Cell

by Colin Forbes

  Colin Forbes

  The Cell

  First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd, 2002

  This edition first published by Pocket Books, 2003

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster UK Ltd

  A Viacom Company

  Copyright © Colin Forbes, 2002

  This book is copyright under the Berne Convention

  No reproduction without permission

  ® and © 1997 Simon & Schuster Inc. All rights reserved

  Pocket Books & Design is a registered trademark of Simon & Schuster Inc

  The right of Colin Forbes to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  13579 10 8642

  Simon & Schuster UK Ltd

  Africa House

  64-78 Kingsway

  London WC2B 6AH

  Simon & Schuster Australia Sydney

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN 07434 6138 X

  Typeset by Palimpsest Book Production Limited,

  Polmont, Stirlingshire

  Printed and bound in Australia by Griffin Press

  Author's Note

  All the characters portrayed are creatures of the author's imagination and bear no relationship to any living person. The same principle of pure invention applies to all the residences, villages, hotels, institutions and apartments in Great Britain and Italy.

  For Suzanne, her never-ending, so professional support always.

  Prologue

  'It is now three weeks since Linda Warner, wife of the Minister for Home Security, disappeared overnight,' Superintendent Roy Buchanan told Tweed emphatically. 'Three weeks and not a clue as to what has happened to her.'

  The senior detective from the Yard looked round Tweed's office at Park Crescent. He sat facing Tweed across from his desk. Gazing round he nodded to Paula Grey, Tweed's close assistant, seated at her own desk; at Bob Newman, ex-international news reporter. Behind him near the door a corner desk was occupied by Monica, Tweed's office assistant, a middle-aged woman with hair fastened back in a bun as she worked at her word-processor. It was the attractive Paula, in her thirties with long glossy black hair, who responded.

  'Three weeks is a long time. Worrying. Has there been any kind of ransom note - assuming she was kidnapped?'

  'No,' Buchanan told her. 'Which makes her disappearance even more worrying.'

  'The news was splashed for a while in the papers,' Paula recalled, 'but now it's barely referred to.'

  'Because the papers,' Newman explained, 'are full of rumours that, after September 11 last year in New York, Britain is now the System's next target.'

  'Just how did she disappear?' Paula persisted.

  'Victor Warner has two homes,' Buchanan reminded her. 'His penthouse in Belgravia and some place in the country at Carpford. That's a weird village hidden away in the North Downs. Mrs Warner's Porsche was found on the wrong side of the road just beyond a curve. No signs of any attack. The engine switched off, key left in the ignition. Mysterious.' He turned back to Tweed. 'I'd like you to drive down there with me to see for yourself.'

  'Have you forgotten I'm Deputy Director of the SIS?'

  'Of course not.' Buchanan paused. 'But you did break that Arbogast case* concerning five murders across two continents, to say nothing of the involvement of the Vice-President of the United States. And before you joined this outfit, you were the youngest homicide superintendent at the Yard. Arbogast proved you hadn't lost your touch.'

  'Not possible. I have to concentrate on this job.'

  Tweed was a man of uncertain age, of medium height, and wore horn-rim glasses. He was the man you passed in the street without noticing him, a characteristic he'd found invaluable in his profession. But recently he seemed to have grown younger, his fabled energy even more noticeable. His blue eyes were more lively, as were his gestures.

  'As a favour to me,' Buchanan coaxed.

  'I said no, Roy.' Tweed hammered his fist on his desktop. 'Also I've heard Warner has persuaded the Cabinet to give him full powers with no interference from any other service. He meant me . . .'

  He paused as the door was thrown open, almost taken off its hinges. The Director, Howard, stormed into the office with sheets of paper in his hand. Six feet tall, he had developed a paunch from frequenting expensive restaurants and clubs.

  He sagged into an armchair opposite Newman. Impeccably clad in a Savile Row blue bird's-eye suit, a crisp white shirt, a speckled bow-tie, his voice was upper-crust. He was, Tweed felt, the ideal boss - he dealt with the senior civil servants in Whitehall, where he was popular, leaving Tweed free to run the Service in his own way.

  * Author's previous novel, The Vorpal Blade.

  'Triumph!' Howard boomed. 'Just returned from the PM. I persuaded him to cancel Warner's edict that only he can handle everything over here. Tweed, you can check out the mystery of Linda Warner's disappearance. PM's worried. Ugly rumours are circulating that Linda was too friendly with another key member of the Cabinet.'

  'So,' Buchanan interjected with a smile, 'Tweed, you can come with me to Carpford, scene of Linda Warner's strange disappearance.'

  'And,' Howard intervened, 'here is a copy of the authorization from the PM that we are completely independent of the Ministry of Security, that we continue to function as in the past.'

  'He hasn't minced his words,' Tweed commented after scanning the document. 'But I'm still sticking to my decision not to investigate Linda Warner's disappearance. That's your problem, Roy, I don't think there's anything in these newspaper rumours that Britain is the next target of the System, as Victor Warner keeps calling it.'

  'You did know Linda,' Paula coaxed. 'Maybe not well but she liked you.'

  'I've made up my mind . . .'

  The phone rang. Monica answered, placed her hand over the mouthpiece, pulled a wry face as she called out to Tweed.

  'There's a Peregrine Palfry on the line. Warner's personal assistant. Insists on speaking to you.'

  'That crawler. Probably bows to Warner every time he enters the room. All right, I'll speak to him for a minute . . . Tweed here.'

  'Mr Tweed . . .' The voice was arrogant. 'I have been asked to inform you by the Minister . . .'

  'Then put the the Minister on the line. I don't take calls from civil servants.'

  'This is important, I would have you know . . .'

  'Put the Minister on the line before I break the connection.'

  There was a choking sound, a pause, voices whispering, then Warner himself came on the line. Not best pleased.

  'Tweed, I'm a busy man ...'

  'That makes two of us. What is it?'

  'Now listen carefully.' The tone was polite and determined. 'I have heard that you were considering investigating the strange disappearance of my wife. I absolutely forbid you to interfere with the investigation. It is in the hands of Superintendent Buchanan and Jasper Buller, Chief of Special Branch. Is that understood?'

  'Absolutely.' Tweed, smiling, paused before continuing. 'I have to inform you there is a road-block to your request - my Service does not come under your jurisdiction. Thank you for calling. Goodbye . . .'

  Tweed sat up straight, eyes blazing. He lifted his clenched fist, banged it on his desktop so ferociously Paula jumped. She was fascinated. Recently Tweed had undergone a change of personality. Normally calm, passive, he was now commanding, far more energetic.

  'That does it,' he snapped. 'Warner telling me to keep off the grass. Obviously hasn't heard yet of the PM's edict. Roy,' he went on, speaking quickly. 'I don't want to start by driving with you to Carpford. Give me the address of Warner's pad in Belgravia. Also the name of his housekeeper.' He was standing
up, hauling his overcoat off the stand, slipping quickly into it. 'Paula, you'd better come with me. You're good at spotting some detail about how people live that I might miss.'

  'There's the address,' Buchanan said, hardly able to conceal his delight. 'Name of the housekeeper is Mrs Carson. I've seen her. Like talking to an iceberg. Got nothing out of her. Want me to come with you?'

  'No!' Tweed gave Buchanan a friendly punch on the shoulder. 'Obviously you didn't ask the right questions. Now, Paula, I'll drive.' He handed her Buchanan's directions. 'You can navigate.'

  'Maybe it would be best to phone first,' Paula suggested.

  'No, it wouldn't. Catch the iceberg on the wrong foot. If icebergs have feet. . .'

  Warner's London base was a penthouse on the fifth floor of a modern apartment block, fortunately hidden behind the grandeur of Belgrave Square, since its modernity was quite out of keeping with the square's stately buildings. Tweed used his SIS pass to shut up the aggressive porter. The elevator was luxurious, with gilded mirrors and red leather seats. It climbed silently and the doors slid back on the fifth floor to reveal wide corridors with deep-pile carpets.

  'Warner owns the whole top floor,' Tweed remarked as they turned left, following Buchanan's instructions. 'Half of it he doesn't use. Just doesn't want other people near him, I presume.'

  He stopped in front of a heavy oak door with a speak-phone on the wall. Pressing the button he waited. A woman's harsh voice spoke.

  'Who is it?' demanded the voice.

  'Tweed, Deputy Director of the SIS.'

  'Someone phoned to say you were coming. Who was it?'

  'Superintendent Buchanan of the Yard.'

  'Doesn't take any chances, does she?' Paula whispered.

  They heard the three Banham locks being turned, the door opened and they faced a tall, forbidding woman, slim, with grey hair and well-dressed. She stared at Paula with her penetrating eyes.

  'Who might this be?'

  'It might be my personal assistant, Paula Grey. And it is,' Tweed said with a wry smile.

  'I suppose you'd better come in. I must warn you I have very little time.'

  'The interview will last as long as is necessary,' Tweed said, his expression grim.

  They were led into a large living-room with white leather sofas and chairs scattered about. Tweed and Paula shared a sofa while Mrs Carson perched on a carver chair facing them, her lips pursed in her bony face.

  'Now,' she announced, 'let us get on with it. I told you I was short of time.'

  'I would have thought you'd be worried stiff about the disappearance of your mistress. It is over three weeks since she vanished without trace at Carpford.'

  'The security forces are doing everything they can to solve this mystery,' she snapped.

  Her tone and manner were hostile. Paula decided she didn't like Tweed. She leaned forward and smiled as she spoke.

  'Mrs Carson. A woman is more likely to give us the vital clue. Mr Tweed has told me - he knows her slightly — that Linda Warner is an avid reader. Always takes a book with her. Do you know what she was reading before she left?'

  'Yes, I do. She was wading through Gibbon's Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Kept it by her bedside. Always took it with her when she was going somewhere - in case she had a few spare minutes.'

  'Could I ask you to check whether the volume she was reading is now on her bedside table?'

  'Yes, it is, with the marker in the page she had reached.'

  'That suggests she anticipated a quick trip to Carpford, since she left the book behind. Would you agree?'

  'Yes, I would.' Mrs Carson had relaxed, looking at Paula and ignoring Tweed all the time. 'She expected to be back in the evening.'

  'Did she take any of her clothes with her?' Paula continued.

  'No. Except for her sable. It is cold up at Carpford. I checked myself, carefully. The idiots from Special Branch never thought to ask that shrewd question.'

  'Did she receive - or make - a phone-call before she left?'

  'No. Another question they missed. Really, it is quite a relief to talk to someone who knows their job. Would you like something to drink? Tea? Coffee?'

  'No, thank you. I've recently had breakfast. Did Mrs Warner give you any indication why she was going to Carpford?'

  'All she said to me before she rushed off was that she was going on an urgent mission.'

  'On behalf of her husband?'

  'That I can't tell you, although I assume that was the case. I do know Mr Warner was going to be back from the Ministry late in the evening. Some big meeting.'

  'You must be worried about what has happened to her.'

  As she continued her interrogation Paula was smiling all the time. Mrs Carson kept leaning towards her as she answered. Her original stiffness had disappeared.

  'Miss Grey, I'm worried stiff. It is so unlike her. I did try to phone Carpford late in the the afternoon but no one answered the phone. I assumed she was on her way back.'

  'Was she a sociable lady?'

  'When it was required. Attending dinners with her husband. One by one her friends left the area. Mostly diplomats' wives who joined their husbands when they were posted overseas.'

  'And did she spend much time up at their place in Carpford?'

  'As little as possible. I gathered she didn't like the place. She once called it strange, whatever that meant.'

  'When she went there I imagine it was with her husband. So she must have clothes up there.'

  'No, she hasn't. She'd take what she needed and always she brought it back with her. Every item.'

  Paula stood up, after checking her watch. 'Mrs Carson, you have been very generous with your time. We appreciate that. There is one delicate question which I don't expect you to answer, but we have to eliminate every possibility. How can I phrase this? Did she have any close men friends?'

  'I'm a woman of the world. The Special Branch wretches did ask about that - more brutally. The answer is no, she did not. As her housekeeper I'm the one person who would know. If you think of anything else please contact me. You are the first person who has come here I feel will find her.'

  'Thank you. We'll leave you in peace now - as much peace as is possible.'

  'I didn't say one word,' Tweed commented as they got into their parked car. 'You did a wonderful job. I realized she didn't like me. What do you make of it now?'

  'I find it sinister.'

  'Before we go back, call Buchanan on that irritating mobile of yours. Tell him we are now ready to go with him down to Carpford whenever it suits him. Ask him to set up the scene they found - Linda Warner's car parked at a bend in the road.'

  'What was Mrs Warner like? I never met her.'

  'An exceptionally intelligent woman. Like her husband very patriotic. I'm baffled. I wish you hadn't used that word sinister.'

  1

  Arriving back at Park Crescent, they were surprised to see a black Saab parked outside the SIS entrance. Superintendent Buchanan was seated alone behind the wheel, tapping his fingers. Seeing them coming, he held up his hand. Tweed parked before driving into the Crescent. Buchanan drove out, parked behind them, jumped out of his car.

  'We can leave for Carpford now,' he informed Tweed through his open window. 'After the lab people had checked Mrs Warner's car I had it sent back and parked in a garage near Abinger Hammer. It has now been taken up and is on the Downs, positioned in precisely the position it was found empty when she went missing. I'll lead the way. Ready?'

  'We'd better get on with it,' Tweed agreed. 'Lead on Macduff.'

  It was February, late morning and very cold under a brilliant blue sky as Buchanan headed on to the A3. Paula was glad she had worn her warm blue overcoat and kept on her gloves.

  They were soon clear of the city traffic and racing down the A3 with open country on both sides. Both Buchanan and Tweed were fast-moving drivers, keeping just inside the speed limit. In less than an hour Buchanan was signalling them to turn off the main road up a slip roa
d.

  At the top he turned left and they were deep in the country. They sped up a steep hill, reached the top, plunged down a curving road with panoramic views across high rolling hills. Paula asked Tweed where they were.

  'Entering the first sweep of the North Downs. I know this area. Carpford I've never seen, wouldn't know how to get there.'