by Colin Forbes
With this takeover the minimum of pressure can be used. End of report.
'It was every third word,' Jenny explained.
'Obviously some business corporation working a deal,' Tweed said sceptically. Paula was peering over his shoulder. 'You see, it means nothing,' he said to her.
'I wonder. When they had those riots in Washington I saw them on TV. One thug yelled at the camera "It's a takeover." He meant they were taking over Washington -or trying to.'
'Did he?' Tweed looked thoughtful, then decided. 'I think for this expedition with Lisa tonight we'll marshal our forces. Harry, phone Pete again. Tell him to get here at once. Pity Marler is down in Dorset.'
'If you need me again,' said Jenny, standing up, 'just call me.'
'We will. And thank you for what you've done.'
'It was a piece of cake…'
She had just left when the phone rang. Monica answered and informed Tweed that Mark Wendover was waiting downstairs.
'Send him up. I've a good mind to put him on the first plane back to the States.'
Paula looked with interest at the tall well-built man when he entered. She liked the way he was dressed informally, the way he smiled as he accepted Tweed's suggestion to sit down.
'I have to inform you,' Tweed began grimly, 'that here we work as a team. I haven't heard one damn' word from you all day. Where have you been? Then I'll want to ask you a lot of questions about your background.'
'I did try to phone Bob Newman before I left the Ritz. But there was no reply.'
'I came straight here,' Newman told him.
'Well…' Mark looked back at Tweed. 'I drove to Alfriston, got some information you might find interesting. Can I tell you about my trip before you hang me from the nearest tree?'
'Go ahead.'
Tweed's expression gradually changed to neutral as he listened intently to Mark. The American explained in great detail everything he'd experienced while in East Sussex. He had total recall for every conversation that had taken place. He concluded by producing the blue leather-bound notebook.
'You've done a very good job,' Tweed said as he examined the book. 'I don't want to hear about your background. You know what I think happened with this notebook? Bogle was there before Paula and I arrived. He denied touching the body but I think he lied. He found it in one of the late Jeremy Mordaunt's pockets and kept it. MoA. Very interesting. Paula, could you get Jenny back here for me, please?'
'Something wrong?' Jenny asked when she arrived back in the office.
'Nothing. Since you left us this book has come into my possession.' He handed it to her. 'Would you say the entries are in code?'
'Could be,' she said, after glancing through the pages. 'I would have to work on it before I'm sure. MoA.'
'Yes. Which means no one except yourself in Communications should see it. Can you ensure that?'
'I can. I have my own little office to work in. It has three locks on the door – two Banhams and one Chubb. And I do have a safe where I keep top secret material.'
'That's top secret.'
'I realize that. Who shall I report to if I solve it?'
'Myself or Paula. If neither of us is available, then Monica.'
'I'll get cracking – literally – on it right away. Could I have a thick envelope? Something I can carry the notebook in so no one sees it when I get back to Communications.'
Monica found one for her. Jenny put the book inside, sealed it. She gave Newman a brief wink. She had hardly glanced at Mark, but Paula felt sure she would recognize him if she saw the American again.
'This make take longer than the other problem,' she warned Tweed and left the room.
For several minutes Tweed explained to Mark the Lisa situation. He emphasized that he was very unsure about her, told him how he had met her.
'Lord Barford again,' Mark mused.
'Yes. And from what you've told me Bernard Bariord is on the rocks financially. Something I didn't even suspect…"
The phone had rung. Monica called across to Tweed. 'Lisa is waiting downstairs now. Bang on time.'
'Ask her to come up.'
Lisa came into the room, wearing a grey raincoat. Monica had offered to take it but she shook her head, sitting down at Tweed's invitation. He started by introducing everyone in the room except Paula by their first names only.
'Now, before we decide to go anywhere with you, I need to know far more about you. Where do you live?'
'In a flat off Ebury Street. I'd sooner not give you the address. Two very tough-looking men stalked me but I gave them the slip,' Lisa explained.
'Who were they? Or who sent them, if someone did?'
'I've no idea. Absolutely no idea.'
'This is all very vague,' Tweed suggested. 'At Lord Barford's party you told me your job was that of a confidante. Can you elaborate?'
'I should have said I was a security consultant.' She was relaxing now, no longer sitting stiffly in her chair. 'I look after one of the most powerful men in the world. He told me to come and see you.'
'I'm surprised he knows I exist.'
'He has deep contacts all over the world. He knows who you really are.'
'And who am I?' asked Tweed.
'Deputy Director of the SIS. That insurance stuff on that plate by the front door is just cover. He knows very big trouble is planned for London. He sent me over to find out first which areas they're targeting – so I could tell you. They're the West End and the East End. Tonight.'
'Who are the troublemakers?'
'Your stupid government lets in too many so-called refugees. They don't realize that many have been trained in guerrilla warfare abroad. I'm pretty sure that tonight is a dress rehearsal for the main attack which will come later. They'll be testing out the reactions of your police force. I don't know when they'll strike, but I'm sure it will be after dark.' She lifted a hand to brush back her mane of red hair. 'How many men can you muster?'
'Probably, including myself, say six. Except for one who will arrive shortly, they are in this room. One of them,' he went on, not looking at Newman, 'has SAS training. The others are up to his standard. Paula is among the six. I wouldn't make the mistake of understimating her.' Tweed raised an eyebrow, looking at Paula.
'We have met.' Lisa smiled. 'I think she could be dangerous.'
'Would you like a cup of coffee?' asked Monica belatedly. She had been fascinated by what-Lisa was saying.
'I'd love one, thank you very much.'
'This very powerful man you mentioned. I'd be happier if I knew his name,' Tweed demanded.
'I have promised never to reveal that.'
'Couldn't be Rondel, could it?' he asked casually.
Lisa looked down at her lap.
'No, it couldn't be,' she said.
'You know…' Tweed began doodling faces on his pad. 'If I've no idea where I can contact you we simply can't work together.'
'He said you were not only very clever, but also very tough and never gave up. I'm not living at the flat off Ebury Street any more. I've moved to The Hangman's Noose. It's a pub in the East End near Reefers Wharf. You could always get me there or, if I'm out, speak to Herb, the owner.'
'Is he trustworthy?'
'He should be.'
'Why, if I might ask?' interjected Mark, who had kept silent while he watched her.
'Why?' She turned on him. 'Because at one time he served with bloody Military Intelligence.' She took a folded sheet from her shoulder bag, handed it to Tweed. 'That is a list of the probable targets tonight.'
Tweed read slowly through the typed list. He was careful not to show his anxiety. He looked straight at her.
'This covers a lot of territory. My guess is that Herb, with his Army experience, has helped build up this list.'
'You've hit the nail on the head.' She smiled. 'He also said you were very quick on the uptake.'
'Herb, you mean?'
'No, the man who sent me over here as the Messenger to warn you. You said there will be six
of us…'
'Seven. Including yourself.'
'We'll need transport to move us from the West End to the East.'
'And we have loads of it,' said Harry Butler. 'In all makes and sizes.'
'I've worked out how we'll travel,' Tweed announced. 'Three cars. I'll drive Car One with Paula next to me. Newman will drive Car Two with Lisa and Mark as passengers. Car Three will be yours, Harry, taking Pete Nield with you, if he does ever get here.'
'He will,' Harry said. 'And mine will be the four-wheel drive. I've reinforced the ram at the front. Might come in useful.'
'Could I go to the bathroom?' Lisa asked as she finished her coffee. 'That was very good,' she added, turning round to look at Monica. 'Thank you.'
'I'll take you,' Paula volunteered. The two women left the room.
'Well, what do you think of her?' Tweed enquired, glancing round the office.
'She'll do,' said Butler. 'I've been watching her.'
'Resourceful, reliable.' Newman gave his verdict.
'I second Bob,' Mark agreed.
'I case you're interested in my opinion,' Monica began, 'I think she's the tops. And in a rough-house my bet is she'd give a good account of herself. Notice the steel rims on the toes of her shoes?'
'No, I didn't,' Newman admitted.
'That's because she'd covered the steel with thick polish.' 'Sounds as though she could be an asset in our car,'
Mark said to Newman. 'And I thought we'd have to look after her. ..'
'You may find she has to look after you,' Monica commented wickedly.
'Weapons,' said Harry.
'I'm taking my Smith amp; Wesson,' Newman remarked.
'Now listen.' Tweed raised his voice. 'There is to be no shooting on this expedition. Only if your life is in danger or you fear serious injury. The police will be there.'
'When it's all over,' Newman replied cynically.
He had just spoken when Pete Nield came in. He gave Tweed a little salute.
'Sorry I'm so late. Saw an accident on my way here. A lady had a broken leg. As usual, no one knew what to do. I lifted her into the back of a car which was going to drive her to a hospital. Got a glass of water from a nearby house and got her to swallow a couple of painkillers. Always carry stuff like that with me.'
'Ruddy walking medicine chest, you are,' Harry snorted.
The two men often worked as a team, knew they could always rely on each other. The contrast between them was striking. Butler always wore a shabby windcheater, denims which had seen better days, a pullover ragged at the cellar. Whereas Nield, slim and erect, was smartly dressed in a blue suit with shirt and tie.
Tweed began talking, bringing Nield up to date tersely with everything that had happened. Nield listened carefully, perched on the edge of Paula's desk. Tweed repeated his warning about the use of firearms, showed him Lisa's list of targets, which caused Nield to whistle softly.
'Going to try and level London to the ground, are they?'
'As I told you,' Tweed snapped, 'it's supposed to be a rehearsal for a major event later.'
'If you say so…'
He stopped speaking as the door opened and Lisa entered with Paula behind her. Everyone stared. Carrying her heavy raincoat with capacious pockets Lisa wore a leather skirt ending way above her knees. For a top she was wearing a gaudy silk blouse which fitted her tightly. It was sleeveless. Newman stopped staring, looked anywhere except at her legs.
'Sorry to dress like a tart,' Lisa explained. 'But a major target is the huge discotheque in the West End. I need to merge with the atmosphere. When we leave the place I'll put on what's in my raincoat pockets. Rolled-up sweater, pair of jeans, old windcheater.' She smiled. 'I'm only showing you this outfit so you don't get a shock later.'
Saying which, she slipped on the raincoat. Then she checked her watch, looked at Tweed.
'Shouldn't we leave during the next half hour? It's got late suddenly.'
'Transport,' growled Harry, jumped up, left the room.
Tweed introduced Lisa to Pete Nield, who shook hands, smiled at her.
'Welcome to the war party.'
'I don't want to hear any more language like that,' Tweed told him. 'It's the wrong attitude.'
'You hope,' Newman said under his breath.
'That SAS team I wanted here from Hereford has arrived, I hope,' Gavin Thunder snapped at the aide who had replaced Jeremy Mordaunt.
'It's across the street, secreted in a building near what used to be Scotland Yard, sir. I hope you don't mind my saying this – but don't they come under the control of the MoD? ^ 5
'Yes, but I talked the Defence Minister into agreeing. I can talk him into anything. You've heard the rumours. Tonight that foreign scum we've let in has planned an inferno. We'll keep the SAS in reserve, see how it develops.'
'I hope, sir, the Cabinet will go along with you.' 'None of your damned business. But as you've raised the point, I talked the Cabinet into agreeing, albeit reluctantly.
We may need to show our iron fist.'
'Which, I hear, sir, is your nickname inside the Cabinet.
Iron Fist.'
CHAPTER 8
Action this day.
The words went out on the Internet, from Ponytail at his base in the apartment on the shores of Lake Washington in Seattle. Went out to be decoded by 'chief executives' in London, Paris, Rome, Brussels, Berlin and Stockholm.
Even as they were deciphered, 'tourist' buses were moving in to the centre of each city. There were no convoys to attract the attention of the police. Single buses packed with men drove in from different directions, heading for their targets.
Ponytail then turned to operating on the home front. The same coded instruction went out to San Francisco, Chicago, New York, Los Angeles and New Orleans. In the States Greyhound buses had been hijacked at prearranged points in the countryside, their passengers herded into barns where they were trapped once the doors had been locked. All mobile phones had been confiscated. Waiting gangs of rough-looking men boarded the empty buses which then proceeded to their destinations.
And no one realized that these three words of the instruction had once been the favourite phrase of Winston Churchill, urging lethargic civil servants to do what he said immediately.
It was 10 p.m. in London. Tweed and his team had entered the basement restaurant off Piccadilly in separate groups, had sat at three different tables. The only member absent was Harry Butler, which left Pete Nield by himself.
They had eaten a light dinner – without alcohol – when Harry ran down the stairs from outside, made a gesture for them to leave.
Lisa, wearing her sweater and jeans, dashed into the ladies', carrying her raincoat. Locked in a cubicle she swiftly changed into her 'tart's' outfit, emerged wearing the raincoat.
'Vorina's, the discotheque,' Harry told them and dashed out and up the steps into the street, followed by Pete Nield. The four-wheel drive was parked nearby and they jumped into it. Tweed had taken the precaution of paying his bill early while he drank coffee. The others had done the same.
Lisa appeared, her raincoat belted tightly, joined Newman and Mark. They dived into their car, Newman taking the wheel. Tweed and Paula led the convoy – he had parked his car ahead of the other two vehicles.
'Where the heck is this Vorina's?' Tweed asked.
'In a side street off Regent Street. I'll guide you…'
The moment they entered the side street Tweed saw Vorina's. It was impossible to miss with the glow of lights shining out through enormous plate-glass windows. Earlier, after consulting Harry, Paula had arranged with him to rush out in the afternoon and purchase three members' tickets. One ticket admitted three people.
'Only ninety quid for that lot,' he'd told her when he came back and distributed tickets.
'Ninety pounds!' she'd exclaimed. 'It must be a high-class place.'
'Decide for yourself when you see it,' he'd told her.
They parked in a wide alley with the four-wheel drive in fron
t. A doorman in a blue uniform checked their tickets while Paula stared inside. Behind the windows attractive girls in various states of undress were dancing. When the door was opened a blast of sound hit them, the latest modern 'music'.
Crystal balls of lights were suspended from the ceiling of the vast room. They flashed on and off non-stop in wild colours. On a platform halfway down the left-hand side a group of five young men were armed with saxophones, guitars, and heaven knew what else. Huge amplifiers built up the deafening noise to incredible decibels. Couples sat at tables, drinking and trying to hear each other. At intervals down the right-hand side were booths where men were playing at undressing their girlfriends. A number of older men were urging younger girlfriends to drink more. Tweed could see no activity the police would regard as obscene. They were all people of various ages enjoying themselves. But he didn't like the hellish noise or the flashing lights. C'est la vie, as the French would say. Paula grasped his arm after looking back.
'Trouble.'
Lisa, who had gone ahead, ran back to them, heard what Paula had said.
'Big trouble,' she warned.
At the entrance door a giant had pushed his way in, followed by a troop of ugly-looking toughs wearing ragged camouflage jackets. The doorman demanded from Delgado his ticket. The giant grabbed the doorman with one hand round the throat, lifted him off the floor, slammed him against the wall. His victim collapsed. A bouncer appeared, tried to grab the giant by one arm. Delgado grasped his wrist, whirled him round and round, let go suddenly. The bouncer crashed against the wall, collapsed. The giant's toughs were rapidly infiltrating the restaurant.
They ran from table to table, jerking the cloths off them, spilling plates and food and drink on the floor. One man, using a can of spray paint, swiftly defaced a wall with his graffiti message. Down With Monny, Tweed detected a degree of illiteracy.
Panic broke out. Women were screaming. Men were holding on to their partners, trying to escort them out through a wild mob. One woman with a semi-backless dress was refusing to leave her table. Delgado came up behind her, shoved in his huge hand, tore the dress down to her seat. Butler appeared behind the giant, grabbed a handful of his hair, crashed his head down on to the table, then went elsewhere. Delgado straightened up, dazed, staggered round.
