Cell (50 page)

'Very considerate. I will, of course, keep this under my
hat, the one I never wear. I won't contact her but here is
where she lives . . .'

'Thank you,' said Tweed, after writing down the address.
'I won't bother you again . . .'

He looked at Newman and Nield after showing them the address.

'I have spent a lot of time visualizing how I would conduct
this spectacular operation, imagining I was the mastermind
behind the planning. As regards Dick's wharf, they will have
intimidated the guard, Proctor, so he said the right thing to the owner when he phoned Proctor this evening. These are
the most ruthless and merciless enemies we have ever faced.
I have little doubt they now hold Proctor's wife as hostage
in his house. What will they do just before the operation
is launched? Kill Proctor. They will also kill his wife. You
know the area now you have the address?'

'I do,' Nield replied who had been studying a map of
Balham. It's a side street, probably terraced houses.'

'We must try to save Mrs Proctor. I don't expect a
hitman is holding her at this stage. It will be some al-Qa'eda
terrorist. It will be tricky.'

'Even dangerous,' Newman said doubtfully. 'Supposing
the man holding her has time to phone the leader at the
wharf?'

'Go with Nield. Your job is to see he doesn't get the time
to do that. Kill him . . .'

Newman drove across Albert Bridge with Nield, navigating,
by his side. There was heavy mist and still a lot of traffic. Prior to leaving Park Crescent Nield had collected certain
tools, had wrapped them in a leather sheet, now rolled up and in his lap.

'Going to take us all night to get there,' Newman grum
bled.

'No, it won't,' Nield said cheerfully. 'You concentrate
on driving while I deal with navigating. After my original
training session down at the Surrey mansion when they
half-murdered me they brought me up here to Balham. Learning to track a suspect, watch a house opposite for
two days without falling asleep. All that stuff.'

'Understood, Pete,' agreed Newman.

They had left the bridge behind and the traffic began to
thin out. Nield spoke suddenly.

'Slow down, turn right down the next side street. We can
get there quicker . . .'

Nield directed him through a maze of turns past old
terraced houses with dim street lighting outside. Without
consulting the map, he guided Newman, ordered him" once
again to turn right.

'Crawl,' he ordered after the turn. 'This is the street. So where is No. 12? There it is. Park further along and we'll walk back and do a recce.'

When they walked back in their rubber-soled shoes they found No. 12 was at the end of the terrace. A narrow alley led down its windowless end, since it was the last in this
block. No mist here. Just a deadly silence.

Steps led up to the front door direct from the street, and
the old front door had stained glass in its upper half. There
were lights behind the front bay window, which had curtains
drawn closed across it. The frontage was only one window
wide and they could hear nothing inside. No lights in the
upper window.

'I want to call at another house like this one,' Nield
said.

'What on earth for?' whispered Newman.

'To get an idea of the interior plan. They'll all be alike.
You keep out of sight. And tuck this tool-kit under your
arm . . .'

He walked up the block five houses, paused while
Newman took up a position across the road in the shadows.
No street light for a distance. Nield pressed the bell hard.
Nothing, until he saw through the stained-glass window a
large figure approaching. The Yale lock was turned, the
door opened. A man in his shirt sleeves with his collar open
at the neck glared.

'If you're selling something you can shove off. I'm watch
ing football on TV.'

'Sorry to bother you, sir,' Nield began with his engaging
smile. 'I'm lost. Car parked down the road. Trying to find Albert Bridge.'

'You are bloody lost. . ,'The man gave swift instructions
to reach Albert Bridge, then slammed the door shut.

While the door was open Nield had seen a lot. A narrow
hall with a kitchen beyond an open door at the other end.
A back door leading into the kitchen. A partial view into a
living-room at the front.

He walked back and Newman joined him. Nield explained
what he had grasped of the general layout. Under a street
lamp he paused, took back the rolled-up leather case, spread
it out on the bonnet of their parked car. He extracted
pick-lock instruments, a small can of oil, handed them
to Newman.

'You'll check, of course, but I think the front door has a Yale lock like the house I visited.'

'Of course,' Newman said sarcastically.

'First, let me dive down that alley and look at the back door. When I get to the other end I'll do a rehearsal - flash
my torch twice quickly. That tells you I've checked the back
door. Next time I flash the torch twice I'm ready to go in through the back door. Your cue to ring the bell. When Chummy opens it I'll be inside at the back. We'll get him
in a crossfire. But if I've shot first you hold your fire. I don't
want your bullet passing through him to hit me. Would spoil
my breakfast. . .'

While Nield made his way down the alley, Newman went
to the front door, used his small torch to check the lock. A
Yale. His pick-lock could open that in no time. If there was
also a chain he'd use his weight to smash the door down.

As on earlier expeditions with Nield, he was impressed with how cool Pete was. As though he was on a training exercise. He darted back to the end of the alley. At the far
end a torch flashed twice. He waited there. Less than half a
minute later the torch-flash signals were repeated. Newman
rushed to the front door, pressed his thumb against the bell,
held it there. He'd decided on a better strategy.

A very large man appeared behind the stained glass,
jerked the door open swiftly. Over six feet tall, wide-shouldered, his face was brown-skinned, his hair trimmed short. He was wearing a windcheater and corduroy slacks.
His eyes were dead as he stared at the visitor.

'Been . . . drinkin' . . . I'm lost . . . wanna get to . . .'

The giant had his right hand behind his back. His expression became a sneer. A drunk. He sensed something happening in the kitchen, swung round, his right hand holding a Mauser with a long barrel. He aimed it at Nield. Newman's hand had appeared from behind his back. He fired his Smith & Wesson three times. The brute tried to turn round, the three bullets embedded in his body. Newman pulled the trigger twice more. The brute fell face down along the hall.

Newman jumped inside, closed the door behind him,
bent down, checked the carotid artery. Nothing. Blood was
welling out down the windcheater. Newman chopped his
left hand down, indicating to his back-up that the al-Qa'eda
thug was dead.

Nield ran into the living-room. Mrs Proctor was tied to a chair, scared witless. Nield smiled as he asked the question
quickly.

'Was he the only one?'

She nodded, unable to speak. Nield smiled again. 'We
were sent to rescue you. I'm going to cut the ropes round you with a knife. Just sit tight. Can't do much else, can
you?'

They left when they were sure she had recovered quickly.
No, she didn't want a neighbour to keep her company.
Mrs Worthington would never stop talking all night long.
Should she phone Vince, her husband? They persuaded her
that wasn't necessary, would only worry him, so she agreed.
They told her the intruder was a drug dealer they'd been after for months. They'd take him away.

'All I want,' Mrs Proctor said, 'is a cuppa tea, maybe
two, then I'm off to bed. Probably sleep in, take a couple of pills. They'll knock me out. Would you like tea?'

'Thank you,' Nield said, 'but we're short of time.'

'Excuse me, must dash to the toilet. . .'

Newman had asked Nield to take over the wheel. There was
something he had to do. Between them, after Newman had
driven his car up to the house, they had carried the great
weight of the dead Saudi - at least Newman thought he
was - and arranged it in the boot.

They were approaching Albert Bridge when Newman told Nield to, turn left. He did so, raising his eyebrows.

Above the name of the road they had turned down
was another sign.
St Jude's Hospital.
Nield said nothing
until Newman took a medicine pack from the car pocket,
removed his jacket, started wrapping a bandage round his forearm.

'You wouldn't like to tell me what this is in aid of?' he
suggested.

'I'm walking wounded when I go into the hospital.'

'Tweed will skin you alive. We're supposed to keep well
clear of that place.'

'You wait outside for me.'

Newman took a small non-flash camera from his pocket,
an advanced version invented by the boffins in the basement
at Park Crescent. Took very detailed pictures and no
flash to give the photographer away. His mouth tight with
foreboding, Nield parked near the hospital, which was a
blaze of lights.

'See you soon,' Newman said, leaving the car.

Approaching the entrance, he had his jacket folded over
one arm, the other exposing a lot of bandage. An ambulance
had just pulled up and the rear doors were being opened.
A lot of nursing staff, two men holding a stretcher waited,
so no one was bothered when Newman walked into the
entrance.

White-coated doctors hurrying, stethoscopes dangling from their necks. Newman moved to the right, the side
nearest the power station. He walked down a long corridor,
turned left when he realized he'd reached the end of the hospital building. He was now walking down a very long corridor with few lights and no one about except a grim-looking
nurse coming towards him. She stopped as he reached her.

'Can I help you?'

'Not really, thank you. Just seen the doctor who fixed
me up. Told me to take a good walk inside, then come
back to him so he could make sure I was OK. He wasn't worried.'

He resumed his walk and she went her way. Near the
end of the corridor he could see the power station and its
wharf through large windows. He looked up and down the corridor. No one about except himself. He gazed down on
the wharf. A huge canvas screen had been erected. As he
watched, the screen was moved. A thin man in camouflage
clothes stood on top of the roll-over cover drawn over the
interior of a barge. He stood near a very large open hatch
in the middle of the barge. The tide was still coming in,
shifting the barge towards the hospital. Newman took
seven quick shots. As he was doing so three more men
in camouflage kit appeared after climbing up a ladder from inside the barge. Slipping the camera back inside his jacket
pocket, he walked rapidly back the way he had come. The
dragon of a nurse with the superior attitude appeared, asked
him the name of the doctor attending him. He ignored her,
walked out to where Nield had the car parked, the engine
running.