Cell

39

'What!' Tweed demanded fiercely. 'You disobeyed my order not to go near that hospital, St Jude's? What madness got into you? The key to the success of our operation was not to risk letting al-Qa'eda know we knew their location. You've taken leave of your…'

Newman, jaw jutting, eyes blazing, stood up from the chair he'd been sitting in. He had just started explaining what Nield and he had accomplished. He was furious. He leaned forward, put both hands on Tweed's desk.

'So tell me how you knew, really knew that al-Qa'eda were, at Dick's wharf? Positively and without doubt. You assumed they were there. You made a really dangerous assumption…'

'The white vans dumped in the river,' Tweed retorted.

'Those vans could have been dumped in the place least likely to be found. But al-Qa'eda could have been based miles away. The damned vans proved nothing…'

'You're forgetting,' Tweed fumed, 'Mrs Wharton saw them transferring a device on to their motorized trolley…'

'And what the hell did that prove?' Newman roared. 'Simply the movement of the device towards the river. There's a ramp at the end of that track. They could just as easily have been putting it aboard a vessel to transport it either further upriver – or downriver. Up to this moment there has been no absolute proof that al-Qa'eda was based on Dick's wharf. So every detail of your counter-operation was based on an unproven assumption. Right?'

Paula, seated behind her desk, was fascinated by the explosive confrontation between the two men. She had only once in the past seen Tweed and Newman at each other's throats. And what an audience they had. Buchanan had returned, was seated in front of her. Beaurain, perched calmly on a hard chair, was watching the two men with keen eyes. Nield, keeping quiet, was seated on a hard chair near Monica's desk. And at that moment Marler walked in. Sensing the atmosphere, he strolled over to lean against a wall. Now only Harry Butler was absent.

Newman was leaning forward over Tweed's desk, almost over his chief. Tweed, gazing up at Newman, sat back in his chair. He folded his arms. When he spoke his voice was normal, almost quiet.

'Based on an unproven assumption, you said. Actually, you could be right. I can see that now. Maybe you'd like to sit down and tell me what happened from the moment you left here with Pete Nield. I'll just listen.'

Newman sat down. He drank the glass of water Monica brought him, thanked her. In a controlled voice he explained where he had been with Nield, this time starting in the right sequence with their confrontation with Mrs Proctor's captor in Balham.

Tersely, he painted a vivid picture of their encounter with the al-Qa'eda killer. The aftermath when they had left Mrs Proctor calmed down. The body still in the boot of the car.

'It's downstairs,' he explained. 'Maybe Superintendent Buchanan should send an ambulance to collect it. Take it to the best pathologist, Professor Saafeld, if I may suggest that.'

'Saafeld is a good idea,' agreed Buchanan. 'I'm using my mobile to call Warden to deal with it at once…'

Newman then explained their trip to St Jude's Hospital, his idea. His venturing inside the hospital, the taking of the photographs when the screen aboard the barge was moved. He took out of his pocket the self-developed prints, laid them out on Tweed's desk.

Everyone got up to gather round and study them. Tweed picked up one, the picture taken when the barge heeled over and gave a view down the main hatch. Taking out a magnifying glass, he studied it for several minutes. He then handed it to Buchanan and Beaurain with the glass.

'Think you ought to see this. We can get it enlarged downstairs in minutes, get a clearer pic of the object below the hatch.' He looked at Newman. 'I think you showed extraordinary initiative and courage collecting this vital data. Thank God you disobeyed my orders. Now we are sure where the al-Qa'eda cell is.'

He looked across to Marler.

'Marler,' he explained to the others, 'has just returned from following Eva Brand. Anything to report, Marler?'

'Yes and no…'

Marler, drawing on his remarkable memory, proceeded to recall every word of the conversation he had heard between Palfry and Eva. Tweed sat very still, his eyes fixed on Marler until he had concluded.

'Intriguing,' he began. 'And valuable. Sounds as though Mr Victor Warner is feeling the pressure. Maybe why he's glad to hide behind me. But two items could be significant. The Minister's trips off without any guards. And the fact that Palfry's tub-house, as Eva called it, can house up to twenty guests. I wonder. No signs of intimacy between the two of them?' he asked.

'The reverse,' Marler told him. 'Eva dominated Palfry from the word go. Wasn't exactly polite.'

'Another piece of the jigsaw slotted in.'

'I read Paula's report on her ordeal at Carpford,' Buchanan interjected. 'Am I right,' he asked, turning to Paula, 'that when you escaped out of that horrible tunnel you saw a huge abandoned quarry? More to the point, you saw one big boulder tumble down from the crest, joining a whole shambles of fallen rocks?'

'Yes, I did. The shambles, as you called it, was at least ten feet deep and covered a large area. A lot looked as though it had collapsed recently.'

'At the moment,' Buchanan went on, 'we have four bodies which have disappeared in that area. Mrs Warner, Mrs Gobble, Jasper Buller of Special Branch and Pecksniff, the crooked solicitor. I say bodies because at this stage I fear none of them are still alive.'

'You think they're buried under the quarry rock-fall?' suggested Paula. 'Then send a team to search there.'

'I'd like to but there are obstacles. My enquiries show that a large area of that land, including the quarry, are the joint property of Victor Warner and Drew Franklin. Since I can't yet show probable cause for the search no legal figure will sign a search warrant.'

'That's a curious arrangement,' said Tweed. 'I thought Drew rented his cube house. Yet you say he owns land.'

'I know.' Buchanan shrugged. 'The transfer document drawn up by the New Age Development Corp must be complex. If we could ask Pecksniff we'd find out its terms. But Pecksniff is no longer available, to put it mildly.'

'You know, Bob,' Paula said, staring hard at Newman, 'really we do need those aerial photos Airsight are supposed to be taking one day.'

'Tomorrow,' Newman said with a grin. 'The outfit's owner, whom I've told you is the best man, flies over there shortly after dawn tomorrow, takes his pics and rushes them to us here.'

'I hope,' Tweed intervened, 'he doesn't make a great song and dance when he flies over. I don't want suspicions aroused up there.'

'I've already talked to him about that,' Newman assured him. 'He's clever. He'll take his shots when he first flies over, then he'll do a loop-the-loop manoeuvre before he pushes off. Anyone seeing him will assume he's a macho young pilot showing off.'

'That should cover it,' Tweed agreed.

'When I study those pics,' Paula remarked, 'I should be able to spot which house has the cellar where I was imprisoned.'

Tweed stood up, began pacing the limited space left in his office. He talked as he paced.

'We are so close to the moment when al-Qa'eda will launch its attack on our city. Tomorrow, I'm sure.'

'Today,' Newman corrected. 'It's just after midnight.'

Tweed was pacing when Buchanan stood up to leave. He kissed Paula on the cheek, said he must get back to the Yard.

'I'll come down with you,' Tweed said. 'Don't argue…'

At the bottom of the stairs he asked George to unlock the door to the visitors' room. Taking Buchanan by the arm, he ushered him inside, closed the door.

'Secrecy is vital,' he said.

'You have a plan to destroy al-Qa'eda, haven't you?' Buchanan suggested.

'Yes. It will involve a lot of cooperation and perfect timing.'

'Then I might as well tell you I have alerted the police anti-terrorist squad for an imminent operation. No details.'

'I'd like you to station them on the right bank of the Thames. Between Albert Bridge and Waterloo Bridge. As many marksmen as you can muster. They can go there now in plain clothes and pick spots where they'll be concealed, but with a clear view of the river. Give you more later. Also, at 4 p.m. when it's nearly dark I want all the street lights on both sides of the river switched off…'

'There'll be a riot. People will want to get home.'

'You haven't heard the worst yet. Well before 4 p.m. I want all traffic diverted away from the river, the Embankment. I want traffic banned from crossing those bridges. You'll have to get cracking. They can drive down the Strand.'

'I'll need a reason.'

'Announce by policemen on foot that a major police exercise is being conducted. That it will last for several hours, duration unknown. That's only part of it. You and I must keep in the closest touch by secure communication.'

'Is that all?' Buchanan asked cynically.

'For the moment only, yes. I know the target. Strictly between us, I'm in touch with the SAS. That goes no further.'

'Understood. I had better get cracking.'

'Just before you leave, I've been in touch with the Home Secretary and got his blessing. Couldn't say anything else – he's had a copy of the PM's directive. And I'll be paying the PM a brief visit. I know he'll signal his agreement.'

'Take good care of yourself, Tweed. I smell great danger.'

Tweed ran up the stairs, entered his office, stood behind his desk. He waited while everyone watched him.

'I'll explain the plan to wipe out the al-Qa'eda cell at 3 a.m. So everyone must be back here by then. Paula, have you ever seen all six barges coming upriver to the power station? You get about a lot.'

'Yes, I have, it's like a huge convoy.'

'Explain in more detail. The distance between the barges.'

'Not more than a hundred yards, at a guess. It really is an impressive sight. I've also seen them going downriver.'

'Same formation?'

'I'd say the distance between one vessel and the next is greater. Two hundred yards. Another guess.'

'Close enough, thank you. Now, Nield, drive to where Harry is looking after Billy Hogarth. Between you, get him out of bed, bring him back here. Monica, he can sleep in the camp bed I use in that cupboard. When you've settled him lock this office door, keep the key. Any trouble with him – unlikely – call on George for help. Give him coffee or tea to drink. No alcohol. I don't think he'll want any -he pretends to be drunk according to Paula, to get rid of his brother, Martin. Send out to the deli for breakfast and lunch. The official line for Billy is he's being moved to a safer place…'

'Anything when we get back?' asked Nield, putting on his windcheater.

'Yes. Both of you go to the basement, assemble an armoury. Sub-machine guns, tons of ammo, explosive grenades, plenty of night-glasses, personal water canisters, hand-guns to your choice, dark clothing with large SIS patches on the backs and tear-gas bombs. If I think of anything else I'll let you know.'

'I'm off,' said Nield and disappeared.

'Forget sleep,' Tweed continued. 'There won't be any. Newman, drive up to Carpford, knock on all the doors, wake them up if necessary. I want to know who is up there. And while you're there, check every rooftop. You're looking for elevated radio masts. Then report back to me here. Urgent.'

'On my way,' Newman replied and left.

The phone rang. Monica took the call, gestured to Tweed.

'Buchanan's back, says he won't keep you a minute.'

'Get him up here…'.

'I forgot to show you something,' Buchanan said, the moment he was in the room. 'Only take a tick. I have a photo sent to me from New York after the first abortive attempt to bring down the World Trade Center which didn't work.'

'I remember that incident.'

Buchanan placed a photograph on Tweed's desk. Tweed stared. Then he beckoned Paula and Beaurain to come and look. Paula gasped.

'My God, it's the same thing.'

Tweed opened a drawer, took out the sketch Beaurain had drawn on Mrs Wharton's description of the machine she'd seen six men carry from van to motorized trolley. The photograph of the device was the exact replica of Beaurain's drawing.

'Giuliani sent a note with this,' Buchanan explained. 'He said this one didn't detonate. They took it to pieces. It was packed with Semtex and another explosive which would have increased its power. So now you know what you're up against. Must dash…'

'What's the target?' Paula asked.

'I remember this first attempt,' Tweed replied. 'They planned to destroy the ground struts holding up the buildings. It did not work when the other devices were detonated, but it made a helluva mess. I can use this photograph.'

'What's the target?' Paula repeated.

'Wait until the 3 a.m. meeting here.'

'I guessed you'd say that.'

Tweed suddenly frowned. 'I could have made a mistake. Try and delay Newman from leaving…'

He had hardly finished speaking when Paula flew out of the door and down the stairs. George saw her coming, had the front door unlocked and open. She ran down the steps, saw Newman just taking off in his car. She ran like mad, ran in front of him. He braked suddenly, swore, switched off, dived out.

'You idiot! I could have run you down…'

'Shut up! You're needed upstairs…'

'Sorry, Bob,' Tweed said as a flushed Newman dashed in, followed by Paula. 'But I may need you here before you go up to the village.'

'Anything I can do?' Beaurain asked with a smile.

'Yes. It would help me if you both went down to the waiting-room while I make a highly confidential call. Not my idea.'

'A chopper's landing in Regent's Park,' Paula reported, looking out of a window. 'That's odd. Looks like a Sikorsky.'

'Let me make this vital phone-call,' Tweed said after checking his watch. 'I'll call you all up when I've dealt with this.'

Paula left, followed by Monica, Beaurain and Newman. Now Tweed had the office to himself. He pressed the numbers from memory, the numbers which would put him through to SAS HQ at Hereford. A bored voice answered.

'Yes.'

'Tweed here. Able is expecting me to call now.'

'Never heard of the name. Hang on…'

'Who is this?' a crisp well-educated voice asked.

'Tweed, SIS.'

'Codeword?'

'Pagoda.'

'Fire away.'

'I need a contact from you here. I cannot discuss this on the phone.'

The phone made a strange noise. Tweed frowned, decided to check.

'There's a strange noise on the phone.'

'That's a system to ensure we cannot have the line tapped.'

'I can tell you now. Be on red alert.'

'I see,' Able replied calmly. 'As to the contact, we foresaw you'd need one. He'll arrive any moment. You will confer with him alone. Unless Robert Newman is available. He can sit in.'

'What about Beaurain?' Tweed spelt the name.

'Christian name, please.'

'Jules Beaurain…'

'His credentials, please.'

'Former chief of the Brussels anti-terrorist squad. Later he was Commissaire of Brussels police.'

'We know him. He can sit in with Newman. No one else.'

'Understood.'

'Target known?'

'Yes. Central London. Will be precise with contact. Zero hour is today. Probably after four in the afternoon.'

'Thank you, sir. Good luck, Mr Tweed…'

Switching off all the lights, Tweed went to the window and pulled a curtain aside a few inches. A tall man was walking out of the park from the direction where the Sikorsky had landed. Switching on the lights again, Tweed sat at his desk, called George.

'Ask Newman and Beaurain to come up immediately. Not Paula. Give her my apologies. Tell her I had no option.'

The door opened and Newman walked in, followed by Beaurain. Tweed asked them to sit down, then he gave them the news.

'A contact from the SAS is due to arrive any moment. The commander at Hereford gave permission for you both to be present while I outline the plan of attack. Ours, that is.'

'I'm surprised,' Newman replied. 'I know I did the course when I was writing an article on the SAS…'

He stopped as Monica called him on the phone. He listened as she spoke.

'George says a very suspicious character is asking for you. He's down here now.'

'Ask him to come up, Monica. Please join Paula in the visitors' room…'

The door was opened by George, who ushered in a very tall man. He was dressed in civilian clothes and a scarf concealed most of his face, leaving his mouth exposed. He stared quickly at everyone in the room.

'I guess you're Mr Tweed,' he said approaching the desk. 'You are expecting me.' He held out an identity folder.

'Sarge!' Newman had jumped up. 'Recognize your voice. You put me through hell on that training course.'

'Sarge also trained me,' said Beaurain, standing up, holding out his hand. 'Welcome.'

'Maybe we should start right away,' replied Sarge, occupying the armchair Tweed had gestured to.