Cell (40 page)

'Bob, has that Airsight friend of yours flown over Carpford
to take pictures? If I could study them I'm sure I can work
out which house has the cellar I was imprisoned in.'

'Soon now,' Newman assured her. 'He's taking longer over his holiday than expected. He's the best.'

'He shouldn't take holidays if he's the best,' she grum
bled.

There was a knock on the door and Monica jumped up to open it. A middle-aged grey-haired lady, wearing a spotless
white apron, pushed a trolley in. Monica gestured.

'Breakfast for anyone who's interested. Fried eggs, bacon,
toast, marmalade, coffee. Hands up.'

Every hand went up instantly. Nellie, as Monica called
the woman, was going to serve Tweed first but he waved
her away, pointed at Beaurain, Paula, then Newman and
Nield.

'Their need is greater than mine. Serve me last. You have
plenty of trays. Not much of a breakfast-room in here.'

Paula fetched folded chairs propped against the wall,
opened them. The door opened again and Eva Brand strode
in. She sniffed.

'Any leftovers? I haven't eaten for ages.'

The door opened again and Howard, the Director,
strolled in. He wore a smart grey-striped suit, perfectly
creased trousers, a pink shirt and a Hermes tie. His plump
pink face broke into a smile.

'Smells good. You'll be relieved to hear I've just had
breakfast at my club.'

'Well, there's nothing left for you anyway,' Paula said.

He rested a hand on her shoulder, squeezed it gently.
'I've heard about the Battle of Carpford from Bob. I've
been told how well you did. Felling a giant.'

'A colossus,' she said.

'Won't interrupt your meal. Any more developments, Tweed? If so, tell me later . . .'

'He's tactful.' Paula said, scooping up egg yolk.

'More than you were,' Newman chided her with a grin.

'He doesn't like people who bow down to him,' she
retorted.

'Can I report now?' Nield asked. 'About the Pink Hat
and the two gentlemen who called on Billy?'

'Those so-called gentlemen are in custody,' Buchanan
remarked. 'You don't know how good a job you did.
They're both professional hit men we'd been after for
months. Sergeant Warden, who called here a while ago
for the evidence bags containing the weapons and bullets,
is interrogating them. Separately, of course. Warden can be
very tough. Not actually using physical force, of course.'

'Actually?' queried Paula.

'No need to go into the details. Obviously they'd arrived
to kill Billy Hogarth. Pete, as he has done before, saved the day, saved Billy.'

'Who,' Pete explained, 'is safely cloistered in a different
hotel with Harry parked outside, watching the place.'

'That incident was significant,' said Tweed, wiping his
lips with a napkin.

'You mean your breakfast?' Paula asked mischievously.

Tweed was relieved to note her humorous mood. Newman
had given him a brutally detailed account of what had
happened at Carpford. And it wasn't so long ago since
she had been a prisoner in a bleak underground room,
uncertain whether she was going to live or die. None of this showed in her appearance or manner.

'The incident I called significant was the attempt on Billy
Hogarth's life, his remark that lots had been going on in the
village. The mastermind is taking no chances, trying to wipe
out anyone with information. The attack on Billy Hogarth's
bungalow is even more significant, for the same reason. It
suggests the timing of the attack is very close.'

'Communications in al-Qa'eda,' Beaurain said.

'Obviously by word of mouth. The farce of motor-cyclist couriers carrying empty envelopes. Calling on everyone up
there. The messages are passed by word of mouth. Who
is the real recipient is concealed by the courier calling at
every dwelling. I'm convinced the same word-of-mouth
technique was used in America. Hence neither the FBI
nor the CIA were alerted. More and more I'm convinced that the same mastermind who planned September 11 is
planning the imminent attack on London.' He checked
his watch. 'Time for us to attend the meeting called by
the Minister at his apartment for 10.30 a.m.'

'Why,' protested Paula, 'do we have to go traipsing over
there? I'm surprised you didn't insist the meeting should be held here.'

'Tactics,' Tweed told her, 'no point in creating resent
ment. Warner will be more open with us on his own patch.
Heaven knows what he's planning now.'

Newman drove them. Tweed had also selected Beaurain,
Eva and Paula to go with him. Mrs Carson opened the
apartment door and made a typically tactless welcome.

'You're just on time. He's waiting for you with the
others.'

The others? Paula glanced at Tweed as the elevator
ascended. He was standing very erect in his most authori
tative manner. When the elevator door opened on the pent
house floor Palfry was there to meet them. His expression
was important and official.

'This way, gentlemen. Our people are waiting.'

He opened a door into a room they had not seen before. It was probably the dining-room, Paula thought. Very spacious, with a long table that might have been in the boardroom of a large company.

At the far end the Minister sat at the head. Clustered round him on both sides were six men, most of whom
Tweed had never seen before. Except for a large man he
knew was Tolliver, the recently appointed Chief of Special
Branch in place of Jasper Buller. At their end of the table
Eva Brand sat down to one side of the top chair. She turned
round, gave them a warm smile. No mention of her recent
visit to Park Crescent.

'Tweed, you sit at the head of your end of the table . . .'

Tweed had not moved. He scanned the unknown men
grouped round the Minister. He put his hands in the
pockets of his overcoat.

'Before I sit down, who are these strangers? I know Tolliver, so it's all right for him to stay.'

'To stay?' Warner spoke in the booming voice used
when he was at the despatch box in the House of Com
mons. 'They are senior civil servants attached to my
ministry . . .'

'We can't have them in on this meeting,' Tweed replied bluntly. 'They can have only a distant view of what is
involved.'

'I must insist . . .' Warner began.

'If you do insist we'll transfer this meeting to Park Crescent. I'm not sitting down until they have left. And I am short of time.'

Tweed turned to Palfry, standing close to him.

'I heard you lock the door. Please unlock it so we can leave now. You can attend, of course . . .'

There was a muted buzz of discussion at the far end of
the table. Then the civil servants picked up their files -
you always had to have a file if you were Civil Service.
They marched out of the room through the door Palfry
had unlocked.

Their noses in the air, they made a point of not looking
at Tweed as they left. Palfry re-locked the door. Tweed sat
down, indicated to his companions they should do the same
at his end of the table.

Warner was glaring at Tweed. He had removed his
pince-nez, polishing them with a square of wash leather.
A moment before, Tweed had removed his horn-rims,
cleaned them quickly on a clean handkerchief, had them back on his nose before the Minister made a performance
of replacing his pince-nez.

'I suppose,' he sneered, 'this action of yours emanates
from the PM's mandate.'

'We are here, aren't we? Under your own roof. I could
have asked for this meeting to be held at Park Cres
cent.'

Eva, now seated on Tweed's left, leaned over and whis
pered in her soft voice.

'Coffee is available whenever you wish. Drinkable. I
made it myself,' she fibbed.

'Thank you.' He patted her hand. 'Maybe later.'

'Another point,' Warner boomed. 'You objected to stran
gers attending.' He aimed a long bony finger like a gun at Beaurain. 'What is he doing here? Not a member of
your team.'

'Let me introduce you. This is Jules Beaurain. Recently
Commissaire of Police in Brussels. Prior to that he was
the controller of their anti-terrorist squad. He probably
knows more about terrorists than anyone
else in this
room.'

'Then I'll start.' Warner paused for effect. 'Manchester.'

'What about it?'

'Very experienced operatives of Special Branch have cast
their net wide among top flight informants. The word is
London is not the target. Manchester is. I have stopped
the army moving units south from the Midlands.'

'Manchester!' Newman whispered. 'Stuff that for a lark.'

Eva grinned. Paula kept her mouth expressionless, then winked at Eva.

'You really believe that?' Tweed asked innocently.

'I have to act on information received,' Warner said at
his most pompous.

'Then why is it that my network of informants, once
described as the most reliable by the present PM, hasn't heard a whisper about this Manchester distraction?'

'Ah!' Very hawk-like, Warner stared at the ceiling. 'You
are invoking your position as Supremo.'

,'I have never used that word. It is a fact, though, that
I have been asked to coordinate the activities of all the
security services.'

'The Supremo,' Warner repeated nastily.

'He's all over the place,' Tweed whispered to Eva.

'Situation normal,' she whispered back. She raised her voice. 'Maybe this is time for coffee to keep us alert.'
Beckoning to Palfry at the far end of the table, she whispered
again. 'It might cool him down if we have a break.'

Palfry came trotting up to her with a wide smile. 'Can
I help?'

'You could organize coffee
toute de suite,
if you would.'

'My pleasure . . .'

Tweed leaned to his right as Paula plucked at his sleeve.
She kept her voice very low. 'I think Palfry is sweet on
Eva.'

'Won't get him anywhere.' Eva, who had more exceptional hearing than Paula had realized, spoke her riposte
aloud.