Cell (43 page)

'I'll navigate from here, get you to St Paul's.' 'When I can I go up Ludgate Hill. I did study the map,'
the Belgian said quietly.

Paula twisted round again, gave Newman a certain look.
He raised both hands in a gesture of resignation.

'I do realize I have become surplus to requirements.'

When they approached St Paul's, Tweed counted six men in the camel-hair overcoats. Three at the top of the steps, watching visitors as they entered. Three more apparently drifting round in the street below. He grunted.

'He's probably got half-a-dozen inside the place. So he had plenty to patrol the Embankment. You were right, Paula. He's demonstrating he is still Minister. Might as well get back to Park Crescent, Jules. Wonder what's waiting for us there?'

Martin Hogarth was waiting for them. George told Tweed
he had put him in the waiting-room, that he had protested
fiercely about being locked in.

'I would like to arrive back once and find no one waiting
for me,' Tweed remarked. 'Give us a few minutes to settle
in, then send him up. But escort him like an unwanted guest, which he is . . .'

Tweed had just settled himself behind his desk. Marler
was leaning against a wall. Pete Nield was seated in one
of the armchairs. Beaurain sat in a hard chair in front of
Paula's desk. The door opened and George ushered in
their visitor.

Martin Hogarth stormed in, his face very red. He glared
round at everyone, then plonked himself in the other
armchair in front of Tweed's desk, without being asked.

'Where have you got my brother Billy imprisoned?'
he yelled.

'Calm down,' Tweed said, clasping his hands together.

His suggestion only added petrol to the flames. Martin had trouble getting the words out. Then he shouted.

'You have kidnapped him. I'll inform the police, get
myself a lawyer.'

'How did you find this address?' Tweed asked quietly.

'I've a friend who knows the kidnap business. He said
you ran a business negotiating the release of rich people who
had been grabbed. Gave me this address. And I thought
you were SIS. But you have a bloody plate outside -
General & Cumbria Assurance. The Minister, whom by
the way, I happen to know, will be interested to hear you
impersonated the SIS.'

'You could always complain to him. His Ministry is in
Whitehall. Martin, why are you so worked up? I'm sure you
have not yet told us your real motive.'

'What
...
do you mean?' Martin's mood had changed. He was now on the defensive. 'Real motive,' he sneered.

'What is it?' Tweed leaned forward. 'Better tell me
now.'

'Tell you what?'

The change in Martin's mood under pressure from
Tweed was startling. The raging accuser had become a
frightened man. Unsure of how to handle the situation.
Tweed gave him no time to recover.

'Your real motive. Money, isn't it?'

'Money . . .'

'Collecting the huge sums from Carpford sent abroad -
then returned here.'

'Huge sums . . .'

'Thousands of pounds. So bulky they may have to con
vert them into Swiss francs. The Swiss have one-thousand-
franc banknotes. Pecksniff was the link - he checked them
when you brought the huge sums to him.'

'How did you . . .'

'How did I know?' Tweed finished for him. 'I have a
lot of professionals digging up information, interrogating people. Including Pecksniff.'

'I want to leave,' Martin protested feebly.

Newman stood behind him, looming over Martin. His
tone was savage.

'You can answer Tweed - or you can leave here. In handcuffs when Superintendent Buchanan and his men
come to pick you up. They are not so gentle at the Yard
as we are. So answer Tweed's question or I'll bloody well
call the Yard now.'

'Pecksniff was working on behalf of al-Qa'eda when he
arranged for you to fly abroad to pick up the money,' Tweed
snapped.

'I had no idea Pecksniff was working for them . . ,'

He had slipped up badly. First, he had not asked who
Pecksniff was when Tweed used the name. Second, he had
now admitted he had had dealings with the Dickensian
solicitor. Paula was fascinated by the way Tweed had, with
flashes of inspiration, led Martin into the trap. Monica
mouthed the word 'coffee' and pointed at Martin's back. Tweed shook his head. Nothing must disturb the mood.

'Well, now you know he was working for them,' Tweed
continued. 'So you might as well tell us the huge amounts
you brought over from the Bahamas trips you made.'

'Bahamas . . .'

'Get on with it, for heaven's sake. I'm losing patience.'

The phone rang. Monica answered, beckoned to Newman,
who went to her desk. He kept his voice low.

'Newman here. Who might this be?'

'Recognize your voice. Rick Pendleton here, your friendly
bank director in the Bahamas. Just got back from a great holiday. Mexico. What's your query?'

'I desperately need to know who has collected the money
sent to you from Aruba. The New Age Development
Corp. I know you don't like revealing details of accounts.
Keep this under your hat. London is facing an imminent
catastrophic attack from al-Qa'eda. That New Age money
financed it. Who was the courier who collected the money
- maybe made several trips?'

'Jesus! Hang on while I check. I remember the guy. The sums were so large it came over to me. Hold the line . . .'

The door opened and Marler strolled in. Tweed reacted
instantly.

'The Yard reacted very swiftly. This is the gentleman you
may be taking away for intensive interrogation.'

Marler caught on immediately. He laid a strong hand on
Martin's right shoulder.

'I'll cuff you when we're ready to leave.'

Martin looked up, stared into Marler's face, wearing its
bleakest expression.

'You still there, Bob?' Pendleton's voice, speaking quietly,
came back on Newman's line. 'Good. Three visits by
a Martin Hogarth. October 15th 2001, November 20th
2001, January 10th 2002. Amounts drawn in sequence. £250,000. £750,000. One mil. Total, two million. All
converted into Swiss francs. I wish you all luck in bringing
down the bastards . . .'

Newman rewrote the figures he had scribbled down on a
pad he'd been given by Monica. Tweed would now have no
trouble in reading the data. The phone rang again, Monica
answered, handed the phone to Newman.

'Newman here. Who is it?'

'Your friendly bank director again. Sorry, but I double-checked, found two sheets had stuck together. Third and
last amount given to Martin Hogarth should be four mil. So
total is now five million. He had the authorized documents
from Gerald Hanover.'

'Any idea where that guy is?'

'No. We should worry. With commission like that.
Adios.''

Newman quickly changed the two figures, underlining
total is five million pounds, converted into Swiss francs.
Then
he beckoned to Tweed.

'Don't move an eyelash,' Tweed warned.

Marler again rested a hand on Martin's shoulder. Tweed
took the sheet, raised his eyebrows. He memorized the
data in a few seconds, folded the sheet and went back to
his desk.

'That was Superintendent Buchanan,' Newman called out loudly. 'He's getting impatient to see the prisoner.'

Seated back behind his desk, Tweed studied the man opposite for a short time. Martin Hogarth was a broken
man. His face had lost what little colour it had had when he
stormed into the office. His hands were twisting, couldn't
keep them still.

'Pecksniff checked each tranche of money in front of you,' he began. 'Right?'

'Yes . . .' Martin was croaking hoarsely. 'He unlocked the
small case I gave him after I'd given him the key. Then he took out the Swiss banknotes stack by stack, counted them
aloud. Now, I'd originally answered Pecksniff's first call to
Carpford inviting me to visit his office . . .'

'You made three trips to New York. Each time you had
a first-class return ticket to the Bahamas. I imagine that way
you avoided the long slog through customs and passport
control. You simply moved to transfer, caught the flight to the Bahamas.'

'Yes.' Martin looked taken aback. 'How do you know that?'

'I'm asking the questions. How much money? On each trip?'

'£250,000 first trip. £750,00 second trip. Four million
pounds on the last one. Altogether five million pounds, all
converted into Swiss francs.'

'You must have had a bad time arriving back at Heathrow.'

'I was careful to be about two-thirds the way along the
queue. Each time. All three aircraft were crowded. When
I reached the counter I plonked down the smaller case with the key on top. Then I quickly hauled up a huge case full of
rubbish presents. They ignored the small case, then went
through the big job as though looking for drugs. It worked
on each trip.'

'And Mr Pecksniff paid you how much for your trouble?'

'Do I have to tell you?'

'You do.'

'Fifty thousand pounds in Swiss francs. I'm not a rich
man . . .'

'Of course you're not. But I'm sure you've got a lot more. You have a Rolex on your wrist, a diamond pin in your tie.
Get to hell out of here.'

'What?'

'He's telling you that you can go now,' Paula called
out.

As soon as the door closed on Martin's frantic departure
Tweed nodded to Marler.

'Follow him. Where he goes. Anyone he contacts.'

'I'm on my way. Keep in touch with reports on my
mobile.'

* * *

'Is that Ali?'

'Yes, it is.'

Ali had one hand on the loose phone-box door, which
the wind kept blowing open.

'Abdullah here. You have a photo of Martin Hogarth,
along with the others photographed at Carpford?'

'I have. In my pocket.'

'Send your best man immediately to SIS HQ at Park Crescent. Martin Hogarth has just left the building.'