Cell (51 page)

'Drive like hell,' he said. 'Get us out of here.'

39

'What!' Tweed demanded fiercely. 'You disobeyed my
order not to go near that hospital, St Jude's? What madness
got into you? The key to the success of our operation was not to risk letting al-Qa'eda know we knew their location.
You've taken leave of your . . .'

Newman, jaw jutting, eyes blazing, stood up from the
chair he'd been sitting in. He had just started explaining
what Nield and he had accomplished. He was furious. He
leaned forward, put both hands on Tweed's desk.

'So tell me how you knew, really
knew
that al-Qa'eda
were, at Dick's wharf? Positively and without doubt. You
assumed
they were there. You made a really dangerous
assumption . . .'

'The white vans dumped in the river,' Tweed retorted.

'Those vans could have been dumped in the place least likely to be found. But al-Qa'eda could have been based
miles away. The damned vans proved nothing . . .'

'You're forgetting,' Tweed fumed, 'Mrs Wharton saw
them transferring a device on to their motorized trolley . . .'

'And what the hell did that prove?' Newman roared. 'Simply the movement of the device towards the river.
There's a ramp at the end of that track. They could
just as easily have been putting it aboard a vessel to
transport it either further upriver — or downriver. Up
to this moment there has been no absolute proof that
al-Qa'eda was based on Dick's wharf. So every detail
of your counter-operation was based on an unproven assumption. Right?'

Paula, seated behind her desk, was fascinated by the
explosive confrontation between the two men. She had only once in the past seen Tweed and Newman at each
other's throats. And what an audience they had. Buchanan
had returned, was seated in front of her. Beaurain, perched
calmly on a hard chair, was watching the two men with keen
eyes. Nield, keeping quiet, was seated on a hard chair near
Monica's desk. And at that moment Marler walked in.
Sensing the atmosphere, he strolled over to lean against
a wall. Now only Harry Butler was absent.

Newman was leaning forward over Tweed's desk, almost
over his chief. Tweed, gazing up at Newman, sat back in
his chair. He folded his arms. When he spoke his voice was
normal, almost quiet.

'Based on an unproven assumption, you said. Actually,
you could be right. I can see that now. Maybe you'd like to sit down and tell me what happened from the moment you left here with Pete Nield. I'll just listen.'

Newman sat down. He drank the glass of water Monica
brought him, thanked her. In a controlled voice he explained
where he had been with Nield, this time starting in the
right sequence with their confrontation with Mrs Proctor's captor in Balham.

Tersely, he painted a vivid picture of their encounter
with the al-Qa'eda killer. The aftermath when they had
left Mrs Proctor calmed down. The body still in the boot
of the car.

'It's downstairs,' he explained. 'Maybe Superintendent
Buchanan should send an ambulance to collect it. Take
it to the best pathologist, Professor Saafeld, if I may sug
gest that.'

'Saafeld is a good idea,' agreed Buchanan. 'I'm using my mobile to call Warden to deal with it at once . . .'

Newman then explained their trip to St Jude's Hospital, his idea. His venturing inside the hospital, the taking of the photographs when the screen aboard the barge was moved. He took out of his pocket the self-developed prints, laid them out on Tweed's desk.

Everyone got up to gather round and study them. Tweed
picked up one, the picture taken when the barge heeled
over and gave a view down the main hatch. Taking out a
magnifying glass, he studied it for several minutes. He then
handed it to Buchanan and Beaurain with the glass.

'Think you ought to see this. We can get it enlarged
downstairs in minutes, get a clearer pic of the object
below the hatch.' He looked at Newman. 'I think you
showed extraordinary initiative and courage collecting this
vital data. Thank God you disobeyed my orders. Now we
are sure where the al-Qa'eda cell is.'

He looked across to Marler.

'Marler,' he explained to the others, 'has just returned
from following Eva Brand. Anything to report, Marler?'

'Yes and no . . .'

Marler, drawing on his remarkable memory, proceeded
to recall every word of the conversation he had heard
between Palfry and Eva. Tweed sat very still, his eyes
fixed on Marler until he had concluded.

'Intriguing,' he began. 'And valuable. Sounds as though Mr Victor Warner is feeling the pressure. Maybe why he's
glad to hide behind me. But two items could be significant.
The Minister's trips off without any guards. And the fact
that Palfry's tub-house, as Eva called it, can house up to
twenty guests. I wonder. No signs of intimacy between the
two of them?' he asked.

'The reverse,' Marler told him. 'Eva dominated Palfry from the word go. Wasn't exactly polite.'

'Another piece of the jigsaw slotted in.'

'I read Paula's report on her ordeal at Carpford,' Buchanan
interjected. 'Am I right,' he asked, turning to Paula, 'that
when you escaped out of that horrible tunnel you saw a
huge abandoned quarry? More to the point, you saw one
big boulder tumble down from the crest, joining a whole
shambles of fallen rocks?'

'Yes, I did. The shambles, as you called it, was at least ten
feet deep and covered a large area. A lot looked as though
it had collapsed recently.'

'At the moment,' Buchanan went on, 'we have four
bodies which have disappeared in that area. Mrs Warner,
Mrs Gobble, Jasper Buller of Special Branch and Pecksniff,
the crooked solicitor. I say bodies because at this stage I fear
none of them are still alive.'

'You think they're buried under the quarry rock-fall?'
suggested Paula. 'Then send a team to search there.'

'I'd like to but there are obstacles. My enquiries show
that a large area of that land, including the quarry, are the joint property of Victor Warner and Drew Franklin. Since
I can't yet show probable cause for the search no legal figure
will sign a search warrant.'

'That's a curious arrangement,' said Tweed. 'I thought Drew rented his cube house. Yet you say he owns land.'

'I know.' Buchanan shrugged. 'The transfer document
drawn up by the New Age Development Corp must be
complex. If we could ask Pecksniff we'd find out its terms.
But Pecksniff is no longer available, to put it mildly.'

'You know, Bob,' Paula said, staring hard at Newman,
'really we do need those aerial photos Airsight are supposed
to be taking one day.'

'Tomorrow,' Newman said with a grin. 'The outfit's
owner, whom I've told you is the best man, flies over there
shortly after dawn tomorrow, takes his pics and rushes them
to us here.'

'I hope,' Tweed intervened, 'he doesn't make a great
song and dance when he flies over. I don't want suspicions
aroused up there.'

'I've already talked to him about that,' Newman assured
him. 'He's clever. He'll take his shots when he first flies
over, then he'll do a loop-the-loop manoeuvre before he
pushes off. Anyone seeing him will assume he's a macho young pilot showing off.'

'That should cover it,' Tweed agreed.

'When I study those pics,' Paula remarked, 'I should
be able to spot which house has the cellar where I was imprisoned.'

Tweed stood up, began pacing the limited space left in his office. He talked as he paced.

'We are so close to the moment when al-Qa'eda will launch its attack on our city. Tomorrow, I'm sure.'

'Today,' Newman corrected. 'It's just after midnight.'

Tweed was pacing when Buchanan stood up to leave.
He kissed Paula on the cheek, said he must get back to
the Yard.

'I'll come down with you,' Tweed said. 'Don't argue . . .'

At the bottom of the stairs he asked George to unlock the
door to the visitors' room. Taking Buchanan by the arm, he
ushered him inside, closed the door.

'Secrecy is vital,' he said.

'You have a plan to destroy al-Qa'eda, haven't you?'
Buchanan suggested.

'Yes. It will involve a lot of cooperation and perfect timing.'

'Then I might as well tell you I have alerted the police anti-terrorist squad for an imminent operation. No details.'

'I'd like you to station them on the right bank of the
Thames. Between Albert Bridge and Waterloo Bridge. As
many marksmen as you can muster. They can go there now
in plain clothes and pick spots where they'll be concealed,
but with a clear view of the river. Give you more later. Also,
at 4 p.m. when it's nearly dark I want all the street lights on
both sides of the river switched off . . .'

'There'll be a riot. People will want to get home.'

'You haven't heard the worst yet. Well before 4 p.m. I want all traffic diverted away from the river, the Embankment. I want traffic banned from crossing those bridges. You'll have to get cracking. They can drive down the Strand.'

'I'll need a reason.'

'Announce by policemen on foot that a major police
exercise is being conducted. That it will last for several hours, duration unknown. That's only part of it. You and I must keep in the closest touch by secure communication.'

'Is that all?' Buchanan asked cynically.

'For the moment only, yes. I know the target. Strictly
between us, I'm in touch with the SAS. That goes no further.'

'Understood. I
had
better get cracking.'

'Just before you leave, I've been in touch with the Home
Secretary and got his blessing. Couldn't say anything else
- he's had a copy of the PM's directive. And I'll be paying
the PM a brief visit. I know he'll signal his agreement.'

'Take good care of yourself, Tweed. I smell great danger.'

Tweed ran up the stairs, entered his office, stood behind
his desk. He waited while everyone watched him.

'I'll explain the plan to wipe out the al-Qa'eda cell at 3
a.m. So everyone must be back here by then. Paula, have
you ever seen all six barges coming upriver to the power
station? You get about a lot.'

'Yes, I have, it's like a huge convoy.'

'Explain in more detail. The distance between the barges.'

'Not more than a hundred yards, at a guess. It really is
an impressive sight. I've also seen them going downriver.'