Blood Storm

3

The Cabal was assembled in an obscure building down a side street off Whitehall. It comprised three junior ministers with great influence higher up the power chain. The three men worked well together – most of the time. The fact that they were brothers, the offspring of the brilliant and notorious General Macomber, hero of the Gulf War, helped.

'By now Tweed should be out of the picture, reputation smeared forever. It is a first major step in the merger,' remarked Nelson Macomber.

'We should have a report on the operation,' reported Noel Macomber, known as the Planner. 'The scandal will destroy our major opponent.' His lean grim face expressed his satisfaction at the prospect.

The three brothers were a contrast. Nelson was six feet five tall, heavily built, in his forties, his shoulders wide, his striking head large, clean shaven. His eyes were ice blue beneath thick black hair and thick brows. His strong nose was well shaped and below it his wide mouth and jaw suggested energy and determination.

'We should damned well have had confirmation by now,' said Benton, his voice quiet, his thick fingers tapping the table.

The third brother was also well built but shorter than Nelson. He spoke only occasionally, but his reserved manner appealed to women. He was the most cautious of the brothers, taking nothing for granted until it was achieved.

The three men were seated in tapestry-covered chairs at the peculiar table. It was triangular, to stress that none of the three was in charge. The phone rang. Noel's slim-fingered hand grabbed it, listened.

'Are you sure?' he demanded. 'A slip-up? You mean you botched the job. Get back here immediately, you clumsy fool.' He ended the call, gently replacing the phone.

'You spoke too quickly, Nelson,' he said with malicious satisfaction on his spade-shaped face. There was a certain competitiveness between the three brothers. 'Whatever compromising item was delivered to Tweed has been snatched away from his house.'

'Snatched away?' Nelson rumbled. 'Don't take all year to report what happened.'

'Newman arrived and grabbed a briefcase from the Paula Grey woman.'

'Newman again!' Nelson leaned forward. 'That man has become as dangerous as Tweed. What about the troops you sent in two cars?'

'Newman was in a four-wheel-drive built like a tank. He smashed up both cars then took off…'

'They should have pursued him,' Nelson rasped. 'That's what they have been trained for.'

'How could they?' Noel asked with a sneering smile. 'Both cars were put out of action.'

'The war has started, then,' Benton said calmly. 'So what is the next move?'

'When the stick hasn't worked we try the carrot,' Nelson suggested, now as calm as Benton. 'I will visit Tweed and explain the position. I shall ask him to join us in the merger.'

'He'll never agree,' snapped Noel.

'It's all a question of persuasion. I'll explain to him the inevitable and offer him the post of deputy-in-chief. I shall make a point of going to see him this morning. So, you agree, gentlemen?'

'It would be the best tactic at this stage,' Benton commented.

'I do not like moves made on the spur of the moment,' said Noel, the Planner.

'You're not observant either,' Nelson whispered.

He put a finger to his lips, stood up without making a sound, padded towards the closed door leading to the inner offices. The door wasn't completely shut. Open a few inches. He knew he had closed the door before the meeting had started.

Opening the door slowly, he slipped into the next room, a very large space without any of the comfort of the Cabal's HQ. A slim girl, at least five feet nine tall, was crouched over a computer, neatly dressed in black, as if in uniform. Nelson closed the door behind him silently, padded across to her. She spoke without turning round.

'I don't like men who creep up on me. What's the beef?'

'Did you open the door to our sanctum?'

She straightened up, swivelled round, her brown eyes blazing. She had dark hair, well coiffeured, an attractive face with full lips. She was not smiling.

'Are you accusing me of eavesdropping, you absent swine?'

'No, of course not.'

'When are you taking me out again, while we're on the subject?'

Saying which, she flung her arms round his neck, pulled him close. They began kissing passionately until she pushed him away.

'Well, answer the friggin' question. My patience is running out.'

'Soon…'

'Soon? It had better be…'

'Miss Partridge,' a voice called from the open door to the room beyond. She called back that she was coming when she'd finished with the computer.

Changing her mind, she closed down the machine. She strode off into the next room without giving Nelson another look. It was then he noticed a small girl seated in a corner looking over some files. Coral Flenton, also in the Civil Service and Partridge's assistant, a red-haired girl with hazel eyes and a nice smile. He decided he'd better have a word and walked over.

'You didn't notice anything happening a moment ago, did you?'

'Mr Macomber…' She swung round on her swivel seat. 'Nothing has happened here for hours. Except Freaky-Deaky has been throwing her weight around as usual.'

Freaky-Deaky. Nelson knew that was one of the universal nicknames for Zena Partridge even in the sanctum. She was a control-freak, hence her nickname, and also known as the Parrot. He flapped his hands and smiled back.

'She does come down a bit heavy at times. She does have a ton of responsibility. Especially to us. Keep your chin up…'

Returning to his HQ, he closed the door carefully, sat down and stared round the table. Neither of his brothers said a word. They couldn't possibly have heard any of his conversation with Partridge. The slightly open door still bothered him.

'We've heard a lot of confidential data while that door wasn't completely closed. Refresh my memory.'

'Very confidential,' Noel agreed, his voice high-pitched. 'The water-cannon delivery at Harber's Yard near Tolhaven. The tough training by the team at Harber's Yard. We went into it in some detail. All the details, in fact. You came through that door last. You'll have to be a damn sight more careful in future, brother.'

'Don't call me brother,' Nelson warned with menacing quietness.

'Time to change the subject,' Benton said gently.

'I have decided positively on my next move,' Nelson said firmly. 'In fact, within the hour.'

'Which is?' asked Noel, his V-shaped features compressing into a frown.

'To go over on to the attack,' Nelson said off-handedly, knowing his brother was desperate to keep his fingers on every development. 'You're not the only one who can plan, dear boy.'

'Don't ever call me that again.' In his fury Noel leapt to his feet. 'Did you hear me?' he shouted as Nelson left the room by the outer door as though he hadn't heard.

'No point in getting in a rage,' Benton said quietly. He spent half his time keeping the peace and he was getting tired of his role as peacemaker.

'I'm checking next door,' Noel snapped.

He opened the door which led into the civil servants' area. No sign of the Parrot. In her corner, diminutive Coral Flenton was bent over her word-processor. She could see who was coming in the mirror artfully placed on her desk. She made a point of pretending not to notice as Noel hurried over to her.

'Flenton, how long have you been seated at your desk?'

'Ever since I came in. Sir,' she added after a pause.

'Are you sure about that statement?' he asked with a sneer. 'Not been to the loo or any of the other things women take it into their tiny heads to do?'

'I have just answered your question. Sir.'

'All right, then. Get up for a change and bring us some coffee and cakes. Two of us. Get cracking, girl.'

He swung round and headed back for the sanctum. Since he hadn't eyes in the back of his head he missed the look of pure hatred on Coral's face as she left her desk.

I'll go home and change first, Nelson said to himself. And I'll go to see Tweed afterwards in the Merc. Important to display a show of power to Tweed in his hideaway in Park Crescent.

'Home first,' he ordered his chauffeur, Jeff, seated with the guard in the alcove close to the front door. When they arrived at his apartment in Mayfair he leapt out of the car almost before it had pulled up, a habit which always worried Jeff. Couldn't say a word to Nelson Macomber, who went his own way and ignored servants.

Entering the apartment on the first floor after skipping up the stairs like a ten-year-old, Nelson was annoyed to find his wife, Loelia, daughter of an earl, dressed in her velvet suit on the verge of leaving.

Loelia, forty years old and a glamorous brunette, was not pleased to see him. He could tell from the downward slant of her full lips. She spoke rapidly.

'Don't close the door. You're home in the middle of your working day. You might have phoned me first.'

'Why?' He was heading for the bedroom. 'On your way to see your close friend, Frederick?'

'Everyone else calls him Freddie…'

'To me the conceited playboy is Frederick.'

'He's not conceited,' she snapped, the downward slant of her mouth becoming more pronounced. 'He's got far better manners than you. Who is the cheap floozie you're visiting today? Jeanette would be my guess.'

'As usual you've guessed wrong. This is business. Where is my Armani suit?'

'You're staring at it. Don't forget to fold it neatly before you hop into bed.'

'Get the hell out of here,' he shouted.

'F- you,' she screamed, slamming the bedroom door behind her.

Nelson dressed quickly. He did everything quickly unless he was playing a political game. Then he spoke slowly and not often. He must remember to adopt that pose when he confronted Tweed.