Blood Storm

by Colin Forbes

  When the Parrot stood up he had her coat in his hands. He helped her on with it, avoiding touching her bare arms.

  'Your coat too,' said Monica, jumping up and taking it off the hanger she had placed it on when he arrived.

  'Back within less than an hour,' Tweed said, holding open the door for his guest.

  The streets were deserted as the two cars drove through the middle of the night. Reaching Hammersmith the Parrot overtook Tweed's car to lead him down a narrow side street with a wall of terraced houses on either side. Tweed had already seen a familiar car in his rear-view mirror.

  The Parrot parked. Tweed parked behind her and got out to see her safely into her home. The security on the front door was poor. An ordinary lock and nothing else. The Parrot spoke as she inserted her key.

  'You'll come inside so I can thank you with a drink. I will not take no for an answer.'

  At that moment a third car jerked to a stop behind Tweed's. Paula jumped out, followed by Marler. She called out in a cheerful voice.

  'Hello there, Miss Partridge. You're out late. But so are we. There's a restaurant not far away we like. We were driving off when we spotted Tweed's car.'

  'She's just invited us in for a drink,' Tweed said, smiling.

  'I'll have coffee, I'm driving,' Marler drawled.

  'A glass of Chardonnay would be super,' bubbled Paula.

  The Parrot's expression was a picture. She made a great effort to convert annoyance and rage into a feeble smile as she opened the door.

  'You're most welcome,' she said through gritted teeth.

  Inside there was a narrow hall, doors leading off at the sides. The Parrot headed at a brisk trot up the stairs at the end, the treads carpeted with a red material. At the top she continued her trot along a landing to another door. Beyond it was a surprisingly large living room.

  Paula glanced round. The furniture was not antique but was restful and modern with a collection of sofas and chairs and cupboards. Paula grabbed Tweed's arm, guided him to a sofa. They both sat. Even here Marler chose to stand in a corner against a wall.

  The Parrot disappeared into the kitchen and Paula followed her. Money had gone into equipping her kitchen. Everything was brand new and expensive. The Parrot was taking out bottles and glasses from a cupboard when she noticed Paula.

  'Thought I'd give you a hand,' Paula said with a smile.

  'Not necessary.' Her tone was abrupt. 'Go back and do make yourself comfortable. I can cope with this little lot.'

  Paula returned to her seat on the sofa, soon followed by the Parrot with a silver tray of drinks. She distributed them, sat down with a sigh and relaxed. She reached for her glass, looked round at her guests.

  'What shall we drink to?'

  'A swift solution to the appalling murder of Viola,' Tweed suggested, raising his glass.

  'That's a macabre toast,' the Parrot commented, 'but if you want that I'll go along with it.'

  Paula noticed her glass trembled briefly as she raised it to her full lips. She was drinking neat Scotch. Tweed spoke again as he placed his glass on a glass-topped table.

  'Miss Partridge, what is it like working with the three Macombers? They strike me as men with very different characters - even if they are brothers.'

  'Oh.' The Parrot waved a hand airily. 'I get by. With any job at my level there is bound to be the odd problem.'

  'What sort of problems would they be?'

  'Present company excluded -' she glanced at Marler3 who seemed to bother her standing on his own - 'but men are subject to wildly varying moods.'

  'I agree,' Tweed pressed on, 'but so are women. There is a myth that men and women differ enormously from each other. I don't think they do. They often have similar worries and uncertainties.'

  Tweed went on talking as Paula jumped up and swiftly headed for the kitchen. She called out over her shoulder.

  'Excuse me, but I've lost one of my earrings. I heard it drop on the floor when I was in the kitchen.'

  Earlier, arriving in the hall, she had detached one earring, slipping it into the pocket of her windcheater. She listened, could hear Tweed talking, then the Parrot answering.

  She set to work quickly, looking for a meat cleaver. All the drawers slid open silently. Then she came to one which was locked. Why? She'd ignored the cupboards, an unlikely place to put a cleaver. Taking the earring out of her pocket, she quickly attached it to her ear.

  Paula had the Parrot as one of her prime suspects. When she had her long meal with Coral Flenton her companion had told her she'd once caught the Parrot in a passionate embrace with one of the Macombers. Paula had asked her which one but Coral had shaken her head, said it was more than her job was worth.

  Paula was re-entering the living room when she encountered the Parrot coming to see what she was up to. She gazed at Paula and then half-smiled.

  'I see you have both on now. So you found it?'

  'Yes, thank Heaven, it was difficult to see. It had slid close to one of the cupboard bases.'

  As they returned to the living room Tweed stood up. Marler headed for the door to the landing.

  'I have enjoyed our chat,' Tweed said.

  'I want to thank you so much for escorting me safely home.' The Parrot was rushing towards Tweed when she knocked over a heavy revolving table crammed with books in shelves. She bent down, lifted it effortlessly, carried it across the room, trotting swiftly before she dumped it. She then rushed back to Tweed, hugged him, kissed him on both cheeks.

  'I want you to know how much I appreciate what you did,' she told him.

  Marler led the way downstairs, followed by Tweed and Paula, with the Parrot bringing up the rear. As they walked down the hall their hostess tapped a closed door.

  'My bedroom. The window overlooks the street, so early in the morning I can sit up in bed and watch people going to work early.'

  'It has a lock, I presume,' said Tweed, pausing. 'A really good lock.'

  'Oh, I sleep with it partly open. I must have fresh air.'

  They left the flat, walking into dark stillness without a sound. Tweed caught Paula's arm, took her to the passenger seat of his own car. Marler nipped along to the car in which he'd driven Paula.

  They were moving through still deserted streets towards Paula's flat when she told Tweed about the reason for her supposed missing earring.

  'Why would she have one drawer locked?' she asked.

  'For a dozen reasons - sharp knives out of reach of a visiting child, who might wander in there exploring, anything. How come you turned up with Marler? You wouldn't know her address.'

  'Yes, we did. Marler phoned Monica about something and she told him where you had gone with the Parrot, gave him the address.'

  'So you came running to my rescue? Was that it?'

  'No. It wasn't. We didn't like the idea of your driving back on your own. Simple.'

  Tweed dropped Paula outside her flat as Marler pulled up behind him. He drove off, ignoring Marler who came to his open window suggesting he spent the night in Paula's spare bedroom.

  His mind was churning as he drove slowly. It was the time of night when drunk drivers happily assumed there would be no one else on the road. His mind was still churning as he parked his car in the nearby mews, only a short walk from his house.

  His mind was churning on the thought of the Parrot sleeping in that downstairs bedroom overlooking the street. With the window open.

  28

  Tweed was early at the office. He hadn't slept much, but was exceptionally alert. As he greeted George and started running up the staircase George called up to him.

  'Gentleman waiting for you . . .'

  'Who?'

  'Didn't give a name. Not the sort of chap you bandy words with. Said he'd an appointment with you.'

  Tweed walked into his office. Monica raised her hands in a gesture of helplessness. Seated in the chair facing his desk was General Lucius Macomber, very erect and dressed in a smart business suit.

  'Didn't expect
you,' Tweed said, taking of his coat, which Monica caught. 'You're an early bird. General.'

  'Been like that all my life. Just got back from a meeting with my three cursed offspring.'

  'They were early too,' Tweed said in surprise, sitting in his desk chair, facing his visitor.

  'Had to be. I phoned them. Told them to be at their station an hour ago. They were, of course.'

  'I hope you enjoyed your visit.'

  'I did. They didn't.' The General bared his teeth in a grim smile. 'I did all the talking. They listened. Kept quiet. Which is the way it should be.'

  'May I ask what you told them?'

  'You can. You're a bright chap, Tweed. Know what's going on. So do I. Told them they were a bunch of lunatics.

  Merging the security forces into one big dinosaur. They didn't like what I said.' He paused as he let out a barking guffaw of amusement. 'You agree with me.'

  'I think it's madness.'

  'Good chap. Between us we'll stop them. No doubt about it.'

  He slapped the palm of his hand so hard on the desk Monica jumped behind him. He turned round, gazed at her. 'That woke you up, didn't it? You look like an asset.' He turned back to Tweed, switched the subject.

  'Things are hotting up on Black Island. The locals are in a state over those buildings sprouting up at the western tip. No good just being in a state. Do something about it, is my motto. They were up in arms about the oil refinery when it was built. Expect you saw it while you were down there.'

  'No, I didn't.'

  'The tide must have been high. The fellow who ferries you across guides his barge in an arc to the east. You wouldn't see it. If he takes you over at low tide he goes straight across to Lydford. You'll damned well see the monstrosity then.'

  'I'll look out for it next time I'm down there.'

  'Nice to chat with you.' The General stood up. 'Must go. Time waits for no man, and all that. Got equipment to buy.'

  'Will you be in town long?'

  'No. Three or four days. Must get a bit of relaxation while I'm up here.' He stretched out a hand. 'We're in this together. Right?'

  'Right,' said Tweed as he stood, shook the extended hand.

  'I'm off.' He turned to Monica with a smile. 'Don't you let this taskmaster run you into the ground. You know what the late President Reagan once said?'

  'No, sir. I'm afraid I don't.'

  '"They say hard work never killed anyone, but why take the risk?" Great man, Ronald Reagan.'

  Then the General was gone. Like a hurricane arriving and departing. Tweed sat still for several minutes, then spoke to Monica.

  'Did he leave an address where we could get hold of him?' 'No.' Monica spread her hands again in the helpless motion. 'I did ask him that when he'd stormed in. He just turned round, smiled, said, "No, you can't.'"

  'I wonder what he meant by getting a bit of relaxation?' Tweed looked disturbed as he asked the question. He was gazing out of the window, as he did when he contemplated something dangerous.

  Shortly afterwards Tweed asked his second question as Marler arrived, followed by Newman and Harry with Pete Nield.

  'I wonder what sort of equipment he plans on buying while he's up here.'

  'Who was up here?' Marler asked.

  Tweed gave a resume of his conversation with the General. It didn't take him very long.

  'What was his real reason for coming?' Paula mused, sitting at her desk.

  'I'm not sure,' Tweed told her. 'His mind moves like lightning. He's got the energy of three young men. There was a whiff of scandal about him, as I recall it, after the end of the Gulf War. A captain he'd had to discipline told a reporter the General had ordered his men to shoot down a bunch of Arabs who came over a ridge with their hands up.'

  'Did he?' Paula asked.

  'Yes. Fortunately a TV reporter attached to the army had been filming everything at the time. The film clearly supported what the General said had happened. A line of Arabs had crossed a ridge just as the war started, hands held up. They were followed almost at once by two more lines of Arab troops, all carrying automatic weapons. It was a trap. If the General's troops had moved forward to take charge of the Arabs "surrendering" they'd have been mown down by the second and third lines. And they had more coming behind them. So the General was a hero, as he should have been. Trouble was the first reports had already appeared in the press. People remember the so-called bad things, forget the truth which later comes to light.'

  'The General is smart,' Marler commented. 'And virile.'

  'What was that word you used?' snapped Tweed, jumping to his feet.

  'Virile.'

  'The same word Frank, the keeper of the Crooked Village on Black Island, used.'

  Tweed wandered over to the window. He stood staring into the distance. Monica knew he was disturbed again.

  In the Fulham Road, on the opposite side to Paula's flat and a distance back, an old Ford was parked. Inside and behind the wheel Fitch had glasses glued to his eyes when, earlier, Paula had left with Marler.

  'It's her,' he said to Radek, seated by his side.

  'I can see that,' Radek growled, 'and without peering through binoculars. She's well guarded, was when she came back early this morning. We'll have to wait.'

  'For what?' Fitch demanded aggressively.

  'For when she returns home alone - or, better still, with Tweed. Then we can grab both of them.'

  'Could take for ever.'

  'I've waited in the same spot for three weeks to kill a man. Patience is the key. Or we could start a fire or a riot in the East End. That might send most of the team away from her.'

  'Tricky. That schmuck Harry lives somewhere down there. He might catch on. So how are you going to start a fire?'

  'Take in concealed beer bottles filled with petrol. Order drinks, sit in a dark corner. Spread the petrol on the floor.

  Use a cigarette lighter and clear out in the panic. The Pig's Nest would be a good place.'

  'It might just work.' Fitch said. 'Needs thinking about.'

  Harry had disappeared from Park Crescent without saying a word to anybody. No one worried. Harry was independent at times in the decisions he took. He returned in the early afternoon, carrying his 'tool-kit' bag.

  'May we ask where you have been?' Tweed enquired gently.

  'You may. While you lot have been sitting on your backsides, chewing the fat, I've dealt with something you asked me to do when I could. I've just driven to Peckham Mallet. Found the place on the map. Paula told me earlier how to find it.'

  'And?' Tweed persisted as Harry drank from a bottle of water Paula gave him.

  'That truck you saw parked in a field,' he said to Tweed. 'It's still there. No one about. Not even the guard. I checked in the quarry where you'd hidden him after Paula hit him on the nose.'

  'He's not still there?' she said anxiously, wondering if she'd hit him too hard, maybe killed him.

  'No, he wasn't. And I could see his footsteps in the chalk where he'd hauled himself out of it. Now, that truck.'

  'What was inside it?' she asked, so relieved at hearing the guard had to be alive and well.

  'A small load of Semtex, attached to wires leading to the detonator box. So I fiddled with the wiring. When it was attached to the detonator the clock was at zero. Now it's at sixty seconds. I also found a map showing the way to Richmond Park.'

  'Oh, my God!' exclaimed Newman. 'Exploded there it would cause a mass slaughter.'

  'No, it wouldn't,' Harry contradicted him. 'The route marked led to a side entrance a long way from the river.

  Hardly anybody uses that entrance. I checked on my way back. Not a soul about.'

  'Well, what will happen when the driver arrives to position it?'

  'He'll get in, start the engine. The vibrations will set off the clock, then the detonator. I doubt if he'll have even moved forward before the whole caboose explodes harmlessly in the field. End of truck, end of driver.'

  'Well, that's one worry off our minds,' Tweed
commented. 'So many thanks to you, Harry.'

  'All part of the job.'

  A moment later George appeared. He was holding an envelope sent by registered post. He took it over to Paula. 'For you,' he said and left the office quickly to return to his post.