Cell (54 page)

It was very warm and so silent. The only sound the faint
gurgle from the curved radiators spanning the walls. She wended her way between the furniture, ran quietly up the carpeted curving staircase to the gallery. One heavy door
with another lock. Carefully she turned the handle. Locked.
She hissed down to Marler, beckoned.

It took him less than two minutes to deal with the lock. He
turned the handle slowly, pushed the door open. Paula crept
after him. This was the dangerous moment. Again Marler
found the switch panel, turned everything on. A corridor curved off in both directions, a corridor with closed doors
at regular intervals.

'You go that way, I'll go this way and we'll eventually
meet. Check every room . . .'

None of the doors were locked. She had her Browning
ready as she opened doors. Each room had a bed made up
and in a corner a shower room. The beds were made up
neatly. She felt the sheets but they were cold. She made her
discovery in the last room. Neatly piled up in several stacks
were piles of sleeping-bags. She counted. Twenty of them.

Emerging from the room, she met Marler coming from
the other direction. He took her by the arm.

'Time we got out of this
Ideal Home
place.'

'I don't think they'd allow it to be shown at the exhi
bition,' she whispered back.

She even welcomed the cold when they were outside.
Marler used his pick to relock the door, turned to her.

'What do you think?'

'I could never live in a place like that. I'd go mad.'

'Find anything?'

'Only in one bedroom. All the others had the beds made
up with new sheets. In this particular bedroom stacks of sleeping-bags. Twenty of them.'

'Twenty sleeping-bags. Twenty members of al-Qa'eda en route. So where to next?'

Paula insisted on checking Mrs Gobble's cottage. It had the feel of any empty house. She even peered behind the folding screen. No telescope. She found it strange that the
front door had been closed but not locked. She felt a
sadness for Mrs Gobble. Was she gone for ever? Buchanan
thought so.

'Now for Drew Franklin,' she said to Marler after closing
the door on the cottage. 'Brace yourself. . .'

They kept close together because, if possible, the fog was
now denser. It even muffled the sound of their footsteps on
the road. Paula felt they were ghosts in a dream.

'Lights on Drew's first-floor window in that cube,' Marler
said. 'Think this time I'd better ring the bell.'

'If you can find it.'

After trying several paved pathways they found the entrance. Marler pressed the bell, folded his arms. Very
quickly the door was thrown open. Drew stood framed by
the hall light behind him, fully dressed in a business suit.
He glared.

'Yes?'

'We'd like a word with you . . .' Marler began.

'Then make an appointment to see me at my office in
town,' he rasped at them.

The door was slammed shut in their faces. Marler
shrugged.

There were no lights in the palatial Garda, home of Victor
Warner. Marler shrugged again, said they'd better not push
it this time. They were walking back to where he had parked
the car when a figure loomed up in the fog. Marler had his Walther in his hand instantly. A familiar voice called out.
Buchanan's.

'Don't shoot the postman, he's doing his best.'

'You've found Martin Hogarth's corpse?' Paula asked
him.

'No. That first bungalow you come to is - was - his?
Right?'

'Yes.'

'No body inside that place. No sign there ever was one.
We've checked the next bungalow - Billy Hogarth's, isn't it? Nothing in there. Somebody, an amateur, had forced open the front door of Billy's place. Nothing. No body.'

'That's Number Five,' Paula said slowly. 'Disappeared up here. Or am I losing count?'

42

The battle meeting, as Tweed called it, began at Park
Crescent at 6 a.m., from the original timing of 3 a.m.
This was to give time for Paula and Newman to return
from the journey to Carpford.

They had arrived earlier and Tweed had met them in the visitors' room. He listened in silence while they described
what had happened, what certain people they'd encountered had said to them. He showed no reaction as Marler described the suicide of Martin Hogarth, the subsequent
disappearance of his corpse. When Marler concluded his story Tweed merely nodded as he stood up. He said only one thing.

'It all fits with the suspicions I sensed a long time ago.
You did say there was no sign of Palfry?'

'I did,' Marler confirmed.

'Then it is time now for us to attend the meeting. They
are all waiting in my office. Everyone who will play a key
part in the plan to destroy al-Qa'eda . . .'

Entering his office, Paula was surprised to find the furniture had been changed and a number of people present.
Rows of chairs faced Tweed's desk, which he went to sit at.
With Newman she had a seat in a fold-up chair in front of
his desk.

Next to Newman sat Buchanan. On her left side sat Jules
Beaurain, very upright. He smiled, squeezed her hand. On
the seat beyond the Belgian Howard sat back with folded
arms. In rows behind them she saw Marler, Harry Butler,
Pete Nield and Monica. Tweed stood up. He spoke in a
quiet voice, his eyes constantly switching from one member
of his audience to another.

'This battle meeting is to brief you on how we shall defeat the al-Qa'eda cell based at Dick's wharf on the far side of the
Thames.' He paused. 'The target is six key bridges spanning the Thames. In this order of expected attack. First Waterloo Bridge, then Westminster, followed by Lambeth, Vauxhall,
Chelsea and Albert Bridges. Anyone may ask questions as
I brief you. The attack will be launched by six huge barges,
at present stationed at Dick's wharf.'

'Excuse me.' Newman held up a hand. 'How can you be so confident the bridges will be attacked in the sequence
you suggested?'

'Because I have spent many hours visualizing, as the
mastermind, how I would conduct the operation. The six barges will proceed downriver in a convoy, each barge
spaced well behind the one in front. If they attacked, say,
Albert Bridge first that would give warning of what was
coming. By blowing up Waterloo Bridge first they proceed
in logical sequence.'

'And the method of attacks?' Paula enquired for the
benefit of the others.

'I was coming to that. Each barge has a roll-over metal
cover. All these covers will be shielding the interiors. In the
centre of each cover is a large hatch which will be open
when the convoy sails. Below this open hatch will be a
device of great explosive power. As a barge passes under a bridge this device will be fired. It will travel vertically, pass
through the open hatch, detonate when it strikes roughly
the centre of the bridge above it. It will be a projectile
of enormous explosive power, a mixture of Semtex and another explosive. The entire bridge will lose its stability,
will collapse into the river, shattered.'

'And how do we prevent this happening?' Beaurain asked with a smile. Again for the benefit of everyone present.

'I can now tell you the SAS will be present on the
Embankment. They may already be here, knowing them.
They have perfected a new sophisticated mortar, very accu
rate. Practised on a remote lake in Scotland. First, a large rubber ball is fired, to gauge range and target position.
Followed almost immediately by the firing of a powerful
bomb, aimed to drop down the hatch. This will detonate the
al-Qa'eda device inside the barge, blow it to smithereens.'

'Supposing the mortar bomb misses descending into the
hatch?' Beaurain suggested.

'The SAS have a back-up team. Each barge is controlled
and steered by the control room at the stern. In case of such
an emergency another SAS unit will aim a long-distance
rocket at the deckhouse. The barge will then be out of con
trol. Impossible to continue steering it towards its target.' - 'This has been well thought out,' Beaurain commented.
, Tweed swivelled his gaze across his audience. He sensed
rising tension. His next words would intensify that atmosphere.

'I am surprised no one has questioned the timing of the
crisis. As yet, I'm sure you have not realized the catastrophe,
the horror we seek to prevent. A catastrophe to make the
terrible World Trade Center attack in New York seem like
a tactical prelude.'

'Barges,' Paula told them. 'That's what poor Eddie,
murdered in Monk's Alley, was showing us in his crude
drawing.
A barge.
Tell us then,' she invited Tweed, 'about
the timing.'

'I am sure it will be between 5 p.m. and 6 p.m. Say
5.30 p.m.'

'Oh, my God!' Paula gasped. 'Rush hour . . .'

'Exactly,' Tweed agreed. 'At that time each bridge is crammed with traffic - cars, buses, coaches transporting
schoolchildren home from the various exhibitions I hear
that they will be visiting, so the casualties would run
into many thousands — the key to the al-Qa'eda plan. A
spectacular atrocity on the largest scale they have achieved
anywhere so far.'

He waited. A deathly silence had gripped his audience.
They had grasped how much was at stake. Beaurain decided
a little reassurance was called for.

'So we realize how vital it is to destroy those barges
one by one before they reach their targets. Which we
will do.'

'Monica.' Tweed called out, 'please pass round photocopies of the device drawn by Commissaire Beaurain with Paula's help. Also pass round photocopies of the picture Newman took from the hospital when the barge tilted, giving a clear view down inside the main hatch.'

He sipped a glass of water, still standing, while everyone
examined the pictures. Paula stood up, moved from one
person to another, explaining anything they were not clear
on. The tension in his office was subsiding. Now every
one realized what was involved, their expressions became
more determined, grimmer. Tweed found this reaction very satisfactory.

'I've grasped it,' Harry Butler called out in a calm voice.
'But what about the traffic on the bridges?'

'I wondered when someone would ask that question.
There will
not
be any traffic on the bridges. There won't
be any driving along the Embankment on either side of the
river. In a moment Superintendent Buchanan will explain
what he has planned. The SAS will be the key element
in this operation. A large force will be based along the
embankment.'