to 'when we meet' was a hint they would meet aboard the East German freighter, Stralsund, which would be waiting for them at the mouth of the Bristol Channel. Only then, after all these years, Foster thought, will I know who has been controlling us on Exmoor.
'Any crisis?' asked Anton, who stood at the foot of the stairs.
The question confirmed to Foster he had been right to stop Anton operating one of the two precious launchers. He was growing more nervous by the hour. Foster glanced at the phone.
'How is the bill for the calls made on this phone paid or? You said earlier you had a phone booth you called at certain times.'
'All taken care of by Jupiter. A local solicitor in Taunton receives the bills, pays for them from a large sum Jupiter sent him in cash after instructing him over the phone.'
Foster was satisfied: it was tiny details like this which could upset all their plans. Jupiter never seemed to miss a trick. Anton was still standing by the staircase.
'What is it?' Foster snapped. 'Time we all got some sleep.'
'That Post Office van…'
'Don't shit yourself. I'll kill the driver. You can just bury him. And dump the Elsan closets we've been using for lavatories on top of the body. We leave this place neat and tidy. Don't forget to keep your gloves on – no fingerprints.'
The Post Office van,' Anton began again. 'If you'd listened I was going to say it's a long drive to Porlock Weir. We'll need to top up the tank with petrol…'
'And we still have plenty of the stuff left in spare cans in the boots of the two cars we came here in. And also dump all our sleeping bags in that grave. Now, push off…'
He called after Anton as he was mounting the stairs. 'How much mineral water left?'
'A dozen litre bottles. I have kept a watch on supplies,' Anton rapped back.
'Good for you.' Foster's mind was checking other details. They would take the oil stoves and lamps which had provided heat and illumination with them. They could be thrown into ditches one by one on their way to Brize Norton. He went upstairs, nodded to Saunders who sat in a wicker armchair in the corridor where the Shi-ites were imprisoned. Saunders had a Luger lying in his lap. Any trouble in that direction and he'd crack their skulls with the Luger barrel, which was their ultimate fate anyway.
It was Foster's turn on the duty detail to watch the approach to the farm from the front window. Later in the night Seton-Charles and Sully would take over. Rest for everyone. Sunday would be a busy day – making the trial run to Brize Norton.
In Tweed's office at 3 a.m. everyone had left to get sleep except for Monica, Tweed and Butler. Newman had remarked that Butler had had more sleep than any of them, so he could make the report on Exmoor. With a cup of black coffee in front of him, Butler spoke tersely.
'You'd almost think they were setting out to look normal. Dr Robson still rides the moor at all hours to see patients. One old semi-invalid lady at Dulverton is always calling him in the middle of the night to her decrepit mansion. He goes…'
'How does she call him? Do you know?'
'By phone. She has an extension by her bedside upstairs. Barrymore drives into Minehead after dark to call someone from that public box we use. Pub gossip has it his housekeeper, Mrs Atyeo, is threatening to walk out on him. No one knows why – she's been there for years. Kearns still goes riding during the night. Nield was driving along that lane which leads to the Doone Valley after dark. He noticed Kearns' horse tethered beneath some trees at a lonely spot midway between Quarme Manor and Endpoint.'
'So Kearns could have been calling on Robson or Barrymore?'
'That's what Pete said. He didn't hang around – he'd have been seen. Barrymore and Robson still have lunch together at The Royal Oak each Wednesday. Dinner together every Saturday at The Luttrell Arms. Oh, and one night Marler was trying to follow Kearns on his horse riding up to Dunkery Beacon. Near the summit Marler heard a single loud explosion – a cracking sound like a grenade detonating. He couldn't find out what had been going on.'
'Unless Kearns was destroying something,' Tweed suggested. 'I think you'd better get some shut-eye, Harry. There's a camp bed for you. Second door on the right when you leave here…'
For the next half hour Tweed was on the phone. He called Frankfurt, where Marler's deputy was standing in while his sector chief was away. He called Vienna and spoke with Masterson's deputy to check the Balkan sector. He called Berne and spoke with Guy Dalby about the situation in the Mediterranean. Finally, he called Erich Lindemann in Copenhagen, the sector chief for Scandinavia.
'All quiet,' he commented as he put down the phone. 'Except in Vienna where they report extensive military manoeuvres in the Ukraine. Under the command of General Lucharsky. Which they always carry out at this time of the year.'
He stretched his arms, got up and walked round to ease the stiffness out of his limbs. Monica marvelled at his stamina, his encyclopaedic memory which forgot nothing.
The staff running the European sectors were based in a building further along the Crescent – together with the complex technical communications, including satellite reception from the weird seeing eyes orbiting in space. Tweed suddenly returned to his swivel chair.
'I've overlooked something vital. Imagine the position of that Spetsnaz group. They've lost their Exmoor base, they're blown. After they accomplish their mission – as they hope – they need an escape route. Contact Roberts at Lloyd's. Ask about any Iron Curtain vessel sailing off oar shores.'
'Sorry. Roberts is taking a weekend holiday. Don't know where. I could try to ask someone else…'
'Don't. Roberts knows the need for secrecy. Monday will have to do.' He took off his tie, loosened his collar. Tin going to get some sleep.'
Monica was already folding back the blankets from the camp bed in the corner for him. She plumped up the pillow. He was taking off his shoes when he stopped.
'I wonder what happened to that cleaning woman Paula saw at the bungalow estate…'
'Bed,' said Monica firmly. Then she swore. The phone was ringing. She listened for a moment, then looked at Tweed. 'It's Paula. Calling from Somerset. I can tell her you're asleep…'
'I'll take it.' Tweed grasped the receiver, standing in his socks. 'Something wrong? You should be in bed.'
'So should you, but I took a chance. I'm talking from the public box in Minehead. I got lost in the dark. Don't worry – I called The Anchor and the night porter will let me in. Lucky I've stayed there before. The main thing is I wasn't stopped by any police checkpoint. That worried me.'
'That was because you were entering Somerset. The checkpoints are concealed. They're checking everyone leaving. I'm glad you called. In the morning contact Inspector Farthing in Minehead. He's reliable – the chap who turned up when Partridge's body was brought down from Exmoor into Winsford. Tell him frankly about the three men you're watching. You'll need help.'
'OK. Will do. Now, get some rest…'
'Bed,' Monica repeated. 'Stop thinking. Sunday is going to be hell.'
He put his head on the pillow, his mind churning. Then he fell fast asleep.
Sunday, 6 December. Foster was up early at Cherry Farm despite his night duty. They ate a hurried breakfast while he outlined the plan. 'I will be going over the route with Seton-Charles and Saunders. We'll use Anton's Austin Metro. That's the safest vehicle. I want several places where the furniture vans can be hidden east of Brize Norton – the direction Gorbachev will be flying in from. The hiding-places have to be well away from the airfield perimeter. Security there is already ferocious.'
'What will I do?' Anton asked truculently.
'You will help Sully clean up this place. Ready for instant departure tomorrow. As soon as we've grabbed that Post Office van and dealt with the driver. Stack all the Elsan closets except one by the back door. What's that?'
He stood up, ran to the back of the house. Round the table they could now all hear what Foster's acute ears had caught. A steady chug-chug of a helicopter's motor. They froze as Foster peered out of the back door he had opened a few inches.
'Only a Traffic Control chopper,' he said when he returned. 'We get moving in the Metro now.'
