Cell (14 page)

'Sorry?'

'I chucked a smoke bomb inside his limo - after locking
his door. Doubt if he'll smoke a cigarette for months. Now,
how are you?'

'Shaken, but OK.'

'Park Crescent here we come.'

Arriving back at Tweed's office, they found him pacing,
unable to keep still. He ran forward to hug Paula while Monica, noticing her ashen face, hurried out to make tea.
Slipping out of her coat, Paula, in a state of shock, sagged into the chair behind her desk. Reaction had set in and she was trembling.

'What happened?' demanded Tweed.

Newman gave a brief but graphic report about the attack
outside the Ivy. Monica returned with a cup and saucer, planted it in front of Paula.

'Sip that,' she ordered. 'It's sweetened tea. Know you
don't like sugar but just get that inside you.' She watched
over Paula as she grasped the cup in both hands, leaning
over the saucer to take any spillage.

The door opened and Pete and Harry rushed in. Harry,
who was especially fond of Paula, went over to her and laid a hand on her shoulder. She had stopped trembling and had
finished her cup of tea. The colour had come back into her
face. She sat up straight and looked round at the men in the room.

'I want to thank you all for saving me from what I imagine
could have been a very unpleasant experience. What made
you suspicious, Tweed?'

'Call it sixth sense.'

'I wonder why they wanted me,' she mused.

'My guess,' Tweed told her, 'was they were after infor
mation about how far we'd got in our investigation.'

'Investigation into what?'

'Could have been several factors. What interests me is how they knew you were at the Ivy. One answer is Eva
Brand. Did she have a mobile?'

'She could have - in her handbag tucked by her chair.
But she'd have to have worked fast. It was only minutes after leaving the table before I walked outside.'

'A brief call could have been made in seconds,' Tweed
insisted. '"She's on her way out now."'

'On the other hand I'm sure I was followed in the cab
taking me there. By a motor-cyclist in black leather with a
huge helmet.'

Marler, standing against a wall when Paula and Newman
had arrived back, had remained silent. Now he
spoke.

'My bet is on Eva Brand. What sort of conversation did
you have with her over dinner?'

Paula recalled, word for word, what they had talked
about. Tweed frowned at one point. Paula saw the frown
and asked him what had struck him.

'Her reference to Milan, to speaking their language. Italy
keeps looming into the picture . . .' He fingered the piece of paper with the address Marler had given him. 'Marler,
tell us all about your experience with following Buller.'

They listened while Marler repeated the report he had
given Tweed earlier. He left nothing out. Paula had heard
it before but now she sat up very erect, waiting until
Marler waved a hand, indicating he'd finished. Harry had sat cross-legged on the floor. He whistled.

'The Finsbury Park mosque. That's the one where those
rats who belong to al-Qa'eda are supposed to be brainwashed and given their orders.'

'And,' Tweed emphasized, 'Milan keeps coming into the
picture. First, Buller is on his way there. He's a bit like you,
Paula - gets an idea and follows it up on his own. Now we have Eva Brand linked with Milan.' He checked his watch.
'Bob, get any information on Drew Franklin when you went
to the
Daily Nation?'

'Yes - and no. Met my pal, the sub-editor. Took him out
to a pub. He said Franklin isn't liked by the rest of the staff,
but they all admit his column is so brilliant and snide they
know a lot of their readers turn to it first. Doesn't talk to
anyone, gives the impression they are all members of a lower
class, that intellectually he's way above them, and shows it.
Has a London pad not far behind Eaton Square — I've got the address. Drives off up to Carpford to type his column.
Goes to a lot of parties in London - I suppose he's picking
up gossip. He goes abroad in January for six weeks. No one
knows where to. He only misses handing over the text of his
column for one week. Behind his back they nickname him
Snooty. Not a lot, but he seems a bit of a mystery man.'

'Paula, time for you to go home, get a good night's sleep
after the Ivy business. Beaurain is still trapped at Heathrow
- Security at Heathrow got an anonymous call that there
was a terrorist aboard his flight. Beaurain is marooned there
until they've checked everyone. He'll be here later tonight
so I'll wait.'

'So will I,' said Paula forcefully.

Half an hour later, Marler was looking out of the window
after pulling aside the curtain. Pete and Harry had earlier
left to get something to eat. Marler whistled and grinned as
he looked at Tweed.

'You're honoured. Prepare for a shock.'

'You'll never . . .' began Monica, who had answered the
phone. She cut off the rest of her remark after a certain look
from Tweed.

'You have a visitor,' she said quietly. 'Victor Warner,
Minister of Security, wants to see you urgently.'

'We know by now what he is,' growled Tweed. 'Ask him
up - by himself.'

'Arrived in a couple of black limos,' Marler reported. 'The
second one is crammed with camel-hair coat types. They've
jumped out, started parading round. Comedians . . .'

The door opened and Victor Warner, clad in a camel-
hair coat — presumably to disguise his identity during
the drive from Whitehall - dashed in, clutching a card
board-backed envelope. He sat in the armchair facing
Tweed.

'Thought it best to come over here. It's an emergency. We think we know the target - and who is behind all the
rumours.'

'That would be a step forward.'

Tweed became silent as Warner extracted a photograph from the envelope. He slapped it down in front of Tweed. His expression was grim, his manner disturbed.

'What would you say that is?' demanded Warner.

'It is a photo of Canary Wharf, the main tower block. It is easy to identify.'

'Now look on the back,' Warner snapped.

Tweed turned it over. Scrawled in an illiterate but read
able hand was one word.
Next?
Tweed raised his eyebrows,
looked at Warner.

'Where did this come from?'

'Bit of luck. In my position you need a bit of luck.
Learned that when I was with Medfords. A couple of
policemen in that area saw a man taking photos of the build
ing from different angles. They collared him, Buchanan
phoned me, sent the pics over by courier. Chap taking
the pictures is under arrest. A certain bigwig in the IRA.
Released from prison a couple of months ago.'

Marler had glided over, appeared behind Tweed's back. Casually he picked up the photo and headed for the door.
Warner swung round, furious.

'Where do you think you're taking that?'

'We have a chap on our staff who once worked at Canary
Wharf,' Marler lied glibly. 'He can confirm positively that
this is Canary Wharf.'

'Of course it is,' Warner roared. He stabbed a thick
finger as he went on. 'And I forbid you to make any
copies. Got it?'

Marler had gone. Tweed started doodling on a pad with
his pen. He pursed his lips, then asked the question as though the answer wasn't important.

'What do you know about the track record of this IRA
man, the bigwig?'

'Name is Tim O'Leary. Known to have been sent to the
Mid-East at one time to try and get collaboration - arms
- from groups out there. Speaks fluent Arabic. Believed to
have spent three months out there, although the timing is vague.'

'And he was openly photographing Canary Wharf, despite
the presence of two policemen?'

'Doubt if he'd noticed them. Probably thought if he took
pics openly he wouldn't look suspicious. Bit of luck the
police were there, spotted him.'

'So you think Canary Wharf is the next target of the Real
IRA mob?'

'That and maybe St Paul's Cathedral at the same time.
I have taken all precautions. Everyone who enters either
building is thoroughly searched. More than that . . .'
Warner was building up a head of steam. 'The RAF
have fighters flying non-stop with orders to shoot down
any airliner - even if crammed with passengers - if it enters
the non-flying exclusion zone we've organized. We'll be
ready for them if they come - on the ground or in the air.
The PM has - albeit reluctantly - backed me.'

Marler had returned with the photograph, now inside a transparent evidence envelope, placed it on Tweed's desk.
Warner glared at him, then spoke to Tweed.

'All this is confidential. I'd sooner he wasn't here. Nor that girl behind the word-processor.'

'Give us a few minutes alone,' Tweed said, thinking
confidentiality was a bit late in the day. He pounced when
Warner looked at Paula.

'Miss Grey stays. She knows as much as I do. If ever I
was put out of action she'd take over command.'

Paula was astounded, even a little embarrassed. She
had never before heard Tweed suggest elevating her to control of the entire organization. Warner nodded before
continuing.

'So, I think, Mr Tweed, you'll agree I have everything
under control. No need for you to concern yourself with this problem any more. And now, I had better love you and leave you,' he concluded, standing up.

'Thank you, Minister, for keeping me informed,' Tweed
replied very quietly.

Paula walked to the door, opened it for Warner to leave. He hadn't even the courtesy to thank her. Tweed asked her
to tell Monica and Marler. Newman, who had left without being asked to also came back.

A few minutes after Marler reported the two limos had
left on their way back to Whitehall the phone rang yet once
more. Monica reported that Jules Beaurain had just arrived.
Tweed pulled a face.

'Now we know what has held up the poor devil so long.
Warner's new security precautions at Heathrow. Tell him
to come up now.'

Paula was expecting the Belgian to look exhausted after
his long day, the irksomeness of hanging around forever at the airport. Instead, when he charged into the room he was
bursting with energy and smiling broadly. He dumped the
small case he had been carrying by the armchair, again sat
opposite Newman.