Lisa put down the phone and turned round, then froze. Eyebrows and Skinny were marching purposefully across the concourse. They were heading in her direction.
Monica was typing furiously on her word processor when Harry Butler came into the room, parked himself on the arm of a chair. He removed the scarf that had protected him from the bitter cold outside.
'Well, Monica, I've put the hatchback in for repair. Took it to a pal who won't be reporting to the police the bullet holes in the windows. Tweed didn't want that. My car was just too far behind them for me to spot the old bus – otherwise I'd have nabbed the killers. What are you typing?'
'Tweed's report on the so-called suicide of Jeremy Mordaunt.' She had removed her earpiece. 'He dictated it on to the recorder, said he can think more quickly using the machine. Want to hear his verdict?'
'Guess you'll tell me anyway.'
Butler was a short man with wide shoulders, a man of great physical strength. He had a round head and an expressionless face. Normally he used words frugally, as though they were money.
'Tweed has no doubt Mordaunt was murdered. He dismisses the idea that he committed suicide as ludicrous. Why does the phone always go when I'm explaining something?'
'General amp; Cumbria Assurance…' She began. 'Oh, it's you. Professor Saafeld. I'm afraid Tweed is out but he's anxious to have your report on the autopsy…'
'Is that Monica?' the abrupt voice asked. 'My report is now ready – several copies.'
'I'll send a courier over to collect them immediately.' She hesitated. 'Can you give me an inkling of your conclusion?'
'Cold-blooded murder. Not a shadow of a doubt. The report has technical data. That's what I'll say at the inquest.'
He broke the connection and Monica used the phone to send one of their couriers over to Saafeld's mansion in Holland Park. Then she printed out the report for Tweed, talking as she worked.
'Nobody can fault Tweed now. Saafeld said it was coldblooded murder. He doesn't normally use such strong language.'
'Copies of the reports going to someone?'
'Yes. Gavin Thunder for one. He'll throw a fit.'
Harry stood up. 'I've been thinking about who ordered Tweed to be killed. Newman told me where Tweed had been. Have you a file on Lord Barford?'
'Yes. In the safe. Combination is 87, 24, 95. Why?'
'Just curious.'
Harry walked over to the large safe recently installed in a corner of the room. His nimble fingers operated the combination, swung open the heavy door. A number of metal drawers were stacked with top secret files. He checked the A-to-Bs, found Barford's file, closed the safe and resumed his perch on the chair arm.
'Lord Barford is one of the most distinguished men in Britain,' Monica protested.
'So was Maxwell. For a time.'
Monica was intrigued. She knew Butler never trusted or was impressed by anyone. Not until their integrity had been proved up to the hilt. He skimmed the file rapidly.
'Monica, could you take down these extracts as I call them out? Right. Here goes.'
Brigadier Bernard Barford. Served Gulf War as Officer in charge Communications. Awarded MC. Rumoured to later act as liaison with obtaining lucrative armament contacts with Middle Eastern and Asiatic countries. Indonesia was mentioned in the rumours, a state to which Britain has supplied large quantities of military hardware. Nothing was ever confirmed concerning these rumours. Before the Gulf War Barford was a colonel in the Signals Corps. He commutes from his manor to London City Airport by Sikorsky helicopter.
'That's it,' said Butler. 'Just extracts I find interesting. And why did the government create a Ministry of Armaments – taking it away from the Ministry of Defence?'
'Politicians trying to be crafty. It deflects criticisms of the arms trade from the Foreign Office. And all of that stuff about Barford is rumour.'
'Except the bit about his helicopter.'
'Why is that significant?'
'Because a chopper followed us all the way from the Downs.'
'But,' Monica objected, 'Paula said this weird man, Rondel, also has a helipad and a chopper was sitting on it.'
'I was in the following car. I got the impression the chopper lifted off from somewhere near the Barford estate.
Can't be sure,' he emphasized. 'And where have Tweed, Newman and Paula buzzed off to?'
'It was Tweed's idea – to go and call on Jeremy's widow, Mrs Mordaunt. She lives in Eaton Square. He wouldn't let me phone her to say they were coming.'
CHAPTER 2
When Lisa saw Eyebrows and Skinny walking towards her inside Waterloo station she moved fast. Grabbing hold of her case, she waited a few seconds until a group of businessmen were passing her phone booth, then slipped out under the cover they provided. There was a large bookstall in the middle of the concourse. She hurried inside, wriggled her way past the crowd, emerged on the far side.
Pausing, she whipped a folded scarf out of her pocket, wrapped it round her head, concealing her red hair. Now she had to get rid of her blasted case, which was slowing her down. She handed in her case to an official. Now she could really move.
Her next stop was the Underground. She bought a ticket for the first place which came into her head after glancing at a route plan. Highgate. Glancing behind herself as she hurried towards the escalators she saw Eyebrows, pushing people out of his way, coming towards her.
'Oh, God!' she said under her breath. 'Will I never shake them off?'
She saw a uniformed station guard ahead. Running up to him, she spoke in a deliberately shaky voice.
'That dark-haired man just made an obscene proposition to me. I'm frightened.'
'I'll have a word…'
At the top of the escalator Lisa looked back. The guard was saying something to her pursuer. Eyebrows punched him viciously in the stomach. The guard doubled up as she ran on to the escalator and down it. At the bottom she checked the signs for the right line and kept running. She could move much faster without the case.
There was a crowded train arriving when she reached the platform. She looked back. Skinny was coming towards her, grinning, one hand inside his windcheater. Was he always wearing that hideous grin? Behind him Eyebrows followed.
As passengers left the train, others pushed aboard. A crowded carriage, people standing up. She had no option. She stepped into the train, kept saying 'Excuse me' as she worked her way deeper into the coach. The doors closed, the train started moving.
She was still working her way through the crowd, smiling as she apologized. The train rumbled on, swaying round a curve. She grabbed a rail above her head to keep her balance. She was now opposite carriage doors.
'Would you like a seat, madam?' a man suggested, starting to get up.
'Thank you, but I'm not travelling far.'
The train stopped three times. Lisa wondered whether to get off. No, she was safer in a crowd. Gazing back down the crammed coach she saw Skinny was having more trouble than she had experienced. Passengers were protesting, holding him up. The train was in motion when she saw a uniformed ticket inspector asking Eyebrows for his ticket. He hadn't got one. Earlier he'd leapt over the station barrier with Skinny.
'Sorry, Inspector,' Eyebrows started politely. 'Here's the money for two tickets. My little friend is on his way to hospital.'
'There's a ten-pound fine…'
Eyebrows produced a twenty-pound note, shoved it into the inspector's hand. Skinny was on the move again,
