Cell (46 page)

'The equipment is in position then?'

'We're at phase two. By tomorrow morning we'll be at
phase three. Gives us a margin on timing of the demon
stration.'

'The guard worries me. He knows his job?'

'He's ours. We know his wife too. A man followed the
guard home yesterday. So Vince Proctor . . .'

'No names! So he is happy, knowing his wife has someone
with her until he gets off his long spell of duty.'

'He is happy. His wife is happy. We are all happy.'

Abdullah once more slammed down the phone. Ali shrugged. He was getting used to it. He left the public
phone-box and stepped into the heavy mist. He walked slowly back to the 'site'.

Inside a small terrace house in a side street in Balham, Mrs
Proctor sat on a heavy chair in the kitchen. The chair had been brought from the parlour by the man who had earlier
rung the bell, then forced his way in, holding a gun in
one hand, the index finger of his other hand pressed to
his lips.

She now sat with her wrists roped together, another rope imprisoning her ankles. A third rope was tied round her waist and to the back of the chair. A pleasant red-faced woman in her fifties, she was terrified.

When her captor had arrived he'd worn a waterproof
slouch hat, concealing his face, and a long raincoat. Since
then, after tying up Mrs Proctor, he had removed the hat
and the raincoat. He was now clad in a camouflage suit and
she could see his complexion was brown, his hair trimmed
short. He was an Egyptian and his name was Haydar.
Information he had not provided Mrs Proctor with.

'We have Peter,' he'd said when she was tied to the chair.
'As long as you do nothing silly he will not come to any harm. Do something silly, like trying to warn a neighbour,
and he will be shot.'

Saying which, he produced a photo of her husband seated
in a chair. His hands were clasped tightly in his lap and his
expression was tense. A hand, holding a gun to his head,
also appeared in the photo.

'Oh, no,' Mrs Proctor had gasped. She swallowed.
'Where is he? At the power station? Who are you?'

'Questions,' Haydar explained quietly, 'come under the
heading of being silly. I shall feed you, give you something
to drink. Sit quiet and all will be well when we have moved
the drugs hidden on one of the barges. You will then be free,
your husband will be freed and will come home unharmed.
He is in a safe place. Does anyone come here at night?'

'Sometimes Mrs Wilkinson from next door visits for a
chat. Not every night.'

'What will Mrs Wilkinson do if you don't answer the
door?'

'She'll think I'm having a nap and go away.'

'Then we have nothing to worry about,' Haydar went
on lying.

The truth was Mrs Proctor would never leave the house
alive. Once the operation was completed he would shoot
her in the back of the head with his silenced gun. The same
fate awaited her husband, trapped inside Dick's power
station.

Haydar would know when the operation was completed. He had turned on the small TV set screwed to the wall with
the sound turned down but still showing a programme.

He had been told that when the operation had taken place all normal programmes would cease.
Breaking News
would
start. As it had done in New York on September 11.

35

Buchanan walked briskly into Tweed's office and sat in
the armchair facing him. Paula could sense he had a lot to
report, but before he could open his mouth Tweed spoke
with emphasis.

'I've just closed down City Airport. I sent the Controller
a copy of the PM's directive by hand yesterday. Now I
need you to despatch a squad of armed men to guard it. Urgently.'

He waited while Buchanan used his mobile to pass the
order to the Yard. Closing his mobile, he looked at Tweed.

'In thirty minutes the squad will have arrived. In patrol
cars, sirens screaming, lights flashing.'

'Thank you. Now for a confrontation. I'm calling the
Minister to inform him of what I've done. He'll be pleased,
don't you think?'

'No, I don't

Tweed first had to go through the usual channels when
he called the Ministry in Whitehall. Palfry took the call,
started to dither, to say the Minister was in Cabinet.

'Then get him out, for God's sake. Now! Go on, do it.'

Tweed hadn't long to wait. The haughty voice of Victor
Warner shouted down the phone.

'Tweed, I was in a Cabinet meeting

'Gabble, gabble, gabble - then no decision taken. I know what goes on there. Now,
listen,
please. I'm calling to tell
you I've just closed down City Airport. . .'

'You've done
what?
Why? I can see absolutely no reason. . .'

'I can. We have to guard against al-Qa'eda landing a
large body of men there. In aircraft seized from private
flying schools. Heaven knows there are enough of them
scattered outside London.'

'I'm outraged. You should have consulted me . . .'

Tin informing you now. Within minutes of the airport
being shut down. Didn't you read the PM's mandate?'

'Tweed! I'm going straight back into Cabinet to report what
you've just said. Including your gabble, gabble remark.'

'Please do. The PM has a sense of humour. Something I suspect you forget. Goodbye . . .

'Sorry about that, Roy,' Tweed said to Buchanan. 'I sense
you have news. My turn to listen.'

'I've been tearing round like a cat chasing its tail. But
to some purpose. First, I flew with some of my specialists
to an airfield near Oldhurst Farm. Mrs Sharp, the lady
who travelled all the way down here to see me - then
I sent her on to you - has all her wits about her. We
found the lane leading to the abandoned farm. It does
have two monster barns. Guess what we found inside.
Two missing milk tankers parked side by side in one
barn, two more tankers inside the second barn. Attached
to the place where you get inside each of them was a
cable with a handle - to haul up what was concealed
inside!'

'Any trace of al-Qa'eda?'

'Do let me tell this in my own way,' Buchanan insisted.
'Inside the smaller barn Mrs Sharp mentioned - not so
small - we found a pile of used sleeping-bags.' He paused.
'Thirty of them.'

'Thirty?'

'You look taken aback. Thirty sleeping-bags - thirty men
at least. They had cleaned up but we found this.'

Newman had been sitting in a hard-backed chair by
Paula's desk. He had not spoken a word but he sat leaning
forward, watching Buchanan intently. His mouth compressed when he'd heard this but he made no comment.

Tweed examined the torn piece of cloth inside the evi
dence envelope handed to him. Then he beckoned to
Newman, who walked over, took the envelope. He pursed
his lips, handed the envelope back to Tweed.

'I'd say that could have come off one of those black tur
bans worn by al-Qa'eda. Thirty is a powerful strike force.'

'That's my conclusion,' Buchanan agreed as Newman
returned to his chair. 'We also found bits of food which I've
sent for analysis. Bless Mrs Sharp. But there's more, down
that track where we saw the white van and Mrs Wharton
with Pooh.'

'How did you get there also in the time?'

'Flew back to City Airport.'Buchanan grinned. 'We must
have landed just before you closed it down. Then waiting
unmarked police cars took us to Mrs Wharton's bleak track.
The white van is no longer there. Unfortunately a heavy
mist was coming in off the river. We walked all the way
down the track until we reached the Thames. There's a wide
ramp leading to a long landing stage. Across the river, a bit
further up it, we could just make out the new power station.
Alongside it is a big wharf, Dick's wharf they call it.'

'See any trace of the enemy?'

'No, it was difficult. The mist was getting denser. I used night glasses but the result was a blur. I did see three huge
barges moored on either side of the wharf.'

'You mean six barges altogether?'

'That's what I vaguely made out.'

'Any sign of activity at all?'

'None. Lights were on inside the power station, but you'd
expect that.'

'I suggest we act at once,' Tweed said, standing up. 'You
assemble a large force of heavily armed police, commandeer
boats for us to cross . . .'

'Hold on. There were two big launches also moored to the wharf. And you don't know London as well as I do,' he said grimly.

'What's the matter? You don't look happy about my
suggestion.'

'But,' said Buchanan, looking at Newman, 'you might
like to see this.' He produced from his pocket a map which
he unfolded and spread out across Tweed's desk. It showed
the district they had visited when they encountered Mrs Wharton and her poodle. Beaurain stood looking over
Buchanan's shoulder as the superintendent used a pencil to trace the track's route to the river.

'With me?' he asked.

'So far, yes,' Tweed replied.

'This building on the other side is the Dick power station.
Now look at the large building very close to the station. It
is St Jude's Hospital. Over four hundred patients, overflow
from the collapsing NHS. When Dixon, the owner of the
power station development, called Dick by the river men,
obtained permission to build he had to sign an agreement that any smoke from the station would pass into the most sophisticated filter system. Nothing escapes. You see the
problem?'

'I do,' said Beaurain. 'If al-Qa'eda
have
taken control of the power station we can be sure they have a vast amount
of high explosives. If they see us coming they'll detonate those explosives. Can you imagine what they would do to
that hospital? Over four hundred patients.'

'We can't risk it,' said Tweed grimly. 'We're check
mated.'

When Victor Warner returned to the Cabinet room he
reported exactly what Tweed had said. To his great annoyance the PM
was
amused. He closed the folder on the table
in front of him.