by Colin Forbes
'Hadn't you better tell them about the attempt to kill you?' suggested Paula.
'Thanks to you they didn't succeed . . .' He briefly explained the incident at Hyde Park Corner. Newman reacted instantly.
'From now on you don't go anywhere without an armed guard.'
'We'll see about that. . .'
'No!' Newman was fierce. 'We won't see. That's how we'll proceed . . .'
'If you'll just let me continue. Al-Qa'eda is the menace, a formidable one. So what don't we know? Just about damn-all.' The hand slapped the desk again. 'We don't know the target in London, we don't know where the cell is located, we don't know who the mastermind is . . .'
'What about Carpford?' Nield interjected.
'If I may continue. At Carpford there isn't, so far as I know, sufficient space to hide between twenty and thirty brainwashed killers . . .'
'We could check that out,' Newman interjected. 'Today I bumped into a friend of mine who runs Airsight. An outfit with light aircraft equipped with high-power cameras. Used by estate agents to get an aerial view of an area with rich properties. He's also used confidentially by the MoD . . .'
'Then get him to fly over Carpford tomorrow and take a lot of shots. Weather forecast is very good.'
'No can do tomorrow. He was on his way to Eurostar for a two-day trip to Paris . . .'
'Then book him for the day after he gets back, for Heaven's sake. From now on I want calculated action!' Tweed stared round, making sure he had everyone's close attention. 'Now, the other night I stayed up imagining I was the mastermind. How would I do the job? What would I aim for? Maximum casualties - scores? No. Hundreds or thousands of dead bodies. A spectacular. But don't anyone mention St Paul's or Canary Wharf. Do that and I'll throw the book at them . . .'
'Smoke and mirrors, as the Americans say,' Beaurain spoke for the first time. 'Decoys, as I said. To divert our attention from the real target.'
'So we don't know anything,' Paula remarked.
'Actually we do.' Tweed's mood became relaxed. 'There are some strange relationships we've discovered. Martin and Billy Hogarth, up at Carpford, are brothers, who apparently hate each other. They are cousins of Drew Franklin, a man we really know nothing about. Then there is Eva Brand, niece of Drew Franklin. A ring is beginning to form. Eva is also a companion of Peregrine Palfry. Furthermore we find she knows Victor Warner well enough to be welcome in his house. The ring widens . . .'
'May I tell you something?' Monica suggested quietly.
'By all means.' Tweed smiled. 'Go ahead.'
'The dossier I've drawn up on her confirms what she told us when she appeared here out of the blue. Educated at Roedean, went on to Oxford, studied languages — French, Spanish and Arabic. While there her mother was killed in a car crash on the M25. You see, this is new data. Left Oxford and then there is a strange two-year gap. Talked to her closest girlfriend and she had no idea where Eva was during those two years. Reappeared in London, joined Medfords, which we know from what she said . . .'
'What about her father?'
'The second info gap. Nobody seems to know who he was, what he did. A girlfriend at Medfords told me she never talked about him. I ran out of contacts.'
'A mystery lady,' Tweed commented. 'Missing for two years and no trace of a father. What about money?'
'I was coming to that. When her mother died she left Eva half a million pounds. The mother came from a rich family.'
'Hence her liking for good restaurants . . .'
He stopped speaking as the phone rang. Monica answered, gave the phone to Tweed.
'It's Eva Brand on the phone . . .'
'Tweed here. I'm looking forward to our dinner together tomorrow night.'
'That's why I'm phoning,' the soft voice replied. 'Could I ask for a great favour? Could we dine tonight at seven? I do hope I'm not being a nuisance. Something cropped up for tomorrow - a friend from abroad.'
'That would be quite convenient. But instead of the Ivy I'd like you to join me at Santini's. Do you know it? It has a terrace extending out over the Thames.'
'Super! I haven't been there for ages. I could meet you there. Same time suit you?'
'Seven at Santini's. Take care . . .'
He told the others of the change in his arrangements. His expression hardened. 'While I'm having dinner with Eva you will all be very active. We need positive information about the main players in this drama. I no longer mind if the people you'll be tracking know they're being followed. It will put pressure on them. Under pressure people crack — or make a mistake. Newman, you wait outside the Daily Nation offices. Your target is Drew Franklin. You said he works late. Take one of those advanced non-flash cameras, photograph anyone he meets.'
'He could recognize me.'
'So much the better. Pressure. Marler, go down to Whitehall. Follow Peregrine Palfry. Same instructions as I gave Newman. Harry, you track Pecksniff. First phone him, ask him which estate agent handled the property transactions at Carpford. Then go and park near his office until he emerges. The same instructions I've already given. Pete, you go and park near Buller's place in Pimlico. Marler can give you the address.'
'But,' Paula objected, 'Buller has disappeared, his car found abandoned on the way to Carpford.'
'And,' Tweed told her, 'what would be the way to pretend to vanish? To leave your car where Buller's was found. By arrangement someone else picks him up, returns him to Pimlico.'
'I suppose so,' she replied. 'Two things bother me a lot - the two missing years in Eva's life. The impossibility of finding anything out about her father.'
'So, as I'm dining with her tonight, maybe I can solve the mysteries . . .'
'You also mentioned earlier the possibility of a ring being located at Carpford - presumably a ring controlling the al-Qa'eda cell. Could all of them at Carpford be in it?'
'An intriguing theory.'
'One thing you've overlooked,' said Beaurain. 'You'll be driving across London alone to get to Santini's. Already there's been one attempt to kill you. You'll be leaving here about 6.30 p.m. I imagine? Good. I'll call a girlfriend and take her out to dinner. At Santini's. I'll be close behind you during the drive there.'
'If you insist.'
'I do.'
Ali, who passed under the name of Adam, was inside the public phone-box when it began ringing. He glanced round. A deserted side street in London.
'Who is this?' he asked in English.
'Your name?' the distorted voice demanded.
'Ali here.'
'Abdullah speaking. I sense that Tweed is becoming dangerous. What went wrong?'
'Mehmet came close to shooting him at Hyde Park Corner. But the girl travelling with Tweed shot Mehmet before he could fire. Her bullet smashed Mehmet's hand. The police arrived. Mehmet is now being treated at St Thomas's Hospital.'
'Then send someone there, disguised as a doctor, to kill him. You should have thought of that yourself. Shut up! I haven't finished. Get someone else to kill Tweed immediately. Is the equipment in place now?'
'Up to a point. It has to be transferred to its ultimate site. Don't push me on that. London is crawling with the police.
You must leave it to me. The last small van with what it was carrying has arrived.'
'Kill Tweed. Make it look like an accident . . .' Once again Abdullah broke the connection without warning. Ali, who spoke such perfect English he might have been an Englishman, swore, in good old-fashioned Anglo-Saxon.
The monster truck of the type supermarkets use to transport supplies was parked at the edge of Park Crescent nearest to Euston. A red triangle a short distance from its rear warned drivers to steer clear. The truck was hauled by a cab attached to the main vehicle. The driver wore a floppy cap pulled well down, an old leather jacket and a pair of worn denims. He was watching the entrance to SIS HQ.
He had earlier studied a photograph taken of Tweed. It had cost Abdullah a small fortune to obtain the print from a sleazy man who specialized in taking pictures o
f important people. Most of his income came from private detectives — hired to watch a man or a woman suspected by their partner of playing the field.
The driver had a small pair of night binoculars looped round his neck. The binoculars were hidden inside the leather jacket. Whenever anyone left the building he checked them with his binoculars. Several men had already left but no one who looked like Tweed.
As he had expected, a patrol car had pulled up because he was a nuisance to other traffic. He had waited until one of the officers got out of the car and asked what was the problem.
'A little trouble, Officer, with engine. Fixed now. Will drive away in minutes.'
'See that you do.'
The officer was tired. So he failed to notice that the typically dressed driver spoke English with a faint accent. Minutes later Tweed emerged, climbed behind the wheel of his car. The driver climbed swiftly back up into his cab, revved up the engine, drove forward slowly. He increased speed as Tweed headed towards Baker Street. With the weight of his juggernaut he would crush Tweed's car flat. The body would be unrecognizable.
22
Harry Butler was the last to leave on the mission Tweed had given him - to watch Pecksniff's office. Tweed was amused as he listened to Harry phoning the solicitor.
'That's Pecksniff, isn't it?'
'Yes. Who is this?'
'I called on you. We had a nice little chat about Carpford. Remember me?'
'Yes. Unfortunately. What is it now? I still have a lot of work to get through.'
'Mr Pecksniff, one question I overlooked. I'm sure you won't mind answering. If you feel inhibited I can always pop down now in the car . . .'
'What is the question?' The. voice quavered.
'You said you never handled the transaction for Victor Warner's purchase of that chunk of land New Age overlooked. But what about the legal junk when you rent a place? Who dealt with that?'
'I did, of course. No outside agent was involved.'
'See you . . .'
Before he put down the phone Harry thought he heard a choking protest. He grinned, told Tweed what Pecksniff had said.
'Something not right about that village,' Tweed remarked as he put on his raincoat. 'I'm off now for dinner with Eva . . .'
Outside, he paused under the nearby street lamp to pull up the collar. Getting into his car he drove to the end of the Crescent, noticed there was very little traffic as he turned left towards Baker Street. It was bitterly cold. He guessed most commuters had left for home early.
In his rear-view mirror he noticed a juggernaut coming up behind him. Too big for the roads, he thought. One of the really big jobs with a cab hauling its immense load. He'd seen them take half a minute to negotiate a sharp bend, holding up all the traffic behind them. He wondered how many tons the leviathan weighed. Too many.
The lumbering giant had picked up speed, was almost on his tail, A situation he always disliked. If he had to make an emergency stop, would the brute pull up in time? He doubted it. He drove faster to get away from it. The juggernaut driver also increased speed. Idiot! Tweed pressed his foot down.
Inside his Audi with the souped-up engine, Beaurain sat with his girlfriend, Sally, parked in the shadows of Park Crescent. He had only known her for a month and already decided she was high on good looks and low on intellect. He knew he'd soon be bored with her.
The advantage was she had a cultured voice and a smart — if not daring — dress sense. She would fit in at Santini's. She fiddled in her evening handbag, produced a cigarette case, perched a cigarette in her mouth.
'Don't light that, please,' he requested mildly.
'Oh, I see. I'm stuck with one of those non-smoking fanatics.'
'Actually, no. I do smoke. But never in a car. Smoke can get in a driver's eyes at just the wrong moment.'
'Well, let's get moving. I'm hungry.'
'So am I. We don't want to be first in the restaurant. You won't be able to make a grand entrance,' he said with a wry smile.
'I suppose you've got a point, Jules.'
Earlier Beaurain had noticed the juggernaut parked with its cab protruding. He had also noticed the binoculars used by the driver whenever anyone left the SIS entrance. Then Tweed came out, got into his car, drove off. Beaurain started his own engine and Sally, who had been tapping her varnished fingers on her bag, let out a sigh of relief.
'At long last.'
Beaurain timed it so the Audi emerged from the Crescent just as the juggernaut drove past towards Baker Street. He sat on its tail. At a curve he saw that Tweed had increased his speed. The juggernaut driver did the same thing. The lumbering brute was almost touching Tweed's boot. Tweed went faster. The juggernaut driver revved up like mad.
Beaurain knew now he was going to ram Tweed. He dropped back. Ahead was a junction, no other traffic. To the left reared a new office building site, festooned with scaffolding rising high up. No workmen - they had all gone home. Beaurain started overtaking the juggernaut, honking his horn non-stop. The driver glared down. For a moment there was a wide gap as Tweed pressed his foot down again. The driver revved up to high speed.
Beaurain was ahead of him. He signalled left, cut in front of the juggernaut, missing him by inches. The driver panicked, swung his wheel to the left to avoid hitting the wrong target. Then he screamed.
The massive building site was rushing towards him. His hands slipped on the wheel, covered with the sweat of fear. The cab had been jerked round too suddenly. Behind it the huge load pushed it forward. It slammed at speed into the maze of scaffolding, rushed on, crashing into a huge concrete wall. The cab concertina'd, was squashed into less than half its normal size, stopped. Deathly silence.
'What happened?' Sally asked in her dumb voice.
'Truck skidded,' Beaurain said calmly, driving on. 'I saw the driver climbing down out of his cab,' he lied.
23
'I've decided to drive up to Carpford,' Paula announced.
'Tweed wouldn't sanction that,' Monica burst out, appalled. 'It's dark. There's no one left to come with you. That is just about the most dangerous thing you could do.'
'He sanctioned my going to Italy.' Paula was feeling restless. As she spoke she slipped on her wool-lined windcheater. She was also clad in warm jeans. She put on her knee-length boots as she went on talking. 'The evening is a perfect time to interview people, to catch them off guard.'
'Beaurain was with you when you went to Italy,' Monica protested.
'True. But Jules isn't available, is he?'
She unlocked a drawer, took out her Beretta 6.35mm automatic. Empty, it weighed only ten ounces and was about four-and-a-half inches long. She checked to make sure it was unloaded, slid in a full magazine, put a spare in the windcheater pocket. The gun slipped down easily inside her spacious boot. A small sheathed knife slid down inside the other boot. And she had her Browning inside the special pocket in her shoulder bag.
'I could phone Tweed at Santini's, get his opinion,' Monica persisted.
'Don't you dare!'
The icy cold hit her face when she left and climbed inside her car. The heater soon warmed up the interior as she drove towards Baker Street. She didn't expect everyone to be at home in the village but some of them never seemed to leave it. Then a barrier stopped her with a diversion sign.
She could see most of a juggernaut protruding from a building in the course of construction. A policeman she happened to know leaned down as she lowered the window.
'That doesn't look nice,' she said. 'Any casualties?'
'The driver inside the cab. I don't think we're going to find much of him left.' He coughed, feeling he'd said too much. 'Don't quote me, Miss Grey.'
'I've already forgotten what you said, John.'
She gave him a smile as she swung down the diversion. Soon she was racing down the A3, just inside the speed limit. No other traffic. A ghostly moon shone on the frosted fields. She was pleased to be on her own for once. Now she could handle things her way.
She had crossed the first Down, swept along the steep hill beyond, when she paused by the inn on the main road, the inn where Buller's car had been found abandoned. What the devil was going on? she wondered as she turned off up the steep, twisting road up into the remote Downs. She felt justified in what she was doing. Tweed had emphasized he thought little time was left before London was subjected to a catastrophic attack.