Newman was back in no time. He gave the thumbs-up signal.
'He's vanished. Probably gone to lunch.'
'Then I'll be back in a minute…'
'Keith,' Paula said thoughtfully, 'I've just remembered an incident when Tweed and I met Gavin Thunder at a club in Pall Mall. As the meeting ended and we were leaving the library I glanced back. Thunder was collecting his coat and his jacket wasn't fitting him properly. So his right lapel was turned and I could see the inner side. Clasped to it was a metal symbol I thought at first was Greek – but on reflection I don't think it was. It was like a capital letter 'E' – but turned the wrong way round…'
'Could you draw it for me?'
Kent's normal relaxed and easy manner had changed. He had stiffened, was leaning forward. His expression had become very serious, concerned. Newman came closer -he had noticed the transformation in Kent. Paula took a pad, thought for a moment and drew the symbol.
'My God!' Kent exclaimed. 'He's a member of the Elite Club
Tweed returned shortly afterwards, holding a large white envelope containing the Kefler papers and the blue leather-bound book Mark had stolen. He was immediately aware of the strange atmosphere. Kent looked shocked. Paula had a puzzled expression. Newman waved his hands, as though to say 'I haven't a clue what's going on.'
'Something wrong?' Tweed asked quietly, sitting down so he faced Kent. 'You look as though a bomb had dropped on you.'
'It has. Paula, would you first tell Tweed what you told me?'
She began with when they were leaving the library of the Pall Mall club. She recalled how she had glanced back at Thunder, what she had seen, that she had forgotten to tell Tweed in her haste to meet the drunken Aubrey at Martino's. She showed Tweed the pad with the symbol she had drawn, quoted Kent's explosive reaction.
'What does it mean?' Tweed asked Kent. 'What is the Elite Club? Never heard of it.'
'Few people have,' Kent replied grimly. 'I only heard of it by pure accident when someone had drunk too much -the late Jeremy Mordaunt.'
'Like a glass of water, Keith?' Paula suggested. 'They have left a carafe on ice. You've lost your colour.'
'Yes, please.'
They waited while Kent sipped water, then drank the whole glass, held it out for a refill.
'This is terribly dangerous,' he said.
'Why?' Tweed pressed. 'What is the Elite Club?'
'A very small club.' Kent's glass trembled as he replaced it on the table. 'I gather it has either four or five members selected from the most powerful men in the world. Men who will stop at nothing to gain whatever they want. Evil men. If they knew what has just been said in this room I'm sure none of us would stay alive for more than twenty-four hours.'
There was a long silence. Kent waved aside an offer from Paula of more champagne, a curt gesture. He sat with both hands clasped, his fingers moving. Tweed realized they were seeing a Keith Kent they had never seen before. A very frightened man. Tweed spoke quietly.
'Take your time, Keith.'
'My only thought now is that I want to wake up tomorrow morning as usual. Alive.'
Tweed took out a packet of cigarettes. He projected one out of the packet, took from his pocket the jewelled lighter Paula had once given him when he recovered from having a bullet taken out of his chest.
'I know you rarely smoke, Keith.' he said in the same quiet tone.
Kent looked up at him. He took the cigarette and Tweed lit it for him. He took a small drag, expelled smoke, looked again at Tweed.
'You must think me a coward.'
'Nonsense. Only a fool doesn't fear great danger.'
'Thanks.' He licked his lips. 'I had no idea that this business involved that lot. Shook me up a bit.' He was speaking more normally now and the colour was coming back into his face. 'I've never told you about them before, Tweed, because there never seemed to be a reason to.'
'Who are 'them'?'
'No idea. Except obviously Gavin Thunder is one of the group. Mordaunt was really in his cups that night. One remark he did make. The members of the Elite Club are not necessarily Presidents or Prime Ministers. They are the strong men. I quote his exact words. A few minutes later he blacked out. I think he was an alcoholic.'
'Embarrassing situation for you, Keith,' Tweed remarked.
'In my world you run into these situations. I called a cab, got him into it with the help of the barman, took him to his flat in Eaton Square. Of course, he couldn't find his key, so as there were lights on inside I rang the bell. A statuesque blonde with the brains of a peanut let us in. Between us we got him into bed, fully clothed. She said she'd undress him later.'
'Was probably used to doing that,' said Newman.
'Next thing I knew,' Kent continued, 'the blonde says she feels like some fun and who was I? I said just a friend. What was my name? Morrison, I said and I had to leave to meet a businessman coming in from abroad. Heaved a sigh of relief when I got out of the place.'
'So that was it?'
'Not quite,' Kent grimaced. 'Next day phone rings at my office. It's Mordaunt – phoning from a call box. Was my phone secure?'
'I said yes, it was, and what did he want? He thought he had maybe blacked out the previous night. Couldn't remember a word he'd said. What had he said? I told him the truth – that he'd nattered on trying to get stock market tips out of me. That I'd told him I never touched it and didn't want to know about it. Then he'd collapsed. He seemed relieved, put the phone down suddenly – he was like that.'
'And how did you first get to know Jeremy Mordaunt originally?'
'The night before at a party.' Kent smiled. 'A short acquaintance. Fool who introduced me to him called me a financial genius, so he latched on to me. Arranged to see me the following evening at this upmarket bar. A pretty quiet place. I went because at the party he'd told me he was Under-Secretary at the MoA. Thought I might pick up something. Instead, he detonated his bomb.'
'Ever heard of the Elite Club before then?' Tweed asked.
'Once. Brief reference to it from an informant I've never trusted. So I dismissed it as hot air. But Mordaunt…' Kent shuddered. 'He is – or was – close to the inner circle. I believed him.' He looked at Tweed. 'I'll take those papers now, go back to my room, start working on them.'
'Here they are.' Tweed handed him the envelope. 'Don't let anyone see the blue book. Not staff. Not anyone. And don't leave this hotel under any circumstances. If the phone rings pick it up, say you're in conference, slam it down.'
'Don't worry.' Kent stood up. 'And I'll get a safety deposit box for this stuff while I'm downstairs eating.'
'I'll come with you to your room,' Newman said.
'You don't have to…'
He didn't sound at all convincing. When he'd taken the envelope perspiration from his hands had stained the outside. He was still shaky.
'I'm calling Kuhlmann,' Tweed said when they had gone. 'Pink Shirt worried me – the way he reacted to the collapse of his attack at the Turm. You're good at describing people. I may put you on…'
'Morning, Tweed…' Kuhlmann's strong voice came down the line. 'I was going to call you. Visited the Turm today? A witness who has a flat nearby watched one hell of a fight in the street just before noon. You wouldn't know anything about that?'
'Yes. I was in die cafe with Paula. We watched from a mile up. One lot – foreigners – took a beating.'
'Your people wouldn't have been involved?'
'What a question, Otto. Now you're on the phone, we did see a strange individual standing clear of it – as though he was the boss. We had binoculars. Paula can describe him better than I would. Here she is…'
Paula spoke for several minutes. Tweed poured himself a glass of water, stared out of the window. The sun streamed in, the lake looked as though it were boiling. The heatwave was intensifying. Paula called to him.
'He wants to speak to you again.'
'Here, Otto…'
