by Colin Forbes
That's right. Seton-Charles told me. What's the idea?'
'On the morning of Monday 7 December, we stop the driver, seize his vehicle. No one notices a Royal Mail van.'
'What do we do with the driver?' Anton asked.
'Kill him, dump the body in that grave Seton-Charles dug. I'll do the job.' Foster's lip curled. 'I don't think you're up to it.'
'But I can fire one of the launchers…'
'But you won't. You've trained us. The Stinger is a weapon it is easy to use. Now, you can stay out here while your balls freeze – assuming you have any. I'm going inside to look at those maps again. Saunders and I are going to reconnoitre the route to Brize Norton.'
He walked inside the farmhouse, closing the door quietly. Anton shivered in the wind. The look in Foster's eyes, his manner, had frightened him. But he had to admit Foster was well-organized: they had brought with them three pairs of the type of overalls worn by furniture removal men. They had spent time rubbing dirt into them, crumpling them to take away the appearance of new garments.
Anton went back inside to find Foster and Saunders bent over the maps. Foster was tracing a route with a pencil, careful not to touch the maps. He looked up as Anton returned.
'And we'll be taking your Austin Metro for the reconnaissance – no one will know about that vehicle.'
****
Friday, 4 December. It was late afternoon when the call came through to Park Crescent from Newman. Monica told Tweed he was on the line and pressed the recording button.
'I've found out Sam Partridge's driving licence was used to hire a car. Weeks ago – and the car is still on hire. Someone with an upper-crust voice phones Barton's – the car hire outfit – and an envelope of money to extend the hire is pushed in the letter box at night. Barton's is in Taunton. The car is a blue Austin Metro, registration number… God, I called at enough places before I found the right one.'
'Good work, Bob. We'll circulate that car's details immediately. Now, can you contact the others within the hour? I want everyone back here tonight. It's an emergency.'
'I'm calling from the Minehead phone box. Couldn't find an empty one in Taunton – so I drove back here like a bat. Butler and Nieid happen to be at The Anchor now. We'll be on our way within half an hour. Don't go, Marler has news for you. Here he is…'
'I know how Anton slipped out of the country,' Marler drawled. 'Got back here to find Newman monopolizing this box. Anton is an expert pilot of small aircraft. Remember-Christina told Newman. Dunkeswell Airport, a small private airfield south-east of Tiverton. He flew out in a Cessna.'
'You're sure? There's a manifest to prove it?'
'Like hell there is. I identified myself to a pilot, showed him Anton's photo, told him he was a leading terrorist. He went as white as a sheet. I had to exert a little pressure -you don't want to hear about that. Briefly, Anton paid this pilot a large sum in cash…'
To fly him back to Lisbon?'
'Not quite. Anton insisted on flying the Cessna himself. Took the pilot along as passenger. The pilot flew the machine back to Dunkeswell. The controller of the airfield was away, doesn't know what happened.'
'Another question answered. You're coming back to London. A disaster is imminent.'
'If weapons are in order,' Marler responded, 'I'd like a rifle with a telescopic sight. See you…'
On her other phone Monica was finishing giving details of the Austin Metro to the Commissioner of Police. She put down the phone, her eyes gleaming with excitement.
'It's all happening at once. Like it so often does.'
'And these things come in threes,' said Paula.
The call from Norwich came at 7 p.m.
Waiting for Newman and his three companions to arrive, Tweed had a tneal of ham sandwiches, followed by fruit, with Paula and Monica. Extra camp beds had been erected in the office next door where the two women slept overnight. They were all beginning to feel housebound when the phone rang.
Monica frowned as she answered the call, listened, asked several questions, then put her hand over the mouthpiece.
'It's Norwich police headquarters. A Constable Fox. Calling in reply to our circulating Seton-Charles' Volvo description and registration number. Sounds tentative. He's called the General amp; Cumbria Assurance cover number we used.'
Tweed picked up his phone, asked how he could help.
'Constable Fox speaking, sir. In response to your enquiry re the Volvo station wagon.' The youthful voice hesitated. 'My inspector wasn't sure I should call. I keep a careful record in my notebook of even trivial incidents. You never can tell when the information may be needed.'
'Very sensible,' Tweed encouraged him. 'Do go on.'
'Back in October late one night. I can give you the date in a minute. Left my notebook in my tunic pocket. As I was saying, I was on duty and I saw this Volvo park near a corner. A man got out and walked round to a furniture removal firm selling off bankrupt stock. It was eleven at night so I was curious. Especially as he could have parked in front of the warehouse. Am I wasting your time, sir?'
'Please go on.'
'There were lights in the warehouse so I thought I'd better check. This chap goes inside after Latimer answers the door.'
'Latimer?'
The proprietor of the firm selling off the vans, Camelford Removals. When I saw it was Latimer I thought it must be OK, so I pushed off. Then the next morning I was walking near the same area when I saw the Volvo driver pass me behind the wheel of one of the furniture vans. Trouble is his description does not tally with your Identikit. He wore horn-rims and an old cap.'
'But the registration of the Volvo is the same as the one we sent out?'
'Quite definitely. I checked that in my notebook.'
'Could you contact this Latimer, persuade him to wait until I arrive? He'll be paid for his trouble. And can you wait for me at the station until I arrive? It will be after ten.'
'I'm on night duty again. And behind enquiries counter tonight. Latimer practically lives at the warehouse. I can phone him.'
'My name is Tweed. I'm coming. Your recording of trivial events could end up in promotion. I'm leaving London now…'
As Tweed had guessed, Constable Fox was in his early twenties. A thin, pale-faced man, he had an earnest manner and blushed when he was introduced to Paula. Tweed was careful to show him his Special Branch card. Fox took the card, studied the photograph inside the plastic guard, stared carefully at Tweed and handed it back. He was carrying the Identikit picture of Seton-Charles in an envelope.
Outside police headquarters he opened the rear door of the Cortina for Paula, closed it, then joined Tweed in the front.
'Latimer is waiting for us, sir. I didn't give him any idea who was coming.'
'Very sensible,' said Tweed again, then concentrated on Fox's directions. They reached the furniture warehouse in a few minutes and a short middle-aged man opened the door as they pulled up. 'That's Latimer,' Fox whispered.
Tweed introduced himself and Paula, showed his card, and with only a cursory glance Latimer invited them inside. They sat round a rough-surfaced wooden table and Latimer drank tea from a tin mug. Tweed took the envelope from Fox, extracted the Identikit picture and pushed it in front of him. 'Is that the man who bought a furniture van from you?'
Two vans. No, it doesn't look like him. He wore hornrimmed glasses, not rimless, and a driver's cap.'
Tweed looked at Paula, pushed the Identikit towards her. 'You are the artist. Mr Latimer, please describe as best you can the type of glasses, the kind of cap. Miss Grey will convert the picture under your guidance…'
He changed places so Paula sat next to Latimer. She produced a small clipboard and a felt-tip pen from her capacious shoulder bag and worked on the picture, altering it from Latimer's instructions. Then she pushed the picture in front of him.
That's the chap. Magic it is, the way you did that. I've a good memory for faces. No doubt about it.'
'You said he bought two vans. He had som
eone with him?' Tweed enquired.
'No. Collected them both himself, one by one. Both the same day. Was gone about eight hours before he came back for the second job. Twin vans, they was. Only one left now.'
'He spoke with an educated accent?' Paula enquired.
'No. Workingman's lingo.' Latimer scratched his head. 'Mind you, it didn't sound it came natural to him.'
'He paid by cheque?' Tweed probed.
'No. Cash. Fifties. I held them up to check them. You can't be too careful these days. Funny sort of bloke. And that cap didn't fit him too well.'
'You said you had only one van left,' Tweed reminded him. 'Is that the same as the two you sold to this man?'
'Came from exactly the same stable. Want to see it?'
'Yes, please.' Tweed looked at Paula. 'Did you bring your camera?'
'Always carry it. Plus flashbulbs…'
They were there another half hour. Paula took pictures of the van from different angles. Tweed then persuaded Latimer to drive the furniture van into the street, deserted at that hour. Paula peered out from a top-floor window in the warehouse, looking down on the van with her camera. In the street below Tweed saw three flashbulbs go off. Then Pauia waved her hand.
Latimer backed the van further away, stopped it at the entrance to another street, presenting her with a sideways angle. Three more flashbulbs went off. Tweed told Latimer he could drive the vehicle back into the warehouse.
'What's this all about?' he asked as he climbed down from the cab.
'A gang of very dangerous terrorists. Now, I want to pay you for your time.'
'On the house, Guv. If it's bleedin' terrorists I'm 'appy to oblige. Shoot the bastards when you catch up with 'em.'
'Thank you for your cooperation. I'll bear your advice in mind. Now,' he said to Paula who had reappeared with Fox, 'we have to get moving. And Constable Fox, I'll be recommending your work to your inspector when this is all over…'
It was 2 a.m. when Tweed and Paula arrived back at Park Crescent. All the lights were on in the building behind closed blinds. They went straight down into the Engine Room in the basement where the staff were waiting. Paula handed one of the technicians her film, Tweed told him to develop and print immediately, then to produce two dozen copies.
His office was full of people when he opened the door. A large table had been moved in and round it sat Howard, Newman, Marler, Butler and Nield. The remnants of a meal were on the table and Monica was pouring more coffee. Marler sat smoking one of his king-size cigarettes.
'Any joy?' he enquired.
Tweed explained what they had learned as Paula took a spare seat at the table. Most of his listeners looked weary except for Howard and Marler who appeared fresh and alert. Howard raised the query.
'What on earth would they need two furniture vans for?'
'Remember the Stingers,' Marler told him. That reference to them we got from Mode rambling in high fever. Those vans are mobile rocket launcher platforms. Who notices a furniture van? It stops, they drop the tailboard and fire the missiles from the rear opening.'
'Oh my God!' Howard was appalled. 'Hadn't we better contact the PM?'
'And alert the SAS?' Newman suggested.
'We're on our own,' Tweed said quietly. 'SAS teams are guarding the Brize Norton perimeter. The PM calls us her private insurance policy. And while I remember, each one of you must carry one of these cards. Force Z is what she's termed us – Z for zero hour.' He dropped a pile of fresh identity cards he'd collected from the Engine Room on the table. 'Sort them out. Each carries an individual photograph. Including one for you, Howard – if you still insist on coming.'
'I do.'
'All security personnel at Brize Norton have been informed about Force Z. If you run into one of them you'd better speak quickly, then show the card.'
'How the hell do we go about this?' Howard demanded.
In reply, Tweed walked across to a wall map he had pinned up. It covered Oxfordshire, Wiltshire, Berkshire, Hampshire and London Airport. A tiny village called Liphook came just within the large circle he drew with a felt-tip pen.
'We have to think ourselves into the mind of Winterton.' He glanced at Howard. 'That is the codeword for the Englishman directing this operation.'
'Who is Robson, Barrymore or Kearns, you still think?' Paula asked.
'Yes. Based on the fact that Petros heard during World War Two that the Greek Key was controlled by an Englishman located in Cairo. The fact that the Oporto seaman who talked saw Anton being taken ashore near Porlock Weir by a man disguised with a Balaclava. The facts which came out of the tape recording Nieid made of their conversation at The Luttrell Arms. The fact that the secret Spetsnaz base was situated on Exmoor. The fact that the murders of Andreas and Stephen Gavalas took place when those three men were nearby. The fact that Partridge and Mrs Larcombe were murdered on Exmoor. The fact that when Jill Kearns was run down in London those three men were staying at a hotel not a quarter of a mile away.'
'I get the point,' Paula agreed. 'But now you've withdrawn everyone from Exmoor. Shouldn't someone be keeping an eye on those men now we're so close to the climax?'
'Yes. And you're elected.'
There were protests at the idea. From Howard. From Paula. 'I want to be in at the finish,' she objected. "I believe I have contributed to the investigation…'
'Agreed,' said Tweed. 'You were the first one who spotted – and persisted – something was wrong with that bungalow estate. To mention only one thing. But from what Newman told me on the phone all three men are still on Exmoor…'
'It's too dangerous,' Newman snapped. 'She's already had her taste of gunpowder confronting Norton and Mode. And Winterton may have left the area by now.'
'He hasn't.' Tweed was emphatic. 'I haven't had time to tell you – but the Chief Inspector at Taunton has set up roadblocks on every route east out of the area. Barrymore, Robson and our friend, Kearns, are well-known. If one of them – Winterton – tries to leave Exmoor I'll know within minutes.'
'So that explains why we were stopped by the police near to Glastonbury,' Newman commented.
'And Paula will again be armed.' Tweed took a Browning automatic and spare mags from a desk drawer, placed them in front of her. 'Now, are you happier?' he asked her. 'Your job is to see which of the three makes a move.'
'I'll settle for that.'
'Good. Now maybe we can get on. I've tried to think myself inside Winterton's mind. He would know in advance there was a good chance Gorbachev would land in Britain to meet the PM – he would have found that out from Moscow, I'm sure. The hardline faction is there. He knows Gorbachev is coming, but where will he land? London Airport? Possible, but unlikely. Lyneham Air Force Base in Wiltshire? A good bet. Brize Norton in Oxfordshire? Another good bet – because security would be easier to set up rather than at London Airport. Makes sense?'
'Yes,' said Marler. 'How does he go on from there?'
'He sets up an advance base…' Tweed went to the wall map and waved his hand round the circle he had drawn. '… somewhere inside this area. This gives swift access to whichever landing point is chosen. The furniture vans will be hidden there. But I don't think we'll see them from the air until Gorbachev's aircraft is approaching Brize Norton on this coming Monday. Today is already early Saturday. ..'
'Surely as soon as daylight comes,' Howard intervened, 'we can fly over the area in the choppers. We might just see something.'
'No go,' Monica informed him. 'I called Fairoaks Airfield where the machines are being equipped and repainted. They said Sunday morning was the earliest they could be serviceable.'
'So we wait until Sunday,' Tweed announced. 'In any case, most of you look as though you could do with a good rest. I want you on top form when we fly in those choppers. Anything else?'
'Bob,' Paula suggested, 'could I use your Mercedes? I'll drive down there as soon as this meeting breaks up. Then I can grab a few hours' sleep at The Luttrell Arms and start searching. God knows, I'm fami
liar with Exmoor by now.'
'As a very special favour.' Newman stifled a yawn. 'Yes.'
'I don't think we should all be airborne.' Butler spoke for the first time. 'Nield and I were talking about that -after Monica explained what she knew of your plan. We'd both like motorcycles, equipped with radio so we can contact you in the chopper.'
'I'll think about that.' Tweed checked his watch. 'Now, if there's nothing else…'
'Weapons,' said Marler. 'What's available? We'll need a variety as I see it.'
'Everything you want. The PM gave me carte blanche. An armoured car is delivering an arsenal and standing by at Fairoaks. You'll get your rifle with telescopic sights. Handguns. Grenades. Take your pick when the time comes.'
'One final point,' said Paula. 'You still think you know the identity of Winterton?'
'Yes. But no evidence. And I expect him to stay in the background during the operation. On Exmoor. Maybe you'll spot who he is.'
Paula said nothing. She opened her hand and a stick of French chalk rolled on the table.
52
Saturday, 5 December. It was after midnight when Foster took Anton into his bedroom at Cherry Farm, closed the door. Fatigue was registered on the faces of both men and tempers were getting short.
'Those Shi-ite prisoners are getting restless,' Foster opened with. 'What did you tell them they were here for?'
'That they were hostages for an exchange of two men kidnapped in Beirut. That negotiations were proceeding but they took time. They think we're British Government agents. You'd best leave them to me.'
'With pleasure. I have enough on my hands. Practising weapon drill for one thing. It's Saturday and everyone is feeling the strain. Today we keep under cover. Get some rest. We have to be on top form tomorrow and Monday.'
'Tomorrow is Sunday. What happens then?'
'We do a trial run. Saunders and I found two perfect places to hide the furniture vans as close to Brize Norton as we need to be. Your turn to empty the Elsan buckets. Do it before you go to bed.. .'