This United state

46

Arriving at Park Crescent, Tweed first ran up the stairs to his own office with Paula and Newman. Monica beamed with relief when she saw him. She pointed to his desk.

'The fat envelope came in from Roy Buchanan.'

'Good.' Tweed opened it, glanced quickly at its contents. 'Now, Monica, try and get Jefferson Morgenstern on the line.'

'I'm sorry. That's one thing I forgot to tell you. Morgenstern wants to see you. He must have called me eight times.'

'Tell him I'm now available to meet him within the hour. At any place of his choosing. Now I have to go up and see Howard.'

He left his office, ran up the stairs, followed by Paula and Newman, who waited outside Howard's office. Tweed walked straight in. Howard, as always impeccably dressed, was seated behind his desk. He showed signs of strain but his voice was firm.

'Am I glad to see you,' he greeted Tweed, standing up to shake his hand. `Do sit down.'

'I have Paula and Bob outside. Could they join us?' 'I think they'd better.'

When everyone was seated Howard clasped his hands on top of his desk. He leaned forward.

'Briefly, a vast American task force is approaching our shores. No warning from Washington that it was on its way here. We'd never have known until the bastards showed up – except for the captain of a BA jet flying to New York. He saw it through a break in the clouds, even took video pictures of the damned thing, which was smart of him. The pics were flown back here on the next flight from New York. See for yourselves.'

Howard pushed forward a number of large colour prints across his desk. Tweed was surprised at their clarity. He looked at Howard.

'How high up was the aircraft?'

'I spoke to the captain myself over the phone. He was flying at thirty-five thousand feet. Apparently photography is his hobby. Told me he'd spent a mint on his camera. As soon as he'd taken his pics he sent a signal to the Ministry of Defence. A high-ranking pal of mine contacted me. The originals are with the MoD. Those are copies.'

'Amazing detail. What's that microscope you've got on your desk?'

'The most advanced version in the world. Loaned to me by my naval pal. Use it.'

Newman reached for the microscope. Under its lens he studied a warship sailing to port of the aircraft carrier. Then he whistled quietly.

'I'd say there are a load of SEALs aboard that ship. And they appear to be exercising for a landing. They're lowering small motorized amphibious landing craft over the side.'

'That's what my naval friend said,' Howard confirmed. 'Sinister, don't you think?'

'Any idea of their course, of when this battle group arrives?' asked Tweed.

'The captain of the aircraft told me that, as far as he could tell, it is headed straight for Britain. Time of arrival? The naval people tell me that, if it continues on course, they estimate the task force should appear in the English Channel after dark. Tomorrow.'

'Engagement possibly imminent.'

'Tweed…' Howard paused, appeared embarrassed. 'I have to tell you I made a real botch-up. I was tired out, hadn't slept for forty-eight hours – but I wouldn't take that as an excuse from a subordinate. I was driving down to the Bunker in daylight, middle of the afternoon. I was vaguely aware of a chopper hanging around. Took no notice. Drove straight into the courtyard of the Bunker. Mrs Carson tore me off a real strip. Deservedly so. The damned machine then circled over the complex for several minutes, flew off. Mrs Carson said the helicopter had no markings. I'm sorry, very sorry. Let the side down in a big way.'

'Don't be sorry.' Tweed smiled. 'No one is infallible. I have made some pretty stupid mistakes myself in the past. Do you mind if I leave now? I had a lot to do anyway, but after what you've told me I must move like Concorde.'

'I feel better now you're back.'

'I'll keep you fully informed about developments. Everything is going to happen very quickly now.'

He was on his way when Howard jumped up, followed him to the door. Howard almost whispered.

One more very important point. The PM is anxious to see you as soon as possible.' He smiled ruefully. 'I think he regards me as second best.'

'Nonsense…'

Returning to his office, Tweed found an impatient Monica waiting for him. She waved a bit of paper.

'Jefferson Morgenstern says he'll see you at his office in the Embassy. He'll wait for you. Any time this afternoon.'

'Good. Now I want you to get me Sharon Mandeville on the phone. She's probably at the Embassy.'

Paula was behind her desk, Newman had settled himself in an armchair, Tweed was just about to seat himself in his own chair when the door opened. Marler walked in, an unlit king-size in his right hand.

'Sorry to barge in but I have someone downstairs I think you'd like to meet. All Rudge, boss of my cabdriver mob.'

'Ask him to come up now.'

When the door opened again everyone stared at the figure Marler ushered in. All Rudge was at least six feet tall, in his fifties, with a burly figure. In his hand he held one of the old-fashioned caps many cabbies used to wear. His blue eyes scanned the room quickly.

'Pleased to meet you, Alf,' Tweed said, extending a hand. 'I am Tweed. Make yourself at home. Try that armchair.'

'Hold that call for the moment,' he called across to Monica.

Tweed then introduced All to everyone in the room. All got up, shook hands with them. He struck Paula as being rather shy – or reserved – as his large paw squeezed hers. The big man then sat down in the armchair again, looked across the desk.

'I've 'eard a lot about you, Mr Tweed. No one except an idiot tries any monkey business with you.'

His cockney accent was very pronounced. Tweed immediately warmed to Alf. The salt of the earth, he thought. The backbone of England which really counted.

'Anything we can do to 'elp,' All went on, 'we'll do. Marler 'ere has knocked 'ell out of us in his trainin' out in the country.' He looked over his shoulder at Paula and Monica. 'Excuse me, ladies.'

'We may need you as reinforcements at a moment's notice,' Tweed told him. 'Tomorrow at the latest, I would guess. How can we have your people close at hand?'

'Easy, Mr Tweed. I've got my mobile and the boys 'ave got theirs. Tell you what, if you agree – from this evening I'll have all of 'em patrolling the streets near here. They won't pick up no customers. Don't think they should be parked – make 'em obvious.'

'They'll patrol throughout the night – without sleep?'

'Won't worry 'em one little bit. They can always park for forty winks if they feels they needs it. Shall I lay it on?'

'Yes, please, Alf. Keep in touch with Marler. And thank you for offering to help us.'

'It's nothin', Mr Tweed,' Alf said, embarrassed as he stood up to leave. He turned at the door. 'If this means we 'ave a go at the Yanks the boys will love it…'

Marler returned almost immediately after escorting Alf to the front door. He looked round.

'Well, what's the verdict?'

'If all Alf's friends are like Alf,' Tweed said, 'then we have the equivalent of a very tough army platoon at our disposal.'

'They're all like Alf,' Marler declared.

'I really took to him,' Paula enthused. 'I was touched by his shyness, but I detected underneath it a man who would never let us down, however desperate the situation.'

'I'm on the side of Alf,' Newman agreed.

'But what about weapons?' Tweed queried.

'You know me,' Marler said, leaning against a wall, 'I break all the regulations. For training purposes I had a whole armoury of weapons sent up from the Surrey mansion a few weeks ago. Alf and his mob are armed to the teeth. Including bazookas.'

'You trained them to use bazookas?' asked Tweed. 'Yes. And they really know how to use them.

Especially the three who were in the Gulf War. All will have thought of weapons. His boys will be carrying them secreted inside their cabs. Now, I'll love you and leave you. Things to do.'

'Make that call, please, Monica,' Tweed requested when Marler had gone.

'Tweed!' Sharon's soft voice purred with delight over the phone. 'You're back in London? Wonderful. You have neglected me, you know. You can't deny it.'

'I wouldn't even try, Sharon. Good to know you are safely back. If possible, I'd like to come and see you this afternoon. The answer is yes? Splendid. Oh, do you mind if I bring Newman and Paula with me? You'd love to see them. Sometime this afternoon, then.'

As he put his coat on he gave Monica an instruction.

'Please inform Howard where I'm going. Tell him Paula and Bob are coming with me. Then Howard won't worry.'

'Who do we see first?' Paula asked.

They were sitting in the back of the car Newman was driving towards Grosvenor Square. The good weather was lasting. It was a brilliantly sunny afternoon with not a cloud in a duck-egg blue sky. The air was fresh and pedestrians were walking briskly as though enjoying the return of the sun.

'The sequence is important,' Tweed said. 'First we see Morgenstern. Afterwards we call in on Sharon.' 'So you can ask her out to dinner,' she teased.

'I thought I came first,' Newman called out. 'Am I supposed to stand in line?'

'We'll see,' Tweed replied.

'And you are clutching that package of evidence from Buchanan as though the fate of the world depended on it,' Paula commented.

'Maybe it does,' Tweed told her.

'What's inside it?'

'Among other things, photos of the dead Umbrella Men who tried to kill me in Basel near Market-platz. With their names.'

'How on earth did you get hold of them?'

'Reliable Arthur Beck again. He omitted to mention it, but he sent the material to Roy Buchanan at New Scotland Yard. The two men met at an international police conference a few months ago. Roy told me they got on very well together.'

'I can spot some of them already,' Newman reported as they neared Grosvenor Square.

'Some of who?' Paula wanted to know.

'Buchanan's plain-clothes sleuths. Stationed to keep a close eye on who comes and goes from the American Embassy. I think he's told some of them to make their presence obvious – to act as a deterrent. Roy Buchanan really never, under any circumstances, misses a trick.'

For Tweed, as they mounted the steps and walked inside the spacious entrance hall, it was like a replay of a film he had seen before. The girl who had treated him so offhandedly on his previous visit was behind the reception desk. But this time when he gave his name her attitude was very different. Standing up, she gave him a beaming smile.

'Mr Tweed, Mr Morgenstern is waiting to see you. His suite of offices is on the first floor. Here is the number,' she said, handing him a plastic disc. 'And could you please take this card? There are a lot of guards about who may stop you. If you show them this they will let you straight through.'

'Thank you, said Tweed.

He led the way to the elevator, pressed the button. The door opened and inside he pressed the first floor button. The elevator ascended, the doors opened and they stepped out into the wide corridor. Tweed stopped, smiled.

Denise Chatel had been walking towards the elevator. For once, Paula noticed, she was not carrying a file. More than that, she was stylishly dressed in riding kit, complete with jodhpurs and gleaming riding boots.

She gave them a great big smile. Coming forward she hugged Paula, kissed Tweed on the cheek and then gave Newman the same attention. To Tweed she seemed a different woman. Her attitude was buoyant and cheerful and warm. What could have happened?

'How do you like my outfit?' Denise asked.

She swivelled round in a circle. Her brunette hair swung over her shoulders. Her face was pink and full of life.

'Very fetching,' said Paula.

'The picture of happiness,' said Tweed.

'You look just terrific,' Newman told her. 'What have you been up to?'

'I've just come back from a ride in Hyde Park. It's a wonderful day. I even managed a gallop, which may be illegal, but I just didn't care. I was on top of the world.'

'Hence your high spirits,' Tweed remarked.

'You've hit the nail on the head,' Denise responded. 'And what else?'

'Why?' She hesitated. 'Nothing else.'

'You'll excuse us. We've come to keep an appointment.'

'What was all that about?' Paula asked as they proceeded along the corridor.

'No idea.'

A tall, smooth-faced man came out of a room, closed the door behind him. Dressed in a smart blue pin-stripe suit, he strode confidently towards them. Then he stopped, gave a broad grin.

'Chuck Venacki,' greeted Newman. 'The great survivor. How do you do it?'

'Do what?' Venacki asked amiably.

'Survive. The catastrophe at Schluchsee.'

'Where's that?' Venacki enquired, still amiable. 'Sounds as though it could be Austria, Switzerland, Germany?'

'Give the man the money,' Newman went on. 'Even though he didn't get it until his third try. Come off it, Venacki. You remember when we last met.'

'Sure I do. Outside Park Crescent a hundred years ago. When you rammed the Lincoln Continental with your four-wheel drive.'

'Nice try. At Schluchsee Ronstadt drove his car straight at me. Four men inside that car. You were sitting with Ronstadt in the front. Ronstadt, by the way, is dead, but you survive.'

'Guess you mistook me for someone else, wherever this dramatic car incident took place. Now, I have to get going.' He looked at Paula, then at Tweed. 'Enjoy yourselves. We try to make visitors feel at home here.'

'And that,' said Tweed quietly, 'sounded like the voice of the anonymous American who phoned me in my room at the Colombi. The call which told me Ronstadt had left.'

'I don't get it,' Paula commented. 'He seemed nice enough.'

'And this,' Tweed said in the same quiet voice, pointing to a door they were passing, 'is where Sharon lives. We'll come back later. The critical interview is the one with Morgenstern.'