Cell (58 page)

46

The meeting with Sarge did not take long. Neither Tweed
nor the SAS man believed in wasting words or time. Sarge
listened while Tweed outlined the defence plan as he
understood it. He had only one comment to make when Tweed concluded.

'I think we both know that no battle ever goes according
to plan.'

'I anticipate the unexpected,' Tweed agreed.

As Tweed stood up, escorted him to the door, Sarge
turned and shook hands. His grip was firm and above the scarf his eyes stared into his host's. Tweed knew what he
was doing. He was shaking hands for what might be the last time - in case either one or both did not survive.

'Now,' remarked Tweed when Sarge had gone, 'I wish I
knew the identity of the leader. Who really is Abdullah?'

'Abdullah?' Paula queried.

'I had a brief phone call a while ago. Informing me the
head of al-Qa'eda was Abdullah. The voice of the caller was
using a distorter so I couldn't tell whether it was a man or a
woman.'

'And you believed the caller?'

'Yes. Now I must go down and see how Billy Hogarth is
getting on. Later we all leave here on motor-bikes. Harry has hired several extra. We must take up our first firing
position at dusk, being in place by dark.

'One more sad aspect.' He turned before opening the door. 'I took up the fate of Proctor, the guard at Dick's wharf, held prisoner. As you heard me do so. Sarge was emphatic, was he not, that we cannot risk alerting the al-Qa'eda cell before they attack. I had already come to the same decision.'

'That really is awful,' Paula said. 'His wife has been saved
but he will die.'

'Finally,' Tweed told them before leaving, 'the Minister
has invited me to meet him at his house in Carpford
tomorrow morning at ten o'clock for what he ghoulishly
describes as an inquest.' He extracted an envelope from his
pocket. 'This, sent by courier, is what Monica handed me
before she left the office. I shall accept and be there.'

'By yourself, you mean?' Paula asked.

'No. The invitation names only me, but I'm sure others will
be there. Palfry for one. Also Superintendent Buchanan.
So my whole team will come with me, whether they are
welcome or not. You'd better get dressed hadn't you, for what is to come . . .'

The phone rang. Tweed paused, then picked it up. He listened, ended the call, looked at Paula and Beaurain.

'Something unexpected. A Mr Margesson has arrived
downstairs. From the description it is our Margesson from
Carpford . . .'

He gave them a little salute and went downstairs. Paula
stared at Newman.

'What on earth is going on?'

Marler, Harry and Pete arrived in the office, loaded down
with clothing. Black outfits with the large white SIS on
the backs. Marler had even found an outfit which perfectly
fitted the tall Beaurain.

Paula had donned hers before the others. She stood in
front of a tall mirror attached to the wall, pulled down
the jacket, studied the result quickly. The outfit was black
leather. It had a psychological effect on her. Now she
couldn't wait to reach the Embankment. She then slipped
on one of the green oilskins which concealed what she wore
underneath.

'You looked very come-hitherish in black leather,'
Newman teased her.

'More than I can say for you.'

'Well, you'll be travelling on my motor-cycle, riding
pillion, so you'll just have to put up with it. Mind you
clasp me firmly round the waist.'

'The things I do for England.'

It had taken them a while for everyone to put on the kit.
Pete Nield had trouble getting himself comfortable. They
were all completely dressed when Tweed walked in. He immediately began to put on his own outfit without saying
a word. Paula thought he looked exceptionally grim.

'It was our Margesson,' he announced when he had dressed. 'He is staying here the night. Monica is making
the room Howard's secretary works in comfortable. With George downstairs, like Billy Hogarth he will be safe.'

'You really are looking very grim,' Paula remarked.

'Time to go,' he replied. 'Look out of the window. It will
soon be dusk. We will soon know the outcome.'

47

Paula knew she would never forget the motor-cycle caval
cade ride which took them down on to the Embankment. It
was still daylight, on the edge of dusk. Newman led the way
after being given the exact route to follow by Buchanan on
the phone.

Each machine carried a yellow flag fluttering in the wind
which had sprung up. The moment a police checkpoint in
the distance saw them coming they cleared the way, forcing
irate motorists to drive up on to pavements.

All the motor-cyclists had their lights full on. In the
beams she saw a chaos of traffic worse then any she'd
ever seen before. Insults were shouted at them by some
motorists., while others made rude gestures. If only you lot
knew what we're trying to save you from, Paula thought.

Suddenly they were close to Westminster Bridge. It then
became a strange dream — nightmare? No street lights along the Embankment. Dusk had fallen and she realized
a moon was rising. Had they allowed for this unwanted
illumination?

Newman sped along the dark escarpment which was the
Embankment. Even though she knew the firing-points,
Paula could see no sign anywhere of the SAS. They had
to be in position but were invisible. The wind ruffled
the surface of the swift-moving river. Had they taken
into account the effect a wind like this might have? she
wondered. It had not been forecast.

Arriving at the elevated plinth with the statue, Newman parked his machine against the inner kerb, jumped off as Harry arrived behind him. Normally so nimble, Paula was
beaten to the top of the plinth by Harry. He immedi
ately pulled back the protective canvas, handed her a
sub-machine gun and extra ammo. He also gave her a
radio headset to put on.

'We have total communication with the SAS and
Buchanan's anti-terrorist mob on the other shore,' he
told her. 'Get that microphone closer to your mouth.'

Tweed had arrived on the plinth. Like Paula, he threw
off his oilskin so his leather clothes were exposed. He
attached a headset. He was followed by Newman and
Marler, carrying his Armalite rifle. Nield joined them. He had thrown off his oilskin on the pavement and accepted a
sub-machine gun from Harry.

'Is this radio system completely safe, secure?' asked
Paula.

She had a shock. Not realizing her words had passed into
her microphone. A voice she recognized as Sarge's replied,
as calm as if this were an exercise.

'Completely secure, Paula. We have a genius who pro
duced it.'

'Thank you . . .'

'One more warning,' Sarge continued, 'when a transport
goes down or is disabled, we may face motorized dinghies
- or even small speedboats - heading for the shore. Assume
all the men inside them will be suicide bombers - because
they will be. Over and out . . .'

Only then did it occur to Paula that Sarge's words would
be heard by several score men waiting on both sides of the
river. And anything she said. She decided to do it.

'There's a very strong wind. Not forecast. It may affect
the steering of the transports.'

'Good point,' Sarge replied. 'I was just going to make it myself. Assume it will be a circus. Those who can throw a good distance - and accurately — may wish to use grenades on any hostile craft approaching.'

'Here you are,' said Harry, one hand over his mike so
what he was saying wouldn't fog up communications. With
his other hand he gave Paula a heavy satchel. When she
looked inside inside she saw a collection of grenades. She
slung the satchel over her shoulder, checked her submachine gun by the light of the moon.

'We overlooked the strength of the moon,' Sarge warned.
'It may be a help or a hindrance. We'll find out, won't
we?'

Sarge was clever, Paula thought. He used 'transports' as
opposed to 'barges'. It suggested to her he was not one hundred per cent convinced about the security of their
communications.

'Pete and I,' said Harry, one hand still blocking his mike,
'are going down to the edge of the Embankment. If any try
to come ashore we'll be closer to them . . .'

Saying which, he leapt off the plinth, a satchel of grenades
over his shoulder, sub-machine gun in one hand, followed
by Pete. Crossing the Embankment, they crouched behind
the wall.

'I think we're ready for anything,' said Beaurain, who
spoke only rarely.

'Famous last words,' back came the comment from
Sarge.

Beaurain was crouched behind the statue, which loomed
above them. For the first time Paula wondered who had
merited the honour of the stone figure on horseback. Some
general who had commanded in some long-ago war. Now
he was hardly noticed. Pass beyond your time and you
became a footnote in history. Such was the juggernaut
passage of life.

'Exbar is now leaving station,' a strange voice came over
her headset.

Exbar? Must be the code-word for the six barges. They were on the move. She felt Tweed, standing close to her, stiffen. He was wondering whether they had the sequence right. Paula checked the illuminated face of her watch. 4.35 p.m. Al-Qa'eda had started their attack early.

'Get ready.' Sarge's voice. 'Up here it should be a while
yet. If we are right,' he added ominously.

Paula's nerves had earlier rattled her, a normal experience.
Now she was cold. Her eyes were fixed on Westminster
Bridge, the first place their barge would appear.
If we are
right.
She extracted a water-bottle from her new shoulder-
bag which she always carried, containing the Browning. She sipped cold water, swilled it round her mouth, then
swallowed. Might be the last chance for a drink.

Inside the managing director's room at Dick's wharf, Proc
tor was still tied hand and foot to the heavy chair. Earlier the ropes round his arms had been unfastened so he could
exercise them. The same method had been used so he could exercise his legs later.

They had also fed their captive and provided him with water and tea. No humanitarian reasons prompted Ali to arrange these measures. It was important to keep Proctor
fresh and alert. Then if Dixon phoned him he would be
able to reply in a normal way.