Deadlock

6

The next few hours passed in a flash for Tweed. Everything came at him at once. He became very calm and absorbed a tremendous amount of data. It started the moment he walked into his office at Park Crescent. He'd left Paula at Newman's flat.

'Best you arrive later when things have cooled. I'll call you.. .'

Howard was waiting in his office with Monica, striding round the room, unable to keep still. An expression of relief crossed his face as Tweed came in.

'Thank God you've got here. The world has exploded…'

'I didn't hear the bang. If I could just take off my raincoat.' He walked to the other side of his desk and sat down, clasped his hands in his lap. 'I'm ready.'

'Reports are filtering in from all over the continent that some great terrorist outrage is planned.'

'Anti-Terrorist Squad,' Tweed said. 'Their job…'

'The PM doesn't think so in this case,' Monica intervened before Howard could resume his torrent of words. 'You have to go and meet her at 5 p.m. if you were back. I'll call and confirm you can make it.' She picked up her phone.

'Fill me in then,' Tweed suggested. 'Don't understand this at all. Why us?'

'Because of who it isn't,' Howard explained. 'It's not the IRA. It's not the Shi-ite fanatics. It's not the Red Army Faction. All our contacts confirm this…'

'Baader-Meinhof relic?' Tweed queried.

'Not them. That's what I'm trying to get into your head. It is not any of the known groups. No one can pinpoint a single clue. The Paris lot are mystified. So is Bonn…'

'Then what's all the fuss about?'

'The Russians are worried, too. And our Yankee cousins. The Deputy Director of the CIA is talking about flying over here. God help us. You'll see him, of course?'

'You never did like Cord Dillon.' Tweed smiled amiably.

'Who does? The man's impossible. Can't imagine how he ever got the job…'

'Because he's efficient, skilled, never gives up. Like a dog with a bone. The aggressiveness you take in your stride…'

' You take it in your stride,' Howard interjected, determined to avoid the American at all costs. He took out his display handkerchief, flicked something off his razor-creased trouser leg, carefully refolding the handkerchief before tucking it back in his breast pocket.

'We have a new addition to the staff,' Tweed remarked. He chose this moment when he was not alone with Monica. 'She will be along here later this evening. Paula Grey. As you know, her vetting was top-flight.'

'Splendid!' Howard showed unusual enthusiasm. 'A most welcome addition to our little family.' Tweed winced inwardly at the patronizing phrase as Howard continued. 'I know her pretty well – she could do her first term at school with me. I need someone extra.'

'You hardly know her at all,' Tweed told him. He was watching Monica who looked anything but pleased. 'And since I did the spadework I'm attaching her to my office. There's plenty of room in here.'

'If you insist. Sometimes I wonder who's running the outfit. And I could have gone along to see the PM in your absence…'

'Except that the PM specifically asked for Tweed,' Monica said tactlessly, working off her indignation at the news of the new recruit.

The lady always does. You might at least send Paula in to meet the nominal head of the SIS when she arrives.' On this piqued note Howard stalked out of the room.

'Isn't there somewhere else in the building Paula could work?' Monica asked. 'We're very cramped already in here…'

'Cramped!' Tweed stared round at the empty space. 'And you once liked her.'

'Paula in Norfolk is one thing, Paula taking up residence in this office quite another. It will never be the same again – our talks together about work, I mean.'

'She won't be here every minute of the day,' Tweed said irritably. 'And I've taken the decision. I've got enough on my mind without domestic problems. Wouldn't you agree?'

Monica checked her watch. 'Time you left for your appointment at No. Ten. You know how you hate rushing.'

Tweed stood up and silently went to the clothes rack, put on his Burberry. Monica fidgeted with her pen, drawing meaningless lines on her notepad. She spoke in a subdued, conciliatory tone.

'I wonder what all these alarming rumours are about?'

'Maybe I'm about to find out,' said Tweed and walked downstairs.

As arranged over the phone by Tweed before leaving Beresforde Road, Harry Butler arrived at Newman's flat on the dot of 6p.m. To Newman's surprise-and annoyance – he was accompanied by a second man.

'Pete Nield, you know him, of course,' Butler explained. 'Tweed decided on the phone this Cockley Ford is an unknown quantity – that we could do with back-up. Pete's brought his own transport – even managed to find a parking slot half a mile away…'

'The two of us could do this job,' Newman informed him.

'That's what I like,' Nield broke in. 'An enthusiastic reception. An immediate acceptance of the team spirit.' He grinned.

Newman stood in the living room, studying the two men. Butler was about his build and height, in his thirties, clean-shaven and his expression controlled. He wore an old check sports jacket, blue denims, carried a windcheater over his arm. Just the type of gear an SAS man on leave might choose. He used his left hand to smooth his darkish hair, staring straight at Newman.

Pete Nield was a different personality and build. Lighter weight, slim, a few years Butler's junior, he had black hair brushed neatly, a small trim moustache. His clothes were smart; a navy blue suit, striped blue shirt, dark blue polka dot tie. His manner was easy, he moved more quickly than the immobile Butler. Newman had observed previously they worked well together as a team.

'Welcome aboard, gentlemen,' he said, looking at Nield. 'What are you drinking? Then we can get straight to the planning stage.' He indicated a map of East Anglia spread out over the long Regency dining table. 'We're driving up to King's Lynn tonight. I've booked two rooms at The Duke's Head. I'll call them again to reserve one for you, Nield.'

'King's Lynn?' Butler was studying the map as Nield joined him when they'd decided on drinks. 'Excuse me putting my oar in – you're the boss – but wouldn't a hotel in Blakeney be a better operational

HQ?'

'No.' Newman had climbed the two steps into the kitchenette, was pouring drinks. 'That's where the bomb was planted. Whoever left the offering may be watching the place. At King's Lynn we can maintain the traditional low profile…'

'Christ! Why didn't I think of that?' Butler was appalled. 'You make us look like amateurs at our own game.'

'Amateurs is not the word I'd use about you two,' Newman remarked, fetching the drinks. 'Cheers! Here's to a successful partnership. I wonder what we'll find at Cockley Ford?'

'Something's terribly wrong. I can tell…'

Monica, feeling contrite for her earlier behaviour, stared at Tweed as he slowly looped his raincoat over a hanger.

He winked at her, went to his favourite place, the swivel chair behind his desk, sank into it.

'Good job other people can't read me the way you can – I am not supposed to reveal anything by my expression.'

'We have been together a long time. What has happened? Can you talk about it? Want some coffee?'

'Something has happened. I can talk about it – but only to you. It's extremely confidential. Coffee later. The PM has stunned me. I'm not even sure it's a good idea. And Paula is on the way – phoned her from a call-box…'

'What idea?'

'You won't believe it.'

'Try me…'

'The PM,' he said very deliberately, 'wants me to fly to a secret meeting with General Vasili Lysenko, Head of Soviet Military Intelligence, the GRU.'

'My God! You're not serious?'

'She is. Very. Gorbachev has been in touch with her -and he was the one who suggested the meeting.'

'What on earth for?'

'I'm not sure,' Tweed confessed. 'Apparently the Kremlin is worried stiff about the rumours of a gigantic terrorist outrage being planned.'

'Normally they'd welcome it. Their attitude doesn't add up. I don't believe a word of it. And surely the PM doesn't?'

'She was told something in complete confidence by the General Secretary-something she couldn't break her word by telling even me. I get the full details only when I meet Lysenko.'

'And where is this rendezvous? It could be a trap…'

'Hardly.' Tweed turned to stare at the large map of Western Europe attached to the wall. 'The rendezvous is Zurich. The Swiss already know about it. They're busy laying on security at this moment. Security for protection. Security to ensure total secrecy. They're pretty good at that.'

'It's amazing. I thought I'd heard everything. When are you supposed to fly there?'

Tomorrow. That's when Lysenko is flying in direct from Moscow. Any idea of flight times? It has to be Swissair…'

'Starting early, depart Heathrow 8.30, 9.50, then 13.50. I've left out BA flights.'

'Swissair will be more anonymous. I'll travel under the name Johnson. Lysenko is due to touch down at Kloten at three in the afternoon, local Zurich time. I'll catch the 9.50 – get there ahead of him.'

'I'll book it. What about the actual rendezvous, the place where the meeting will be held?'

'No idea. That's been left to the Swiss. They'll find somewhere quiet. Not too far from Kloten Airport would be my guess.' Tweed's mouth tightened. 'Charming. I'm to meet my old enemy for the first time face to face – with no idea of the agenda.'

'Not to worry. You think like chain lightning on your feet.'

Trouble is, we'll probably be sitting down,' he joked.

'Not a word to Paula, I assume?'

'She can know I'm flying to Zurich. But not why. And she should be due here soon,' he said, checking his watch. I see you've had a desk and chair brought in for her. That was thoughtful. She's completely under your jurisdiction, of course. On probation. For six months.'

Monica glanced at the desk against the wall, placed so when the new member was sitting she faced both Monica and Tweed. 'I thought I'd put the welcome mat out for her. She'll need help to pass with flying colours.'

'Up to you,' said Tweed. 'Not perfect timing – with the Zurich thing imminent.'

'And when has the timing ever been perfect?' Monica asked.

Paula came into the office and closed the door, then waited for instructions. Tweed introduced her to Monica who, he noticed, eyed Paula up and down as she walked with her to the new desk.

She had dressed cleverly for her baptism of fire. A severe dark blue two-piece suit, a blouse with a mandarin collar and plain beige tights. No little squirrels running up her shapely legs. She sat down.

'I'll make coffee,' said Monica, who had phoned Heathrow and booked Tweed's flight.

'Please let me do that.' Paula jumped up immediately. 'I'm the probationer. If you'll just tell me where everything is.'

'I'm afraid we keep it in the top drawer of this filing cabinet,' said Monica. 'Instant, too. Milk and sugar in the same drawer with the crocks.'

'How does everyone like it?' Paula was taking out equipment when Howard strolled in without knocking. He stopped in mid-stride at the sight of Paula. Checking the knot of his tie, he smiled broadly.

'Just starting class? Good show. I'm Howard…'

'The Director,' whispered Monica.

'I'm pleased to meet you, Mr Howard,' Paula said with no particular expression, holding out her slim hand.

'May I call you Paula? Don't stand on ceremony here. Just so long as everyone does their job.'

Oh, Christ, thought Tweed, he's trying to be charming and pompous at the same time. Howard held her hand a shade too long, then turned to Tweed.

'Maybe Paula could pop along to my office for a few minutes – give us a chance to get acquainted and all that?'

'I could come in a few minutes, Mr Howard,' Paula said quickly. 'I have a job to finish first.'

'When you're ready, my dear. When you're ready…'

He left the room and Paula arranged the coffee things on a tray. Monica told her where she would find the stove and waited until Paula had left the room before she made her remark.

'She doesn't like Howard.' She smirked. 'He's on the prowl and she guessed. He's looking for compensation now Cynthia is going her own way – one in the eye for his wife is what he's looking for. And he rather likes the idea. And! Did you notice how she was determined to make our coffee before she went near him?'

'Yes,' said Tweed and busied himself with a file. Monica already approved of Paula. He'd never have believed Paula could solve the problem so quickly. Now he could concentrate on Zurich – and the unknown spectre which had risen up in his face.