by Colin Forbes
The five-man entertainment group had stopped playing, stood scared stiff on the platform. A tough jumped on the platform, a graffiti can in one hand. He grabbed hold of the saxophone, squirted liquid inside it. The youngster whose instrument it was protested. The tough reversed the instrument, holding it by the horn end. Using it as a club he hit the youngster a savage blow behind the legs. The lad collapsed off the platform. Mark had just hit a tough on the side of his neck. His target went down like a sack of coals.
'Time to leave,' Tweed decided.
'Easiest escape route,' Lisa pointed out, 'is along the wall by the booths…'
Tweed was waving his hand to warn the others to leave. Butler saw him, took out a whistle, blew a penetrating blast clearly heard above the screaming and shouting. All the booths were now empty and there was a clear passage past them. Close to the exit Paula glanced back, saw Delgado, fully recovered, also heading for the street. He rammed his way through the scared crowd, shoving people aside.
Butler was ahead of them as they emerged into the street with Nield close behind him. Lisa grasped Butler's arm before he could run to his vehicle.
'Wait a minute when you're behind the wheel. Delgado has some other devilry…'
They were in their cars, their engines running, when Tweed lowered his window, glowering as he looked back at what remained of Vorina's. Delgado was wielding a huge sledgehammer, probably conveniently left on the pavement earlier.
The sledgehammer crashed into the window of Vorina's. The glass, a large sheet, fell inwards, broke into pieces when it hit the floor. A girl, her expensive dress torn, ran out into the street. A tough grabbed her, hoisted her, threw her through the gaping hole. She landed inside on her back amid the shattered glass. Lisa, who had jumped out of Newman's car, ran up to Butler, then ran back to Tweed.
'Piccadilly Circus next.'
'I know. Get back inside your car…'
The four-wheel drive moved off, followed by Newman's car and Tweed bringing up the rear. In no time at all they were approaching Piccadilly Circus down Regent Street.
'That was horrible,' Paula said. 'I'm sure I saw one man with a broken neck. Who are these bastards?'
'I did notice,' Tweed told her, 'that a number were British, but a larger number were foreigners. Kosovars, Turks, I think I even spotted an Afghan. At least we now know what we're up against. The trick is to find the top man.'
'Lord! Look at this.'
Every car parked – or abandoned – in Regent Street that they passed had windows, windscreens smashed in. One large store had no glass left in its windows. Toughs were coming out holding armruls of expensive suits. The looting had started.
Thanks to Butler being in the lead, they drove straight down Regent Street. When groups of toughs stood in the road he drove ruthlessly at them. They scattered swiftly. At the Circus was a fresh mob. Eros had already been defaced by sprays of graffiti. A crowd of 'revolutionaries' occupied the top level. Butler was driving part way round with his window open. A hulking man threw a brick, aimed at the four-wheel drive. Driving with one hand, Butler caught the brick with his other gloved hand. He stopped, hurled the brick back with all his strength. It struck the thrower on the jaw.
'Let's clear that lot,' Nield suggested. 'Drive once round Eros.'
Nield was holding his latest weapon, a long wide-barrelled metal tube. Butler sat well back. As he circled once round Eros, Nield aimed the barrel through the open window at the top level. He pressed the trigger. A jet of ice-cold water sprayed the crowd, soaking them. When Butler had completed his circle the men and women on Eros was drenched to the skin.
'Dampen their ardour,' Nield remarked as Butler headed out of the Circus.
Seated in the back of Newman's car with Mark in the passenger seat in front, Lisa, occupying the back, had pulled on her jeans, her sweater, her coat. She was glad Butler had turned his heater full on. Her mobile buzzed.
She listened, said they were on their way, warned Newman, took out a little notebook with the mobile numbers of Butler and Paula, gave them both the same message.
'Herb called me. A riot's breaking out near The Hangman's Noose. A big one. I told Herb we're coming…'
Leaving the West End, everything became quiet. Paula welcomed the peace, the lack of violent people. At one point Tweed overtook both Newman and Butler, putting himself at the head of the column while Paula, a map open on her lap, navigated.
Realizing it was time for a news bulletin, Tweed switched on the radio. The announcer was just beginning.
'Reports are coming in of serious riots in the centres of Paris and Berlin. A commentator said they had the appearance of being coordinated since they started at the same time in both capitals.. .'
Tweed switched off, his expression grim.
'And here too,' he said.
'What does it mean?' Paula asked.
'That it's international. Which worries me. Which means we have to locate the top man.'
'And I think Lisa knows who he is. Which would put her on the other side.'
'It's a mystery, one I'm determined to solve.'
They said no more until they were approaching the East End. Tweed slowed down, drove more cautiously. In his rear view mirror he saw that Butler and Newman were close behind them.
'We'll soon be at Reefers Wharf,' Paula remarked.
'I wonder why they call it that? I suppose it's on the edge of the river.'
'No, it isn't. I was asking Lisa about it when I took her to the bathroom. The end near The Hangman's Noose is a quarter of a mile at least from the Thames. Apparently it was once a real wharf. Barges and small freighters used it to unload. Then some property speculator had the idea that if he filled it in he'd have some valuable real estate. So now most of the warehouses are offices occupied by companies paying sky-high rents. We're very close now, I think.'
They turned a corner and the street where in daytime the market was held stretched about before them. In the distance Tweed could see, by the light of flames, The Hangman's Noose. Someone had hung from the sign board a real noose with the mask of a grotesque head inside it.
'If it was chaos in the West End this is anarchy,' Paula said grimly.
There seemed to be far more thugs than those they had left behind. When it closed, the stallholders' tables used in the market were folded up, stacked against the far wall. These had been dragged into the road, piled up, set alight. Tweed stopped in front of The Hangman's Noose. They got out as Newman's and Butler's vehicles arrived.
Lisa jumped out, ran along to Tweed and Paula, pointed to a stocky man emerging from the pub. All the windows were boarded up and Herb was carrying a heavy club.
'It's been hell,' he said, addressing Tweed. 'They've been attacking women as well as men.'
Lisa left them. A thug was battering a man with his club. He turned, grinned when he saw her. She stiffened the side of her hand, hit him with a karate chop. He sagged and she grabbed his club. A fire engine had arrived and men in helmets were preparing to deal with the bonfires dotted down the street, flaring up viciously. Tweed noticed groups of thugs were gathered along the opposite pavement, listening to a strange tall fat man in a pink shirt, waving a malacca cane.
Harry Butler saw a fireman bent over a hydrant, attaching a big hosepipe. Then he had difficulty turning on the water. A thug, holding a knife, came up behind him as the fireman removed his helmet, which was getting in his way.
'Look out!' shouted Butler, running forward.
The thug hit the fireman with a club in his other hand. The fireman fell down. The thug turned to face Butler who smashed him in the face with his fist. The thug dropped the knife, lost his club, dazed by the tremendous blow. Butler grabbed his long hair, rammed his head back against a brick wall with such force he thought he heard the skull crack.
Glancing round, he saw the army of thugs, divided into groups, advancing across the street. Further down the street Mark, Newman and Nield were grappling savagely with different opponents.
Bending down, Butler checked the hose. It was firmly screwed to the hydrant. With his gloved hands he picked up the hose and it needed all his strength to twist the tap of the hydrant. Water gushed from the tip of the hose. Raising it, he directed its powerful flow at one advancing group, then another. The power of the jet was so great it knocked flat each thug he aimed at.
Thugs with knives were assaulting the firemen trying to get down off their vehicles, preventing them from intervening. Once he had flattened each group of thugs he could see, Butler switched the jet to the fires burning in the street.
Paula, on her own, was stalking the fat man in a pink shirt. His behaviour seemed very odd. Holding his malacca came in both hands, she suspected he was directing the onslaught. At the very least he was closely observing the effectiveness of the attack. He was facing away from her as she crept up behind him. She rammed her. 32 Browning automatic into his back.
'This is a gun,' she yelled in a fierce voice. 'Shove off and don't come back.'
The fat man dropped his cane. Then Paula was knocked off balance as a thug collided into her. She swung round, hit the thug across the jaw with the muzzle of her gun. He staggered back, slid down a wall, lay still. When she was free to turn round to confront Pink Shirt the fat man had vanished. She couldn't see him anywhere. And his cane had vanished with him.
Tweed was running after Lisa, who was pursuing Delgado. Her raincoat flapped as Delgado disappeared round a corner. As she peered round the corner he struck at her with a club. It grazed the side of her head. She staggered back, fell. Delgado came back, raised his club to finish her off. Tweed grabbed hold of the Beretta, tucked in the back of her raincoat belt. He hauled it out, aimed it point-blank at the giant. Delgado changed his mind, disappeared round the corner. Tweed peered round cautiously, in time to see the giant vanish down an alley. He turned his attention to Lisa.
Her pulse was irregular, her eyes closed. He lifted her as Newman appeared. Appalled, he gazed down at Lisa. Tweed snapped at him.
'We've got to get her to the clinic. No help round here. So drive my car if we ever reach it.'
Newman went wild, using brute force to clear the route to the car. He opened the rear door and, gently, Tweed carried Lisa inside, sitting down with her head on his lap. The rear door was slammed shut, Newman got behind the wheel. The car took off like a rocket, Newman keeping one hand on the horn, blaring non-stop.
CHAPTER 9
They had been waiting at the clinic for an hour. Newman sat on a chair against a wall in the gleaming white-walled corridor. Tweed was pacing up and down, couldn't keep still.
'Why are they taking so long?' growled Tweed.
'They have to give her a thorough examination, I expect,' said Newman. 'She's in a private ward?'
'All the wards are private here. Who were you calling on that wretched mobile?'
'Harry, so he knew where we were. He's on his way…'
He stopped speaking as Butler appeared, hurrying down the corridor. His face was damp with sweat and he had obviously moved after hearing from Newman.
'How is she?' he asked.
'We don't know yet.'
The consultant, Mr Master, a friend of Tweed's, appeared in the corridor accompanied by a tall horse-faced sister Tweed immediately took a dislike to. Master looked at all three visitors with a serious face.
'I have a problem, Tweed…'
'Damnit, how is she? That's what we want to know.'
'Of course. She has concussion at least. The odd thing is she's now conscious and desperately anxious to see you. It can only be for a few minutes. Oh, this is Sister Vandel who will be looking after her.'
'Mr Master, I don't agree with her seeing anyone now,' snapped Vandel.
'You told me that before. What do you think, Tweed? Seeing you might settle her, if she's still conscious.'
'Take me to her now,' Tweed said decisively.
Master led the way down the corridor, opened a door numbered 25. The room was spacious, airy, light. Lisa was lying in a bed under sheets and a blanket. Her head rested on a pillow and her eyes were closed. The right side of her head was covered with a large bandage. Tweed was shocked by her complexion. Normally she had a reasonably high colour but her face was ashen. Part of her red hair had been tied back with a ribbon to keep it clear of the bandage.
'You see,' said Sister Vandel, 'she's fallen unconscious again. This visit is pointless.'
Lisa opened her blue eyes, gazed at Tweed. She raised a limp hand, indicating she wanted him to come close to her. Tweed, upset, but not showing it, smiled, sat down on a chair next to the bed.
'You're going to be all right,' he said softly.
She smiled, raised the limp hand again, telling him she wanted him to take it. He took hold of it, squeezed the fingers tenderly. She feebly squeezed his in appreciation. She was opening and closing her mouth, clearly trying to say something.
'She mustn't talk,' commanded Vandel from the other side of the bed.
Tweed gave her a certain look, cold, fierce. It was a look Paula would have recognized, seen only at rare moments when he violently disapproved of a blunder. Vandel looked away, disconcerted.
Tweed bent closer to Lisa. The expression in her blue eyes seemed to communicate that she was desperate to tell him something. Her mouth opened again and he sensed she needed to speak clearly.
'Ham… Dan.' She made one final effort. 'Four S…'
Then she closed her eyes, letting go of Tweed's hand.
He stood up and Vandel came over to hurry him out of the room. Tweed told Master to send the bill to Park Crescent when Lisa was fully recovered and left the clinic. They were in the corridor, the door closed, when Tweed turned to Vandel as Master walked off.
'Sister, your patient is an important witness. There is a remote risk someone may try to get in here to attack her. I'm therefore posting a guard outside her room round the clock.'
'We do not allow…'
'Sister, look at this.' He produced the folder which identified him as Deputy Director SIS, opened it, held it under her nose. 'If you continue objecting I can always have a word with Mr Master.'
'That won't be necessary,' she said hastily.
'Harry,' Tweed called down the corridor, 'bring your chair up here. I want you to sit by this door to guard Lisa against any intruders,' he told him as Harry arrived, plonked his chair next to the door. 'The only people allowed inside are Mr Master, Sister Vandel here and any replacement she brings and introduces you to while she's off duty.'
'Clear enough,' said Harry, staring blankly at the sister.
'If she recovers,' Vandel snapped, 'she'll have to be taken to another room for a second X-ray.'
'Understood, but Mr Butler will accompany her. Another member of my staff will take over from Mr Butler in a few hours. I will work out a roster of guards. Meantime, Mr Butler is probably hungry and thirsty.'
'A big mug of tea with plenty of sugar and a bit of milk – and a sandwich, ham if you've got it, will do me,' Harry announced.
'We're not running a hotel for visitors,' Vandel rapped out.
'Then I'll have a word with Mr Master.'
'Oh, well, I'll see what I can do…'
She stormed off down the corridor, disappeared. Harry opened his windcheater a few inches, showed Tweed the butt of his Walther.
'No one except those you mentioned will get near her. That Vandal is the dragon of the clinic. There's always one.'
'Vandel,' said Tweed.
'Vandal will do for me,' Harry decided.
'I'll send Pete Nield to relieve you as soon as I can,' Tweed assured Butler.
'No 'urry…'
On his way out Tweed met Master again. He stopped to thank the consultant for what he was doing.
'One thing bothered me. Sister Vandel said at one stage if she recovers. I think she was simply frightening me.'
'One can never be sure, but I'm confident the phrase should have been when she recovers.' He looked annoyed. 'I'll have a word
or two with Vandel. We'll take good care of the patient…'
Outside in the night Tweed found Newman seated behind the wheel of his parked car. He explained as Tweed got in next to him.
'I decided to stay with the car. It's unlikely any of those thugs will get into this area but I wanted to protect the car. How is Lisa?' he asked, driving off.
'I'd say she's completely exhausted, needs a lot of sleep and quiet. I didn't think she looked all that fresh when we left Park Crescent.'
He took out his notebook, wrote down Ham… Dan.,. 4 S. Then he showed the page to Newman. 'Mean anything to you? Lisa had trouble saying anything but that's what she said to me.'
'Not a thing. Is it important?'
'Lisa thought it was – to make the effort she did make to say that to me.'
'You probably didn't hear her properly. In her state it's likely she was confused.'
'I don't think she was. Could be the key to this bizarre international situation.'
'Heard on the radio Paris, Berlin and Brussels experienced the same type of trouble. The wreckers are abroad.'
'And it's just occurred to me,' Tweed ruminated, 'those are three of the cities Lord Barford visited recently. If we can believe what Aubrey Barford told Paula in a drunken stupor. And I think we can.'
CHAPTER 10
Marler had driven to Dorset, visited his contact, a retired manager in a security company, living in the model village of Abbotsbury, north-west of Weymouth. He'd suggested his contact might like to join him, but the manager had said sorry, he was no longer in shape.
'And those villains I saw ferried ashore last night were the toughest I've ever encountered…'
So, for several hours, Marler had sat in his car alone. He had driven off the road overlooking Chesil Beach up a steep track. He was now behind the wheel of his car, parked out of sight behind a clump of shrubbery. The height gave him a clear view over the seaway east of Weymouth, over Chesil and west towards Bridport. High-powered night glasses hung from a loop round his neck.
