by Colin Forbes
Tweed saw the distant pipe flare up into a huge column of flame. It had reached the inside of the prison complex. He hurried back to the ferry. The barge was just leaving. Scrambling aboard the stern, Tweed went to the prow so he could get off quickly. Soon they were in mid-channel.
He looked back. Well beyond the oil-refinery complex the world was on fire. Great tongues of flames shot skywards. Black Island became Red Island. The ferryman, at the stern, stared in disbelief as the inferno increased in intensity. Then the devastating explosion roared and Tweed knew the fire had reached the Semtex.
Large sheets of steel were hurled upwards as the explosion destroyed the hideous prison. And the Slovaks who had erected it, Tweed thought. Was it his imagination - or did he see half a body tossed up, a burning body, before it fell back out of sight?
'Stupid foreigners!' the ferryman shouted.
Tweed shrugged, gave no reply as the barge slid in to the mainland dock. He stepped down and hurried towards Tolhaven. Since he'd taken the precaution of buying a return ticket he was able to leave the ferry immediately.
Tolhaven's main street was, as usual, deserted. When he had reached his car parked outside the town he took off the beret he had worn. Amazing how such a simple article changed the appearance of a man who never normally wore any kind of hat.
He paused at the crest of a hill, looked back. The western tip of Black Island beyond the refinery was a curtain of flame.
As he headed back for Park Crescent Tweed mentally crossed off General Macomber from his list of murder suspects.
34
While Tweed was on his way to Tolhaven, Newman was obeying his order to interview Noel Macomber. He phoned Noel first.
'Robert Newman, SIS, here. I think we should meet urgently.'
'Why?' the soft voice whispered.
'To discuss a peaceful solution.'
'I see,' after a long pause. He'd consulted his colleagues. 'Where? When?' he enquired.
'Now. I could arrive at your building at twelve. You know a discreet bar near you?'
'Yes. I'll leave our HQ at twelve.'
So it came about that Newman found himself seated with Noel in the leather-walled alcove of an exclusive bar in Victoria Street. They faced each other. Noel had occupied the seat inside the alcove, his back to the wall as he swirled his second glass of Scotch.
When he first saw him descend the steps of the HQ building Newman was startled. Noel wore a smart white suit, a pink shirt, a colourful cravat and two-toned shoes. Now, in the quiet bar each was waiting for the other to speak first.
Newman had studied the face of his opponent. It was peculiar. Triangular in shape with the apex the pointed jaw. Yet there was a certain handsomeness many women would find attractive. The almost lidless eyes were yellow and rarely moved. Newman decided it was time to move in for the kill.
'Where were you on these nights?' he asked, pushing forward a sheet of paper with the two murder dates. 'Between the hours of 11 p.m. and 3 a.m.?'
'Funny way to start discussing a peaceful solution.'
'Tweed has a long list of suspects. We eliminate you and move on to the next name. Logical.'
'You really expect me to recall where I was on two out-of-the-blue dates?'
'Yes. Because in both cases - Viola and Marina - the crimes were splashed all over the following morning's papers.'
'Point,' Noel agreed. 'On each night I was drunk and went to my flat at ten o'clock to sleep it off.'
'Anyone to confirm that?'
'Not those nights.' Noel grinned wolfishly. 'I didn't have a girl with me in bed. Too drunk.'
'Did you know either woman?'
'I visited Marina about a month ago at midnight.' A second wolfish grin. 'She only worked in the early hours, if you catch my meaning.'
'And Viola?'
'Didn't know she existed until I read the paper about her unfortunate experience.'
'It was more than unfortunate for her.'
'I suppose it was.' Noel emptied his glass, called for a refill, raised his thin eyebrows at Newman, who shook his head. He was on his first Scotch still. 'Newman, can you keep a secret until late this afternoon?'
'I suppose so.'
'Nelson is being appointed to the Cabinet. As Minister for Internal Security. A new post.' Noel raised his thin brows which exposed all his yellowish eyes. Disconcerting. 'You won't, then, be rushing to phone your chum, Drew Franklin?'
'Hardly, since he isn't my chum. Regarding a peaceful solution. Wouldn't the first step be to dismantle the awful prison system being erected on Black Island?'
'Damn it!' Noel exploded, his face turning red. 'You're conspiring to wreck a system it has taken us months to plan.'
He jumped up to leave, but not before he had swallowed his third full glass of Scotch. 'Now Nelson will be in the Cabinet this afternoon I'll be able to have you as the first one thrown into the prison on Black Island. As a social saboteur.'
He dived out of the alcove, rushed for the door, very fleet of foot, Newman noticed. Then he rushed back, threw a twenty-pound note on the table, rushed again through the bar and in doing so nearly knocked over a waiter before disappearing full tilt into the street.
'He must be annoyed at something,' Newman said with a smile to the stunned waiter as he also walked slowly out of the bar.
It was a very thoughtful Newman who made his way back up Whitehall to where he had parked his car.
35
Nield, waiting in Whitehall near the Cabal's HQ, was taken aback at Benton Macomber's reaction to his approach. He had expected hostility initially. He walked up to Benton as he descended the steps into the side street.
'Benton Macomber, sir?'
'That's right. What can I do for you?'
'I'm Pete Nield of the SIS,' he said, showing his folder. 'I would appreciate a few words with you. I'm investigating the murders of Viola and Marina Vander-Browne.'
Benton would be in his late forties, Nield estimated. He was well built, with unusually wide shoulders which gave him a hunched appearance. His clean-shaven face was bony, the observant eyes greenish, his complexion rugged with a reddish tinge, the mouth full-lipped and sensual. He exuded an air of suppressed energy.
'I'm just going for a quick lunch,' he explained. 'Just a sandwich and a drink at an up-market wine bar at this end of Victoria Street. Why don't you join me? Later it gets busy but it will be quiet now.'
Benton walked with long strides and Nield, being shorter, had to hurry to keep up with him. He's a very fit man, Nield thought as they turned into the wine bar. Neither said another word until they were seated at a table and Benton had ordered for them both after consulting Nield.
Both drank Scotch. Benton sipped his glass, pushed it away. He smiled pleasantly at Nield.
'I drink moderately, unlike Nelson. Doesn't seem to affect his ability to think and act. What is this?' He glanced at the sheet with the dates of both murders, pushed it back.
'I thought those dates might be significant.'
'The first date is when Viola Vander-Browne was savaged and murdered. The second is when her sister, Marina, was killed.'
Nield was taken aback. Benton was so different from what he had expected. It was more like talking to a favourite uncle. He pressed on.
'Where were you on those particular nights between the hours of 11 a.m. and 3 a.m.? You have a remarkable memory,' he added.
'A phenomenal memory. Born with it, or inherited it. Who knows? But specific hours on two different nights? That's pushing it a bit. Wait a minute.'
Benton took out a pocket diary. He then extracted a pair of rimless glasses from a case, put them on. The transformation rattled Nield's nerves. Benton glanced at Nield, then looked at his diary before staring at Nield. The rimless glasses had converted Benton into something sinister. The greenish eyes pierced Nield's. Sinister was not a strong enough word.
'The night Viola died I was with a girl, Patsy, in a flat I rent in a mews off Mayfair. She left at 10.30 p.m.
She'd exhausted me,' he remarked with a strange smile. 'I went to bed, slept until morning. Not much of an alibi, Mr Nield.'
'What about the second date?' Nield persisted.
'Spent the whole evening and night in my Mayfair flat. Alone. No alibi at all.' He took off his glasses and again looked normal. 'I'd appreciate it if you'd not mention Patsy, at least by name, if at all. I'm just about to divorce my wife, who is visiting her boyfriend in Canada.'
'I'll forget Patsy - unless it becomes essential to name her. I have to ask you these questions because you're one of a number of names on Tweed's list of suspects.'
'Then you'll have to tell Tweed to leave my name on it.' Benton smiled pleasantly, sipped a little more of his Scotch.
Nield drank the rest of his Scotch. He still had in his mind the evil vision of Benton wearing his rimless glasses. Which was the real man?
'Who do you think killed those women?' Benton asked suddenly.
Nield was briefly stunned by the sheer bravado of the question. Benton must have guessed the whole Cabal was on the list of suspects. He rallied swiftly, gazing straight at Benton.
'Someone powerful. Someone who lives in London. Someone who will be identified by Tweed within the next twenty-four hours.'
'I see.' Benton paused. Now he was stunned. 'You are very confident. . .'
'Someone,' Nield continued his counter-attack, 'who left a clue at one of the crime scenes.'
Benton called for the bill, paid it quickly, stood up, his expression grim. His mouth was turned down at the corners, all traces of the benevolent uncle absent. Without a word he strode out of the wine bar, moving rapidly.
Nield sat smiling. He ordered another sandwich. He had broken through the wall of bland innocence the Cabal presented to the world.
36
Paula, returned from her visit outside the capital, parked her car in a spot just vacated by a businessman wearing a dull black suit, the 'uniform' these days of men who worked in the City.
She walked into the side street, trotted behind Benton, who seemed in a great hurry. He said something into the speakphone, the great door slid upwards, she followed him on to the escalator. He was so absorbed by something on his mind he never noticed her. Clasped under her arm she had two carefully folded copies of different editions of the Daily Nation.
She walked into the Cabal's private room behind Benton. Two people were sitting at the triangular table. Nelson and Noel. Nelson jumped up when he saw her.
'You can't come in here,' he snapped.
'I've come to congratulate you,' she said merrily, waving the huge headline on the special edition.
NELSON MACOMBER MINISTER OF INTERNAL SECURITY
'And,' she continued, still walking towards the door into the next room, 'Miss Partridge has something to tell me.'
She had entered the next room, closed the door behind her, before Nelson, who had jumped up, could reach her. Inside, Coral Flenton was standing up, a wide smile on her face as she waved her hands in the air, then did a little dance.
'It's a wonderful world,' she sang, mimicking Louis Armstrong as she went on dancing.
The Parrot stood a distance away from her, strong arms folded under her chest. Her expression was murderous. She suddenly became aware of Paula and her expression became grimmer. She swung back towards Coral.
'Shut your face!' she screamed. 'Stop that awful row or I'll shut it for you!'
'There's a witness if you attack me.' Coral nodded towards Paula and picked up a heavy ruler. On her desk was the Daily Nation, folded to the headline announcing the new Cabinet appointment.
'I'll throttle you!' the Parrot screamed again at Coral.
'No, you won't,' a quiet commanding voice said.
Nelson had appeared from the next room. Obviously he had heard the Parrot screaming. The large man walked quickly across the room. The Parrot froze. Nelson gave the order as he passed her.
'You wait exactly where you are until I get back.'
He continued walking until he reached Paula, who had moved to the other side of Coral's desk. His manner was calm but determined. He gripped Paula's right arm, kept walking.
'This is no place for you, Miss Grey. I'm asking you to leave by the back entrance. Don't come here again.'
Still gripping her arm tightly he walked her towards a door in the rear wall. He used his other hand to press down a safety lever. He was opening the steel door when Paula reacted.
'Take your hand off me. You're hurting me.'
He kept hold of her as the door swung open. She used the tip of her left shoe to kick him hard on the shin. He grimaced, gave a grunt of pain, let go of her arm and she walked out on to I platform at the top of a flight of metal steps leading down into the street.
'Miss Grey,' Nelson called down, his tone now friendly.
'What is it?' she called back, glaring.
'In my anxiety to calm things down I gripped the wrong woman's arm. I apologize if I hurt you. Unintentional.'
He was smiling warmly. He even saluted her to emphasize his change of mood. Still pausing, she glared at him again, refusing to let him off the hook.
'Maybe you'd better learn to control your temper before you park your seat in your Cabinet chair.'
She continued descending the steps, did not look back again. So she missed the blaze of annoyance which appeared in his large blue eyes. She did hear the slam of the metal door shutting as she leaned against a wall to adjust her shoes. She had chosen the wrong footwear and had walked a lot when she'd reached her destination well outside London.
More comfortable now, she walked left along the alley, her sense of direction taking her to the end of the side street which led to Whitehall. She stopped for a moment when she saw who was walking towards the entrance to the HQ. Tweed.
37
'What are you doing here?' Paula asked.
'I told you earlier. I want a word with Nelson Macomber.'
He stopped speaking as the steel door swung upwards and out of sight. Wearing a dark suit with a flower in the buttonhole, Nelson stepped into the street. At the top of the escalator Paula saw a crowd of staff, all clapping their hands. Beaming, Nelson turned to wave to them, then turned to Tweed.
'Heard your voice on the speakphone. I was just coming down. I'm on my way there.'
He gestured to the end of the alley. Parked by a Whitehall kerb was a long black limousine. A uniformed chauffeur stood at attention.
'So congratulations are in order,' Tweed said.
'My dear Tweed ...' Nelson threw both arms round him, hugged. 'I am so looking forward to working with you.' He beamed at Paula. 'And, of course, with your attractive and hyper-efficient Paula.'
She stepped back, worried that he was going to hug her. He was a big man and the thought of those strong arms squeezing the breath out of her did not appeal.
'Well,' Tweed said amiably, 'you've got one of the two sensational headlines all to yourself.'
He produced a folded newspaper from under his arm, still gripping a second newspaper under the same arm. He opened it to show the headline announcing the Cabinet appointment. Nelson took it and studied it as though seeing it for the first time.
'Overdone it a bit, haven't they?' he said with a complacent smile.
'Oh, I don't know,' Tweed remarked. 'Pity it's swamped by the next edition they rushed out at breakneck speed.'
He took the second newspaper from under his arm. Again it was folded to the even larger glaring headline with the story below written by Drew Franklin.
BLACK ISLAND TORTURE PRISON EXPLODES IN FLAMES
Paula peeked over Tweed's shoulder as he handed it to Nelson, then studied the newly appointed minister's expression. All the joy in Nelson's face vanished like a mark wiped off a window. He stood motionless as he read the detailed text. One sentence referred to 'the body parts of the Slovak builders flying into the air . . .' Another referred to 'the hideous KGB-like torture chamber ready for so-called "social saboteurs". That is, ready for anyon
e speaking out against the government . . .'
'This is blatant nonsense,' Nelson squeaked.
'He has printed photos to illustrate his text,' Tweed remarked.
'This is your work,' Nelson snarled.
