Cell

by Colin Forbes

  'Think you ought to see this. We can get it enlarged downstairs in minutes, get a clearer pic of the object below the hatch.' He looked at Newman. 'I think you showed extraordinary initiative and courage collecting this vital data. Thank God you disobeyed my orders. Now we are sure where the al-Qa'eda cell is.'

  He looked across to Marler.

  'Marler,' he explained to the others, 'has just returned from following Eva Brand. Anything to report, Marler?'

  'Yes and no . . .'

  Marler, drawing on his remarkable memory, proceeded to recall every word of the conversation he had heard between Palfry and Eva. Tweed sat very still, his eyes fixed on Marler until he had concluded.

  'Intriguing,' he began. 'And valuable. Sounds as though Mr Victor Warner is feeling the pressure. Maybe why he's glad to hide behind me. But two items could be significant. The Minister's trips off without any guards. And the fact that Palfry's tub-house, as Eva called it, can house up to twenty guests. I wonder. No signs of intimacy between the two of them?' he asked.

  'The reverse,' Marler told him. 'Eva dominated Palfry from the word go. Wasn't exactly polite.'

  'Another piece of the jigsaw slotted in.'

  'I read Paula's report on her ordeal at Carpford,' Buchanan interjected. 'Am I right,' he asked, turning to Paula, 'that when you escaped out of that horrible tunnel you saw a huge abandoned quarry? More to the point, you saw one big boulder tumble down from the crest, joining a whole shambles of fallen rocks?'

  'Yes, I did. The shambles, as you called it, was at least ten feet deep and covered a large area. A lot looked as though it had collapsed recently.'

  'At the moment,' Buchanan went on, 'we have four bodies which have disappeared in that area. Mrs Warner, Mrs Gobble, Jasper Buller of Special Branch and Pecksniff, the crooked solicitor. I say bodies because at this stage I fear none of them are still alive.'

  'You think they're buried under the quarry rock-fall?' suggested Paula. 'Then send a team to search there.'

  'I'd like to but there are obstacles. My enquiries show that a large area of that land, including the quarry, are the joint property of Victor Warner and Drew Franklin. Since I can't yet show probable cause for the search no legal figure will sign a search warrant.'

  'That's a curious arrangement,' said Tweed. 'I thought Drew rented his cube house. Yet you say he owns land.'

  'I know.' Buchanan shrugged. 'The transfer document drawn up by the New Age Development Corp must be complex. If we could ask Pecksniff we'd find out its terms. But Pecksniff is no longer available, to put it mildly.'

  'You know, Bob,' Paula said, staring hard at Newman, 'really we do need those aerial photos Airsight are supposed to be taking one day.'

  'Tomorrow,' Newman said with a grin. 'The outfit's owner, whom I've told you is the best man, flies over there shortly after dawn tomorrow, takes his pics and rushes them to us here.'

  'I hope,' Tweed intervened, 'he doesn't make a great song and dance when he flies over. I don't want suspicions aroused up there.'

  'I've already talked to him about that,' Newman assured him. 'He's clever. He'll take his shots when he first flies over, then he'll do a loop-the-loop manoeuvre before he pushes off. Anyone seeing him will assume he's a macho young pilot showing off.'

  'That should cover it,' Tweed agreed.

  'When I study those pics,' Paula remarked, 'I should be able to spot which house has the cellar where I was imprisoned.'

  Tweed stood up, began pacing the limited space left in his office. He talked as he paced.

  'We are so close to the moment when al-Qa'eda will launch its attack on our city. Tomorrow, I'm sure.'

  'Today,' Newman corrected. 'It's just after midnight.'

  Tweed was pacing when Buchanan stood up to leave. He kissed Paula on the cheek, said he must get back to the Yard.

  'I'll come down with you,' Tweed said. 'Don't argue . . .'

  At the bottom of the stairs he asked George to unlock the door to the visitors' room. Taking Buchanan by the arm, he ushered him inside, closed the door.

  'Secrecy is vital,' he said.

  'You have a plan to destroy al-Qa'eda, haven't you?' Buchanan suggested.

  'Yes. It will involve a lot of cooperation and perfect timing.'

  'Then I might as well tell you I have alerted the police anti-terrorist squad for an imminent operation. No details.'

  'I'd like you to station them on the right bank of the Thames. Between Albert Bridge and Waterloo Bridge. As many marksmen as you can muster. They can go there now in plain clothes and pick spots where they'll be concealed, but with a clear view of the river. Give you more later. Also, at 4 p.m. when it's nearly dark I want all the street lights on both sides of the river switched off . . .'

  'There'll be a riot. People will want to get home.'

  'You haven't heard the worst yet. Well before 4 p.m. I want all traffic diverted away from the river, the Embankment. I want traffic banned from crossing those bridges. You'll have to get cracking. They can drive down the Strand.'

  'I'll need a reason.'

  'Announce by policemen on foot that a major police exercise is being conducted. That it will last for several hours, duration unknown. That's only part of it. You and I must keep in the closest touch by secure communication.'

  'Is that all?' Buchanan asked cynically.

  'For the moment only, yes. I know the target. Strictly between us, I'm in touch with the SAS. That goes no further.'

  'Understood. I had better get cracking.'

  'Just before you leave, I've been in touch with the Home Secretary and got his blessing. Couldn't say anything else - he's had a copy of the PM's directive. And I'll be paying the PM a brief visit. I know he'll signal his agreement.'

  'Take good care of yourself, Tweed. I smell great danger.'

  Tweed ran up the stairs, entered his office, stood behind his desk. He waited while everyone watched him.

  'I'll explain the plan to wipe out the al-Qa'eda cell at 3 a.m. So everyone must be back here by then. Paula, have you ever seen all six barges coming upriver to the power station? You get about a lot.'

  'Yes, I have, it's like a huge convoy.'

  'Explain in more detail. The distance between the barges.'

  'Not more than a hundred yards, at a guess. It really is an impressive sight. I've also seen them going downriver.'

  'Same formation?'

  'I'd say the distance between one vessel and the next is greater. Two hundred yards. Another guess.'

  'Close enough, thank you. Now, Nield, drive to where Harry is looking after Billy Hogarth. Between you, get him out of bed, bring him back here. Monica, he can sleep in the camp bed I use in that cupboard. When you've settled him lock this office door, keep the key. Any trouble with him - unlikely - call on George for help. Give him coffee or tea to drink. No alcohol. I don't think he'll want any -he pretends to be drunk according to Paula, to get rid of his brother, Martin. Send out to the deli for breakfast and lunch. The official line for Billy is he's being moved to a safer place . . .'

  'Anything when we get back?' asked Nield, putting on his windcheater.

  'Yes. Both of you go to the basement, assemble an armoury. Sub-machine guns, tons of ammo, explosive grenades, plenty of night-glasses, personal water canisters, hand-guns to your choice, dark clothing with large SIS patches on the backs and tear-gas bombs. If I think of anything else I'll let you know.'

  'I'm off,' said Nield and disappeared.

  'Forget sleep,' Tweed continued. 'There won't be any. Newman, drive up to Carpford, knock on all the doors, wake them up if necessary. I want to know who is up there. And while you're there, check every rooftop. You're looking for elevated radio masts. Then report back to me here. Urgent.'

  'On my way,' Newman replied and left.

  The phone rang. Monica took the call, gestured to Tweed.

  'Buchanan's back, says he won't keep you a minute.'

  'Get him up here . . .' .

  'I forgot to show you somet
hing,' Buchanan said, the moment he was in the room. 'Only take a tick. I have a photo sent to me from New York after the first abortive attempt to bring down the World Trade Center which didn't work.'

  'I remember that incident.'

  Buchanan placed a photograph on Tweed's desk. Tweed stared. Then he beckoned Paula and Beaurain to come and look. Paula gasped.

  'My God, it's the same thing.'

  Tweed opened a drawer, took out the sketch Beaurain had drawn on Mrs Wharton's description of the machine she'd seen six men carry from van to motorized trolley. The photograph of the device was the exact replica of Beaurain's drawing.

  'Giuliani sent a note with this,' Buchanan explained. 'He said this one didn't detonate. They took it to pieces. It was packed with Semtex and another explosive which would have increased its power. So now you know what you're up against. Must dash . . .'

  'What's the target?' Paula asked.

  'I remember this first attempt,' Tweed replied. 'They planned to destroy the ground struts holding up the buildings. It did not work when the other devices were detonated, but it made a helluva mess. I can use this photograph.'

  'What's the target?' Paula repeated.

  'Wait until the 3 a.m. meeting here.'

  'I guessed you'd say that.'

  Tweed suddenly frowned. 'I could have made a mistake. Try and delay Newman from leaving . . .'

  He had hardly finished speaking when Paula flew out of the door and down the stairs. George saw her coming, had the front door unlocked and open. She ran down the steps, saw Newman just taking off in his car. She ran like mad, ran in front of him. He braked suddenly, swore, switched off, dived out.

  'You idiot! I could have run you down . . .'

  'Shut up! You're needed upstairs . . .'

  'Sorry, Bob,' Tweed said as a flushed Newman dashed in, followed by Paula. 'But I may need you here before you go up to the village.'

  'Anything I can do?' Beaurain asked with a smile.

  'Yes. It would help me if you both went down to the waiting-room while I make a highly confidential call. Not my idea.'

  'A chopper's landing in Regent's Park,' Paula reported, looking out of a window. 'That's odd. Looks like a Sikorsky.'

  'Let me make this vital phone-call,' Tweed said after checking his watch. 'I'll call you all up when I've dealt with this.'

  Paula left, followed by Monica, Beaurain and Newman. Now Tweed had the office to himself. He pressed the numbers from memory, the numbers which would put him through to SAS HQ at Hereford. A bored voice answered.

  'Yes.'

  'Tweed here. Able is expecting me to call now.'

  'Never heard of the name. Hang on . . .'

  'Who is this?' a crisp well-educated voice asked.

  'Tweed, SIS.'

  'Codeword?'

  'Pagoda.'

  'Fire away.'

  'I need a contact from you here. I cannot discuss this on the phone.'

  The phone made a strange noise. Tweed frowned, decided to check.

  'There's a strange noise on the phone.'

  'That's a system to ensure we cannot have the line tapped.'

  'I can tell you now. Be on red alert.'

  'I see,' Able replied calmly. 'As to the contact, we foresaw you'd need one. He'll arrive any moment. You will confer with him alone. Unless Robert Newman is available. He can sit in.'

  'What about Beaurain?' Tweed spelt the name.

  'Christian name, please.'

  'Jules Beaurain . . .'

  'His credentials, please.'

  'Former chief of the Brussels anti-terrorist squad. Later he was Commissaire of Brussels police.'

  'We know him. He can sit in with Newman. No one else.'

  'Understood.'

  'Target known?'

  'Yes. Central London. Will be precise with contact. Zero hour is today. Probably after four in the afternoon.'

  'Thank you, sir. Good luck, Mr Tweed . . .'

  Switching off all the lights, Tweed went to the window and pulled a curtain aside a few inches. A tall man was walking out of the park from the direction where the Sikorsky had landed. Switching on the lights again, Tweed sat at his desk, called George.

  'Ask Newman and Beaurain to come up immediately. Not Paula. Give her my apologies. Tell her I had no option.'

  The door opened and Newman walked in, followed by Beaurain. Tweed asked them to sit down, then he gave them the news.

  'A contact from the SAS is due to arrive any moment. The commander at Hereford gave permission for you both to be present while I outline the plan of attack. Ours, that is.'

  'I'm surprised,' Newman replied. 'I know I did the course when I was writing an article on the SAS . . .'

  He stopped as Monica called him on the phone. He listened as she spoke.

  'George says a very suspicious character is asking for you. He's down here now.'

  'Ask him to come up, Monica. Please join Paula in the visitors' room . . .'

  The door was opened by George, who ushered in a very tall man. He was dressed in civilian clothes and a scarf concealed most of his face, leaving his mouth exposed. He stared quickly at everyone in the room.

  'I guess you're Mr Tweed,' he said approaching the desk. 'You are expecting me.' He held out an identity folder.

  'Sarge!' Newman had jumped up. 'Recognize your voice. You put me through hell on that training course.'

  'Sarge also trained me,' said Beaurain, standing up, holding out his hand. 'Welcome.'

  'Maybe we should start right away,' replied Sarge, occupying the armchair Tweed had gestured to.

  40

  Before beginning, Tweed apologized to Sarge, told him he had brief vital instructions to give, left the office. He ran down and entered the visitors' room. Paula, Marler and Monica were seated at the bare wooden table, drinking coffee. Tweed spoke rapidly.

  'You both heard the orders I gave to Newman to drive to Carpford, to check who is there. Since Newman is occupied upstairs I want you, Marler, to take his place. Paula, go with him. Don't forget to check the rooftops for an elevated aerial or mast. Then get back to report to me. Urgently . . .'

  He returned to his office, sat down behind his desk. He began explaining the situation. Sarge listened without saying a word. Tweed showed him a detailed map of the Thames area, pointed out the power station, St Jude's Hospital.

  He showed Sarge Beaurain's drawing of the device, then the photo from Mayor Giuliani Buchanan had left with him, the photos Newman had taken from the hospital of the wharf. Mackie, the most brilliant boffin in the basement, had since provided blow-ups of Newman's photos. Sarge was most interested in the pic Newman had taken looking down inside the main hatch.

  'Took that one,' Newman said, speaking for the first time, 'as the barge tilted towards me. A big police launch moving upriver had sent out a large bow wave, causing the tilt. The device you can now see clearly placed below the hatch is like the photo Giuliani sent from New York.'

  Sarge nodded his agreement. Tweed explained the measures being taken by Buchanan along the Embankment later. He covered all the information they had obtained, his plan for eliminating the al-Qa'eda cell. Sarge nodded again. He had taken no notes.

  When the time came for him to leave he asked for all the photos and Beaurain's drawing, together with Tweed's map. He put them inside the briefcase he'd been carrying - more cover as a businessman. He told them the SAS unit would number about thirty, got up to leave. 'We should meet here again. Midday? Good.' Then he left, after shaking hands.

  41

  Paula swore to herself as Marler drove over the crest into Carpford. A dense fog blotted out the village. She navigated as he drove very slowly, partly because of the fog and partly to make as little noise as possible.

  'You see the lake?' she began.

  'I do. Driving any faster and we'd have been in it.'

  'Follow the road to the left. We'll start with Martin Hogarth's bungalow. I'm sure he'll be so glad to see us . . .'

  Marler dr
ove the car off the road on to the open field when he saw the dim outline of the bungalow. Switching everything off, he followed her towards the entrance. He gripped her by the arm, stopped her, whispered.

  'He's up. Glow of light from between the shutters closed over the windows.'