Cell (57 page)

He checked his watch. It was all a matter of timing. He
ran up the steps to the Ministry, jammed his thumb into
the bell. He was taken aback when, instead of the usual
guard, a uniformed policeman opened the door. Furious,
he had to show identification before the policeman would
let him enter. This really was too much. He was personal
assistant to the Minister. He glared.

'What on earth is going on?'

'Danger of major gas explosion, sir. Could bring down whole buildings.'

Palfry hurried up to the Minister's office. He wouldn't
be there. A full meeting of the Cabinet was in session. He
had to find out what was really going on.

Drew Franklin, wearing a white polo-necked sweater and
white, perfectly creased slacks, left his office at the
Daily
Nation.
Erect as a military officer, he walked into the
editor's office without bothering to knock.

The editor looked up, frowning, then saw who it was. He
smiled. Drew was one of their major assets, a reason why
their daily sales kept climbing. Drew was also prickly and
had to be handled with care. He opened his mouth, but
Drew spoke first in his upper-crust, barking voice.

'You have to hold the front page for tomorrow,' he
ordered. 'It will be fully occupied by a major story I
shall be writing. Do make sure those clots downstairs
understand.'

Saying which, he left the room before the editor could
reply. The editor rubbed his eyes, picked up the phone
and passed the news downstairs. He refused to explain
the reason for this unprecedented decision. He felt better when he'd put down the phone. Had to be careful. Drew
could be back asking if he had carried out the instruction.

* * *

The Cabinet meeting was coming to an end. Victor Warner was looking pleased, self-satisfied. They had approved the new mandate the PM had personally composed. No option really. The PM was presiding at the meeting. A copy of the mandate was already on its way to Park Crescent by motor-cycle courier.

A spanner in the works at a critical moment. He only
wished he could be present when Tweed received his copy.

Inside the Minister's penthouse, Mrs Carson was irritated
beyond endurance. Eva Brand, seated at her desk in Warner's
study, was checking her watch yet again. She must have checked the time five times in the last hour.

'Mrs Carson,' Eva snapped. 'First, you have no right to
be in here without permission. Second, if you had to deal with this heap of papers by a deadline you would worry
about time.'

'But you keep on checking your watch,' Mrs Carson com
plained, repeating what she had said when she'd entered.

'The needle has got stuck in the track,' Eva retorted. 'You
have said that once already. Now, tomorrow morning the
Minister is holding a special meeting at Carpford. I have a
lot to accomplish. May I, therefore, suggest you leave this
room?'

'I am the housekeeper,' Mrs Carson replied, drawing
herself up.

'Then go and keep house in the kitchen. Or the toilet
for all I care. But get out of this study and stay out.' Her
voice was hard. So was her expression. 'And close the door
behind you. Quietly, please.'

'Well, I never

'No, you probably never did. Just go.
Now!'

At this stage in her life the last thing Eva was prepared to put up with was impertinence from a housekeeper. As
the door closed quietly she checked her watch once more.

* * *

It was a blockbuster. Tweed, together with Paula, Beaurain
and Newman, had just settled in the office when Howard
walked in. Moving slowly, he looked very unhappy. In his
right hand he held a sheet of paper. Paula stared. Never
before had she seen the Director look embarrassed.

'Sorry to intrude,' Howard began. 'I thought you ought to
know right away, Tweed. The PM has revoked his previous
order placing you in supreme command of the operation.
This has just arrived by courier.'

For a short time there was silence. Then there were
groans. Someone, under their breath, but clear enough for
all to hear, questioned the legitimacy of the PM's birth.

Only Tweed remained undisturbed, his face without expression. He held out his hand to Howard who handed
him the document. Tweed scanned it swiftly, then read it
out aloud.

From now on I would appreciate dose collaboration between the SIS and the Ministry of Security. Whenever
this may be necessary to facilitate the success of the
operation. As and when Mr Tweed may consider it will
ensure success.

Tweed looked up. It was signed by the PM himself. Below
it detailed copies to the Home Secretary, the Deputy Com
missioner of Scotland Yard, Superintendent Buchanan of
Scotland Yard. Nothing more.

'It will be a disaster,' Newman burst out. 'A complete and terrible disaster.'

'I don't think so at all,' Tweed told him. 'You haven't
noticed something is missing.'
,

'What is that?' Howard asked.

'No copy to me, listed at the foot of the document. This is a photocopy, doubtless sent by Victor Warner. The PM
is simply soothing fevered brows. In no way does it change
my original status.'

'Thank God,' said Howard. 'Sorry, I missed that omis
sion.'

The phone rang. Monica called over to Tweed.

'Victor Warner is on the line to speak to you.'

Tweed switched on the new speak-box Monica had
installed. He disliked it but had thanked her fulsomely. Now everyone would hear the ensuing conversation. He also pressed the record button.

'Yes, Minister.'

'That's Tweed, isn't it? I recognize the dulcet tones,' the
voice sneered.

'What is it?'

'I have heard rumours - which I believe to be accurate -that a meeting was held in your office to which I was not
invited.'

'That's right. You were not invited,' Tweed replied.

'Do you realize the Prime Minister has ordered the closest
collaboration between all security services on the dreadful situation facing us?'

'Read the communication again, Warner. It does say, "As
and when Mr Tweed may consider it will ensure success."
So any decision is for me to take, as in the original mandate.
You really should read communications from the PM more carefully.'

'Tweed!
I consider you are exceeding your powers . . .'

'Then go on considering it. I am fully occupied dealing
with the crisis . . .'

He switched off. Hand-clapping and cheers broke out. Tweed glared.

'That will be enough of that. We have wasted four minutes over nothing at all.' He turned to Howard. 'Thank you
for keeping me up to date. I fear Warner is losing his nerve.'

'Thank you, Tweed.' Howard came forward and gripped him on the shoulder. 'You know I have the fullest confi
dence in you.' He turned to the others. 'In all of you.' Then
he left.

Paula had often admired the way Tweed in a crisis
never forgot a detail. He demonstrated this quality now. Handing the photocopy of the PM's latest communication to Monica, he spoke quickly.

'Better keep that. File it under junk mail. Now I'd like
to know what has happened to Billy Hogarth. I imagine
Harry and Pete brought him back here before we left for
the Embankment.'

'Yes, they did. He's downstairs.'

'Not in the basement, I hope?'

'Of course not. He's in the visitors' room. The door
locked and George just outside.'

'Not a very comfortable.'place for him to be.'

'It is now!' Monica was indignant. 'I got some of the men
in the basement to carry up the bed. I made it up with new sheets and blankets and pillows. I covered that bleak table with a thick tablecloth so he can eat there. He has a whole
crop of paperback thrillers. I popped in to see him after
I'd given him breakfast just before you got back. He was
in bed, perched up against a pillow. He had a paperback
in his lap and had fallen asleep. I think he needs a lot of
sleep. Satisfied?'

'Bless you!' Tweed threw up his hands in apology. 'You
are an angel. I should have guessed.'

'Yes, you should have,' she retorted, still irked.

'I'll go down and see him when I can. When he's awake.
He can use the shower upstairs when he wants to.'

'I should hope so,' she replied, staring at her word-
processor.

'What happened to Pete and Harry when we got back?'
Tweed wondered.

'Went down to the basement to get some kip on camp
beds,' Marler told him.

'Anyone else who needs sleep?' Tweed enquired quietly.
He pointed to Newman who had sagged in the armchair,
eyes shut.

'Not me,' Beaurain said also quietly when Tweed looked
at him. 'I can go a long time without it. If I close my eyes
now it will just fog my brain.'

'Give me something to do,' Marler suggested.

'What you did before. Track down Eva Brand anony
mously as you did last time. Then watch her and track her
if she goes somewhere. I need to know who, if anyone, she
contacts.'

'I'm on my way . . .'

When he had left, Paula came across to Tweed's desk, sat
in the armchair opposite Newman. She began whispering when Newman opened his eyes.

'You can talk normally. A few minutes' kip and I'm a new man.'

'You do seem interested in keeping an eye on Eva,' Paula
said. 'Could I see that photo Nield took when he went to the Finsbury Park mosque? Seems a year ago.'

She studied the photo inside a plastic evidence' envelope Tweed handed her. She turned the photo this way and that, examining the picture of a tallish figure tilted sideways as it
walked. Wearing Arab clothes.

'I do know who this is.' She pursed her lips in annoyance.
I just can't put my finger on it. Maddening.'

She gave him back the envelope as the phone rang
again. Monica said a visitor alleging Tweed knew him
was waiting. Tweed checked his watch. Midday. As usual Sarge was on time. Tweed asked Monica and Paula if they
would mind leaving them alone. Newman could stay, along
with Beaurain.