Cell

by Colin Forbes

  He then called Jim Corcoran, Chief Security Officer at Heathrow. While he was doing so Buchanan was calling someone on his mobile, seated at Paula's desk.

  'Jim? Good. Tweed here. I've got a tricky one for you. I'm not going to be your pin-up of the month. In fact, I'm not sure you can do this . . .'

  'Do get to it, Tweed.'

  'I have a list of people here and it's important for me to know if they've flown to the States during the past five months.' He read out his list, spelling some names. 'If I had dates that would be helpful. Shall I call you back?'

  'No. Hold on. For security reasons, after September 11, and even before then, we have all the passenger manifests on the computer . . .'

  He came back quicker than Tweed had expected. He chuckled.

  'Bet you thought I couldn't do it. Sharpen your pencil. Here we go. Warner - flew to New York August 20, then back to New York October 12, back to NY November 16. On that trip he flew back from Boston. Palfry - flew to NY September 3 and September 9. Drew Franklin - to NY September 8, back to NY September 18. Nothing on Billy or Martin Hogarth. Nothing on Margesson. Eva Brand -to NY September 9, back to NY January 24, 2002. All the previous ones were 2001. OK?'

  'A miracle. Now could you carry out the same exercise for the same names flying to the Middle East up to now?'

  'Hang on . . .'

  Again he was back more swiftly than Tweed could ever have expected.

  'Computer was warmed up, which helps. These people do travel. Victor Warner - flew to Cairo January 4, 2002. All these flights are 2002. Warner flew again to Cairo January 29. Palfry, oddly enough, flew to Cairo each day after Warner had done. Drew Franklin made one flight - they're all to Cairo - on January 30, then on to Tel Aviv, back to Cairo, returned here February 2. Again, oddly enough, Eva Brand flew to both the cities on the same dates. That locks it up. I'll send you my fee. Better still, give me dinner at the Ritz.'

  'Will do. You really are a miracle man . . .'

  'The computer is. Got to go . . .'

  Tweed handed the careful notes he'd made to Newman. Looking up, Newman pulled a face.

  'This is going to take some sorting out.'

  'Bob,' Tweed played with his pen, 'I suggest you look for anything that strikes you as odd.'

  'Which means you've found something and you need me as a back-up check.'

  'Something like that.'

  He looked across at Buchanan, who was obviously waiting for a chance to speak after his long phone-call.

  'Tweed, they have found two of those white vans. Dumped into the river. A fisherman saw vague figures shoving in one van. It was dark, so he huddled down the bank until the men had gone. Probably saved his life. Then, further upriver, he heard a second one being shoved in. When it was quiet he went to the first one. The rear was still protruding from the water, so he took the number plate. I've sent Warden with teams equipped with lifting equipment to haul them out. We should have news soon.'

  'Another piece of luck. Now I'm holding nothing back. My next call is to Hereford, the SAS base. I want them alerted.'

  Half an hour later Newman reported to Tweed after Buchanan had left for the Yard. Tweed could tell from his expression that he had been struck by something.

  'What's the verdict, Bob?'

  'The oddest thing is Eva Brand appears to have flown to Cairo, on to Tel Aviv, and back again with Drew Franklin. I don't get that.'

  As he spoke Marler walked in, stared at both of them.

  'What's up? I can tell something is.'

  'I know you've just come in,' Tweed told him, 'but now I have another job for you. I want you to trace the present whereabouts of Eva Brand, then follow her.'

  'She could be either at the Ministry in Whitehall or at the Minister's penthouse in Belgravia,' Newman objected.

  'So,' Marler told him, 'I phone both places, ask for her and don't say who is calling. Then I'll track her. If I think it's a good idea can I take her out to dinner at the Ivy?'

  'Typical,' Newman said sarcastically. 'Probably she won't like you.'

  'I'll make her like me, Uncle.' Marler quipped, patting Newman's shoulder.

  He then skipped quickly out of the door as Newman, furious, got up to hit him. Newman was only five years older than Marler but if the latter wanted to rattle Newman he called him 'Uncle'.

  The door reopened and Buchanan appeared again. He remained standing as he spoke to Tweed.

  'I've changed my mind about going back to the Yard. I think we should drive down to the river, take a look at those two white vans dumped into the Thames . . .'

  He stopped speaking as the door opened again, admitting both Paula and Beaurain.

  'I'm glad you're here,' Paula said to Buchanan. 'We have data you ought to see . . .'

  Beaurain pulled out the notepad with the diagrams he had drawn in Mrs Wharton's house. He placed them on Tweed's desk while Buchanan and Newman joined them. In as few words as possible he explained the drawings. When he had finished Tweed looked at Buchanan.

  'What do you think of this?'

  'Don't like it one little bit. Still think we should all go down to the river, check those vans. Is the location easy to find? It was tricky before.'

  'No,' said Beaurain, 'so I'll drive us down there.'

  37

  'Lord, it's a heavy mist,' Paula exclaimed.

  With Beaurain behind the wheel, they were driving down the bumpy track after turning off the main road. Paula sat beside the Belgian while Buchanan and Tweed occupied the rear seats. The Superintendent was peering out of the window.

  'Worse than mist,' he commented. 'It's fog.'

  During their drive there Tweed had produced his map of the district. He pointed out how close the power station was to St Jude's Hospital. Buchanan's mouth compressed. He shook his head.

  'If al-Qa'eda are inside that power station we can't launch an attack to check out the place. They'll have a ton of high explosives. If they set them off that hospital - and all of its patients - would end up obliterated. Beaurain, can I suggest you dim your fog-lights? In case they have someone watching on this side of the river.'

  'Yes, I can. Then I won't see where we're going . . .'

  'Hold it,' Buchanan went on. 'Turn over the ground to your right. I've just seen a figure waving a torch. Could be Warden.'

  Earlier, while in the car, he had used his mobile to contact Warden. He had warned him they would be coming. Beaurain had manoeuvred the car off the track on to the sterile ground to their right. At Buchanan's request he stopped.

  Paula was on edge about the situation. The fog was like a dense murky blanket. She could just make out the torch being waved. Buchanan spoke as he opened the door on his side.

  'Wait here. I'll check. Don't follow me if you hear shots fired,' he warned, a Walther in his hand as he left the car.

  'Take care,' Paula called out.

  'My motto . . .'

  The torch was still shining but had stopped waving as Buchanan stealthily approached the vague silhouette. He crouched low.

  'Who is it?' a familiar voice called out.

  'Me, Warden,' Buchanan replied as he recognized the voice. As he came close to Warden he saw he was now holding the small torch in his mouth. This had enabled him to use both hands to grip the sub-machine gun aimed at Buchanan. 'And I appreciate it if you'd lower that weapon.'

  'Sorry, sir. You always say it's better to be safe than sorry.'

  'How far away is the first van you've hauled out?'

  'A few hundred yards. The winch boys have really worked. The second van has also been hauled up on to the bank. Further on.'

  'We want to see both. Come back with me to the car and guide the driver to the first vehicle . . .'

  With Warden ahead of him, showing the way with his torch pointed at the ground, Beaurain drove slowly forward. The ground was even rougher. Paula thought it was her idea of a nightmare. Drifts of fog, like ghostly hands, swirled over the windscreen. She felt better when Warden held up a hand,
illuminated it with his torch. Beaurain stopped, switched off the dimmed headlights and the engine. They all got out, following Warden in a crocodile.

  Policemen with automatic weapons stood near the van. There were also two frogmen, still in their kit. Through their goggles they stared at Paula. They hadn't expected a woman. She gave them a cheery wave and walked with Tweed to the rear of the van. Both rear doors were open.

  She put on latex gloves and leapt up inside the van. Tweed hauled himself after her, his hands also protected with latex gloves. Warden followed, switched on his powerful torch.

  'Douse that!' Buchanan snapped. 'It could be seen across the river.'

  Paula switched on her smaller torch. She was slowly checking the floor of the van, which seemed strangely clean. Then she stopped, aiming her torch.

  'Look at this.'

  She was kneeling, with Tweed crouched beside her. In the light from her torch they could make out four screw-holes, well apart from each other. She hauled out from her satchel the fold-up ruler, measured the distance between the screw-holes.

  'Just under two feet from one hole to the next one.' She looked up at Beaurain, who had joined them with Buchanan behind him. 'Jules, at Mrs Wharton's we decided the base plate was about two feet wide.'

  'So,' Beaurain replied, 'while the van was transporting the devilish device here it was held firm, kept still by the base plate held firmly to the floor.'

  One of the frogmen had arrived. He had taken off his helmet, exposing red hair plastered to his skull where water had dripped off the helmet when he removed it. He addressed his remark to Paula.

  'Only one of those in this job. Two of them in the other van we hauled out upriver.'

  'Like to look at that one in a minute,' suggested Beaurain.

  'I know they used four vans,' Tweed said, standing up. 'Tell you how I found that out later.'

  'Four vans,' Beaurain repeated. 'That suggests to me about six devices brought down here.'

  'And six barges,' Tweed said almost under his breath.

  They drove to where the second van had been hauled out. A short distance away was a large winch machine with a drum holding a cable. At the tip of the cable was a strong hook.

  Both rear doors were open and again Paula was the first to leap inside it. She swivelled her torch slowly round the floor. By its light she saw another four screw-holes to the right side of the vehicle and near the back. Further in, nearer the front, she found four more, this time to the left side.

  Again she used her ruler to check measurements. She looked up at Beaurain.

  'Same as in Van One. Don't see why the two holding points are on different sides of this van.'

  'Balance,' he said. 'Assume they drove a distance to bring the devices here. In this van having one device at the right side, the other at the left - and spaced apart - it would give balance. The devices must weigh a lot. We know they do. Mrs Wharton said it took six men to carry one from the van to the motorized trolley.'

  'You've had lab experts go over the floors?' Tweed asked Warden.

  'Yes, sir. Nothing. No fingerprints. The only element they noticed was a smell of a strong cleaning material.'

  'That's it then.' Tweed looked at Buchanan. 'Now both vans must be shoved back into the river, the way they were.'

  'What?'

  The exclamation came from the red-haired frogman who had spoken to Paula earlier. He looked appalled.

  'Sorry,' Tweed said firmly. 'But the dangerous villains involved may send a man back to make sure the vans are no longer visible. The tide has risen. We can't take a chance on this one.'

  'Do it, Warden,' Buchanan ordered. 'Quickly. And move that winching apparatus out of the area. Now. Understood?'

  'Yes, sir . . .'

  They went back to the car and Beaurain drove them back to Park Crescent. The mist was clearing as they reached the track and turned up it to head back for the main road. As it did so Paula glanced down the track, wondering what hell might be going on at the power station.

  Ali was supervising operations on the three barges moored on the east side of the wharf, the side the team led by Tweed and Buchanan could not see while checking the vans. The hard cover had been rolled over the interior of the barge. Before this action had taken place Ali had insisted the small wheels attached to the underside of the cover were oiled. This had been planned earlier - so when the cover's wheels were rolled along the rail-like tracks on either side they would make no noise.

  As six of his men carried the device to place it in position, he climbed the ladder to the main hatchway, which was open. He peered down, gesturing for them to place the device in the perfect position - below the hatch opening. The hatch was more than wide enough to allow safe passage when the huge bomb lifted off its base, streaked through the hatch, aimed with all its explosive power at the target.

  He descended the ladder - which would later be thrown overboard - and ordered them to screw the base plate firmly to the bottom of the barge. When they had completed the task he picked up a screwdriver, tried to tighten the four screws at each corner of the plate. He couldn't move any of the screws. This barge was ready, as were the two alongside it. Ali had been chosen by Abdullah for his meticulous attention to detail.

  'Now we deal with the other three barges,' he ordered. 'It will be foggy so no danger of anyone seeing us.'

  He had listened to the weather forecast for the next day. Very cold, no overcast, clear skies. They would have no trouble seeing the targets. Allah was on their side.

  38

  Marler had been waiting half an hour, parked in Belgravia where he could see the exit from Warner's penthouse. He had earlier phoned the Ministry, asked for Eva Brand when Palfry answered.

  'She's not here,' Palfry had replied in his superior Civil Service voice. 'Who is this speaking?'

  'Not urgent,' Marler had said abruptly and put down the phone.

  His next call had been to Warner's penthouse. It was Eva who had answered. Saying nothing, Marler had hung up, now he knew where she was. So he had waited patiently. Little over half an hour later she had appeared at the front door, wearing a blue overcoat over her black trouser suit. She had closed the door, then stood there, scanning the area. Marler knew she would never see him and guessed his brief phone-call had alerted her. Smart lady.

  She suddenly ran down the steps, ran to a blue Saab, dived inside, switched on the headlights and moved off. Marler followed her cautiously. He soon realized she was heading for Whitehall. Going back to the Ministry? No. She turned down a side street, stopped outside a small restaurant which had a chalked board advertising Tea. Coffee. Full meal if required.

  Leaving her Saab parked half on the pavement, she had gone inside the place. Marler adjusted his rear-view mirror, put on a pair of spectacles with blank lenses, a peaked hat on his head. His appearance was transformed. He followed her inside.

  He had a surprise. A man was just pulling out a chair for her. Palfry, smirking. He sat opposite her. Marler chose a table giving him a good view of them. Only Tweed at the SIS knew that Marler had trained himself as an expert lip-reader. The place was half empty. He removed his hat and ordered coffee when the waitress arrived. He could make out most of their conversation.

  'I'm worried about Victor,' she said,

  'Why? He's as fit as a fiddle. You know.' He pretended to play a fiddle with a solemn expression. She laughed dutifully.

  'But how long can he keep it up?' she persisted. She kept quiet while their waitress served them both coffee. She continued as soon as they were alone. 'He pushes himself to the limit. He gets very little sleep. In the evenings he's always dashing off up to his place in Carpford. No guards.'

  'What do you mean?' Palfry asked, managing to look worried.

  'One of his guards told me they got into a car in the evening and followed him when he'd told them he didn't need them. He pulled into a lay-by on the A3, flagged them down. Then he gave them hell, said when he needed them he'd tell them and they could j
ust drive straight back to London. Did you know this?'

  'Not my job to tag along when he doesn't want me. Occasionally I do travel with him to Garda, his place in the village. And I always carry a revolver.'

  'Could you use the damned thing if it came to it?' she snapped.

  'Well . . .' He smirked. 'Probably end up shooting myself.'

  'A lot of use that is,' she snapped. 'Go up there on your own sometimes? You've got that great big tub-like house. Must be room for twenty guests upstairs.'