by Colin Forbes
'Don't just stand there, Eva. You might as well come in and join the party. There was a time when women, if allowed into the system, occupied only junior positions. In those days they were clerks and pen-pushers. The system seemed to work more smoothly then.'
Eva had picked up a chair. She placed it next to Paula's, sat down, clasped her hands in her lap.
'A visitor from Whitehall has just informed me there is an air of panic abroad,' Tweed remarked.
Eva shifted slightly and nudged Paula. She was expressing appreciation that Tweed was covering for her. Warner sat up straight, glaring viciously at Tweed as he took hold of the directive from Downing Street, waved it in front of Tweed.
'You know what this is,' he rasped. 'I see copies have been sent to all heads of security services. Even to the MoD.' His voice rose, was savagely harsh. 'You think I'm going to put up with this absurd idea? It means I have to take my orders from you! Well, I'm not going to. It is the most outrageous document I have ever seen since entering government. Christ! I'm a senior member of the Cabinet. Also I'm in charge of security - or I was!' he shouted. 'I am going to phone the PM.'
'That is your privilege, Minister,' Tweed replied equably.
Paula frowned. She was taken aback. She had expected Tweed to thunder back. Especially after his combative mood at Park Crescent.
'I'm glad you appreciate that,' Warner commented, his voice several decibels lower.'
'Minister,' Tweed leaned forward, his manner calm, 'I was hoping - still believe you will agree - that we can cooperate in this desperate situation. I look forward to a state of collaboration between us. We do have a common enemy. With our combined forces we will defeat that enemy.'
Warner was taken aback. He removed his pince-nez, exposing his hawk-like nose. He took out a cloth, polished the pince-nez, perched them back on the bridge of his nose.
'There is a lot in what you have just said,' he agreed, his voice now normal, verging on the polite.
Paula suddenly caught on. Tweed was being very clever. Realizing Warner was worried about his position in the Cabinet, he had just been provided with the perfect way to present the development to his colleagues.
Tweed has explained to me the meaning of the document. He says the meaning of the document is to encourage collaboration between all the security services.
'May I make a suggestion about one way forward?' Tweed asked.
'Certainly, my dear chap. I am all ears.'
'My Whitehall visitor had heard a rumour that Tolliver is now head of Special Branch.'
'That is so. With Buller disappearing I had to appoint someone to run that vital service. Tolliver is very able.'
'For some time,' Tweed continued, 'Special Branch officers have worn a kind of uniform - camel-hair coats. So much so that villains recognize them. I suggest a large number of Special Branch officers flood the main areas of Central London. Buckingham Palace, St Paul's, Canary Wharf, along the Thames Embankment.'
'What a brilliant, idea!' Warner smiled, as always an insincere smirk. 'I'll get that organized the moment you leave.'
'Then there are communications,' Tweed went on. 'Whoever is planning this attack has to communicate. It's possible he does so with radio. You have a section which monitors certain radio transmissions. They could be asked to listen for unusually heavy traffic. You have code-breakers. One is sitting next to Miss Grey.'
'You are full of good ideas, even if we are already listening. But I will direct that section to listen for any unusually heavy traffic. Tweed, I think it's time for us to seal our pact with sherry.'
Tweed stood up. 'Thank you for the suggestion. Another time, perhaps. I have to get back to Park Crescent.'
'Of course. Eva will show you out. I must deal with your suggestions urgently . . .'
They had left the study. The door was closed when Eva moved close to Tweed. She squeezed his arm as she whispered.
'I can see even more now why you hold the job you do. I'd never have dreamt you could turn him round the way you did.'
'The first rule,' Tweed told her, 'is self-control. You can then adapt your tactics to whatever situation confronts you.'
'I'm still stunned . . .'
They had left the building and were walking to where Newman had parked his car when Paula squeezed Tweed's arm.
'I'm wondering how Marler will get on at Carpford.'
27
Martin Hogarth's bungalow was a luxurious establishment. The walls were partly made of stone and above this expensive pine planks faced the wall. The front door, massive, was made of heavy oak and had three Banham locks. Pinewood shutters were closed over slit-like windows. In the dark lights from inside filtered through the shutters. Marler hammered on the iron door knocker, continued hammering.
The sound of locks being turned. A blinding glare light over the door was switched on. The door opened and a man in his late thirties was framed in the light, a man holding a gun. A 7.63mm Mauser with a long barrel, magazine capable of holding ten rounds.
'Marler, SIS.'
He was holding up his identity folder open. It could be clearly seen in the glare light. The slim man wore a polo-necked sweater, green slacks. No shoes, his feet were clad in white socks.
'Could you please stop pointing that thing at me?' drawled Marler. 'Guns are dangerous.'
'Didn't you know,' the man sneered, 'we live in a dangerous world. You come making one helluva row knocking on my door after dark. I have no idea what may be waiting for me when I open the door.'
'You know now,' Marler said, tucking away his folder. 'So put the damned gun away. We need to talk.'
'By that,' the man continued sneering, 'you mean you need to talk. Doesn't mean I need any conversation.'
As he spoke he placed the Mauser on a table next to the door. He nodded, indicating Marler could come in - nodded as he might to a tradesman. His thick brown hair was carefully coiffeured and below a sharp nose he sported a trim moustache. Marler had already weighed him up as a con-man, consumed with his own vanity. He walked into an expensively furnished drawing-room. Shaded wall-lights. The walls were painted a pale green. There were framed pictures of girls wearing nothing except inviting smiles. It all fitted in with the personality of the owner.
There was another performance as all three locks on the door were closed. Marler took the opportunity to pick up the Mauser by the barrel, to extract the magazine, putting it in his pocket.
'Just in case we have a disagreement,' he explained, placing the weapon back on the table. 'You are Martin Hogarth?'
'You knew that before you started trying to kick the door down.'
'It could have been a neighbour.'
'Let's get one thing clear from the start. I've already had a visit from your lot. When I was with my brother, Billy, that tart you employ wormed her way in.'
Marler hit Martin. A hard swift blow on the meagre chin. Martin went over backwards, ended up on the deep pile carpet, one hand nursing the chin. His shifty eyes were full of venom as he slowly clambered to his feet.
'I'm reporting this to the Minister, Victor Warner,' he hissed. 'An unprovoked assault.'
'Do that. Waste of time. Don't come under his jurisdiction.' Marler's voice was calm, indifferent. 'But clean out that mouth of yours. Maybe a good job I emptied the Mauser? You look put out. While we're on the subject,
Miss Grey is a very professional woman, also a very decent one. Now, we'll talk.'
Marler perched himself on a silk-covered upright chair. As he did so Martin opened a cupboard, brought out a bottle of fine Scotch, poured himself a stiff one, swallowed it. He returned it to the cupboard without offering his guest a drink.
'You have motor-cycle couriers calling on you at dead of night,' Marler began. 'They bring large envelopes.'
'Nothing to do with me,' Martin snapped as he sprawled in an arm chair, legs splayed out on the carpet. 'They park their damned machines against my bungalow wall at the side. A ruddy nuisance.'
'So why not go out and tell them
to park their machines in Carp Lake?'
'I read the newspapers. Britain is as dangerous a place today as Afghanistan. They carry knives, not fussy about using them.'
'You've been to Afghanistan then?'
The shifty eyes flickered. Wandered about the room. Martin reached for his glass, realized it was empty.
'Good Lord no,' Martin replied after a few moments. 'Africa and Asia are full of savages. Trouble is we're letting the blighters in here. They should beat them up when they crawl in here and send them straight back . . .'
'How did you come to buy this bungalow?'
'What? Oh, saw an ad in The Times. Rented it, wasn't for purchase. Got it for five years. Rent's extortionate . . .'
'You were vetted by Pecksniff then?'
'Vetted! Don't like that word at all. I did pay one visit to the Dickensian old clot's office in the sewers . . .'
'Your Dickensian old clot has disappeared, probably murdered. Why?'
'Hold on, Sweetie.' Martin got up, fetched the Scotch, poured himself another stiff one. 'Cheers!' he said, raising the glass.
Marler ignored the insult as Martin emptied the glass. He sat very still while Martin sprawled again in his armchair, clutching his glass. The silence continued and Martin felt compelled to speak.
'Was there anything else?'
'Yes, I'm wondering why you chose this quiet isolated spot to live in. Not that it's quiet any more - not with four murders to its credit.'
The shifty eyes again began scanning the room. Almost as though its occupant was checking up to make sure nothing was missing since his visitor's arrival. Martin was clutching his glass tightly.
'Four murders?' he enquired eventually. 'You've lost me.'
'Let me help you.' Marler began counting on his fingers. 'We have Mrs Warner, gone missing. Mrs Gobble, ditto. Jasper Buller, Chief of Special Branch, ditto. Now Pecksniff, ditto. Chief Superintendent Buchanan of the Yard, a most experienced officer, now thinks all four were murdered. Why? They knew too much. Maybe about the New Age Development organization?'
Marler's barrage of interrogation was getting to Martin. He shifted restlessly in his chair. Withdrawing his sprawled legs, he sat up straight.
'I never knew any of these people.'
'You knew Pecksniff. You've just told me you met him. And maybe,' Marler went on, remembering what Paula had told him, 'you were worried about Mrs Gobble's high-powered telescope observing what you did, who came here.'
'Telescope? Sweetie, you've lost me again.'
'I think,' Marler decided, standing up, 'I have obtained the information I came for. I'll leave now if you'll kindly go through unlocking all those Banhams again.'
'Information?'
Marler made no reply as Martin went to the door, unlocked it. Opening it, he glared at Marler. 'Information? What information?'
'People never seem to know when they've talked too much.' Marler turned on the doorstep outside and smiled. 'I don't think we'll be calling on you again. Unless, of course, we come with an arrest warrant.'
His last view of Martin was of all the colour draining from his face. Soon as he's barred and bolted the place he'll run for the whisky bottle, he said to himself. A really well-worthwhile interrogation.
The entire team - except for Marler - was assembled in Tweed's office. There was a tense atmosphere as Beaurain walked in. Outside it was a clear, cold night. Beaurain rubbed his finger across his moustache as he sat down, then spoke, his manner grim.
'I think we have very little time left . . .'
'My sentiments also,' agreed Tweed.
'So,' Beaurain continued, 'I am now convinced the brain base of al-Qa'eda is located in Carpford. You disagree, Tweed?'
'No. I have come to that conclusion. Some very suspect people in that strange village.'
'So we must establish our own base there for surveillance of the inhabitants. I have just returned from there - bringing with me Billy Hogarth. I have persuaded him to loan me his bungalow. I've settled him in a small hotel in Bloomsbury and I am going to drive up to his bungalow tonight where I shall settle myself in secretly and watch.'
'I agree,' said Tweed. 'We must go over on to the offensive now. The key is in Carpford . . .'
'I'll come with you,' called out Paula. 'It needs at least two people to mount the death watch.'
'Death watch?' queried Harry.
'Yes. Four people have now disappeared and I don't think any of them are alive.'
The door opened and Marler, just returned from Carpford, walked in. His expression was bleak. He told them of his experience with Martin Hogarth. His tone was more clipped than usual as he concluded.
'Something not right about Martin Hogarth. In fact, something very wrong about him.'
He listened while Tweed explained Beaurain's decision. He had only one question.
'Can we trust Billy Hogarth?'
'Yes, we can,' Paula assured him. 'I had a long talk with him and he's not involved, I'm certain. As Marler said, the rotten apple in the barrel could be his brother, Martin.'
'I think there is more than one rotten apple,' Beaurain rasped.
'We must still keep an eye on Billy,' Tweed decided. 'Make sure he stays in the hotel. Pete, Paula will describe Billy to you. Your mission is to watch the hotel, make sure he stays there.'
'He could still use the phone to call someone,' Newman warned.
'No, he couldn't,' Beaurain to him. 'When I left the hotel I cut the main phone wire outside.'
Paula was describing Billy's appearance to Pete while Beaurain stood up. He began striding up and down the office.
'Think better when I'm moving.'
Picking up a blank pad off Paula's desk, he wrote down the address of the hotel. He added brief instructions how to find it. As Paula ended her description he handed the sheet to Pete.
'Marler,' Tweed ordered, 'I want you to contact every informant you can tonight to spread a rumour. Within days the army is moving into London. Whoever the mastermind may be, I want to rattle his cage.'
Pete had already left the office. He was followed by Marler. Newman frowned. The atmosphere in the office was growing more electric by the minute. This was what they all wanted. Action.
'During the night will Marler be able to find his informants?' Newman wondered.
'Best time,' Harry assured him, grinning. 'He has a string of call girls who make a powerful grapevine. They operate at night, if you didn't know.'
Paula was opening her case, which she had hauled from a cupboard, its contents ready for instant departure. Monica had dashed out of the office earlier. She returned later with a large canvas satchel, handed it to Beaurain.
'You'll find a flask of coffee to keep you both going. Plus a batch of sandwiches. Hope you like ham or cheese. Too bad if you don't. Also plenty of fruit.'
'When I was in Billy's place,' Paula piped up, 'I peeped into his kitchen through the open door. He has a cafetiere, cans of coffee, cans of beans, bread, butter - all spread out on a shelf under cupboards. We won't starve.'
Harry had also left the office earlier. He came back holding two large violin cases. He opened one, stood aside so Beaurain could see the contents. Beaurain smiled again. He had just called Monica 'the most wonderful woman in the world^, had hugged her, the satchel slung over his shoulder.
'Might come in useful,' Harry remarked. 'The other case has the same. You never know.'
Beaurain stared at the Uzi sub-machine gun resting in the violin case. Stacked alongside it were spare magazines. He lifted the weapon out, made certain adjustments, aimed it at the ceiling, pulled the trigger.
'Feels good.' He slapped Harry on the back. 'Thanks.'
'Time to get moving,' Paula said impatiently. 'We've got what we need - enough for a small war. I'll carry the second violin case. You've got your own case you brought with you, your violin which you play so well, I'm sure, and your satchel. So, what are we waiting for?'
'Keep me in touch,' Tweed called out as they rushe
d from his office.
'That leaves me,' Harry said, disgruntled.
'No, it doesn't,' Tweed rapped back. 'Your informants are different from Marler's. Prowl London, spread the rumour Marler is circulating.'
'See you. Some time . . .'
Harry was gone. Newman stood up, went to the clothes cupboard, took out a long black coat. He put it on and it almost reached his ankles. He asked Monica to fetch him another 'violin' case. He peered out of the window.