Cell

20

Tweed and Paula stepped inside the luxurious lift with its gilded mirrors and red leather seats. Tweed had decided Victor Warner must be working away from the Ministry and inside his flat in Belgravia. As the elevator ascended, Paula glanced round.

'Some people live in style.'

'He has money,' Tweed told her.

'I know. From some brand of laxative.'

Mrs Carson, the forbidding grey-haired housekeeper, opened the apartment door. She was polite but distant.

'Good afternoon, Mr Tweed. I didn't know you were expected.'

'I'm not. This is an emergency…'

The Minister looked up from a desk in the palatial living-room, hastily scooped up a pile of papers, put them inside a Cabinet red box, closed it. He stood up, tall, agile and bad-tempered. His hawk-like face was grim, his eyes glittered behind the pince-nez, his voice was crisply upper crust.

'People call for an appointment, they don't come barging in without notice.'

'Yes, I know. I recall your summons via him.'

He pointed to Palfry, seated on a sofa when they arrived. He had now stood up with an unctuous smile. The small neat man tried to pour oil on the troubled waters.

'Either of you…' he gave Paula a beaming smile 'could have contacted me but I sense an urgency about you. Is there a problem?'

'Of course there is. I imagine you both know a very major attack is expected on London soon. Or doesn't that bother you?' he suggested, staring straight at the Minister.

'Please do sit down, make yourselves comfortable.' Palfry said quickly, ushering them to a sofa facing Warner's chair sideways on. 'We are all on the same side.'

'Most reassuring,' Tweed responded in an unconvinced tone.

As they sat on the sofa Warner was still standing, glaring. With obvious reluctance he swung his chair round to face them, slowly sat down. Even seated he appeared tall, lean.

'Have you ever heard of Gerald Hanover?' Tweed snapped.

'Who?' Warner polished his pince-nez, perched them back on the bridge of his prominent nose.

'Gerald Hanover,' Tweed repeated.

'Can't say that I have. Who is he?'

'Oh, probably the key piece in this deadly game of chess we are playing with the invisible enemy… So far that's all we know.' He paused. 'Could be a man or a woman…'

The door opened and Eva Brand walked in, carrying a tray with tea for three. Paula stared as Eva placed the tray where they could reach it. She blew a kiss at Paula. Again Palfry spoke up quickly, smiling amiably.

'This is Eva Brand. I think you know her, Miss Grey. Eva, her companion is Tweed of the SIS.'

'Happy to meet you,' Eva said, as though she had never met Tweed in his office. 'How do you like your tea? It's Earl Grey. I hope that is acceptable.'

'It is most acceptable and very kind of you,' said Paula, who had taken over Palfry's role of covering for her host. Tweed was sitting in grim silence.

'Eva,' Palfry went on explaining, 'is a close friend of mine. An exceptionally intelligent lady.'

'Does a bit of work for us,' growled Warner, annoyed at others taking over the conversation. 'Nothing secret, of course.'

'Then that may make some of what I have to say awkward,' Tweed snapped.

'Don't worry, my dear chap,' Warner said, smiling acidly. 'Miss Brand was with Medfords Security. She is the epitome of discretion.'

'I suppose you've heard,' Tweed plunged forward, 'that the head of Special Branch, Jasper Buller, has disappeared. In very similar circumstances to those of your wife – and Mrs Gobble.'

'It's distressing, disturbing.' Warner gazed at the ceiling.

'It's more than that. It could be mass murder,' Tweed went on brutally. 'And it centres on that weird village, Carpford. We need to tear the place to pieces.'

'Already happening,' Warner said harshly. 'I've been to Carpford -I have a home there – and Buchanan has dragged Carp Lake. His team worked with searchlights through the night…'

'And found what?'

'No need to be so aggressive, Tweed. We have to keep our heads. He discovered nothing – except tadpoles. And that with a very large team of divers. I told Buchanan he had to clear the place up before they left…'

'And how did he respond to that?'

'Said he had already ordered his men to do just that. So, a complete waste of time.'

'News is beginning to get into the papers,' Tweed stormed, 'that there is a major threat to London. And Buller's disappearance, linked to the other two, will appear in the Daily Nation tomorrow. Newman has written a large article on these sinister events.'

'We could put a D notice on that,' warned the Minister.

'What on earth for? The public must be warned. It's not a state secret.'

'I just hope…' Warner paused to clean his pince-nez, a trick Paula suspected he used to emphasize what was coming next. He replaced the pince-nez, smiled unpleasantly.

'… As I was saying, I hope Newman hasn't gone wild and produced something that will panic London!'

'He hasn't mentioned where the danger is coming from. If that is what is unnerving you.'

'Nothing wrong with my nerves.' Again the twisted smile. 'I do know we have to be on our guard against the Real IRA.'

'We're going.' Tweed stood up with a face like thunder. 'I don't think we have anything more to say to each other.' He paused near the door, Paula by his side, his tone gentle. 'I just hope you will soon hear better news about your wife.'

'Thank you. Most kind of you.'

Eva had joined them. 'I'll see them out,' she called back.

She closed the door and Mrs Carson, tight-lipped, appeared. Eva smiled at her. 'I'm showing our visitors out. I know you have so much to do.'

Mrs Carson glared, not pleased at what she considered was her position being usurped. Without a word she walked away, slammed a door behind her.

'She's a bit touchy,' Eva said with a smile. 'Since Victor isn't often here she feels she has control here.' They had stepped into the lift. Eva spoke rapidly as it descended. 'Mr Tweed, could I come to see you again at Park Crescent? I'd phone first, of course.'

'Come at any time, please do.' Tweed was now his amiable self. 'We can have lunch or dinner, if you like.'

'I would like.' She gave him a flashing smile.

'You were pretty tough,' Paula observed as Tweed got behind the wheel of the car and Paula sat beside him.

'He gives a good impression that he hasn't a clue. What did you think?' he asked as he manoeuvred into heavy traffic.

'Totally clueless.'

Rush hour. The traffic was dense. At times they were crawling, at others stationary for minutes, then there was movement. At Hyde Park Corner it became gridlock. It was dark now and cars' headlights glared everywhere. They were stationary.

'London is packed solid with people,' Paula commented.

'What did you say?'

'That London is packed solid with people. Ah, we're moving again.'

They were halfway round the Duke of Wellington's statue and then stopped once more. A car was drawn up alongside Paula. She glanced at the driver alone behind the wheel, a brown-faced man, youngish with short hair. He caught her glance, leaned out of his window and tapped on hers with his left hand. She lowered her window, her Browning already in her hand. As the traffic started moving his right hand appeared. The Glock pistol it held was aimed point blank at Tweed. She fired once. Her bullet hit his right hand. Blood appeared, he dropped the Glock.

'Move!' Paula shouted.

Traffic behind the gunman's car was honking as it stayed where it was. Tweed swung his wheel, saw a gap, raced down Grosvenor Place. Paula looked back. The gunman's car was still stationary. The honking of cars behind him rose to a crescendo, then faded as Tweed continued driving fast.

'He was going to kill you,' Paula gasped.

'Saw it all out of the corner of my eye. You were so very quick. A significant event. Someone with a mobile must have been watching Warner's house, reported we were leaving.'

'Or someone inside the house. He looked Egyptian.'