Cell

21

Everyone was assembled in the first-floor office when Tweed and Paula walked in. Newman was seated in an armchair while Pete Nield perched on one of the arms. Harry Butler sat cross-legged on the floor while Marler leaned against a wall. Beaurain relaxed in the other armchair, waved to Paula who walked over to her desk, puzzled as to why the team was all present. Tweed seemed to read her mind as, after hanging up his raincoat, he sat behind his desk, his expression grim as he leaned forward.

'You were all asked to be here so we can see where we are. The key element is we now know the enemy is al-Qa'eda. We have three confirmations of this dangerous development. Marler's top informant, Carla, told him this. In Milan, Jasper Buller's link with the ex-carabinieri officer told him the same thing. In Verona, Philip, a man I know to be totally reliable, now masquerading as Petacci, told Jules the same thing. Three entirely different sources.' He slapped his hand hard on the desk. 'I now feel there is no doubt any more. The powerful cell which was located in Milan is now on our doorstep. Why? Obviously to launch a September 11 attack on London…'

'Hadn't you better tell them about the attempt to kill you?' suggested Paula.

'Thanks to you they didn't succeed…' He briefly explained the incident at Hyde Park Corner. Newman reacted instantly.

'From now on you don't go anywhere without an armed guard.'

'We'll see about that…'

'No!' Newman was fierce. 'We won't see. That's how we'll proceed. ..'

'If you'll just let me continue. Al-Qa'eda is the menace, a formidable one. So what don't we know? Just about damn-all.' The hand slapped the desk again. 'We don't know the target in London, we don't know where the cell is located, we don't know who the mastermind is. ..'

'What about Carpford?' Nield interjected.

'If I may continue. At Carpford there isn't, so far as I know, sufficient space to hide between twenty and thirty brainwashed killers

…'

'We could check that out,' Newman interjected. 'Today I bumped into a friend of mine who runs Airsight. An outfit with light aircraft equipped with high-power cameras. Used by estate agents to get an aerial view of an area with rich properties. He's also used confidentially by the MoD…'

'Then get him to fly over Carpford tomorrow and take a lot of shots. Weather forecast is very good.'

'No can do tomorrow. He was on his way to Eurostar for a two-day trip to Paris…'

'Then book him for the day after he gets back, for Heaven's sake. From now on I want calculated action!' Tweed stared round, making sure he had everyone's close attention. 'Now, the other night I stayed up imagining I was the mastermind. How would I do the job? What would I aim for? Maximum casualties – scores? No. Hundreds or thousands of dead bodies. A spectacular. But don't anyone mention St Paul's or Canary Wharf. Do that and I'll throw the book at them…'

'Smoke and mirrors, as the Americans say,' Beaurain spoke for the first time. 'Decoys, as I said. To divert our attention from the real target.'

'So we don't know anything,' Paula remarked.

'Actually we do.' Tweed's mood became relaxed. 'There are some strange relationships we've discovered. Martin and Billy Hogarth, up at Carpford, are brothers, who apparently hate each other. They are cousins of Drew Franklin, a man we really know nothing about. Then there is Eva Brand, niece of Drew Franklin. A ring is beginning to form. Eva is also a companion of Peregrine Palfry. Furthermore we find she knows Victor Warner well enough to be welcome in his house. The ring widens…'

'May I tell you something?' Monica suggested quietly.

'By all means.' Tweed smiled. 'Go ahead.'

'The dossier I've drawn up on her confirms what she told us when she appeared here out of the blue. Educated at Roedean, went on to Oxford, studied languages – French, Spanish and Arabic. While there her mother was killed in a car crash on the M25. You see, this is new data. Left Oxford and then there is a strange two-year gap. Talked to her closest girlfriend and she had no idea where Eva was during those two years. Reappeared in London, joined Medfords, which we know from what she said…'

'What about her father?'

'The second info gap. Nobody seems to know who he was, what he did. A girlfriend at Medfords told me she never talked about him. I ran out of contacts.'

'A mystery lady,' Tweed commented. 'Missing for two years and no trace of a father. What about money?'

'I was coming to that. When her mother died she left Eva half a million pounds. The mother came from a rich family.'

'Hence her liking for good restaurants…'

He stopped speaking as the phone rang. Monica answered, gave the phone to Tweed.

'It's Eva Brand on the phone…'

'Tweed here. I'm looking forward to our dinner together tomorrow night.'

'That's why I'm phoning,' the soft voice replied. 'Could I ask for a great favour? Could we dine tonight at seven? I do hope I'm not being a nuisance. Something cropped up for tomorrow – a friend from abroad.'

'That would be quite convenient. But instead of the Ivy I'd like you to join me at Santini's. Do you know it? It has a terrace extending out over the Thames.'

'Super! I haven't been there for ages. I could meet you there. Same time suit you?'

'Seven at Santini's. Take care…'

He told the others of the change in his arrangements. His expression hardened. 'While I'm having dinner with Eva you will all be very active. We need positive information about the main players in this drama. I no longer mind if the people you'll be tracking know they're being followed. It will put pressure on them. Under pressure people crack – or make a mistake. Newman, you wait outside the Daily Nation offices. Your target is Drew Franklin. You said he works late. Take one of those advanced non-flash cameras, photograph anyone he meets.'

'He could recognize me.'

'So much the better. Pressure. Marler, go down to Whitehall. Follow Peregrine Palfry. Same instructions as I gave Newman. Harry, you track Pecksniff. First phone him, ask him which estate agent handled the property transactions at Carpford. Then go and park near his office until he emerges. The same instructions I've already given. Pete, you go and park near Buller's place in Pimlico. Marler can give you the address.'

'But,' Paula objected, 'Buller has disappeared, his car found abandoned on the way to Carpford.'

'And,' Tweed told her, 'what would be the way to pretend to vanish? To leave your car where Buller's was found. By arrangement someone else picks him up, returns him to Pimlico.'

'I suppose so,' she replied. 'Two things bother me a lot – the two missing years in Eva's life. The impossibility of finding anything out about her father.'

'So, as I'm dining with her tonight, maybe I can solve the mysteries…'

'You also mentioned earlier the possibility of a ring being located at Carpford – presumably a ring controlling the al-Qa'eda cell. Could all of them at Carpford be in it?'

'An intriguing theory.'

'One thing you've overlooked,' said Beaurain. 'You'll be driving across London alone to get to Santini's. Already there's been one attempt to kill you. You'll be leaving here about 6.30 p.m. I imagine? Good. I'll call a girlfriend and take her out to dinner. At Santini's. I'll be close behind you during the drive there.'

'If you insist.'

'I do.'

Ali, who passed under the name of Adam, was inside the public phone-box when it began ringing. He glanced round. A deserted side street in London.

'Who is this?' he asked in English.

'Your name?' the distorted voice demanded.

'Ali here.'

'Abdullah speaking. I sense that Tweed is becoming dangerous. What went wrong?'

'Mehmet came close to shooting him at Hyde Park Corner. But the girl travelling with Tweed shot Mehmet before he could fire. Her bullet smashed Mehmet's hand. The police arrived. Mehmet is now being treated at St Thomas's Hospital.'

'Then send someone there, disguised as a doctor, to kill him. You should have thought of that yourself. Shut up! I haven't finished. Get someone else to kill Tweed immediately. Is the equipment in place now?'

'Up to a point. It has to be transferred to its ultimate site. Don't push me on that. London is crawling with the police.

You must leave it to me. The last small van with what it was carrying has arrived.'

'Kill Tweed. Make it look like an accident…' Once again Abdullah broke the connection without warning. Ali, who spoke such perfect English he might have been an Englishman, swore, in good old-fashioned Anglo-Saxon.

The monster truck of the type supermarkets use to transport supplies was parked at the edge of Park Crescent nearest to Euston. A red triangle a short distance from its rear warned drivers to steer clear. The truck was hauled by a cab attached to the main vehicle. The driver wore a floppy cap pulled well down, an old leather jacket and a pair of worn denims. He was watching the entrance to SIS HQ.

He had earlier studied a photograph taken of Tweed. It had cost Abdullah a small fortune to obtain the print from a sleazy man who specialized in taking pictures of important people. Most of his income came from private detectives – hired to watch a man or a woman suspected by their partner of playing the field.

The driver had a small pair of night binoculars looped round his neck. The binoculars were hidden inside the leather jacket. Whenever anyone left the building he checked them with his binoculars. Several men had already left but no one who looked like Tweed.

As he had expected, a patrol car had pulled up because he was a nuisance to other traffic. He had waited until one of the officers got out of the car and asked what was the problem.

'A little trouble, Officer, with engine. Fixed now. Will drive away in minutes.'

'See that you do.'

The officer was tired. So he failed to notice that the typically dressed driver spoke English with a faint accent. Minutes later Tweed emerged, climbed behind the wheel of his car. The driver climbed swiftly back up into his cab, revved up the engine, drove forward slowly. He increased speed as Tweed headed towards Baker Street. With the weight of his juggernaut he would crush Tweed's car flat. The body would be unrecognizable.