started running up the staircase George called up to him.
'Gentleman waiting for you…'
'Who?'
'Didn't give a name. Not the sort of chap you bandy words with. Said he'd an appointment with you.'
Tweed walked into his office. Monica raised her hands in a gesture of helplessness. Seated in the chair facing his desk was General Lucius Macomber, very erect and dressed in a smart business suit.
'Didn't expect you,' Tweed said, taking of his coat, which Monica caught. 'You're an early bird. General.'
'Been like that all my life. Just got back from a meeting with my three cursed offspring.'
'They were early too,' Tweed said in surprise, sitting in his desk chair, facing his visitor.
'Had to be. I phoned them. Told them to be at their station an hour ago. They were, of course.'
'I hope you enjoyed your visit.'
'I did. They didn't.' The General bared his teeth in a grim smile. 'I did all the talking. They listened. Kept quiet. Which is the way it should be.'
'May I ask what you told them?'
'You can. You're a bright chap, Tweed. Know what's going on. So do I. Told them they were a bunch of lunatics.
Merging the security forces into one big dinosaur. They didn't like what I said.' He paused as he let out a barking guffaw of amusement. 'You agree with me.'
'I think it's madness.'
'Good chap. Between us we'll stop them. No doubt about it.'
He slapped the palm of his hand so hard on the desk Monica jumped behind him. He turned round, gazed at her. 'That woke you up, didn't it? You look like an asset.' He turned back to Tweed, switched the subject.
'Things are hotting up on Black Island. The locals are in a state over those buildings sprouting up at the western tip. No good just being in a state. Do something about it, is my motto. They were up in arms about the oil refinery when it was built. Expect you saw it while you were down there.'
'No, I didn't.'
'The tide must have been high. The fellow who ferries you across guides his barge in an arc to the east. You wouldn't see it. If he takes you over at low tide he goes straight across to Lydford. You'll damned well see the monstrosity then.'
'I'll look out for it next time I'm down there.'
'Nice to chat with you.' The General stood up. 'Must go. Time waits for no man, and all that. Got equipment to buy.'
'Will you be in town long?'
'No. Three or four days. Must get a bit of relaxation while I'm up here.' He stretched out a hand. 'We're in this together. Right?'
'Right,' said Tweed as he stood, shook the extended hand.
'I'm off.' He turned to Monica with a smile. 'Don't you let this taskmaster run you into the ground. You know what the late President Reagan once said?'
'No, sir. I'm afraid I don't.'
''They say hard work never killed anyone, but why take the risk?' Great man, Ronald Reagan.'
Then the General was gone. Like a hurricane arriving and departing. Tweed sat still for several minutes, then spoke to Monica.
'Did he leave an address where we could get hold of him?' 'No.' Monica spread her hands again in the helpless motion. 'I did ask him that when he'd stormed in. He just turned round, smiled, said, 'No, you can't.''
'I wonder what he meant by getting a bit of relaxation?' Tweed looked disturbed as he asked the question. He was gazing out of the window, as he did when he contemplated something dangerous.
Shortly afterwards Tweed asked his second question as Marler arrived, followed by Newman and Harry with Pete Nield.
'I wonder what sort of equipment he plans on buying while he's up here.'
'Who was up here?' Marler asked.
Tweed gave a resume of his conversation with the General. It didn't take him very long.
'What was his real reason for coming?' Paula mused, sitting at her desk.
'I'm not sure,' Tweed told her. 'His mind moves like lightning. He's got the energy of three young men. There was a whiff of scandal about him, as I recall it, after the end of the Gulf War. A captain he'd had to discipline told a reporter the General had ordered his men to shoot down a bunch of Arabs who came over a ridge with their hands up.'
'Did he?' Paula asked.
'Yes. Fortunately a TV reporter attached to the army had been filming everything at the time. The film clearly supported what the General said had happened. A line of Arabs had crossed a ridge just as the war started, hands held up. They were followed almost at once by two more lines of Arab troops, all carrying automatic weapons. It was a trap. If the General's troops had moved forward to take charge of the Arabs 'surrendering' they'd have been mown down by the second and third lines. And they had more coming behind them. So the General was a hero, as he should have been. Trouble was the first reports had already appeared in the press. People remember the so- called bad things, forget the truth which later comes to light.'
'The General is smart,' Marler commented. 'And virile.'
'What was that word you used?' snapped Tweed, jumping to his feet.
'Virile.'
'The same word Frank, the keeper of the Crooked Village on Black Island, used.'
Tweed wandered over to the window. He stood staring into the distance. Monica knew he was disturbed again.
In the Fulham Road, on the opposite side to Paula's flat and a distance back, an old Ford was parked. Inside and behind the wheel Fitch had glasses glued to his eyes when, earlier, Paula had left with Marler.
'It's her,' he said to Radek, seated by his side.
'I can see that,' Radek growled, 'and without peering through binoculars. She's well guarded, was when she came back early this morning. We'll have to wait.'
'For what?' Fitch demanded aggressively.
'For when she returns home alone – or, better still, with Tweed. Then we can grab both of them.'
'Could take for ever.'
'I've waited in the same spot for three weeks to kill a man. Patience is the key. Or we could start a fire or a riot in the East End. That might send most of the team away from her.'
'Tricky. That schmuck Harry lives somewhere down there. He might catch on. So how are you going to start a fire?'
'Take in concealed beer bottles filled with petrol. Order drinks, sit in a dark corner. Spread the petrol on the floor.
Use a cigarette lighter and clear out in the panic. The Pig's Nest would be a good place.'
'It might just work.' Fitch said. 'Needs thinking about.'
Harry had disappeared from Park Crescent without saying a word to anybody. No one worried. Harry was independent at times in the decisions he took. He returned in the early afternoon, carrying his 'tool-kit' bag.
'May we ask where you have been?' Tweed enquired gently.
'You may. While you lot have been sitting on your backsides, chewing the fat, I've dealt with something you asked me to do when I could. I've just driven to Peckham Mallet. Found the place on the map. Paula told me earlier how to find it.'
'And?' Tweed persisted as Harry drank from a bottle of water Paula gave him.
'That truck you saw parked in a field,' he said to Tweed. 'It's still there. No one about. Not even the guard. I checked in the quarry where you'd hidden him after Paula hit him on the nose.'
'He's not still there?' she said anxiously, wondering if she'd hit him too hard, maybe killed him.
'No, he wasn't. And I could see his footsteps in the chalk where he'd hauled himself out of it. Now, that truck.'
'What was inside it?' she asked, so relieved at hearing the guard had to be alive and well.
