'Means I'll 'ave to bend over to lift it again. If I'm able to manage that…'
'I'll pick it up for you,' Tweed said quickly.
Without bending, the workman threw the scythe a foot or so away from them. What a dreadful way to spend the later years of your life, Tweed thought as he looked up the pathway at the cottage. Built of brick with a renewed tiled roof and a brilliantly polished brass knob on the freshly painted wooden front door that gleamed in the sun. The General was obviously a stickler for appearances.
'Stays there overnight sometimes. Just sleeps there, then buzzes off to Lunnon.'
'When was he last here – and in London?' Tweed asked in an off-hand tone.
'A week ago. Stayed up in the Smoke a few days, then came back here this morning on his way 'ome.'
That places General Lucius Macomber in town at the time of the murder of Viola Vander-Browne. Interesting, Tweed thought. He bent down, picked up the scythe carefully, handed it to its owner.
'Where is his real home, then?' Tweed asked. 'The MoD had lost his permanent address,' he concluded, making it up as he went along.
'That be a distance from 'ere. He's a large house on Black Island, near Tolhaven. You takes the ferry, gets off at Lydford, walks past the village, takes the first road to the left and he's a short way along on your left. I goes down there to look after his garden, more like a park. Other people 'elps 'im but he likes me to trim edges. I'm Pat,' he added.
'You've been very helpful, Pat.' Tweed paused. He was absorbing the shock that the General lived in the location where Newman and Paula were exploring. 'Oh, where does this lane lead to?'
'Mountain 'igh. See all over Sussex and Surrey from the top. I'd take the car, if I was you. It's a long pull walkin' up there.'
Tweed drove up the lane, which swiftly became very steep as the trees disappeared, with green grass spreading up the slope. Tweed was aware he was climbing a considerable height. He'd never heard of Mountain High. Too difficult to find the lane up, he decided.
He had another surprise when he reached the summit. It was flat as a billiard table and extensive. An airsock to show wind direction suggested private planes landed there. He parked on the edge of the landing field, climbed out and took in a deep breath of the marvellous fresh air. He was on top of the world.
Pat had not exaggerated. The panoramic view in every direction was stunning in the sunlight. Tweed could see for miles, and in the far distance he could make out a small plane high in the sky. He went back to his car to fetch his powerful field glasses.
He had already located the General's cottage, which from where he stood looked no bigger than a doll's house. What had attracted his attention was a large enclosed truck moving away from the back of the cottage. Through his lenses he read the legend painted on its side: Windrush amp; Carne Removals. Take Anything But A Tank.
He watched it heading towards a large barn whose rear doors were wide open. The truck entered the barn. The driver appeared at the back and Tweed had a clear view of the contents. Heavy old furniture – and a black metal box. The driver climbed inside the truck, inserted a key, lifted the lid of the black box. Tweed had a brief glimpse inside -a maze of wires. His lips tightened. High explosive.
He had a clearer view of the driver. Grabbing a small sketch pad from his pocket, he used a pencil to draw his impression of the driver's face. A brown trilby pulled down at a slanting angle over his forehead. Thick upper lids were closed down over half his eyes, a bent nose, a slit of a mouth, heavy jaw, the whole expression had a cunning look. The driver turned his head away. Tweed slipped the pad back into his pocket, continued watching through the glasses.
The driver jumped agilely out of the furniture van, fixed a large padlock after closing the heavy doors. He then repeated the process after leaving the barn. He ran across to a Saab parked nearby, jumped in behind the wheel. Tweed noted the plate number and the car was moving fast down the field on to the road leading back to London.
Tweed turned round as the light aircraft he'd seen flew closer, dipped and was landing on the airstrip. The moment it was stationary the pilot leapt out, removed his goggles and helmet. He grinned at Tweed.
'First person I've ever found up here.' He was youngish, his voice was cultured, his personality friendly. He marched towards Tweed.
'Care for a spin? Half an hour and you'll look down on the beauties of this part of the world. I love it.'
'Thank you,' Tweed replied, 'but I have to go now to an urgent appointment in London. I appreciate the offer.'
'Maybe another time.'
Tweed walked briskly back to his car. This landing point might just be useful one day, he thought. Newman is an expert pilot. He could get us down here in no time.
The Cabal's meeting had resumed after lunch. Nelson insisted that they must keep checking on progress. So many aspects to keep moving. Benton spoke gently, gazing up at the ceiling. His words were aimed at Noel.
'Still wasting our time chasing the girls, are we?'
'Of course. What better way of spending a free evening? I've dumped Eve. She was too prissy when it came to the point. Women are useful for only one thing. Not to mind. I'm on with a girl called Tina. Very hoity-toity, but I'm sure she knows what men need.'
He's younger, Benton thought. He'll grow out of it. Or will he? Another anxiety surfaced. He stared at Noel.
'The idea you had about kidnapping Paula Grey isn't going anywhere, I trust?'
'Gone clean out of my mind,' Noel lied. 'Too many other problems to sort out. There's the prison – the one on Black Island
'We haven't seen any plans,' Benton snapped. 'Before we even consider starting building I want to see the plans. So, I'm sure, does Nelson.'
'Yes indeed,' Nelson agreed.
'No work's done yet,' Noel lied again. 'As to the plans, the project is so secret the only plan is with the surveyor on Black Island. I thought it too risky to have photocopies floating about.'
'Well,' Benton persisted, 'not a brick is to be laid until we have seen them. I'm worried about the idea.'
'Benton,' Nelson interjected, 'we do need somewhere to park social saboteurs.'
'And what does that sinister phrase mean?'
'Anyone who tries to disagree with the new society we are creating.'
'Too vague,' snapped Benton. 'If we give the State Security staff too much rope some will use it to pay off old scores. I won't sanction that.'
'Well,' Noel interjected, 'let's leave that problem until later. There's no hurry on that front. Benton could be right.'
Noel was playing a game he'd thought up in the past: act as reasonable peacemaker, then they'd leave him alone. He had been feeling under pressure.
'When do we play the terrorist card?' boomed Nelson.
There was dead silence. Nelson had decided the atmosphere must be tougher. There were rumours in Parliament that he might be nearer to full promotion – to become a member of the Cabinet as Minister of Internal Security. He waited for the outburst of disagreement. Benton was more subtle.
'Noel,' he said casually, staring up at the ceiling, 'have you yet explored the dangers of playing the terrorist card, as Nelson suggested?'
'No, not really,' Noel said, lying once again. 'I had the idea of getting someone to drive a truck with a modest amount of explosives into a side entrance to Richmond Park, an area which, at this time of the year, has no one about. I'm not at all sure it's a good idea.'
'It isn't!' Benton thundered. 'Kill one civilian and we all end up in Belmarsh prison.'
'I did say I felt it was a bad idea,' Noel assured him smoothly. He checked his watch. 'Isn't it time we ended this session? You all agree? Good.'
He had an appointment to take Tina out that evening.
Tweed parked his car, locked it, walked through the dark at Park Crescent, found his whole team assembled in his office. He greedily drank the coffee Monica supplied, then produced his sketch book. What he had drawn of the driver was a caricature.
