Cell

18

Late on the afternoon of the day when Beaurain and Paula were travelling aboard the express to Verona, in London Tweed was surprised to be visited by an unexpected guest. It was murky beyond the windows in his office, another typical February day. The only other two people with him were Marler, who had just arrived, and Monica, who seemed to live behind her word processor.

'A visitor for you downstairs,' Monica announced with a wry smile. 'Jasper Bullet, that nice man from Special Branch.'

'He must have got back from Italy. Send him up.'

The bulky figure of Buller, wearing a raincoat – no camel-hair uniform this time – walked in. He smiled at Monica, then at Tweed as he sat down after removing the raincoat. His manner was so different from the Bull, as his staff had nicknamed him, Monica was taken aback.

'Would you like some coffee?' she suggested., 'A gallon of it would be welcome.' He swung round and again smiled.

Tweed studied him. Under his air of affability he thought he detected tension. Buller lit a cigarette after asking permission. He stared at Tweed over the flame of his lighter.

'The situation is probably desperate,' he said quietly.

'You found out something in Milan?'

'I did. London is the target. For the next al-Qa'eda spectacular. Atrocity would be a better word.'

'So Mario Murano came up trumps?'

'He did not.' He thanked Monica for the large cup of coffee she placed close to him on the desk. Tweed waited while he drank half the cup. 'No,' he continued, 'Murano was at pains to tell me nothing. Quite different from when I paid him a visit about something else six months ago. He was also very nervous. Couldn't wait to get rid of me.'

'Yet you come back with disturbing information.'

'That's right.' Buller emptied his cup and accepted Monica's offer of a refill. 'After leaving Murano,' he continued, 'I contacted another source. Ex-member of the carabinieri, which, as you know, is the police under army control. He had a high rank but couldn't stand the corruption. He resigned, set up his own investigation agency. One of his clever men infiltrated al-Qa'eda, second-in-command of their huge base in Milan. Got next to him, found he was bitter – his American wife had been inside the North Tower on September 11 when the plane hit it. He spilt his guts about the base moving to Britain since the next major target was London. The informant spoke English as well as Arabic. Shortly after telling his story his body ended up on a railway line. Police found it, dragged it clear minutes before the Rome express arrived. The autopsy showed the dead informant had swallowed a cyanide pill – probably just before he was tortured. Which makes the data he gave horribly reliable.'

'Poor devil,' Marler interjected.

'Are you passing this on to the Minister for Security?' asked Tweed.

'You must be joking,' Buller snapped. 'What use is he? He's absorbed in the idea that a Colombian drug cartel is the menace.'

'This is grimly convincing,' Tweed said reflectively.

'My next follow-up,' Buller went on, 'is to go up to that suspicious village, Carpford. I'll interview everyone up there even if I have to drag them out of bed. There may be very little time left.'

'Go up when?'

'Tonight.'

Buller had drunk all the second cup of coffee. He stood up, put on his raincoat, gazed at Tweed. 'No time like the present.'

'You could be walking into something,' Tweed warned. 'So take Marler with you.'

'I know you're tops,' Buller said, looking at Marler. 'But on something like this I operate best on my own. No offence.'

'None taken,' Marler replied.

When Buller had left Tweed began pacing the office swiftly. His expression was grave. So was the tone of his voice when he spoke.

'I don't like this. Don't like it one bit.'

'You mean the awful news he brought us?' Monica suggested.

'That, of course. But also the idea of Buller driving up to Carpford by himself in the dark. Mind you, he can look after himself.'

'You hope,' Marler commented.

Within minutes Marler's mobile was ringing. He answered, then spoke to Tweed.

'It's Roy Buchanan. He's on his way here by car. Wants a word.. .'

'Yes Roy,' Tweed said after grasping the mobile. 'Before you get here I have news – if this wretched mobile is safe.'

'Yours or mine?' Buchanan snapped.

'I have to assume this one – belongs to Marler – is secure. It's a new model he pinched from somewhere.'

'Probably same as the new one I'm using. Latest news from Victor Warner's lot is he's convinced the Mafia is bringing in men to establish gambling casinos – which will be distribution centres for hard drugs. In cooperation with the Colombia mob.'

'He should be sacked, the idiot. Are you near me?'

'Could be. In ten minutes.'

'Get over here then. There's a major new development I won't reveal over the phone.'

He handed the mobile back to Marler, began pacing again. Monica had the impression he couldn't sit still. From the look on his face his brain was churning full power.

'The major new development being Buller,' Marler remarked.

'Yes. But when I spent time at my flat yesterday I couldn't sleep. I was conducting a major exercise. Imagining myself as the man controlling al-Qa'eda. What would I go for to terrify London? One thing I decided was essential. Maximum number of casualties.'

Buchanan arrived about an hour later, which was much longer than Tweed had expected. He was also clad in a green oilskin. Tweed stared at him.

'Going fishing?'

'You could say that. Actually it keeps me warm, and outside it's an arctic night. I'm furious with Warner. He's wasting so much manpower.'

'And how is he doing that? Not that I'm surprised.'

'He's still fixated on that drawing of St Paul's. He has heaven knows how many policemen at the entrance, checking everyone who wants to go into the place. On top of that he has a posse of detectives inside in plain clothes, pretending to be worshippers.'

'He's covering his backside – on the remote possibility the target is St Paul's.'

'That's only a part of it,' Buchanan fumed. 'He has more men at all entrances to Canary Wharf. You can imagine the reaction of the hundreds who work there. They're stopped and made to wait while they're searched and anything they happen to be carrying is examined. He even has marksmen at the top of the building complex. Anything to tell me?'

'Yes…' Tweed recalled everything Jasper Duller had told him. Buchanan frowned as he listened. He said nothing until Tweed had concluded his report.

'Well, if he thinks it's useless to inform Warner we can forget about our so-called Minister for Home Security. I don't like the idea of him driving up there on his own at night.'

'He refused to let Marler go with him.'

'Don't blame him,' Marler interjected. 'If I was in his position I'd have wanted to go on my own.'

'You'll have to excuse me now,' Buchanan said, heading for the door. 'I've got a job to do.' He turned round before he left. 'Al-Qa'eda. That sends shivers up my spine…'

Monica chewed the end of her pencil when they were alone. 'I noticed Buchanan was unusually secretive. Didn't give us a clue as to what job he was talking about.'

'I noticed that,' Tweed agreed. 'It's late, if anyone wants to go home. I'm staying.'

The phone rang. It was Beaurain. He sounded abrupt when he spoke to Tweed.

'I've arrived back from Italy with Paula. Now we're going to be here at Heathrow for God knows how long. Heavy security checks.'

'I'll wait for you however long it takes.'

He told Monica and Marler the gist of Beaurain's message. They said they'd wait too. The grim news came in just before Beaurain arrived with Paula.

'Roy here. Near Carpford. Buller has disappeared.' 'What do you mean? What about his car?' 'I checked with Special Branch HQ. A blue Ford. They gave me the plate number. Found parked by the side of a small inn on the main road before you turn off to Carpford. The key was in the ignition. No sign of a struggle or blood inside the Ford. Buller has vanished without trace.'

'Isn't it time we dragged Carp Lake?'

'Which is exactly what we're doing now. Big team. Seven divers, whole lake lit up by flashlights – searchlights, I mean. One of the locals is kicking up.'

'Which one?'

'Drew Franklin. Says we'll kill the carp. I ask you. Lord knows what we're going to find before we're through. Three bodies?'