him as Mr Foster. Perry has the details and is in the Engine Room phoning God knows who to trace where that money came from. It's so often the money which helps us find out who people really are.'
'Well, there is something wrong about that bungalow estate. I said it was funny when we first saw it,' Paula said defiantly.
Tweed nodded. He understood her attitude. She was bound to suffer a reaction from the experience sooner or later. And the sooner the better.
'It's the first time I've shot anyone,' Paula went on and sank her teeth into a fresh sandwich.
'They're only injured,' Tweed assured her. 'Newman drove over to the estate after you'd left in the Mercedes. He arrived as they were carting those two thugs into an ambulance. He showed his old press card and they recognized the name. He called the hospital later.'
Tweed omitted to tell her Norton was in a coma, that Morle was still unconscious. Police were waiting by their bedsides ready to take statements.
'More alarming,' he went on, switching her mind to another topic, 'Marler arrived at the estate and flourished his fake Special Branch card, so the police let him in. The bungalows are all empty. The cars have gone. Most sinister of all, they can find not a single fingerprint. Everything has been wiped clean. You were so right about that estate.'
'What does that mean – no fingerprints?' Paula asked.
'I think you discovered the secret base of sleepers established fifteen years ago by the Englishman who controls the Greek Key. A base which was recently activated – and has now been evacuated – thanks to your encounter with Norton and Morle. We have now made copies in the Engine Room of those photos you took – and circulated them to every police force in the country. We also have their names.' He glanced down at the list on his desk.
Foster, Saunders, Norton, Morle, Sully.
'Anything else?'
'Yes. Before I sent out the European alert I circulated the registration number of Seton-Charles' Volvo station wagon over here. And Newman visited Bristol University with a police artist. They used several students to build an Identikit picture of the professor. Copies of that have gone out.'
'Will anyone take much notice?'
'I think so,' Tweed said grimly. 'I named him suspected terrorist planner. Highly dangerous.'
Talking of terrorists,' Monica chimed in, 'there's an interesting story I cut from a recent copy of The Times. Two Shi-ite Muslim killers were air-lifted by a chopper from Gartree Prison exercise yard. Most audacious. They killed an Iraqi diplomat.'
Tweed wasn't listening. Paula had remembered a further incident.
There was a big landslip when Bob and I were walking from The Anchor one night along the coast…' She described the experience. They've put up a big notice. Warning. Keep clear. Danger of cliff falls.'
The phone rang. Monica answered, looked up at Tweed. 'Perry is ready to emerge from the basement with his report on the Foster bank account.'
Tell him to come up.'
Perry was a small, precise, neatly dressed man who wore pince-nez. Monica thought he was a giggle but he had a shrewd financial brain. Clutching a blue file, he sat on the edge of a chair facing Tweed. He glanced at Monica and Paula.
This is highly confidential.'
Tweed compressed his lips. 'You should realize by now Paula and Monica know more about what's going on than you ever will.'
Then I will commence.'
He opened his fat file but Tweed glanced at his watch. He had to leave soon for his appointment with the PM. And now Paula had brought information – facts – which made his interview well worthwhile.
'Just tell me in a few words what you've found out.'
'Very well, but I think you should read the file later. The enquiry took longer than I expected. It is a devious trail -and I had to get Walton, head of Special Branch, to vouch for me before the bank manager in Bristol would talk. Then I had to use your name for Europe
…'
'I know. Chief Inspector Kuhlmann of Wiesbaden in Germany called me. So did Beck in Zurich. Do get on with it.'
'Foster originally had twenty thousand pounds in his Bristol account. He's closed it now. The money was telexed from the Deutsche Bank in Frankfurt. They received it from the Zurcher Kredit Bank in Zurich. That's the end of the road.'
'What does that mean?'
'Zurcher Kredit received the funds from Liechtenstein. That's an iron door no one can open. Not much help, is it?'
'On the contrary, it fits into the pattern which is appearing so rapidly at last. Thank you, Perry. Yes, I suppose you'd better leave the file.'
He waited until they were alone. 'A secret Soviet base is set up fifteen years ago – in hardline Brezhnev's time -at that bungalow estate. It's screaming at us now. Those five men in their early forties would be in their mid- twenties when they slipped into this country. They'd have identities cooked up at Moscow Centre's Documents Section. A Colonel Winterton – whom no one ever met – bought a piece of land with an old house on it. Marler found that out from pub gossip. He had the house knocked down, the six bungalows built in its place. All ready for the Spetsnaz unit to move in…'
' Spetsnaz? '' Monica queried.
'You know – elite Soviet troops equivalent to our SAS. Trained to merge into the landscape of a foreign country. They were probably originally intended to assassinate specific key figures in the defence of this country. The leader of the Greek Key, an Englishman living on Exmoor, was their commander.'
'I know what they are,' Monica protested, 'but surely you're reaching, as the Americans would say. Guessing…'
'I'd sooner say I'm deducing the solution from clues now in our hands. They always kept to themselves. Foster visited The Royal Oak and chatted to the barman. Luckily barmen have good memories. Foster makes a point of telling him two wives have jobs abroad – which makes the place sound more natural, as opposed to six bachelors, including Seton-Charles. Having fed the barman that much – knowing it would be spread round the district – Foster never goes back there again. Paula finds one woman is cleaning all six bungalows…'
'In her forties, too, I'd say,' Paula interjected.
That's very peculiar,' Tweed continued. 'Six men, all strangers apparently when they buy their bungalows, use the same woman. In England? Not likely. Now Perry tells us Foster draws large sums from a fund which originated in Liechtenstein. So we can't trace where the money came from. Now we hear they've all disappeared, leaving not one fingerprint behind. Everything those men did is shrouded in secrecy. Except the two in hospital. It stinks of Spetsnaz.'
'And it wasn't due to the shooting incident Paula was involved in,' Monica stated. 'How do I know that? Because I know how long it takes to clean my flat. To erase all fingerprints from six bungalows must have taken days of meticulous work by that woman. They were leaving anyway. Doesn't that mean an operation is imminent?'
'It means we have very little time left to trace them,' Tweed said grimly. 'And I have very little time to keep my appointment with the PM.'
'Anything more we can do?' asked Monica as he put on his Burberry. It was typical November weather outside, a heavy drizzle.
'Only wait. And hope. We've thrown out across the country all the information we hold. I'm off.'
'One other thing while I remember,' Paula said. 'Nield heard this in a pub. Reams' dog kept on moping and whining for Jill. He shot it recently and buried it in the garden at the back of his house. Put up a wooden cross inscribed. In loving memory of Jill.''
'Damn!' Tweed hardly heard her as the phone began ringing and Monica picked it up. 'I can't talk to anyone…'
