`I repeat, this man could be very dangerous,' Tweed emphasized.
`So a target worth tracking. Is that it? If so I'll get my bag from the Registry – the one I leave there packed for swift departures.'
`One more thing,' Tweed told him. 'I'll be staying soon at the Hilton on the Boulevard de Waterloo with Paula and Newman.'
`Do we really need our world-famous newspaper correspondent tagging along?'
Tweed sighed inwardly. In an emergency the two men could work together, rely completely on each other. But both men had their reservations about the other. Personality clash.
`Newman is coming,' he said firmly. 'I've given you all I can. Sorry it's so little.'
`Makes it all the more interesting. Finding out. So, Dr Wand, here I come. And you'd better mind your p's and q's…'
Monica picked up the phone, which was ringing. She spoke, listened, briefly. Masking the mouthpiece she called out urgently to Tweed.
`Philip Cardon on the line. Sounds to be short of time.' `Tweed here. Cardon, where are you? I thought you were flying home.'
`Stopped off at Bangkok…'
`Where are you calling from?' Tweed asked anxiously. `Public phone box, airport. I'll be three days or so late flying back. I'm going up to Chengmai…'
`Don't! That's an order…'
`Can't hear you. Bad line. Must go..
Tweed realized the connection was broken. He put down the receiver slowly. Paula had been watching him. `What's wrong?'
`Philip Cardon calling from Bangkok Airport. He's stopped over to visit Chengmai.'
`The huge drugs distribution centre for the so-called Golden Triangle. You ordered him home?'
`Yes. He played the old trick on me. Pretended that the line was crackling, said he couldn't hear me. I'm very afraid.'
`But you do give your top agents a lot of licence to use their initiative,' she reminded him. 'And Cardon is an expert on the Far East. How could drugs come into what we're investigating, if they do?'
`No idea.'
He looked up as Newman came into the office. He was carrying a bag and wore a raincoat over his suit. Dumping the bag, he sank into the armchair.
`Just in case we're on our way. Are we?' want to talk to Dillon if he'll come over now..
Monica was already dialling the Inn on the Park. She had checked, made a note of the number earlier. After several minutes she nodded and Tweed picked up the phone.
`Cord, you know who's calling from my voice? Good. Sorry to disturb your beauty sleep, but if you could get back to my office I'd appreciate it. I need more details about the specific subject we were discussing.'
Dillon, sleepy-voiced, immediately caught on to the fact that Tweed was referring to Stealth. To the technique installed in the revolutionary bomber.
`I'd come over, yes.' Like Tweed, Dillon was phrasing his words carefully, knowing the conversation was passing via the hotel switchboard. 'But I don't think I could tell you what you want. That was the point of my thinking in bringing over Vane. She was the only one who carried all the technical details in her head. That is, over here.'
`Then go back to sleep. Sorry to disturb you. I may not be available for a few days. Take a rare rest, get out of London into the country. Call you when I get back…'
Tweed jumped up, went over to the cupboard where he kept a packed case ready for instant travel. He spoke to Monica as he hauled out the case.
`You have three tickets, Business Class, booked on the Sabena flight to Brussels today?'
`Yes. I've been moving the reservations from one day to the next. You pick them up from the counter at London Airport.'
`So we are off,' said Paula, collecting her own case from the cupboard Tweed had left open. 'With what aim?'
`To visit Gaston Delvaux in Liege as quickly as I can get to him. I didn't like the sound of what Benoit told me. I just hope to God we're in time.'
Dr Wand stood behind a net-curtained window on the first floor of the mansion in The Boltons. Beside him stood the gaunt, grim-faced Mrs Kramer.
`We are being spied on,' Wand told her. 'That white van parked up the road. Supposedly Straker's the Florist. A large window in the side. One-way glass, I'm certain. For unseen cameras to photograph who calls or leaves. A job for our Mr Briggs. Rather urgent. The Daimler will be arriving soon to take me to London Airport. Briggs must remove the intruder. Tell him from me, please – any method he chooses.'
Mrs Kramer left the window immediately. She picked up a phone, gave the instruction to Briggs in careful phrases. Describing the van exactly, she put down the phone.
`Briggs says fifteen minutes. He has a vehicle standing by for emergencies.'
Dr Wand turned away from the window, lips pursed, gave his ice-cold smile. Briggs was reliable. He didn't think the van driver – and any other occupants – were due to survive much longer.
Harry Butler sat behind the wheel of the white van parked in The Boltons wearing a white coat – the type worn by florist delivery men sometimes. He was also clad in a peaked cap pulled well down and a dead fag hung from the corner of his lips.
The van was equipped with a large rear-view mirror and several wing mirrors. The rear was always the dangerous area. Despite the raw cold of a sunny November day, he had his window down. On the seat beside him was a large plastic bag containing a dark liquid.
He had seen the net curtain in the first-floor window twitch and guessed he had been observed. Fifteen minutes later by his watch he heard the sound of a large vehicle approaching. Trundling round a distant corner of the curved crescent a huge dustcart was approaching. Butler switched on his engine.
Twenty feet away he saw a man in a dark overcoat with an astrakhan collar, a dark hat, and gold pince-nez walking down the steps of No. 185. He carried a suitcase as a gleaming Daimler overtook Butler, pulled up outside the mansion.
Butler saw all this with a brief glance. His attention was concentrated on the huge dustcart which had paused at the bend. Suddenly the driver accelerated as the Daimler glided away from the curve with its passenger in the rear seat.
The dustcart roared round the curving crescent, moving at such speed that Butler guessed the engine was souped up. He changed gear. The truck was thundering alongside him when the driver swung his wheel right over. Butler reversed at high speed, one hand on the wheel. His other hand threw out the plastic bag, which burst, spilling a lake of oil on the road surface. Tweed had told him of their experience with the helicopter next to Hatchet Pond down in the New Forest. Always learn from the enemy.
Behind the wheel of the dustcart Briggs had expected to smash into the side of the van at speed, crushing it. Instead he saw the massive garden wall of a mansion in front of him. He turned the wheel desperately. His wheels, slithering in the oil, refused to respond. The truck hit the wall with shattering force. Briggs was thrown forward against the wheel, breaking ribs. But it was the least of his worries. The truck, its front crumpled amid the wreckage of the wall, burst into flames.
Butler – who had agreed to help Marler – had already left The Boltons. He was driving at cruising speed towards Cromwell Road with his window now closed.
`Very satisfactory,' Dr Wand thought, relaxed inside the Daimler. 'Perfect timing. I must consider giving Briggs a bonus.'
It never occurred to him to glance back through the rear window. Even had he done so, it is very doubtful whether he would have noticed the Ford Escort tailing him. Behind the wheel, Marler whistled to himself.
Butler, he was thinking, had proved a most successful decoy. While the van was parked in full view of No. 185
