Cell (21 page)

'I did. London is the target. For the next al-Qa'eda spectacular. Atrocity would be a better word.'

'So Mario Murano came up trumps?'

'He did not.' He thanked Monica for the large cup of
coffee she placed close to him on the desk. Tweed waited
while he drank half the cup. 'No,' he continued, 'Murano
was at pains to tell me nothing. Quite different from when
I paid him a visit about something else six months ago. He
was also very nervous. Couldn't wait to get rid of me.'

'Yet you come back with disturbing information.'

'That's right.' Buller emptied his cup and accepted
Monica's offer of a refill. 'After leaving Murano,' he
continued, 'I contacted another source. Ex-member of
the carabinieri, which, as you know, is the police under
army control. He had a high rank but couldn't stand
the corruption. He resigned, set up his own investiga
tion agency. One of his clever men infiltrated al-Qa'eda, second-in-command of their huge base in Milan. Got next
to him, found he was bitter - his American wife had
been inside the North Tower on September 11 when
the plane hit it. He spilt his guts about the base moving
to Britain since the next major target was London. The
informant spoke English as well as Arabic. Shortly after
telling his story his body ended up on a railway line.
Police found it, dragged it clear minutes before the Rome
express arrived. The autopsy showed the dead informant had swallowed a cyanide pill — probably just before he
was tortured. Which makes the data he gave horribly
reliable.'

'Poor devil,' Marler interjected.

'Are you passing this on to the Minister for Security?' asked Tweed.

'You must be joking,' Buller snapped. 'What use is he?
He's absorbed in the idea that a Colombian drug cartel is
the menace.'

'This is grimly convincing,' Tweed said reflectively.

'My next follow-up,' Buller went on, 'is to go up to
that suspicious village, Carpford. I'll interview everyone
up there even if I have to drag them out of bed. There
may be very little time left.'

'Go up when?'

'Tonight.'

Buller had drunk all the second cup of coffee. He stood
up, put on his raincoat, gazed at Tweed. 'No time like the
present.'

'You could be walking into something,' Tweed warned.
'So take Marler with you.'

'I know you're tops,' Buller said, looking at Marler.
'But on something like this I operate best on my own.
No offence.'

'None taken,' Marler replied.

When Buller had left Tweed began pacing the office
swiftly. His expression was grave. So was the tone of his voice when he spoke.

'I don't like this. Don't like it one bit.'

'You mean the awful news he brought us?' Monica
suggested.

'That, of course. But also the idea of Buller driving up
to Carpford by himself in the dark. Mind you, he can look after himself.'

'You hope,' Marler commented.

Within minutes Marler's mobile was ringing. He answered,
then spoke to Tweed.

'It's Roy Buchanan. He's on his way here by car. Wants
a word . . .'

'Yes Roy,' Tweed said after grasping the mobile. 'Before
you get here I have news - if this wretched mobile is safe.'

'Yours or mine?' Buchanan snapped.

'I have to assume this one - belongs to Marler - is secure.
It's a new model he pinched from somewhere.'

'Probably same as the new one I'm using. Latest news
from Victor Warner's lot is he's convinced the Mafia is
bringing in men to establish gambling casinos - which will
be distribution centres for hard drugs. In cooperation with
the Colombia mob.'

'He should be sacked, the idiot. Are you near me?'

'Could be. In ten minutes.'

'Get over here then. There's a major new development I won't reveal over the phone.'

He handed the mobile back to Marler, began pacing
again. Monica had the impression he couldn't sit still. From
the look on his face his brain was churning full power.

'The major new development being Buller,' Marler
remarked.

'Yes. But when I spent time at my flat yesterday I couldn't
sleep. I was conducting a major exercise. Imagining myself
as the man controlling al-Qa'eda. What would I go for
to terrify London? One thing I decided was essential. Maximum number of casualties.'

Buchanan arrived about an hour later, which was much
longer than Tweed had expected. He was also clad in a green oilskin. Tweed stared at him.

'Going fishing?'

'You could say that. Actually it keeps me warm, and
outside it's an arctic night. I'm furious with Warner. He's wasting so much manpower.'

'And how is he doing that? Not that I'm surprised.'

'He's still fixated on that drawing of St Paul's. He
has heaven knows how many policemen at the entrance,
checking everyone who wants to go into the place. On top of that he has a posse of detectives inside in plain clothes,
pretending to be worshippers.'

'He's covering his backside - on the remote possibility
the target is St Paul's.'

'That's only a part of it,' Buchanan fumed. 'He has more
men at all entrances to Canary Wharf. You can imagine the
reaction of the hundreds who work there. They're stopped
and made to wait while they're searched and anything they
happen to be carrying is examined. He even has marksmen
at the top of the building complex. Anything to tell me?'

'Yes . . .' Tweed recalled everything Jasper Duller had
told him. Buchanan frowned as he listened. He said nothing
until Tweed had concluded his report.

'Well, if he thinks it's useless to inform Warner we can
forget about our so-called Minister for Home Security. I
don't like the idea of him driving up there on his own
at night.'

'He refused to let Marler go with him.'

'Don't blame him,' Marler interjected. 'If I was in his position I'd have wanted to go on my own.'

'You'll have to excuse me now,' Buchanan said, heading
for the door. 'I've got a job to do.' He turned round before
he left. 'Al-Qa'eda. That sends shivers up my spine . . .'

Monica chewed the end of her pencil when they were alone. 'I noticed Buchanan was unusually secretive. Didn't
give us a clue as to what job he was talking about.'

'I noticed that,' Tweed agreed. 'It's late, if anyone wants
to go home. I'm staying.'

The phone rang. It was Beaurain. He sounded abrupt
when he spoke to Tweed.

'I've arrived back from Italy with Paula. Now we're going
to be here at Heathrow for God knows how long. Heavy
security checks.'

'I'll wait for you however long it takes.'

He told Monica and Marler the gist of Beaurain's mes
sage. They said they'd wait too. The grim news came in
just before Beaurain arrived with Paula.

'Roy here. Near Carpford. Buller has disappeared.' 'What do you mean? What about his car?' 'I checked with Special Branch HQ. A blue Ford. They
gave me the plate number. Found parked by the side
of a small inn on the main road before you turn off
to Carpford. The key was in the ignition. No sign of
a struggle or blood inside the Ford. Buller has vanished
without trace.'

'Isn't it time we dragged Carp Lake?'

'Which is exactly what we're doing now. Big team. Seven
divers, whole lake lit up by flashlights - searchlights, I mean.
One of the locals is kicking up.'

'Which one?'

'Drew Franklin. Says we'll kill the carp. I ask you. Lord
knows what we're going to find before we're
through. Three
bodies?'

19

'Buchanan expects to find three bodies.'

Tweed was saying this when the door opened and
Beaurain walked in with Paula. She had caught what
Tweed had just said to Monica and Marler.

'What three bodies?' she wanted to know. 'Whose bodies?'

They both looked travel-stained. Tweed thought Paula
looked fresher than the Belgian. As she sat behind her desk
she stared at Tweed, her voice demanding.

'Whose bodies?' she repeated.

'I'm afraid Mrs Gobble has also vanished.'

Monica offered to get coffee and they both thanked her and agreed they needed it. Tweed sat back in his chair and continued talking. He spoke rapidly but it still took time to
relate the arrival of Jasper Buller, what he had told about his
trip to Italy, his determination to drive up to Carpford by
himself. Then he recalled for them Buchanan's brief visit,
what he had said, his anxiety about Buller driving up to
Carpford on his own. He paused.

'A few minutes ago Buchanan phoned me from the Carpford area . . .' He concluded by reporting the gist of
the superintendent's much later phone call, that Buller had
disappeared, and they were dragging Carp Lake.

'This is getting very grim,' Paula commented.

'And Buller reported that al-Qa'eda has moved its main
base from Milan to somewhere over here,' Beaurain com
mented. 'Which links up with our experience.'

'Tell me,' Tweed said calmly.

He doodled as he listened, frequently glancing up at
Beaurain. Nothing in his expression betrayed his reaction.
When the Belgian had ended his story Tweed looked
at Paula.

'Sounds as though you did pretty well during the battle
of the amphitheatre.'

'I'd be dead if she hadn't been there,' Beaurain said.

'Oh, I guess we make a good team,' Paula responded
casually.

'Describe this Petacci, who isn't really Petacci and who is
English,' Tweed told Paula. He leaned forward, asked her
for the man's likely age, height, colour of eyes, of hair.

She closed her eyes for a moment, visualizing him. Then
she gave as detailed a description as she could.

'About fortyish, probably five feet eight, blue eyes, brown
hair. No moustache.'

'It's Philip.' Tweed leant back in his chair. 'Left Special Branch several years ago. Good linguist so he went off
trawling round the continent, made a living using contacts he'd picked up earlier to get information he could sell. But
only to the West. Very patriotic.'