had had a bright idea. 'Give me the notebook and I might just find out what really happened. Something about what you've told me stinks.'

  'I'm putting you to a lot of trouble,' she said, handing him back his notebook. 'I've also written down the add
ress of my apartment in Belgravia - next to Sharon's. And a private phone number I've had installed. Ex- directory. On the quiet; I think the Embassy listens in to my calls on the phone that was there when I arrived.' She smiled again. 'Really, you must think I'm nuts.'

  'I think you may have every reason to be worried. I'll see what I can do.'

  'Let's talk about something else. This can't be entertaining conversation for you.'

  'Actually, I'm intrigued.' She had checked her watch. 'You don't have to go yet, do you?'

  'I really should. The limo driver who brought me must have been waiting outside for half an hour already...'

  When they had put their coats on he accompanied her outside to the waiting limo. Before she got into the car she turned, kissed him gently full on the mouth. She gave him a very warm smile.

  'Thank you for a really wonderful evening. I'd love it if we could keep in touch.'

  'We'll do that.' He handed her a sheet from his notepad, kept his voice to a whisper. 'That's the phone number of my flat. There's an answer-phone if I'm out. Just say Denise called and I'll call you back at the private number until I get you.'

  'Take care of yourself, Alec. It's a dangerous world we're living in.'

  16

  Paula didn't sleep that night. She tried to but sleep wouldn't come. The briefcase stuffed with a fortune in dollars kept coming back into her mind. She had a long bath and that didn't help.

  As she made coffee, knowing she would not get any rest that night; she kept recalling what Chief Inspector Buchanan had told them. How key figures in Britain were being bought with huge bribes. The technique used. How the Anti-Terrorist Squad officers, watching the Embassy, had seen Americans leaving, carrying executive cases, had followed them, seen them in pubs meeting their 'target'. Strictly speaking, in the episode inside the Raging Stag, it had been a briefcase Osborne must have propped against Tweed's chair leg.

  Her mind moved in circles. Had Tweed decided they couldn't win? Had he gone over to the other side? It didn't seem to be possible when she recalled the years she had known him. It was far more likely there was another explanation — but she couldn't think of one.