somewhere abroad. Then he joins the CIA and rockets up. I'm still digging.'
'Keep on digging,' Tweed suggested.
'Finally, Basil Windermere. Chucked out of Tonbridge when he was discovered with an under-age girl. I've only just started to build up his file. That's it for now.'
'So, Tweed,' Marler enquired, 'what's your reaction?' 'Menace.'
'How do you make that out?' Paula asked.
'Sixth sense.'
'Now you're going cryptic again.'
As soon as she had spoken it struck her that Kurt Schwarz and Tweed had one thing in common. They never revealed their thinking until they were sure. She guessed why this was. Tweed was careful not to point his team in any direction until he was sure he had worked out what was happening. This made his team think for themselves, come to their own conclusions.
'I simply don't have enough to go on,' said Tweed, answering Paula's comment. 'Incidentally, you'll find several key people here have disappeared. In the night I sent them down to the Bunker. A skeleton team, if you like.'
'You said that casually,' Newman told him. 'When you talk like that it usually means there's a major emergency.'
'There is.'
'I've had an idea,' Newman remarked. 'Basil Windermere came up with the suggestion that I meet him in a bar during the evening. I wasn't encouraging, but I think I'll have a chat with him. Might help Monica to build up her file on him.'
'Good idea,' agreed Tweed.
'If that's all, think I'll mosey off,' said Marler. 'Another good idea. I know you're all short of sleep. So go home and catch up on some rest.'
'Half a mo,' Marler replied. 'Your camp bed is pushed against that wall behind Paula's desk.'
'I noticed that too,' Paula agreed. 'Decided not to ask any questions.'
'Well, I've just asked one,' Marler insisted. 'Tweed, Bob told me you went home soon after midnight.'
'I did.'
'So why is your camp bed out of the cupboard?'
'My fault,' Monica piped up. 'I managed to get the linen to the laundry, then you all came storming in before I could put the bed away.'
'I'll confess,' Tweed said with mock humility. 'I came back from my flat by cab in the middle of the night. I wanted to supervise those members of the team who were going down to the Bunker. They'd been warned in advance.'
'So we wouldn't know,' Marler accused.
'So I didn't have a lot of questions asked in the middle of the move. Then I slept here instead of another trip back to my flat. Off you go, all of you.'
The phone rang before anyone had time to leave the room. Monica answered it, frowned before she looked across at Tweed.
'George says there is an Ed Osborne downstairs. The gentleman wants to see you.'
'Wheel him up, then. The rest of you stay for a while.' 'How the hell did he find out this address?' demanded Newman.
'Maybe Cord had no time to erase certain confidential information from the computer in Langley, Virginia.'
A restless, guarded atmosphere had spread through the office. Only Tweed seemed unaffected, undisturbed. He looked up as George opened the door and a six-foot aggressive American burst inside. It was as though a hurricane had entered. The new arrival was big in every way, radiating dynamic energy. His thick hair was grey- white, his expression dominant, and ice-cold blue eyes swept round the, room. Above them were shaggy white brows, below them a straight wide nose and below that a broad thick-lipped mouth. His gaze homed on Paula.
'Hi, baby, you're lookin' good. You and I could make music.'
'I don't think so, Mr Osborne,' she replied coldly.
'You must be Tweed.' He swung round, extended a large hand, looked surprised as he gripped Tweed's hand and squeezed it with the force of a power shovel. Tweed's grip was equally strong.
'You'd better sit down,' he invited his visitor. 'I do prefer people to phone me for an appointment.'
'Waste of time. I just crash the barrier.'
Osborne lowered his bulk into an armchair. Newman had already resumed his seat in his own chair close to the American's. The American lifted his legs, planted his feet encased in very large shoes on the edge of Tweed's desk. Newman leaned forward, grasped both feet by the crossed ankles, dropped them on the floor.
'We don't do that sort of thing over here,' he explained. 'We like good manners.'
'Get you nowhere. World's movin' on. Move with it or get left behind.'
'Britain has been around for quite a time. Your lot has been on the planet only two hundred years.'
'You're Bob Newman, the foreign correspondent. Hoped we'd get on together. Any time you want to interview me, I'm available. Might give you something to write about. They've set up an outfit at the Embassy called the Executive Action Department. Don't know what it does – if anything. You might enquire about it – just for laughs. EAD, they call it. I'm the new Deputy Director of the CIA. They handed me the job on a plate when Cord Dillon went. Don't forget. EAD.'
'You Americans love initials,' Newman commented. 'Saves time. We like to move fast. I'm at the Embassy.' 'Maybe, Mr Osborne, you could enlighten us as to why you have come here?' Tweed suggested.
'Sure. Why not? And who's the thin streak of a guy holding up the wall?'
'He just called in for a cup of coffee,' said Newman. 'That I could do with myself.'
Monica rose slowly from her chair. Tweed had nodded, his agreement. Osborne swung round in his chair, stared at her.
'Black, honey. Don't ruin it with milk or sugar.'
Her lips pursed, Monica left the room. I hope she doesn't put poison in it, Marler thought. Although it might not be a bad idea.
'Why am I here?' Osborne rumbled on in his deep, aggressive voice. 'We have this special relationship with you Brits. We think it ought to be strengthened. A lot more close cooperation. A lot more exchange of information about what's really goin' on in the world. The way I see it we're natural partners. We have to sit on the same bench. Be buddies.'
'Why?' asked Tweed.
'We have the same problems. A lot of dangerous characters have been flooding in to your country…'
'We have noticed,' Newman informed him.
'Mafia men from Eastern Europe. Saboteurs from fanatic Muslim outfits. Same in the States. Sneaking in over the Canadian and Mexican borders. Take the bomb at the World Trade Center in New York. We need tough controls before both our countries go down in chaos.'
Osborne took a gulp of the coffee Monica had put down on the desk close to him. His face screwed up and he choked briefly.
'This is like tar.'
'It's the strong coffee you asked for,' Monica said and sat down behind her computer.
'Fell a friggin' ox.'
'Watch the language,' Tweed said. 'Ladies present.' 'And they probably use worse language than I do.' 'I doubt that's possible,' Newman interjected. 'Screw yourself.'
'If you can't control your language I suggest you get up and go,' Newman snapped.
`Mr Osborne-' Tweed began.
'Ed.'
'If there are issues we should discuss I suggest we set up a proper meeting in advance.'
'At the Embassy,' Osborne growled. 'When?'
'When an opportunity comes up I will get in touch. Thank you for calling in to see me.'
'Guess it's time to leave you folks.' Osborne, wearing a loose windcheater, the zip half open, exposing a wild
