Cell (9 page)

'Important to you or to me?' Tweed enquired, playing with his Carrier pen, another present from his staff.

'Important to you . . .'

'Does your uncle, Drew, know you've come here?' Tweed
interjected.

'Heavens, no!' Eva lifted her hands in horror at the idea.
'He'd have a fit. So I shan't tell him.'

'Before you tell me what you think is so important I'd like to know a little more about you. Background, career,
if any.'

She sat up very straight. Newman couldn't take his
eyes off her. From behind her word processor on her
desk Monica glanced across at Paula, raised her eyes to
heaven.

'I was educated at Roedean, then Oxford. I know some
thing about code-breaking — had a boyfriend who was in
that area. I spent some time at Medfords Security Agency.
That was a tough job - they asked me to get to know certain
men, take them to bars and get them drunk so they'd talk.
The trick was to get them chattering, providing secret
information, then escape before the invitation to their flat.

I once used my knee to get away from a persistent character.
Do you get the gist?'

'I think I do.' Tweed was smiling. 'A tough job, as you said.' He was careful not to look at Paula, who was gazing
in astonishment. 'So why have you barged in here?'

'Barged in!' Eva laughed. 'I like that.' She assumed her
serious expression. 'Every now and again I drive up to
Carpford, an odd village way up in the North Downs. I
clear up the mess Drew likes living in. Dusting and so on. I
make occasional visits when I know my uncle is in London. Would you believe it - Drew never notices. Well, a week ago
I was in his place alone at night and I heard a motor-cycle
coming. It stopped outside. I had my pistol, loaded, in my
hand in no time. A Browning . . .'

'A Browning?' Tweed enquired, concealing his surprise.

'Yes, a .32. Surely you of all people must know about the
weapon. I'm a member of a shooting club near the Thames.
To continue, I watched from behind a gap in the curtains -
watched this motor-cyclist carry an envelope to Drew's door
and push it through the letter box. Then he roared off.'

'What did he look like?'

'Couldn't tell. Wore all the leather gear and a big helmet
which completely concealed his face. Now, the envelope.
It had no name or address on the outside. So, cheekily, I used a method for opening it I learned at Medfords - so
you can later seal it and no one can tell it has been opened.
I'd seen what was inside when the motor-cyclist came back.
I stood to the side of the door with my Browning. He pushed
open the flap of the letter-box and called out through the opening.'

'Same chap?'

'As far as I could tell. Again his machine was a Harley-Davidson. He spoke slowly and had a thick foreign accent.
I decided that if he tried to break in I'd shoot him in the
leg,' she said calmly.

'Why in the leg?'

'Then he could be interrogated later. He called out, "I delivered envelope wrong house. Push it back." I kept very quiet and he repeated the same words three times, then he gave up, rode away on his bike. Here it is.'

She handed Tweed a sheet of paper. It was good-quality bond paper and drawn in pen was a skilful picture of a
cathedral with a huge dome. Tweed looked at her.

'St Paul's Cathedral,' she said. 'Very accurate. Good as a photograph.'

'I agree. What do you make of it?'

'The next target. This time in Britain. St Paul's is the
supreme symbol of Christianity - which the fundamentalist
Muslims want to destroy.'

'You're reading an awful lot into one drawing.'

'Am I?' Eva lifted her hand to push back a thick lock
of hair away from her left eye. She had made this gesture
several times. 'After the World Trade Center catastrophe
in New York I asked Drew, who knows the Arabs, whether
they really would be capable of planning such an intricate
operation. He said it didn't really seem likely. Left it at
that. I began to think about it, studying all the info I
could get.'

'You came to a conclusion?' Tweed enquired off-handedly.

'I damned well did. I know the States. First they'd need one of those copious air timetables giving all flights - so they could pick out long-distance flights carrying tons of fuel. They'd have to decide which flights would be best.
Then they'd have to check security. Find out where it
was slack. Then locate quiet flats to rent where there
was a mix of nationalities, so the killers wouldn't stand out. They'd have to visit the Trade Center several times,
decide on the best place to hit both towers. Probably
discover where the architectural plans were available so they could study the structure. And a whole lot more. I've been to Egypt, mixed with Arabs. They're not advanced
enough to have planned September 11.'

'Who would be then?'

'My bet would be an American - or an Englishman.'

Eva was about to leave when Tweed asked her to wait a
moment. He darted out of the office, ran upstairs to where he found Pete Nield and Harry Butler drinking coffee. He
told them he wanted them to follow an Eva Brand who was
waiting in his office. He described her vividly.

'I want to know where she goes, who she meets. You'll
have to get cracking . . .'

Butler opened a cupboard, grabbed a beret and a cap
which he shoved into his pockets. They wanted to take up
positions outside before their quarry left. Tweed looked
at Nield.

'Difficult for you to change appearance in that suit.'

'No it isn't,' Harry told him. 'He can turn it inside out
and it's a boring grey colour. Seen him change in an alley.
Timing? Thirty seconds. We're off. . .'

Like most of Tweed's staff they wore rubber-soled shoes,
and without a sound slipped off down the stairs past the closed door of Tweed's office. Tweed slowly returned as
the front door closed quietly. They would be in position
well before his visitor left.

Whenever possible Tweed organized two people to shadow
a target. The system worked well and made it very unlikely
the target would have any idea he - or she - was being
shadowed.

Eva was standing up, putting on her smart expensive grey
coat. She smiled when he came in and checked her watch.
Then she went close to him, kissed him on both cheeks.

'I have taken up too much of your time. Thank you so much for seeing me.'

'Didn't give me much choice, did you,' he replied with
a warm smile. 'Do you want to give me your address and
phone number?'

'Don't waste much time, do you?' she flashed back, smiling wickedly. 'But Paula has all my details.' She looked back at Paula. 'You take care. See you tonight at the Ivy.'

Then she was gone. With her absence the buoyant temperature inside the office seemed to have dropped. Even
Monica seemed more subdued.

'What was all this business, Paula, about having dinner
with her at the Ivy? You're developing expensive tastes,'
Tweed remarked.

'It was Eva's idea,' Paula explained. 'She said it would
be nice for just us two girls to go out and compare notes.
I'm wondering whether she wants to interrogate me. I'll'
be careful. But, that apart, I like her. She's clever. That business about who planned the atrocity in New York.'

'For weeks I have been wondering exactly the same thing
myself. For similar reasons. Oh, I arranged for Pete and
Harry to follow her.'

'So you don't trust her?'

'It's just that. As you know, I never take people at face value. Also I thought it curious that she never mentioned
the disappearance of Mrs Warner. It has to be the main
topic at Carpford.'

The door opened and Marler strolled in. He leant against
a wall and produced one of his long cigarettes.

'Who was that devastating gorgeous woman I saw leav
ing here? The one with a great mane of dark hair and
very tall.'

'You've just missed out,' Paula teased him. 'That was Eva Brand and Tweed has just sent Pete and Harry to shadow her. Now, if you had been here . . .'

'I don't think I like you any more,' he commented.

Paula had a point. Had Marler been available, Tweed
would probably have sent him after her. An expert tracker,
he always worked on his own and none of the targets he
had followed had ever been aware of his presence. He lit
his cigarette.

'What was Glamour Puss doing here?'

The phone rang and Monica looked surprised. She called out to Tweed. 'You'll never guess who is waiting to see you downstairs.'

Tweed hammered a fist on his desk, part of his new
physical vitality. 'I don't want to guess. I want to know
who it is.'

'Jules Beaurain.'

Wearing a blue bird's-eye suit, Beaurain breezed in. Tweed
introduced him to Newman and Marler. Holding a posy of
fresh flowers, Beaurain then walked swiftly to Paula's desk,
laid down the posy.

'For an exceptionally intelligent and beautiful lady. It's a Belgian custom.'

'Don't believe that last bit, Jules,' Paula replied. 'They're
wonderful. I can't thank you enough.'

'Then don't try.'

He sat down in the armchair facing Newman, stared at him as though he was some strange species. 'You're the
reporter. I've read all your articles. Sometimes they're very
good,' he chaffed, smiling.

'They're always good,' retorted Newman, returning the
smile.

'Enough of this chit-chat. What brings you haring back
to London, Jules?' Tweed asked.

'To give you information about Carpford I don't think you have yet. I phoned Buchanan. There are two more
people up there you don't know about. You know where Margesson's house is?'

'Yes.'

Tweed had taken a large sheet of cartridge paper from his bottom drawer. Monica had earlier rushed to pick up
the posy from Paula's desk, now she returned with a vase of water with the flowers carefully arranged. She placed
them on Paula's desk. Paula extracted a rose, trimmed
it with scissors, then went over to Beaurain. She inserted
it in his lapel, using a safety pin to secure it. He looked
up at her.

'With such appreciation next time I'll buy the whole shop.'

'Yes,' growled Tweed. He swivelled the sheet round. 'Have I got Carpford reasonably accurate?'

Paula leaned over Beaurain to study the drawing. She
was amazed at how quickly Tweed had worked. Carp
Lake was the centre piece. Around it he had drawn Garda, Warner's strange Italianate property; Drew Franklin's con
crete blockhouse; Agatha Gobble's Cotswold cottage; Pere
grine Palfry's round house and Margesson's Georgian hor
ror.