Cell

12

'Decoy!' Paula exclaimed. 'You used the same word when you were shown a drawing last time you were here.'

'Because I believe the only purpose is to lead Tweed in the wrong direction. They, whoever they may be, are conducting what the Americans call a campaign of disinformation. It is so obvious.'

'I agree,' Tweed interjected. 'I had the same reaction.'

'What's so obvious?' Paula demanded.

'Paula,' Beaurain explained, 'you have many talents and none of them is stupidity. Consider the scenario at Canary Wharf. This Tim O'Leary – chosen because of his previous connections with the Real IRA – stands out in the open, snapping away with his camera. A one-time terrorist – you think he wasn't well aware of the presence of two policemen?'

'And,' Tweed added with a smile, 'Victor Warner has swallowed the bait hook, line and sinker.'

'Just the man to be Minister of Security,' the Belgian said drily.

'Paula,' Tweed suggested, 'I want Jules completely in the picture. Could you describe the attack outside the Ivy?'

She took a deep breath, began speaking rapidly. She was almost reliving the speed and brutality of the incident.

Beaurain, his expression now grave, watched her intently. He nodded when she had finished, then said, his tone grim, 'Now that I do find significant. They were obviously going to kidnap you, interrogate you, maybe worse. I'll be thinking over everywhere you've been, who you have seen. With concentration on Carpford. You touched someone's nerve.'

'You mean…'

'I mean whoever is behind all this is worried that you saw – or heard in conversation – something dangerous. So, play back everything in your mind. Incidentally, it is important we discover who knew you were at the Ivy. Maybe the motor-cyclist who followed you on your way there. But I would like to meet this glamorous lady, Eva Brand, when I can.'

'Oh, you'll enjoy that. She's so attractive,' she chaffed him.

'Paula,' Beaurain said with a cynical smile, 'in Belgium I met a number of fascinating ladies and listened while they chattered on and on. They ended up in prison, which is where I put them.'

'Jules, your trip to Brussels,' Tweed said impatiently. 'I am waiting for the details of your visit to that banker.'

'He collapsed very quickly – when I showed him certain documents which could put him behind bars. The money from Carpford, which mounts up to a considerable sum, does not stay in Belgium. It is immediately transmitted by wire to a certain individual in Milan I happen to know. A certain Mario Murano. Here is his address.'

Tweed masked his surprise as he read the sheet of paper Beaurain had given him. Via Legessa 290. He looked up and told Beaurain about Marler's encounter with Jasper Buller, the new Chief of Special Branch, at Waterloo before Buller boarded the Eurostar.

Beaurain leaned back in his seat and studied the ceiling. It was several minutes before he straightened up and spoke.

'I hope Buller can look after himself.'

'He probably can,' Tweed assured him. 'Why?'

'Mario Murano is a very dodgy… right word? Good… customer. A battle-scarred con-man. He's in touch with the Mafia, who trust him. Then, for a fat fee, he reports to a top carabinieri officer – Italian police. When he has learned the hideaway of a top capo. But he also gives me info – again for a fat fee. One of these days he's going to trip himself up. Outcome? End of Mario.'

'Dangerous,' Tweed commented.

'I went to Paris from Brussels today,' Beaurain told them. 'I had to keep moving. I talked to your friend, Tweed, the Chief of the DST – Direction de la Surveillance du Territoire – or French counter-espionage. He sent you a message. Not polite, I fear.'

'Tell me,' Tweed said with a smile. 'The old brigand is reliable.'

'He doesn't think the Brits, as he called them, are. He was fuming. They know key members of al-Qa'eda have moved over here recently. He sent the data to the Ministry of Security. They replied with thanks – and have done nothing. Not even arrested them. He thinks we are crazy.'

'He's right. I can hardly contact Warner and ask him what he thinks he is doing. You flew back from Paris then?'

'Caught the flight from Charles de Gaulle by the skin of my teeth. Then ran into the wall of security at Heathrow. I have decided to travel to Italy myself tomorrow, to see Mr Murano and ask him where the money from Brussels goes on to. Not just the rent. Someone code-named Brutus in Carpford sends huge sums. Anyone want to come with me?'

'Me!' Paula shot up her hand.

'You will permit?' Beaurain asked Tweed.

'She'll give me hell if I refuse.'

'That's settled.' Beaurain took out a notebook and wrote in it. Paula noticed he wrote as fast as he talked. He went over to her desk, gave her the sheet he'd torn from the notebook. 'My hotel, a small place near Victoria. My room number on the back. I'm registered as Mr Vance. We meet under the destination board at Waterloo at 4 p.m. tomorrow. Now, give me your Browning pistol. Thank you. I can smuggle this through with my own Beretta. Bring only one case., and plenty of warm clothes. I'll have the tickets. I'm off now!' He paused before opening the door. 'That nasty incident outside the Ivy. Don't overlook this man Palfry. He could have been waiting in the lobby until he saw you were leaving, dashed outside to signal those thugs, then back in to greet you. Au revoir…'

'Interesting what he told us about the information from Paris,' Tweed said half to himself. 'And they have an uncomplimentary version of the word London.'

'And I'm off to Italy,' Paula enthused. 'That will make an exciting change. I'll bet it's Milan.'

'Not too exciting, I hope,' Tweed replied with no enthusiasm at all.