Cell (42 page)

'Decoy,' said Beaurain.

'Smokescreen,' agreed Tweed. 'It's getting dark already.
I think now Jules, Paula and Bob should come with me on a tour of London. As with Mrs Sharp, we got lucky. Now we need one more piece of luck.' He took out an evidence envelope from his pocket. It contained the simple drawing
the poor mutilated Eddie had clutched in his dead hand
in Monk's Alley. He called out to Paula, who was reading
Franklin's column for the third time.

'Come and look at this again.'

Without taking it out of the protective envelope, he
smoothed out the drawing. He shrugged in frustration.

'What
does
this remind you of?'

'A canoe.'

'I see. And their weapons will be paddles.'

'You did ask me,' she snapped.

The phone rang. Monica answered, nodded to the phone
on Tweed's desk. 'It's Harry calling on his mobile.'

'Another emergency? Tweed here, Harry.'

'Just to report all's well so far with my patient. He stays in all the time, eats at the place. I got him a batch of paperback
thrillers. He never stops reading them.'

'Thanks for calling . . .' Tweed turned to the others.

'That was Harry reporting that everything is quiet where
Billy is cloistered in his new hotel.'

'I have an idea,' Buchanan said. 'From what you've told
me about Billy Hogarth he's trustworthy; I'll send Jean to
question him, see if he has seen anything unusual up at the
village.'

'Jean?' Newman queried.

'A clever and attractive policewoman. He might feel more
comfortable with her.' He took the card Tweed gave him
with the hotel's address.

'Just so long as he doesn't get too comfortable with her,'
Newman remarked with a straight face.

'Time we prowled London after dark, looking for canoes,'
Tweed decided.

He ignored the dirty look Paula gave him.

Beaurain, who had earlier been studying a detailed map
of Central London, drove them. Alongside him sat Paula,
while Tweed and Newman occupied the rear seats. He had
his headlights on full beam. Paula soon realized he was heading south-west.

They eventually emerged on to a main road and he turned
east. The traffic was heavy. Beaurain was leaning forward
over the wheel, his gaze turned to his right. Signalling, he
suddenly swung right off the main thoroughfare on to a
wide, badly made track.

They quickly left the main capital behind, bumping over
potholes as they were driven slowly through a
wilderness.
An area which had never been developed, with scrubby fields on either side. No buildings, and the fields were littered with rubbish a short distance back from the track - abandoned and rusty wrecks of cars, old metal buckets,
a mix of rubbish which showed up in their headlights as
Beaurain turned the car round corners.

'Why on earth are we going down here?' grumbled
Newman.

'Leave him alone.' chided Paula.

She had sensed that Beaurain had an instinct for exploring the most unlikely locations. He was driving very slowly now, his eyes scanning left and right. He crawled round another corner, the track straigtened. He stopped. Ahead a woman was walking her poodle on the scrubby grass.

'We're still well upriver from the Albert Bridge,' Tweed complained.

'Do keep quiet,' Paula snapped. 'Please,' she added.

Beaurain switched off the engine, climbed out, walked
towards the woman. She was well-dressed, in an expensive
raincoat and leather boots. Still holding the white poodle
on its leash, she turned as Beaurain approached her. Tweed
had also got out, following Paula who was near the Belgian.
With a snort Newman left the car.

'Excuse me,' Beaurain said as he bent down and stroked
the small dog, 'we are searching for some rather dangerous
men. Have you seen anything odd going on round here?'

Tweed backed up Beaurain by shining his flashlight on
his identity folder which he held open for her to see.

'SIS,' she exclaimed. 'I read about you in Drew Frank
lin's column this morning. He's witty, but sometimes he
goes too far. No need for that last remark.' She turned back
to Beaurain. 'Excuse me, I must answer your question. I
come here because it's quiet to walk the dog. Earlier, when
it was dusk. Down there . . .' she pointed further down
the track '. . . peculiar-looking workmen were carrying
something heavy and cumbersome out of a white van.
The men have gone but it's still there. You can see now
the moon's come out.'

They all stared down the track. Perched broadside on was a small white van. Across its side one word was
inscribed.
Florist.

'My God!' Newman whispered under his breath.

'Can you describe this heavy and cumbersome object?'
Beaurain asked.

'Do my best. It was shaped like a fat shell, much wider in diameter than an ordinary shell. My departed husband
was an officer in the Artillery, so I've seen real shells. In
other ways it looked like a vertical torpedo, hunched down
in the metal platform which supported it. It took six men to carry it to a large motorized trolley, then they secured
it. Afterwards it was driven off further down the track.
I was scared stiff they'd see me. I knew something was
wrong. I froze still, worried that any movement would
catch their attention. I had Pooh on a tight leash, so he kept quiet then.'

'Then?' queried Beaurain.

'All the workmen had disappeared with the trolley except
one large man. He turned round and saw me, began to
walk towards me. Pooh started growling and snarling. He
can make a lot of noise for a little fellow. The large man
stopped, obviously changed his mind, went behind that van
and must have got on his motor-cycle. He reappeared and
it roared off with him over that field to our left. Funny that
they left the van.'

'This would be about an hour ago - when you first walked
down here?'

'Yes, it would be. You don't know who I am. Mrs
Wharton. My address is
...
About an hour's walk from
here.'

'Jules Beaurain. One more question. What is there further
down this track?'

'Eventually you come to the Thames. That new building
you can see in the distance is a powerhouse they finished several months ago. Coal-fired to save money. It's on the
other side of the river. It serves a plant which makes
some kind of advanced equipment. Something we could
do without, I'm sure.'

'Mrs Wharton, I cannot thank you enough for the infor
mation you have given us,' said Beaurain. 'Could I ask you on no account to mention this to anyone else in the world?'

'Top secret. I know. I promise you I won't tell a soul. My
husband's work was classified and I've learnt to keep my
mouth shut. Now, if that's all, I think I should go home.'

'We could squeeze you into our car and drive you
there.'

'Thank you, but I like walking. So does Pooh. He can
walk miles and miles. I wish you luck with your project.'

'We may just have had the luck we needed from you,'
Tweed assured her, holding out his hand and smiling.

Tweed borrowed Newman's mobile and called Buchanan,
who had left Park Crescent when they did. He phrased
what he said carefully. Buchanan said he was coming out
with a special team immediately. Beaurain waved to say
something.

'Tell him I'll park your blue Audi at the entrance to this track, otherwise he'll miss it. . .'

They drove back the way they had come in silence for a
short while. Then Paula couldn't resist turning round to
speak to Newman.

'Well, Bob, in future maybe you'll have more faith in Jules's instincts.'

'Yes. Jules, how the devil did you decide to come down
this way?'

'Observation. Before we reached the entrance I'd noticed
on the main road a series of oil leaks. They were particularly
noticeable at the entrance to this track. Beyond it on the main road they ceased.'

'I'll eat my hat,' Newman responded.

'Since you don't wear one,' Paula told him, 'I'll be sure to buy you one tomorrow.'

They had parked at the entrance to the track for only
a few minutes when a patrol car came racing down the main road, siren screaming, lights flashing. It stopped.
Behind it came a car with Buchanan at the wheel and
behind him a large truck carrying specialized equipment.

Beaurain backed, swung his car on to the scrubby field, the convoy drove in and passed down the track. They got
a brief wave from Buchanan.

'Now proceed to the right,' Tweed ordered. 'I want to
check whether Warner has Special Branch patrols along the Embankment as I suggested . . .'

Again it was a crawl in dense traffic. They passed the
Albert Bridge and Beaurain gazed fixedly at it while waiting
for a chance to drive on. Paula noticed the intensity of
his gaze.

'What is it?' she asked.

'Always like this?' he asked.

'Always,' Tweed called out. 'Rush hour. Not a thing mov
ing on the bridge. Bumper to bumper. It's 5.30 p.m . . .'

They drove on, past Chelsea Bridge, Vauxhall Bridge,
Lambeth Bridge and reached Westminster Bridge. All of
them were packed solid with motionless traffic. And each
time Beaurain gazed at the crush with his fixed stare.

'Now,' said Tweed, sitting up right, 'keep your eyes open
for men strolling along in camel-hair overcoats.'

'The Special Branch patrol,' Paula commented.

They reached Blackfriars Bridge and hadn't seen one
man in a camel-hair coat. Once again they were stationary,
locked in the floodtide of traffic. Paula twisted round to
look at Tweed. His expression was grim.
' 'You're not pleased,' she said.

'Not a single Special Branch man patrolling the Embank
ment. Warner has deliberately ignored one of my key
requests. I know why. He'll have a number outside
Buckingham Palace. Now we'll check St Paul's. My guess
is there'll be a flock of them there.'

'It's Warner asserting a little authority, trying to show he
still counts,' she remarked.

Tweed didn't reply. The traffic was about to get moving
again. Newman leaned forward, called out to Beaurain.