Cell

by Colin Forbes

  Monica kept repeating the same message, then broke the connection. She sighed.

  'I think he's one of those,' she remarked. 'He's up in the clouds and tried to treat me like a serf. I think I got under his skin when I kept repeating exactly the same words.'

  Paula was smiling at Tweed. 'The Minister of Security is going to love you.'

  'It's a tactic,' Tweed told her. 'If he really does have a reason for seeing me he'll swallow his pride, call me back.'

  'You really are a devil,' she said.

  Within five minutes the phone was ringing again. Monica listened, clamped a hand over the speaker. She was grinning.

  'It's him, his lordship. He sounded very upper-crust but he was polite to me . . .'

  'Tweed here. Is there a problem?'

  'My dear Tweed, I really would appreciate it if you could pop over here. Can't explain why over the phone. I also appreciate a man in your position must be overwhelmed at times, but this is rather urgent. What time would suit you?'

  'Now? I can be there in thirty minutes.'

  'Splendid! I really would be most grateful for your cooperation. I look forward very much to seeing you . . .'

  'Smooth as silk,' Tweed told them as he put on his coat. 'Paula, I'd like you to come with me. Don't expect to like him. Very upper-crust, I've heard. A cog from the old boys' network.'

  'Can't wait,' she told him.

  'Wearing that coat you look like a member of Special Branch,' Paula teased Tweed as they arrived at the tall doors closed at the entrance to the Ministry of Security. 'Nowadays a camel-hair coat is their uniform.'

  'I like the coat,' Tweed replied as he pressed the bell.

  One massive door was opened almost at once and Peregrine Palfry stood there to greet them with a smile. He shook hands with both of them as he ushered them into a vast hall.

  'It's very good of you to traipse all this way to see the Minister. Strictly between us I think he might have asked to visit you.'

  Tweed was surprised at the firmness of his hand clasp. Paula was surprised by his warm welcome. His face was pale, his hair jet black. Clean-shaven, he would be in his thirties and he struck her as athletic. Not at all what she had expected.

  Walking swiftly, he led them up a wide flight of stairs, along a hallway, and paused before a door. He pulled a face, as much as to say, 'Here we go!' He had knocked once when a voice beyond the door called out loudly.

  'Enter!'

  The office beyond was spacious and the Minister stood up from behind a long imposing antique desk. He strode round to greet them. Very tall and thin, he carried himself very erect and the thinness extended to his long face. On the bridge of a strong nose were perched a pair of gold-rimmed pince-nez, and his cold blue eyes scanned his visitors swiftly. His mouth was wide and again thin, his chin suggested a touch of aggression.

  He was dressed in country clothes, a smart hunter's jacket and polo trousers tucked inside gleaming knee-length boots. Smiling, he ushered them to an enormously wide couch and sat next to Paula with Tweed beyond her.

  'I am so sorry to drag you down here but I do have a Cabinet meeting soon. Pure waste of time. Bores me stiff listening to gabble-gabble. Now, what would you like to quench your thirst? Tea, coffee - maybe something a little stronger?'

  Tweed refused anything and Paula followed suit. Warner looked over at the open door where Palfry stood waiting to bring refreshment, shook his head. Palfry dipped his head, withdrew, closing the door.

  'Good chap, Perry,' Warner remarked. 'Member of MENSA - not that it impresses me. But he's so reliable and has the memory of an elephant.' He was addressing his remarks to Paula. 'I have heard of the legendary Paula Grey. Makes me wonder whether I should talk to her rather than you, Tweed.' He said it with a smile.

  'If I am regarded anywhere as legendary it is exaggerated wildly,' she told him. 'Mr Tweed is the power.'

  'Then I will talk to both of you.' He looked across at Tweed. 'I hope you will not take what I say as personal.'

  'Depends what you say, Minister.'

  Paula was startled. Minister? Then she realized Tweed was using softening up tactics, something he rarely did.

  'It has come to my shell-like ear,' Warner began gravely, 'that you two have been poking about up at Carpford. I regard that as my private sanctuary.'

  'Surely you are worried about the mysterious disappearance of your wife,' Tweed replied bluntly.

  'I am worried sick. It is so unlike Linda to take off into the wild blue yonder. And the police are hopeless. That chap Buchanan simply says he has no news yet. After three weeks. I ask you.'

  'Superintendent Buchanan is the cleverest and most determined policeman in this country. The car your wife was driving, which was found abandoned, has been subjected to the most thorough lab search. No clues at all found inside it. Have you yet had any kind of message demanding a ransom? If you have you must tell me - even if the caller told you that was the last thing you must do.'

  'No one has called.' Warner's voice had changed, was rasping. He was leaning against Paula to speak to Tweed and she caught a whiff of after-shave lotion. She knew he was quite unaware he was pressing against her as he continued vehemently. 'I have received no ransom demand. Dammit, man, if I had I would have told Buchanan. And, once again, why were you poking about down at Carpford?'

  'Because, at Buchanan's urgent request, I've reverted for the moment to my old role of detective. You should be grateful.'

  'Oh, I see.' He sat back. 'Someone told me you were once the star turn at the old Scotland Yard. Find anything? See any of the people up there?'

  'Olaf Margesson for one. He's a fanatic on religion. Do you know him?'

  'He's invited me over for the occasional glass of sherry. Don't understand your reference to religion. We talked mostly about cricket. Anyone else?'

  'Mrs Gobble.'

  'She's potty. Quite harmless though. So you got nowhere?'

  'I didn't say that. There are rumours that al-Qa'eda has arrived over here ..."

  The effect of Tweed's words was electric. Warner jumped up from the couch, marched back to his desk, sat in the high chair behind it. Paula was astonished at the change in his personality. He looked choleric, his voice grim.

  'Now listen to me, Tweed. I know you have in your outfit that foreign correspondent reporter, Robert Newman. If he tries to write about those rumours we'll put out a D notice, stop him in his tracks. It's an absurd idea. I will tell you some criminal organization from abroad may be trying to establish some system in Britain with the drug cartel in Colombia. That's absolutely off the record. Muzzle that wild dog, Newman. Do you understand me?'

  The couch they sat on faced the elevated desk. Paula was staring at Victor Warner's expression, hardly able to credit a man's face could undergo such a change. The long bony face was a picture of violent rage, mouth open, exposing teeth like those of a small shark.

  'I gather,' Tweed said slowly, calmly, 'that you don't want Newman reporting the possible arrival of a drug cartel operating out of Colombia. Like me, I'm sure he hasn't heard a whiff of such an event. So he's hardly likely to write about it.'

  'I was talking about this al-Qa'eda nonsense. For God's sake don't you realize the panic such an idiotic rumour would cause in London? After the World Trade Center atrocity in New York. Panic, panic, PANIC!'

  'So there's not an atom of truth in those rumours?'

  Warner threw both arms in the air. He looked up at the ceiling as though seeking salvation.

  'Haven't you yet grasped it's all rubbish? Do I have to say all over again what I have already explained to you so absolutely clearly? Don't you think we would know if there was even the merest hint of truth in such a crazy idea? You really are sorely trying my patience.'

  'And,' Tweed said, standing up, 'you are absolutely sure you have received no word from anyone since your wife vanished into thin air? Even a few words from the lady herself?'

  'Nothing, as I have already told you once. Tweed, you reall
y are an extraordinary fellow - you need everything repeated to you twice. I'm even beginning to doubt that you should hold the position you do.'

  'But that decision . . .' Tweed smiled '. . . doesn't come within your province, does it? I hope you soon receive better news about Linda.'

  'Linda?'

  'I met her at one or two parties. If I have any news I'll let you know.'

  Tweed had reached the door with Paula by his side. When he spoke they both looked back. The Minister was standing now behind his desk, leaning forward, penetrating eyes observing them over his pince-nez. He was a striking-looking man, Paula thought.

  'We will keep in touch,' Warner called out, smiling.

  Tweed opened the door and Palfry was standing just out of sight by the wall. Above his head was a ventilator. He had obviously been listening. So much for security at the Ministry. Tweed closed the door and Palfry joined them as they walked towards the staircase, whispering.

  'Miss Grey, if you ever find yourself in Carpford do come and have a cup of tea with me. Mine is the Round House.'

  'Thank you, Mr Palfry. I'll be glad to do that if ever the opportunity arises.'

  'The Minister gets like that sometimes,' Palfry continued. 'You should hear him in the House when he's lashing the Opposition.'

  'I don't think I'd want to,' Tweed replied.

  0506

  She was tall and slim, even seated in the armchair facing Newman, who leant forward in his own chair, their knees almost touching. Clad in a black trouser suit, her jacket was tight enough to reveal her good figure. Her mane of jet-black hair draped over her shoulders. Newman looked up, interrupting his animated conversation with the visitor. He was standing up and the striking girl joined him, inches taller than Paula.

  'George told me a lady had brushed past him and come up after leaving a box of Fortnum & Mason chocolates on his desk,' Tweed said gruffly.

  'This is Eva Brand,' Newman said hastily. 'The niece of Drew Franklin, the columnist.'

  'Mr Tweed,' Eva Brand explained, her voice soft but with an underlying stronger timbre, 'you were pointed out to me by Drew at a party. He said you were the only man who could save Britain one day in a time of great peril.'

  'Did he?' Like Paula, Tweed was stripping off his coat. 'Anything he says - or writes - usually has a snide touch. I expect he was mocking me.'

  'No, he was very serious.' Paula was watching her warily. Eva's large dark eyes seemed to look through her as she assessed her. Eva extended her hand and Paula shook it, noting the strength in her shapely fingers. Tweed also accepted her handshake, but briefly, then went to sit behind his desk, gesturing for her to sit down. The stranger crossed

  6

  She was tall and slim, even seated in the armchair facing Newman, who leant forward in his own chair, their knees almost touching. Clad in a black trouser suit, her jacket was tight enough to reveal her good figure. Her mane of jet-black hair draped over her shoulders. Newman looked up, interrupting his animated conversation with the visitor. He was standing up and the striking girl joined him, inches taller than Paula.

  'George told me a lady had brushed past him and come up after leaving a box of Fortnum & Mason chocolates on his desk,' Tweed said gruffly.

  'This is Eva Brand,' Newman said hastily. 'The niece of Drew Franklin, the columnist.'

  'Mr Tweed,' Eva Brand explained, her voice soft but with an underlying stronger timbre, 'you were pointed out to me by Drew at a party. He said you were the only man who could save Britain one day in a time of great peril.'

  'Did he?' Like Paula, Tweed was stripping off his coat. 'Anything he says - or writes - usually has a snide touch. I expect he was mocking me.'

  'No, he was very serious.' Paula was watching her warily. Eva's large dark eyes seemed to look through her as she assessed her. Eva extended her hand and Paula shook it, noting the strength in her shapely fingers. Tweed also accepted her handshake, but briefly, then went to sit behind his desk, gesturing for her to sit down. The stranger crossed her long legs, clasped her hands in her lap as Paula went to her corner desk.

  'Mr Tweed, I'm sorry to gatecrash my way in but I've found that's the only way I can get quickly to a top person.'

  'So you don't hesitate to push your way in anywhere you want to go,' Tweed remarked gently.

  'No! Never! If it's important. And the reason I am here to see you is important.'

  You're pushy, Paula was thinking. I'll bet you went to one of the best-known boarding schools - Eva had a cultured voice. Probably ended up as Head Girl. Paula also realized that with her personality and looks, whenever Eva entered a roomful of people conversation would briefly stop. The men would ogle her, the women would spit inwardly.

  'Important to you or to me?' Tweed enquired, playing with his Carrier pen, another present from his staff.

  'Important to you . . .'

  'Does your uncle, Drew, know you've come here?' Tweed interjected.

  'Heavens, no!' Eva lifted her hands in horror at the idea. 'He'd have a fit. So I shan't tell him.'

  'Before you tell me what you think is so important I'd like to know a little more about you. Background, career, if any.'

  She sat up very straight. Newman couldn't take his eyes off her. From behind her word processor on her desk Monica glanced across at Paula, raised her eyes to heaven.

  'I was educated at Roedean, then Oxford. I know something about code-breaking — had a boyfriend who was in that area. I spent some time at Medfords Security Agency. That was a tough job - they asked me to get to know certain men, take them to bars and get them drunk so they'd talk. The trick was to get them chattering, providing secret information, then escape before the invitation to their flat.

  I once used my knee to get away from a persistent character. Do you get the gist?'

  'I think I do.' Tweed was smiling. 'A tough job, as you said.' He was careful not to look at Paula, who was gazing in astonishment. 'So why have you barged in here?'

  'Barged in!' Eva laughed. 'I like that.' She assumed her serious expression. 'Every now and again I drive up to Carpford, an odd village way up in the North Downs. I clear up the mess Drew likes living in. Dusting and so on. I make occasional visits when I know my uncle is in London. Would you believe it - Drew never notices. Well, a week ago I was in his place alone at night and I heard a motor-cycle coming. It stopped outside. I had my pistol, loaded, in my hand in no time. A Browning . . .'

  'A Browning?' Tweed enquired, concealing his surprise.

  'Yes, a .32. Surely you of all people must know about the weapon. I'm a member of a shooting club near the Thames. To continue, I watched from behind a gap in the curtains -watched this motor-cyclist carry an envelope to Drew's door and push it through the letter box. Then he roared off.'

  'What did he look like?'

  'Couldn't tell. Wore all the leather gear and a big helmet which completely concealed his face. Now, the envelope. It had no name or address on the outside. So, cheekily, I used a method for opening it I learned at Medfords - so you can later seal it and no one can tell it has been opened. I'd seen what was inside when the motor-cyclist came back. I stood to the side of the door with my Browning. He pushed open the flap of the letter-box and called out through the opening.'

  'Same chap?'

  'As far as I could tell. Again his machine was a Harley-Davidson. He spoke slowly and had a thick foreign accent. I decided that if he tried to break in I'd shoot him in the leg,' she said calmly.

  'Why in the leg?'

  'Then he could be interrogated later. He called out, "I delivered envelope wrong house. Push it back." I kept very quiet and he repeated the same words three times, then he gave up, rode away on his bike. Here it is.'

  She handed Tweed a sheet of paper. It was good-quality bond paper and drawn in pen was a skilful picture of a cathedral with a huge dome. Tweed looked at her.

  'St Paul's Cathedral,' she said. 'Very accurate. Good as a photograph.'

  'I agree. What do you make of it?'
/>   'The next target. This time in Britain. St Paul's is the supreme symbol of Christianity - which the fundamentalist Muslims want to destroy.'

  'You're reading an awful lot into one drawing.'

  'Am I?' Eva lifted her hand to push back a thick lock of hair away from her left eye. She had made this gesture several times. 'After the World Trade Center catastrophe in New York I asked Drew, who knows the Arabs, whether they really would be capable of planning such an intricate operation. He said it didn't really seem likely. Left it at that. I began to think about it, studying all the info I could get.'

  'You came to a conclusion?' Tweed enquired off-handedly.