Large sheets of steel were hurled upwards as the explosion destroyed the hideous prison. And the Slovaks who had erected it, Tweed thought. Was it his imagination – or did he see half a body tossed up, a burning body, before it fell back out of sight?
'Stupid foreigners!' the ferryman shouted.
Tweed shrugged, gave no reply as the barge slid in to the mainland dock. He stepped down and hurried towards Tolhaven. Since he'd taken the precaution of buying a return ticket he was able to leave the ferry immediately.
Tolhaven's main street was, as usual, deserted. When he had reached his car parked outside the town he took off the beret he had worn. Amazing how such a simple article changed the appearance of a man who never normally wore any kind of hat.
He paused at the crest of a hill, looked back. The western tip of Black Island beyond the refinery was a curtain of flame.
As he headed back for Park Crescent Tweed mentally crossed off General Macomber from his list of murder suspects.
34
While Tweed was on his way to Tolhaven, Newman was obeying his order to interview Noel Macomber. He phoned Noel first.
'Robert Newman, SIS, here. I think we should meet urgently.'
'Why?' the soft voice whispered.
'To discuss a peaceful solution.'
'I see,' after a long pause. He'd consulted his colleagues. 'Where? When?' he enquired.
'Now. I could arrive at your building at twelve. You know a discreet bar near you?'
'Yes. I'll leave our HQ at twelve.'
So it came about that Newman found himself seated with Noel in the leather-walled alcove of an exclusive bar in Victoria Street. They faced each other. Noel had occupied the seat inside the alcove, his back to the wall as he swirled his second glass of Scotch.
When he first saw him descend the steps of the HQ building Newman was startled. Noel wore a smart white suit, a pink shirt, a colourful cravat and two-toned shoes. Now, in the quiet bar each was waiting for the other to speak first.
Newman had studied the face of his opponent. It was peculiar. Triangular in shape with the apex the pointed jaw. Yet there was a certain handsomeness many women would find attractive. The almost lidless eyes were yellow and rarely moved. Newman decided it was time to move in for the kill.
'Where were you on these nights?' he asked, pushing forward a sheet of paper with the two murder dates. 'Between the hours of 11 p.m. and 3 a.m.?'
'Funny way to start discussing a peaceful solution.'
'Tweed has a long list of suspects. We eliminate you and move on to the next name. Logical.'
'You really expect me to recall where I was on two out-of-the-blue dates?'
'Yes. Because in both cases – Viola and Marina – the crimes were splashed all over the following morning's papers.'
'Point,' Noel agreed. 'On each night I was drunk and went to my flat at ten o'clock to sleep it off.'
'Anyone to confirm that?'
'Not those nights.' Noel grinned wolfishly. 'I didn't have a girl with me in bed. Too drunk.'
'Did you know either woman?'
'I visited Marina about a month ago at midnight.' A second wolfish grin. 'She only worked in the early hours, if you catch my meaning.'
'And Viola?'
'Didn't know she existed until I read the paper about her unfortunate experience.'
'It was more than unfortunate for her.'
'I suppose it was.' Noel emptied his glass, called for a refill, raised his thin eyebrows at Newman, who shook his head. He was on his first Scotch still. 'Newman, can you keep a secret until late this afternoon?'
'I suppose so.'
'Nelson is being appointed to the Cabinet. As Minister for Internal Security. A new post.' Noel raised his thin brows which exposed all his yellowish eyes. Disconcerting. 'You won't, then, be rushing to phone your chum, Drew Franklin?'
'Hardly, since he isn't my chum. Regarding a peaceful solution. Wouldn't the first step be to dismantle the awful prison system being erected on Black Island?'
'Damn it!' Noel exploded, his face turning red. 'You're conspiring to wreck a system it has taken us months to plan.'
He jumped up to leave, but not before he had swallowed his third full glass of Scotch. 'Now Nelson will be in the Cabinet this afternoon I'll be able to have you as the first one thrown into the prison on Black Island. As a social saboteur.'
He dived out of the alcove, rushed for the door, very fleet of foot, Newman noticed. Then he rushed back, threw a twenty-pound note on the table, rushed again through the bar and in doing so nearly knocked over a waiter before disappearing full tilt into the street.
'He must be annoyed at something,' Newman said with a smile to the stunned waiter as he also walked slowly out of the bar.
It was a very thoughtful Newman who made his way back up Whitehall to where he had parked his car.
35
Nield, waiting in Whitehall near the Cabal's HQ, was taken aback at Benton Macomber's reaction to his approach. He had expected hostility initially. He walked up to Benton as he descended the steps into the side street.
'Benton Macomber, sir?'
'That's right. What can I do for you?'
'I'm Pete Nield of the SIS,' he said, showing his folder. 'I would appreciate a few words with you. I'm investigating the murders of Viola and Marina Vander-Browne.'
Benton would be in his late forties, Nield estimated. He was well built, with unusually wide shoulders which gave him a hunched appearance. His clean-shaven face was bony, the observant eyes greenish, his complexion rugged with a reddish tinge, the mouth full-lipped and sensual. He exuded an air of suppressed energy.
'I'm just going for a quick lunch,' he explained. 'Just a sandwich and a drink at an up-market wine bar at this end of Victoria Street. Why don't you join me? Later it gets busy but it will be quiet now.'
Benton walked with long strides and Nield, being shorter, had to hurry to keep up with him. He's a very fit man, Nield thought as they turned into the wine bar. Neither said another word until they were seated at a table and Benton had ordered for them both after consulting Nield.
Both drank Scotch. Benton sipped his glass, pushed it away. He smiled pleasantly at Nield.
'I drink moderately, unlike Nelson. Doesn't seem to affect his ability to think and act. What is this?' He glanced at the sheet with the dates of both murders, pushed it back.
'I thought those dates might be significant.'
'The first date is when Viola Vander-Browne was savaged and murdered. The second is when her sister, Marina, was killed.'
Nield was taken aback. Benton was so different from what he had expected. It was more like talking to a favourite uncle. He pressed on.
