Cell

36

No. 50 Upper Cheyne Lane was secreted inside a short cul-de-sac of small houses. As they drove in Paula quickly realized they were all conversions.

'They used to be garages,' she told Beaurain. 'Now they're nice little houses which probably cost a fortune. I think she must be at the end – even numbers on our right, odd ones on our left.'

Beaurain drove very slowly, bumping over the cobbled lane. He pulled up at the end where No. 50 was on the right. Two storeys high, the frontage was slim and painted white. The front door was blue. It was a neat, well-cared-for house.

Paula jumped out, followed by Beaurain, and pressed the brass doorbell, which gleamed. Inside they heard a dog start barking its head off. Paula smiled. Pooh was on guard. She pulled the collar of her windcheater up. It was almost dusk and the temperature was falling rapidly.

Mrs Wharton opened the door and Beaurain bent down to stroke Pooh who, recognizing them, stood up on his rear portion, with his front legs dangling. He was panting, hopefully with pleasure.

'Sorry to bother you,' Paula began, 'but Jules has something vital he needs to know urgently.'

'How nice to see you again. Do come in…'

Closing the door, she led them down a short narrow hall into a very small room, tastefully furnished. Space was clearly at a premium. She invited them to sit down on tapestry-covered chairs, offered them tea, which they both refused.

'Time is now against us,' Beaurain explained. 'I wonder if you could describe again that machine carried from the white van to the motorized trolley?' He took out a sketchpad Paula had handed to him in the car.

Mrs Wharton carried over another chair to sit alongside her guest. Paula produced from her satchel a fold-up ruler which she unfolded. Intuitively she had guessed what Jules was after. He smiled wrily at her.

'Reading my mind? As I suspect you do with Tweed.'

'Sometimes.'

'Measurements are important,' Beaurain explained, turning his attention back to Mrs Wharton.

'I'm not much good at them, I'm afraid.'

'I think we'll get there,' he assured her. 'It took six men to carry this machine. How wide would you say the support base was – the base the machine was perched on?'

'Show me by stretching your hands apart,' Paula suggested.

'Yes. I think I could do that.'

She stretched her hands wide apart. Paula leant forward, used the ruler to measure the distance. She whistled. 'At least two feet wide.' Beaurain began drawing, starting with the base support.

'Now,' Beaurain continued, 'how tall would you say the machine was – from the base to the tip of the shell or vertical torpedo, as you described it, that it was supporting?' Mrs Wharton held one hand close to the floor, stretched the other hand as high as she could into the air. Again Paula measured. 'About two and a half feet at least.' Beaurain drew the outline of a monster shell, tapering to detonation tip, writing in the measurement once more. He showed her his drawing. 'Anything like that?'

'The body of the shell was fatter. 5 She held out her hands apart. 'About so much.'

Paula measured the distance. 'Lordy, the main diameter of the shell was over a foot wide.'

Beaurain re-drew the main body of the shell, increasing its size, then showed it to their hostess. She stared for a short time.

'You know,' she said, 'I think you've got it perfectly. Evil-looking thing.'

'We are dealing with evil men,' Beaurain told her as he wrote in the measurement in his neat hand. He then swivelled the sketchpad so she could see it clearly.

'Yes, that's the thing,' she said with a hint of vehemence.

'Mrs Wharton,' Paula said, 'we can't thank you enough for all the help you've given us. This is top classified data…'

'Don't worry.' Mrs Wharton smiled, 'I can keep my mouth shut. And I will. I do think you've got what you need. I do have a good visual memory. Won't you stay for tea?'

'Love to,' said Beaurain, standing up with Paula. 'But we have to get back quickly. Thank you again.'

As she led them back to the door Beaurain remembered to bend down and stroke Pooh, trotting happily along beside him. As she opened the door grey mist seeped in. It was going to be a foggy night.

'What do you think?' Paula asked, as Beaurain three-point turned their car ready to drive out of the cul-de-sac.

'I don't like it, don't like it at all. I just wonder how many of those things, as Mrs Wharton called them, al-Qa'eda have.'

Inside the power station Ali stood close to Proctor, the guard. He held an automatic close to his forehead, touched him with the tip of the weapon.

'You told me your chief, Mr Dixon, calls you once in the evening to make sure everything is all right here. Now when he does call I want you to remember your wife. Her life is in your hands. If you sound nervous, or in any way make Dixon suspicious, you'll only see your wife when they ask you to go to the morgue to identify her.'

'I can do it,' Proctor said hoarsely. 'But not if you're holding that bloody gun at my forehead.'

'That was not quite your natural voice, Mr Proctor. Try again,' he ordered, holding the gun behind his back.

'I can do it.' The hoarseness was now absent.

'Much better. Imagine you are talking to your wife when the time comes.'

Within minutes the phone rang. Proctor didn't move. Angrily Ali gestured for him to pick it up. Proctor shook his head, stared at Ali.

'He wouldn't expect me to be sitting next to the phone. Why don't you shut your filthy mouth and let me handle this?'

After a minute had passed, during which Ali had trouble not waving the gun at-him, Proctor picked up the phone.

'Mr Dixon?'

'Yes, it's me, Vince. Is everything all right down there?'

Ali was leaning close to Proctor, so he could monitor what was said.

'Everything is tickety-boo, sir. The three engineers are down with the plant, just keeping an eye on things, although it is automatic.'

'Good. Get plenty of sleep when you come off duty tomorrow. Good night.'

'Good night, sir…'

'What was that friggin' business about the engineers?' Ali demanded in a fury. 'A secret warning?'

'Don't be stupid!' Proctor shouted. 'I always mention them. They're just a stand-by. Not really needed since the system is automatic. But I always mention them. He'd have thought it odd if I hadn't friggin' mentioned them. Satisfied?'

'Don't yell at me. Your meal is being prepared by Mehmet so you can eat soon.' Ali smiled. 'You're being fed in case Dixon makes an unprecedented extra call later.'

Ali didn't feel it necessary to inform Proctor the three engineers had earlier had their throats cut, the bodies then weighted with chains and thrown into the river.

At Park Crescent Tweed had drawn up a list of suspects living in Carpford. He read out the list to Newman.

'Victor Warner

Drew Franklin

Peregrine Palfry

Billy Hogarth

Martin Hogarth.'

'You've left out Margesson,' Newman commented.

'If you say so.' He added Margesson's name.

'And Eva Brand,' Newman told him.

'She doesn't live up at Carpford,' Tweed objected.

'No, but I'll bet she visits Warner at his house up there with work.'

'All right, if you insist.'

He then called Jim Corcoran, Chief Security Officer at Heathrow. While he was doing so Buchanan was calling someone on his mobile, seated at Paula's desk.

'Jim? Good. Tweed here. I've got a tricky one for you. I'm not going to be your pin-up of the month. In fact, I'm not sure you can do this…'

'Do get to it, Tweed.'

'I have a list of people here and it's important for me to know if they've flown to the States during the past five months.' He read out his list, spelling some names. 'If I had dates that would be helpful. Shall I call you back?'

'No. Hold on. For security reasons, after September 11, and even before then, we have all the passenger manifests on the computer.. .'

He came back quicker than Tweed had expected. He chuckled.

'Bet you thought I couldn't do it. Sharpen your pencil. Here we go. Warner – flew to New York August 20, then back to New York October 12, back to NY November 16. On that trip he flew back from Boston. Palfry – flew to NY September 3 and September 9. Drew Franklin – to NY September 8, back to NY September 18. Nothing on Billy or Martin Hogarth. Nothing on Margesson. Eva Brand -to NY September 9, back to NY January 24, 2002. All the previous ones were 2001. OK?'

'A miracle. Now could you carry out the same exercise for the same names flying to the Middle East up to now?'

'Hang on…'

Again he was back more swiftly than Tweed could ever have expected.

'Computer was warmed up, which helps. These people do travel. Victor Warner – flew to Cairo January 4, 2002. All these flights are 2002. Warner flew again to Cairo January 29. Palfry, oddly enough, flew to Cairo each day after Warner had done. Drew Franklin made one flight – they're all to Cairo – on January 30, then on to Tel Aviv, back to Cairo, returned here February 2. Again, oddly enough, Eva Brand flew to both the cities on the same dates. That locks it up. I'll send you my fee. Better still, give me dinner at the Ritz.'

'Will do. You really are a miracle man…'

'The computer is. Got to go…'

Tweed handed the careful notes he'd made to Newman. Looking up, Newman pulled a face.

'This is going to take some sorting out.'

'Bob,' Tweed played with his pen, 'I suggest you look for anything that strikes you as odd.'

'Which means you've found something and you need me as a back-up check.'

'Something like that.'

He looked across at Buchanan, who was obviously waiting for a chance to speak after his long phone-call.

'Tweed, they have found two of those white vans. Dumped into the river. A fisherman saw vague figures shoving in one van. It was dark, so he huddled down the bank until the men had gone. Probably saved his life. Then, further upriver, he heard a second one being shoved in. When it was quiet he went to the first one. The rear was still protruding from the water, so he took the number plate. I've sent Warden with teams equipped with lifting equipment to haul them out. We should have news soon.'

'Another piece of luck. Now I'm holding nothing back. My next call is to Hereford, the SAS base. I want them alerted.'

Half an hour later Newman reported to Tweed after Buchanan had left for the Yard. Tweed could tell from his expression that he had been struck by something.

'What's the verdict, Bob?'

'The oddest thing is Eva Brand appears to have flown to Cairo, on to Tel Aviv, and back again with Drew Franklin. I don't get that.'

As he spoke Marler walked in, stared at both of them.

'What's up? I can tell something is.'

'I know you've just come in,' Tweed told him, 'but now I have another job for you. I want you to trace the present whereabouts of Eva Brand, then follow her.'

'She could be either at the Ministry in Whitehall or at the Minister's penthouse in Belgravia,' Newman objected.

'So,' Marler told him, 'I phone both places, ask for her and don't say who is calling. Then I'll track her. If I think it's a good idea can I take her out to dinner at the Ivy?'

'Typical,' Newman said sarcastically. 'Probably she won't like you.'

'I'll make her like me, Uncle.' Marler quipped, patting Newman's shoulder.

He then skipped quickly out of the door as Newman, furious, got up to hit him. Newman was only five years older than Marler but if the latter wanted to rattle Newman he called him 'Uncle'.

The door reopened and Buchanan appeared again. He remained standing as he spoke to Tweed.

'I've changed my mind about going back to the Yard. I think we should drive down to the river, take a look at those two white vans dumped into the Thames…'

He stopped speaking as the door opened again, admitting both Paula and Beaurain.

'I'm glad you're here,' Paula said to Buchanan. 'We have data you ought to see…'

Beaurain pulled out the notepad with the diagrams he had drawn in Mrs Wharton's house. He placed them on Tweed's desk while Buchanan and Newman joined them. In as few words as possible he explained the drawings. When he had finished Tweed looked at Buchanan.

'What do you think of this?'

'Don't like it one little bit. Still think we should all go down to the river, check those vans. Is the location easy to find? It was tricky before.'

'No,' said Beaurain, 'so I'll drive us down there.'