by Colin Forbes
'You also mentioned earlier the possibility of a ring being located at Carpford – presumably a ring controlling the al-Qa'eda cell. Could all of them at Carpford be in it?'
'An intriguing theory.'
'One thing you've overlooked,' said Beaurain. 'You'll be driving across London alone to get to Santini's. Already there's been one attempt to kill you. You'll be leaving here about 6.30 p.m. I imagine? Good. I'll call a girlfriend and take her out to dinner. At Santini's. I'll be close behind you during the drive there.'
'If you insist.'
'I do.'
Ali, who passed under the name of Adam, was inside the public phone-box when it began ringing. He glanced round. A deserted side street in London.
'Who is this?' he asked in English.
'Your name?' the distorted voice demanded.
'Ali here.'
'Abdullah speaking. I sense that Tweed is becoming dangerous. What went wrong?'
'Mehmet came close to shooting him at Hyde Park Corner. But the girl travelling with Tweed shot Mehmet before he could fire. Her bullet smashed Mehmet's hand. The police arrived. Mehmet is now being treated at St Thomas's Hospital.'
'Then send someone there, disguised as a doctor, to kill him. You should have thought of that yourself. Shut up! I haven't finished. Get someone else to kill Tweed immediately. Is the equipment in place now?'
'Up to a point. It has to be transferred to its ultimate site. Don't push me on that. London is crawling with the police.
You must leave it to me. The last small van with what it was carrying has arrived.'
'Kill Tweed. Make it look like an accident…' Once again Abdullah broke the connection without warning. Ali, who spoke such perfect English he might have been an Englishman, swore, in good old-fashioned Anglo-Saxon.
The monster truck of the type supermarkets use to transport supplies was parked at the edge of Park Crescent nearest to Euston. A red triangle a short distance from its rear warned drivers to steer clear. The truck was hauled by a cab attached to the main vehicle. The driver wore a floppy cap pulled well down, an old leather jacket and a pair of worn denims. He was watching the entrance to SIS HQ.
He had earlier studied a photograph taken of Tweed. It had cost Abdullah a small fortune to obtain the print from a sleazy man who specialized in taking pictures of important people. Most of his income came from private detectives – hired to watch a man or a woman suspected by their partner of playing the field.
The driver had a small pair of night binoculars looped round his neck. The binoculars were hidden inside the leather jacket. Whenever anyone left the building he checked them with his binoculars. Several men had already left but no one who looked like Tweed.
As he had expected, a patrol car had pulled up because he was a nuisance to other traffic. He had waited until one of the officers got out of the car and asked what was the problem.
'A little trouble, Officer, with engine. Fixed now. Will drive away in minutes.'
'See that you do.'
The officer was tired. So he failed to notice that the typically dressed driver spoke English with a faint accent. Minutes later Tweed emerged, climbed behind the wheel of his car. The driver climbed swiftly back up into his cab, revved up the engine, drove forward slowly. He increased speed as Tweed headed towards Baker Street. With the weight of his juggernaut he would crush Tweed's car flat. The body would be unrecognizable.
22
Harry Butler was the last to leave on the mission Tweed had given him – to watch Pecksniff's office. Tweed was amused as he listened to Harry phoning the solicitor.
'That's Pecksniff, isn't it?'
'Yes. Who is this?'
'I called on you. We had a nice little chat about Carpford. Remember me?'
'Yes. Unfortunately. What is it now? I still have a lot of work to get through.'
'Mr Pecksniff, one question I overlooked. I'm sure you won't mind answering. If you feel inhibited I can always pop down now in the car
…'
'What is the question?' The. voice quavered.
'You said you never handled the transaction for Victor Warner's purchase of that chunk of land New Age overlooked. But what about the legal junk when you rent a place? Who dealt with that?'
'I did, of course. No outside agent was involved.'
'See you…'
Before he put down the phone Harry thought he heard a choking protest. He grinned, told Tweed what Pecksniff had said.
'Something not right about that village,' Tweed remarked as he put on his raincoat. 'I'm off now for dinner with Eva…'
Outside, he paused under the nearby street lamp to pull up the collar. Getting into his car he drove to the end of the Crescent, noticed there was very little traffic as he turned left towards Baker Street. It was bitterly cold. He guessed most commuters had left for home early.
In his rear-view mirror he noticed a juggernaut coming up behind him. Too big for the roads, he thought. One of the really big jobs with a cab hauling its immense load. He'd seen them take half a minute to negotiate a sharp bend, holding up all the traffic behind them. He wondered how many tons the leviathan weighed. Too many.
The lumbering giant had picked up speed, was almost on his tail, A situation he always disliked. If he had to make an emergency stop, would the brute pull up in time? He doubted it. He drove faster to get away from it. The juggernaut driver also increased speed. Idiot! Tweed pressed his foot down.
Inside his Audi with the souped-up engine, Beaurain sat with his girlfriend, Sally, parked in the shadows of Park Crescent. He had only known her for a month and already decided she was high on good looks and low on intellect. He knew he'd soon be bored with her.
The advantage was she had a cultured voice and a smart – if not daring – dress sense. She would fit in at Santini's. She fiddled in her evening handbag, produced a cigarette case, perched a cigarette in her mouth.
'Don't light that, please,' he requested mildly.
'Oh, I see. I'm stuck with one of those non-smoking fanatics.'
'Actually, no. I do smoke. But never in a car. Smoke can get in a driver's eyes at just the wrong moment.'
'Well, let's get moving. I'm hungry.'
'So am I. We don't want to be first in the restaurant. You won't be able to make a grand entrance,' he said with a wry smile.
'I suppose you've got a point, Jules.'
Earlier Beaurain had noticed the juggernaut parked with its cab protruding. He had also noticed the binoculars used by the driver whenever anyone left the SIS entrance. Then Tweed came out, got into his car, drove off. Beaurain started his own engine and Sally, who had been tapping her varnished fingers on her bag, let out a sigh of relief.
'At long last.'
Beaurain timed it so the Audi emerged from the Crescent just as the juggernaut drove past towards Baker Street. He sat on its tail. At a curve he saw that Tweed had increased his speed. The juggernaut driver did the same thing. The lumbering brute was almost touching Tweed's boot. Tweed went faster. The juggernaut driver revved up like mad.
Beaurain knew now he was going to ram Tweed. He dropped back. Ahead was a junction, no other traffic. To the left reared a new office building site, festooned with scaffolding rising high up. No workmen – they had all gone home. Beaurain started overtaking the juggernaut, honking his horn non-stop. The driver glared down. For a moment there was a wide gap as Tweed pressed his foot down again. The driver revved up to high speed.
Beaurain was ahead of him. He signalled left, cut in front of the juggernaut, missing him by inches. The driver panicked, swung his wheel to the left to avoid hitting the wrong target. Then he screamed.
The massive building site was rushing towards him. His hands slipped on the wheel, covered with the sweat of fear. The cab had been jerked round too suddenly. Behind it the huge load pushed it forward. It slammed at speed into the maze of scaffolding, rushed on, crashing into a huge concrete wall. The cab concertina'd, was squashed into less than half its normal s
ize, stopped. Deathly silence.
'What happened?' Sally asked in her dumb voice.
'Truck skidded,' Beaurain said calmly, driving on. 'I saw the driver climbing down out of his cab,' he lied.
23
'I've decided to drive up to Carpford,' Paula announced.
'Tweed wouldn't sanction that,' Monica burst out, appalled. 'It's dark. There's no one left to come with you. That is just about the most dangerous thing you could do.'
'He sanctioned my going to Italy.' Paula was feeling restless. As she spoke she slipped on her wool-lined windcheater. She was also clad in warm jeans. She put on her knee-length boots as she went on talking. 'The evening is a perfect time to interview people, to catch them off guard.'
'Beaurain was with you when you went to Italy,' Monica protested.
'True. But Jules isn't available, is he?'
She unlocked a drawer, took out her Beretta 6.35mm automatic. Empty, it weighed only ten ounces and was about four-and-a-half inches long. She checked to make sure it was unloaded, slid in a full magazine, put a spare in the windcheater pocket. The gun slipped down easily inside her spacious boot. A small sheathed knife slid down inside the other boot. And she had her Browning inside the special pocket in her shoulder bag.
'I could phone Tweed at Santini's, get his opinion,' Monica persisted.
'Don't you dare!'
The icy cold hit her face when she left and climbed inside her car. The heater soon warmed up the interior as she drove towards Baker Street. She didn't expect everyone to be at home in the village but some of them never seemed to leave it. Then a barrier stopped her with a diversion sign.
She could see most of a juggernaut protruding from a building in the course of construction. A policeman she happened to know leaned down as she lowered the window.
'That doesn't look nice,' she said. 'Any casualties?'
'The driver inside the cab. I don't think we're going to find much of him left.' He coughed, feeling he'd said too much. 'Don't quote me, Miss Grey.'
'I've already forgotten what you said, John.'
She gave him a smile as she swung down the diversion. Soon she was racing down the A3, just inside the speed limit. No other traffic. A ghostly moon shone on the frosted fields. She was pleased to be on her own for once. Now she could handle things her way.
She had crossed the first Down, swept along the steep hill beyond, when she paused by the inn on the main road, the inn where Buller's car had been found abandoned. What the devil was going on? she wondered as she turned off up the steep, twisting road up into the remote Downs. She felt justified in what she was doing. Tweed had emphasized he thought little time was left before London was subjected to a catastrophic attack.
High up, headlights on full beam, she turned off at the triangle leading to Black Wood. She began to doubt whether she had been wise when trails of mist drifted through the trees as she drove carefully down the 'rabbit warren'. Now she was hemmed in on both sides by high banks. She caught sight of movement.
Something inside the mist close to the road. She stopped, kept the engine running, took hold of her Browning, lowered her window. Now she could hear something approaching her car. A crunching of feet on the dead bracken. God! Had she been impetuous? The stealthy approach came closer, the something disturbing the bracken. She checked – yes, she had locked all her doors before starting out.
Her nerves were vibrating. Who on earth could be stalking through Black Wood? Her sense of menace grew stronger. Maybe she had made a fatal mistake in stopping? She thought of driving on. But a bullet fired accurately from above would finish her off. It was too late now to change her mind.
Then the something slithered down the bank in front of her. For a moment it stood in the glare of the headlights. A large fox. With a swift reaction it climbed the opposite bank and was gone. She took off her gloves, wiped both hands clean of the sweat, put them on again, drove on down the gulch road and soon she was climbing the road up to Carpford.
She eased her way round the sharp corner where Mrs Warner's car had been found abandoned. So many reminders of people who had vanished into thin air. Unnerving disappearances. She had little doubt Beaurain was convinced they had all been murdered. But if he was right how had they disposed of the bodies? Carp Lake had been dragged and nothing found there.
Cresting the rise to the plateau on which Carpford was perched, she was not happy to see that the mist was thicker up here, almost a fog. Paula had decided the first place she wanted to check was Mrs Gobble's shop. Was the telescope still there? She drove slowly past Garda, Victor Warner's weird Italianate residence. Lights in all the windows. He must have come up here himself.
Driving slowly on, she passed the futuristic blocks of concrete cubes which were Drew Franklin's hideaway. More lights in the porthole windows. Maybe she had come up on the right night.
No lights in Mrs Gobble's shop. Their absence gave the place a funereal look. Driving a few feet beyond it, she saw a large shed half-hidden behind it. Hadn't noticed that before. She stopped, left the engine running for a quick getaway, got out.
Like stepping into the Arctic, a mist-bound Arctic. The two doors to the shed had a padlock which was not closed. She eased the doors open, Browning in her hand. Extracting her flashlight from another pocket, she switched it on. The place was empty. No sign it had been used for a long time. Then it struck her this was the ideal place to park her car out of sight. Within minutes she was closing the doors with her car inside. Now she needn't advertise her approach.
The door to the shop was open. She entered cautiously, her flashlight swivelling round. It had been searched, by the police she felt sure. An attempt had been made to put things back where they belonged. Male searchers. They could never put things back in the right place. She noticed the four-panelled screen was still standing. No sign of the telescope. It had gone. Taken by who?
She decided to approach Palfry's huge tub of a home first. Following the path she had walked with Tweed, it was only when she was close to it that, because of the fog, she saw there were lights. But where was the entrance? She crept round the side and found steps leading up to an arched door. She swivelled her flashlight up its side and realized for the first time how massive the place was. Mounting the steps, she pressed the illuminated bell, heard chimes pealing inside. The door was opened after sounds of locks being released. In bright light stood Peregrine Palfry.
'Ah, Miss Grey, what a pleasant surprise. Do come in…'
His smooth face was smiling, as always. He had greeted her as though this was nothing unusual. Diplomatic training, she thought. He closed the door on the fog as soon as she was inside. Wearing a smart check sports jacket and beige slacks with a sharp crease, his shirt open at the collar.
'Just got a hot pot of coffee ready,' He said. 'You won't refuse. Not after walking through that fog. Do sit down after I've taken your jacket.'
He was the perfect host, acting as though he had expected her. The chair he led her to had an Oriental look, large and with comfortable arms. As she sat he was placing soft cushions behind her.
'Now, I'll get the coffee…'
She had kept her shoulder-bag, and while alone looked at her strange surroundings. The diameter of the room was enormous. High up the ceiling was masked by a cloth canopy with a peculiar design. The furniture had an Eastern look. Her eyes followed the endless circle of the walls. If you'd had a few drinks you'd soon feel dizzy. By the side of the wall furthest from her climbed a wide massive oak staircase with a banister, disappearing above the canopy. Palfry returned, served the coffee, sat on a throne-like chair.
'What do you think of it?' he asked, waving his hand.
'It's very Oriental. A unique house I'd say. Large enough to house a small army.'
'Excuse me?' His normally gentle eyes sharpened.
'I just said it was large enough to house a small army.'
'Oh, sorry. I didn't quite catch what you said. I suppose it is.' He chuckled. 'Don't let the MoD
know!'
'And very tastefully Oriental.'
'So glad you approve. My girlfriend doesn't. Came here once and said from now on she'd meet me in London.'
'You've been to the Middle East?' she pressed on.
'Pardon?' The eyes sharpened again.
'I asked if you'd been to the Middle East.'
'Oh, yes. For a short time. Posted to the Cairo Embassy. I didn't like Cairo. Got out one weekend on a huge barge going down the Nile. It was motorized but a team of Egyptians rowed us up. Strong chaps. Pulled giant oars. Chap who came back recently said they now use a steamer if you leave from Cairo. More luxurious, I gathered.'
'Turning to another subject, Mr Palfry…'
'Perry, please.'
'Is there any news about Mrs Warner? Have you any theory as to what happened to her?'
'No, to both questions, I fear.'
'Someone said there was a rumour she'd run off with another man.'
'I'm sure she hasn't. She was a real lady, the perfect consort for the Minister. The kind you don't often see any more.' His smile glowed. 'Present company excluded, of course.'
Paula had drunk her coffee and refused a refill. 'Thank you, all the same. Before I came over here I visited Mrs Gobble's shop. The door was open. The place had been searched.'
'By the police. I rushed over when I realized what was going on. Told them she had asked me to keep an eye on the shop if she was ever out. A fib. They don't know how to put anything back properly. I was annoyed.'
'Did they take anything with them? A high-powered telescope, for example?'
'No they didn't. They made a mess taking fingerprints. Left that all brown dust they use. I spent hours cleaning it up. A telescope? Didn't know she had one. Why would she?'
'A woman on her own needs something to occupy her. She did mention to me she was fed up with motor-cyclists arriving at all hours.'
'Can't say I've ever heard them, but this place is insulated against outside noises.'
'Well, Perry, I really came to see if you had heard any news about Mrs Warner. I must go now. Oh yes, I have a car parked nearby. You have been most hospitable. Thank you.'
