by Colin Forbes
They stood quietly. No one spoke. A couple of times Paula walked a few paces backwards and forwards to stretch her stiff legs. For once she welcomed the dead silence of Romney Marsh. It was peace. Then her mouth tightened.
'I can hear a car coming at speed. Not more, please.'
A black stretch limo, with Sharon behind the wheel, braked with an emergency stop, inches from the closed gate. Newman sighed, ran to the farmhouse, reached inside the front door, pressed the switch which opened the gate. He ran back outside. Sharon was turning the car, ended up with it pointing back to London. Then she alighted, walked towards them.
She was wearing a mink coat and slung from her right shoulder was the largest white leather handbag Paula had ever seen. It was like a huge envelope. Paula blinked as Denise followed her. She was still clad in riding kit. Most peculiar Her knee-length boots gleamed in the moonlight. To Paula, the silence suddenly seemed menacing as Sharon continued walking towards them. She stopped about fifteen feet from them.
'What brings you down here, Charlie?' Tweed began. 'Charlie!' gasped Denise.
'Yes, Charlie,' replied Sharon, moving a few paces, putting space between herself and Denise. 'My middle name's Charlotte, as Tweed was clever enough – and foolish enough – to discover. Don't you reach for that gun, Newman,' she snapped.
As she spoke, Sharon's right hand emerged from her handbag holding a Magnum revolver. Paula gazed at the large weapon, surprised that Sharon's small hand could level it so easily. She swivelled it in an arc between Tweed, Paula and Newman, covering them all.
'Spread out your hands,' she screamed suddenly. 'Well away from your bodies – or I'll shoot you in the stomachs. You'll take a long painful time to die. Such a long-painful time.
They spread their hands, stretched them outwards. To Paula the end of the Magnum's muzzle looked like the mouth of a cannon.
'The report in that red file said my father was killed on the orders of Charlie,' Denise screeched.
Sharon slipped closer to Denise. With a movement almost too quick to follow she slashed at Denise's face with the barrel of her gun. Denise moved her head quickly. The barrel barely scraped her but she slipped on a smooth stone, toppled backwards, saved her head striking the ground with her hands. Then she sat there, her right leg turned at an awkward angle.
'I've twisted my leg,' she yelped, rubbing her boot with one hand.
'Stay down there,' Sharon snarled. 'A twisted leg won't kill you. I will.'
The Magnum had instantly been swivelled back to cover the trio with outstretched hands. She's quick, too damned quick for me to haul out my Smith amp; Wesson, Newman thought. Before I grabbed the butt all three of us would be dead. Sharon knew exactly what she was doing. She stood too far away to be rushed, but near enough to shoot them all.
'I'll ask you again, Charlie,' Tweed said quietly. 'What brought you down here?'
'To make sure your bloody stupid communications centre has been destroyed.'
'It hasn't. The Americans who tried it are on their. way back to their task force ship, those who survived.'
'You're lying! You always lie! Damn your soul to hell, Tweed,' she went on screaming with fury. 'You always lie, you friggin' little nobody! You're trying to trick me. Me! Of all people!'
Newman simply gazed at her in disbelief. An extraordinary transformation had taken place. Her face was so contorted with insane rage she was hardly recognizable. Jekyll had become Hyde. She suddenly moved sideways on to a small elevated piece of ground. It gave her greater command of the situation. Denise, moaning, still sitting, was rubbing her hand over the boot on her twisted leg.
'You said, Charlie,' Tweed remarked, 'a moment ago, "Me! Of all people!" Where do you think you're going? As President in the Oval Office?' he suggested sarcastically.
'That's exactly where I'm going, you not-so-clever little nobody! You think I'm going to let any of you stop me? You'll all be dead and buried while I'm starting my campaign to be senator. I won't let any of you get in my way! Hear me! I won't!'
Her face was still hideously contorted, still hardly recognizable. She kept swivelling the Magnum to cover them. She was breathing deeply now, working herself up to press the trigger.
'You killed my dear father,' Denise bleated.
'Sure I gave the order to waste your late father. Another friggin' nobody who was getting in my way. Nobody gets in my way and survives!'
Paula had dropped her eyes briefly. The mound Sharon stood on had a rusty grating like a drain cover. She raised her eyes quickly. Tweed had glanced at Denise's right hand. It was levering something from inside her boot.
'Can't we compromise in some way, Sharon?' he suggested.
'So it's gone back to Sharon now, has it? You're trembling in your shoes, aren't you, Tweed! And with good reason!'
Distracted by her venom for Tweed, Sharon had forgotten Denise for the moment. Jerking her hand out of the boot, Denise aimed, fired the. 22 Beretta at random. The bullet hit Sharon in the thigh. She gasped, dropped the Magnum, clutched her side. The weight of the weapon, added to Sharon's, caused the grating to crumble. The ground gave way under her. She started falling into the pit the grating had covered. She screamed like an animal in terror. Marler came running out from the farmhouse at that moment.
Only her head and shoulders were visible. Her hands clawed desperately at the edges, digging into the soil. She screamed again.
'Help me! Help me! HELP…'
The earth she was clutching at with both hands crumbled. Blonde hair vanished. There was a hellish scream, which faded quickly. Like a dying echo. Huge quantities of earth gave way, plunged downwards.
'Any chance she's alive?' Tweed asked.
'No chance at all,' Marler replied. 'It's an eighty-foot drop down those old ventilation shafts. And the builders sealed all of them up at the bottom with two feet of concrete.'
'Plus all that earth going down. There must have been over a ton of it.'
'At least.'
'Bob,' Tweed requested, 'take that Beretta from Denise. Clean off her fingerprints, then throw it down the hole. The Magnum went with her.'
'There are spare new steel gratings in the workshop,' Marler said. 'Alf will help me to cover up that hole. It's dangerous.'
'And, Bob,' Tweed went on as Newman, holding the Beretta with a handkerchief, tossed it down, 'maybe you'd take Denise to see a doctor.'
'Won't be necessary,' Denise intervened, standing up straight. 'I just pretended my leg was twisted. Easier for me to get, my hands on the Beretta. I brought it to kill her, but she was driving so fast.'
'Then maybe you'd take her back to her Belgravia flat, Bob.' Tweed turned to Denise. 'This never happened. You've never been here. You went straight home on your own from the Embassy.'
Epilogue
It was early morning in London. Some time after dawn the sky was once more a cloudless blue. Very little traffic at that early hour. This time Marler, with Butler and Nield, had taken the lead car, had gone on ahead.
Newman, behind the wheel, slowed to a crawl as he approached the entrance to Park Crescent. Tweed was beside him, with Paula in the back. Newman turned the corner into Park Crescent, driving at no miles per hour. He continued crawling forward. The left-hand side of the windscreen was blurred with mist. The shot pierced the glass, the windscreen crackled. The passenger by his side slumped.
Stopping the car, Newman jumped out. A second rifle shot rang out. Paula, crouched down a few seconds earlier, had left the car, followed by the man who had crouched beside her. They were just in time to see the figure perched on the roof above their entrance rear up, as though subjected to a high-voltage electric charge. Then the figure plunged down vertically, landing on the steps leading up.
'Not on my doorstep,' said Tweed, running forward with Paula.
Newman had got there first. He waited for them. The body of a man wearing a balaclava lay very still. Newman bent down, checked the neck pulse, shook his head. He then took hold of the balaclava,
gently pulled it back to reveal the face.
Rupert Strangeways stared up at them, the eyes open, the mouth twisted. Paula had the grisly impression he was sneering at them. Newman stepped back as Marler, who had raced round the Crescent, arrived.
'And I thought it was Basil,' said Paula. 'The Phantom.'
'Good shot,' said Newman.
Marler's bullet, fired from his Armalite, had made a smudged red hole in Rupert's forehead. George, their doorkeeper and guard, came out of the front door. He stared down.
'My Gawd, who is that?'
'A phantom,' said Tweed. 'Cover it with a sheet. We don't want passers-by gawking.' He ran upstairs, with Paula at his heels. 'I must phone Roy Buchanan at once, ask him to send an ambulance.'
Inside his office he stared at the empty desk on his left. The cover was still on Monica's computer, her chair pushed under her desk.
'Where is Monica?'
Paula picked up a hastily scribbled note. It was an apology from Monica. Despite her allergy to shellfish, she'd indulged in a shrimp cocktail for supper. It had upset her and she wouldn't be in for the day.
'I'll call Buchanan, explain the position,' she said. 'And I'll sit at Monica's desk, look after the phone today.'
A few minutes later Newman and Marler came in. Newman sat down while he explained.
'Marler and I think it best to leave the car you travelled up in where it is until Buchanan arrives. Then he can see the dummy Tweed for himself. Rupert's bullet would have hit you in your head – if you'd been sitting beside me. The bullet penetrated the dummy and is lodged in the padded head rest I reinforced.'
They had created the dummy to look like Tweed before leaving the Bunker. Mrs C. had helped – supplying pillows to pad out a jacket she had borrowed from one of the staff. The upper part of the top pillow had been squeezed into the size of a head. Marler had provided a pair of horn-rimmed glasses with plain lenses he'd used in the past for disguise. Mrs C. had used safety pins to attach the glasses to where Tweed's eyes would have been. As a final precaution, Newman had carried Mrs C.'s hair spray. He had stopped the car a short distance before they reached Park Crescent, had used the hair spray on the dummy's side of the windscreen to blur the image.
'Well, it worked,' said Marler. 'And we were right in thinking the Phantom would be waiting for Tweed's arrival here. Now, I'm going up to my office.'
'Now, I'll make us all some coffee,' said Paula.
Buchanan, with Sergeant Warden, his wooden-faced assistant, was standing in Tweed's office fifteen minutes later. Looking out of the window, Paula saw two men carrying a stretcher with the body covered with a sheet. They hoisted it inside an ambulance.
Buchanan listened without interruption while Tweed and Newman explained what had happened. They kept their statements terse and made no reference to either Sharon or Denise.
'Marler is waiting in his office upstairs,' Tweed went on, 'so you can take a statement from him.'
'I prefer it that way,' Buchanan agreed. 'Having a separate interview with him. I have only one question. Who fired first?'
'Rupert Strangeways did,' Newman confirmed. 'Marler will tell you he was crouched with his Armalite behind his parked car. It was only when he saw the muzzle flash from Strangeways' shot that he located where he was.'
'Glad you left the Tweed dummy in the other car,' Buchanan said. 'Before we go and have a word with Marler we'll take a look at that, then leave a couple of policemen on guard. We'll get moving.' He paused by the door before opening it. 'Tweed, you'd like to know, I'm sure, that bullet I sent by courier to Rene Lasalle not only matches the bullet which killed our late PM, it also matches the bullet which killed that German, Heinz Keller. Otto Kuhlmann, your friend and the police chief from Wiesbaden, happened to be visiting Lasalle. He brought the Keller bullet. That also matches. Rupert Strangeways was not only a hired. hit man – he was also a mass-murderer.'
'It's dreadful,' Paula said when the policeman had gone, 'when we realize Rupert also murdered his own father in Freiburg.'
'As cold and greedy as they come,' replied Tweed. 'Doubtless he hoped to inherit his father's fortune. I have a feeling he would have done no such thing when the will is read. Changing the subject, I think Denise will keep quiet.'
'She promised me she would off her own bat when we left her at that flat in Belgravia,' said Paula.
She was referring to the fact that they had driven back from the Bunker in three cars. Wearing gloves – to avoid fingerprints – Newman had driven the stretch limo, with Denise by his side. In the car following him, Tweed was behind the wheel with Paula and Newman as passengers. Behind them, Marler had driven the third car, which contained Butler and Nield.
There had been no one about when Newman dropped off Denise at her Belgravia flat. He had then driven the limo to Mayfair and, unseen, had parked it in a mews. He had then transferred to the car with the dummy while Tweed and Paula had crouched low in the rear.
Howard then stormed into the office, his normal self. Wearing a grey Chester Barrie suit, he was freshly shaved, pink-faced and with neatly brushed hair. He assumed his favourite position, sitting in an armchair, one leg perched over an arm.
'Sensational news from Washington. Morgenstern has resigned as Secretary of State. His action has hit the States like a thunderbolt. He's holding a press conference later today.'
'That's due to Tweed's final interview with him,' Paula said.
'Really?' Howard stared at her before going on. 'And thank you, Tweed, for calling me on your mobile on your way back here in the car. Just afterwards Philip, your naval pal at the MoD, phoned me. That American task force has left the Channel, is steaming back at a rate of knots towards the States. Another sensation. A rumour is circulating the US that a SEALs landing exercise went horribly wrong. Dummy ammunition should have been issued. SEALs were divided into two forces, one attack, one defence. But the ammo issued was the real thing, due to some cock-up. SEALS have twenty-five dead. Combined with Morgenstern's action, all hell has broken loose.' Howard jumped up. 'Must go. Tweed, we will have lunch at my club.'
Paula had answered the phone just before Howard finished. She waited until he had left, her expression bleak.
'Tweed, you have visitors downstairs. Ed Osborne and Chuck Venacki. What shall I do?'
Newman reached inside his jacket. He was grabbing his Smith amp; Wesson.
'Don't do that, Bob,' said Tweed. 'Paula, ask them to come up.'
Ed Osborne entered, quietly and smiling. Behind him Chuck Venacki was also smiling. Tweed stood up, shook their hands, invited them to sit down.
'Everyone here,' he began as he sat down, 'must treat what they listen to as top secret for ever. Meet Ed Osborne who, as far as he could, kept me informed about what Ronstadt was up to.'
'My mother was English,' Ed said, his manner now pleasant. `So I always had a soft spot for this country, totally disagreed with their plan. But the man you should thank is Chuck Venacki, my confidant. He put his life on the line, travelling round with Jake Ronstadt, keeping me in touch when he could.'
'We have you both to thank,' said Tweed.
'That's nice. I can't linger. Felt I just had to come over to see you. Washington is in a state of chaos. The Ambassador here has been recalled – he'll be replaced. And I'm resigning as Deputy Director of the CIA. There's a new director at Langley. Old friend of Cord Dillon's. Guess who's going to get my job.' He stood up. 'Great to see you all survived.' He went round, shook everyone by the hand. 'Take care. I'm off with Chuck.'
'I'm staggered,' Paula said when they had gone. 'But I suspected you had someone on the inside. Incidentally, who was the Phantom's paymaster?'
'Paymistress. Sharon, I'm sure. She must have disguised her voice, phoned Rupert about the targets. She'd guard her identity.'
'And I've wondered about a coincidence. Sharon's parents were killed in a car crash. Years later poor Denise's parents are killed in a car crash on the same bridge.'
'I'm sure Sharon ga
ve orders for Denise's father to be murdered by staging a fake collision on that same old bridge in Virginia. The bridge would linger in her memory as a place where accidents did happen. Never prove it, of course.'
'Another thing,' Paula went on. 'Monica struggled like mad to fill in those mysterious gaps in Ed Osborne's life. She never could find out where Osborne was when he seemed to disappear off the face of the earth for longish periods. Where on earth was he during those long disappearances?'
'That,' said Tweed, 'is something I'd decided to apologize for to Monica. During those gaps he was working for me, so any record was carefully erased. So, that's it. Although I do have one more problem.'
'What's that?' enquired Newman.
'Paula,' Tweed pleaded, 'can you think of some way I can decently avoid that lunch with Howard? I can't stand the food at his club. And I can't stand the other members – they sit there like waxworks.'
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