Cell (34 page)

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 inform
ants?' 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 rushed
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.

'Paula and Jules have left in his car. I'll wait a few
minutes before I drive after them up to Carpford. I'm
going to be the mysterious figure lurking at the edge of Black Wood. Back-up for Paula and Jules. Even if you object I'm still going.'

'Mutiny!' Tweed threw up his hands. 'First Paula, now you. Get up there as fast as you can. Communicate with me on your mobile. When you can.'

Monica appeared. She handed Newman the Uzi inside
the case. She pursed her lips.

'Don't go and shoot yourself.'

'What?'

Then he saw the smile on her face. He kissed her on the cheek. She then handed him a smaller satchel than the one
provided for Beaurain and Paula.

'Coffee in a flask. Plus a bottle of mineral water. Still.
The way you like it. You get thirsty, I know.'

'Bless you. I'm on my way . . .'

The office seemed strangely quiet with only Monica and
Tweed left. It was the contrast with the frenetic activity
which had taken place. Tweed asked Monica for her book with the list of phone numbers. He first called the Ministry
of Security. The dull voice of a guard told him the Minister
was not there.

Tweed called the penthouse number where Victor Warner lived in London. He was taken aback when a soft voice answered.

'Hello?'

'You sound like Eva. Tweed here.'

'Maybe it's because I am Eva,' the sultry voice replied.
'Hold on, don't go . . .' He heard her call out to Mrs
Carson that this was a personal call and could she have some privacy. There was plenty to do in the kitchen. A
door slammed. 'Old Nosy,' Eva whispered. 'Now what can
I do for you? Always a dangerous
question for a woman to
ask a man.'

'Sometimes. Is his Lordship there?'

'If you mean Victor Wannabe, no he isn't. He drove up
to Garda — his hideaway in Carpford. I can give you the
number, but don't tell him how you got it. Ex-directory.'

'Thank you, but I won't bother.'

'I'm feeling lonely, restless. Could we meet somewhere? I'd suggest Marco's Love Nest in Lower Cheyne Street. It's
off Walton Street.'

'I know it.'

'You do? I'm surprised at you. In an hour's time?'

'See you then . . .'

In a subtle way Eva had sounded seductive. There were
many sides to Eva Brand. He phoned the Ministry of
Security again, asked for Peregrine Palfry.

'He's not here. Didn't you phone a few minutes ago?'
the same dull guard's voice asked.

'No. Good-night. . .'

His new call was to Martin Hogarth. He handled this
carefully. A superior voice snapped.

'Yes. Who is it?'

'Martin?'

'Yes . . .'

Tweed hung up. His last call was to Drew Franklin at
the
Daily Nation.
He was transferred from one person to
another. Then a girl's voice answered.

'Drew?' she said. 'He's shoved off into his country place. Who is calling?'

'Charlie Wilson. Not urgent. Thank you . . .'

He broke the connection. Monica was gazing at him, intrigued.

He drank some cold coffee which had been in the mug
for a long time. She pulled a face.

'Don't know how you can swallow that. You've been
phoning all the suspects, haven't you? To find out where they are.'

'That's right. The only one I've left out is Margesson,
whom Paula called the Priest. We haven't his number but
it's probably ex-directory. Doesn't matter.'

'They do say that it's the one you've missed you should have called.'

Despite Monica's protests about lack of protection, Tweed drove himself to the bar off Walton Street. He was glad to
be on his own. He could think better without company.

Marco's Love Nest was discreetly advertised. No flashing
neon lights. The name simply engraved on a
brass plate with
a dim light above it. When he walked in he had to pause to
get used to the dimness. A long thin room with the bar on
his left. The only illumination was a series of wall sconces
glowing with a shadowy light. Behind the bar was a thin man
clad in a white apron decorated with the name Marco. He
approached the bar.

'I was supposed to meet a lady here.'

'She is waiting for you at a table at the back. Arrived ten
minutes ago.'

'How do you know she's waiting for me?'

Marco now had a secretive smile. Not a smirk but
knowing. He put down the glass he was cleaning, leaned
forward and spoke in a low voice.

'She described you, sir. Medium height. Could be in his mid-forties. Wearing horn-rim glasses.'