Cell (8 page)

He was dressed in country clothes, a smart hunter's
jacket and polo trousers tucked inside gleaming knee-length
boots. Smiling, he ushered them to an enormously wide
couch and sat next to Paula with Tweed beyond her.

'I am so sorry to drag you down here but I do have a Cabinet meeting soon. Pure waste of time. Bores me stiff
listening to gabble-gabble. Now, what would you like to quench your thirst? Tea, coffee - maybe something a little stronger?'

Tweed refused anything and Paula followed suit. Warner
looked over at the open door where Palfry stood waiting to
bring refreshment, shook his head. Palfry dipped his head,
withdrew, closing the door.

'Good chap, Perry,' Warner remarked. 'Member of MENSA - not that it impresses me. But he's so reliable
and has the memory of an elephant.' He was addressing
his remarks to Paula. 'I have heard of the legendary Paula
Grey. Makes me wonder whether I should talk to her rather
than you, Tweed.' He said it with a smile.

'If I am regarded anywhere as legendary it is exaggerated
wildly,' she told him. 'Mr Tweed is the power.'

'Then I will talk to both of you.' He looked across at
Tweed. 'I hope you will not take what I say as personal.'

'Depends what you say, Minister.'

Paula was startled. Minister? Then she realized Tweed was using softening up tactics, something he rarely did.

'It has come to my shell-like ear,' Warner began gravely,
'that you two have been poking about up at Carpford. I regard that as my private sanctuary.'

'Surely you are worried about the mysterious disappear
ance of your wife,' Tweed replied bluntly.

'I am worried sick. It is so unlike Linda to take off into
the wild blue yonder. And the police are hopeless. That
chap Buchanan simply says he has no news yet. After three
weeks. I ask you.'

'Superintendent Buchanan is the cleverest and most
determined policeman in this country. The car your wife was driving, which was found abandoned, has been subjected to the most thorough lab search. No clues at all found inside it. Have you yet had any kind of message demanding a ransom? If you have you must tell me - even if the caller told you that was the last thing you must do.'

'No one has called.' Warner's voice had changed, was rasping. He was leaning against Paula to speak to Tweed
and she caught a whiff of after-shave lotion. She knew
he was quite unaware he was pressing against her as he
continued vehemently. 'I have received no ransom demand.
Dammit, man, if I had I would
have told Buchanan.
And, once again, why were you poking about down at Carpford?'

'Because, at Buchanan's urgent request, I've reverted for
the moment to my old role of detective. You should be grateful.'

'Oh, I see.' He sat back. 'Someone told me you were once
the star turn at the old Scotland Yard. Find anything? See any of the people up there?'

'Olaf Margesson for one. He's a fanatic on religion. Do you know him?'

'He's invited me over for the occasional glass of sherry.
Don't understand your reference to religion. We talked
mostly about cricket. Anyone else?'

'Mrs Gobble.'

'She's potty. Quite harmless though. So you got nowhere?'

'I didn't say that. There are rumours that al-Qa'eda has
arrived over here
..."

The effect of Tweed's words was electric. Warner jumped
up from the couch, marched back to his desk, sat in the high
chair behind it. Paula was astonished at the change in his personality. He looked choleric, his voice grim.

'Now listen to me, Tweed. I know you have in your outfit
that foreign correspondent reporter, Robert Newman. If he tries to write about those rumours we'll put out a D notice,
stop him in his tracks. It's an absurd idea. I will tell you
some criminal organization from abroad may be trying to
establish some system in Britain with the drug cartel in
Colombia. That's absolutely off the record. Muzzle that wild dog, Newman. Do you understand me?'

The couch they sat on faced the elevated desk. Paula was
staring at Victor Warner's expression, hardly able to credit
a man's face could undergo such a change. The long bony
face was a picture of violent rage, mouth open, exposing
teeth like those of a small shark.

'I gather,' Tweed said slowly, calmly, 'that you don't
want Newman reporting the possible arrival of a drug
cartel operating out of Colombia. Like me, I'm sure he
hasn't heard a whiff of such an event. So he's hardly likely
to write about it.'

'I was talking about this al-Qa'eda nonsense. For God's
sake don't you realize the panic such an idiotic rumour would cause in London? After the World Trade Center
atrocity in New York. Panic,
panic,
PANIC!'

'So there's not an atom of truth in those rumours?'

Warner threw both arms in the air. He looked up at the
ceiling as though seeking salvation.

'Haven't you yet grasped it's all rubbish? Do I have to
say all over again what I have already explained to you so
absolutely clearly? Don't you think we would know if there
was even the merest hint of truth in such a crazy idea? You
really are sorely trying my patience.'

'And,' Tweed said, standing up, 'you are absolutely sure
you have received no word from anyone since your wife
vanished into thin air? Even a few words from the lady
herself?'

'Nothing, as I have already told you once. Tweed, you
really are an extraordinary fellow - you need everything
repeated to you twice. I'm even beginning to doubt that you should hold the position you do.'

'But that decision . . .' Tweed smiled '. . . doesn't come
within your province, does it? I hope you soon receive better news about Linda.'

'Linda?'