Cell

52

During the long, slow, circuitous drive back to Park Crescent Newman sat next to Harry, behind Paula. He explained he'd handed over the wheel of his jeep to Beaurain. After this remark no one spoke for a long time. Tweed broke the silence when they were close to Park Crescent.

'Tomorrow we all have to keep our appointment with Warner at Carpford. It is only polite to do so.'

'So we can all come with you?' checked Paula.

'Yes, everyone. I don't think he's expecting anyone except me, but he'll have to put up with that. We were all part of what happened.'

'Forecast is for a clear sunny day tomorrow,' Newman said cheerfully, then shut up.

He didn't think Paula would appreciate the remark. From the way she was sitting, motionless, he guessed her mind was on what they had seen during the last moments of Albert Bridge. He thought of something else.

'Interesting that this time no dinghies were lowered. None of al-Qa'eda survived.'

'No they didn't.' Paula's tone of voice was a mix of cynicism and contempt. 'They thought they were on their way to heaven – where seventy-two beautiful young girls would be waiting, available. They've got a hope.'

'Just before everything blew up,' Newman began, 'through my binoculars I saw a slim, intelligent-looking man run from the deckhouse to the main hatch. Struck me he could well have been the mastermind behind the whole operation.'

'Maybe,' said Tweed. 'While I remember, travelling with us to Warner's meeting tomorrow we shall be taking Billy Hogarth and Margesson with us. So you know, Bob, how many four-wheel-drives we'll need.'

'Billy Hogarth and Margesson?' queried Paula. 'Why?'

'Because they live in Carpford.'

'Oh, I see,' she said. But in fact she didn't.

'Well, at least,' Newman said, 'there won't be any more of those disappearances. I wonder what did happen to those people. Such a strange mixture.'

'One other thing,' Tweed said as they reached Baker Street, a stone's throw from Park Crescent. 'I've invited Buchanan to join our party tomorrow. He played a great part in what was achieved. So add him to your list, Bob.'

'Quite a party then.'

Approaching Park Crescent, Tweed eased the jeep on to the pavement. It was the only way to get there. The road was solid with traffic bumper to bumper, and nothing moving. A uniformed policeman rushed up to him, furiously indignant.

'You can't do that. The pavement is for pedestrians. I'm going to have to…'

He stopped in mid-sentence. He had just noticed the yellow flag waving on Tweed's bonnet. He swallowed, saluted.

'Sorry, sir. We've been told to watch out for you. Hold on just a tick…'

He turned round, began ushering pedestrians to move back. He was not popular but he was firm. He gradually cleared the pavement back to the entrance to the Crescent. Tweed thanked him. The policeman saluted again.

'Who's that?' a cockney voice called out. 'I don't think…'.

'He's probably the most important man in Great Britain at the moment,' the policeman shouted.

'Come through on the grapevine,' Newman suggested.

'From Buchanan,' Tweed corrected.

'Anyone else except Warner expected to be at Carpford?' Paula enquired.

'Yes,' he told her. 'The apparently clownish Palfry. Also Eva Brand.'

'I predict I'm going to be bored stiff,' she replied.

'Odd you should say that. Your predictions are normally so accurate.'