'I'll show them up,' said Eva, appearing beside Mrs Carson. 'You'd better get back to the kitchen – a pot is about to boil over.'
Mrs Carson stomped off, a door banged. Tweed walked in with Paula. Newman had parked the car out of sight round a corner and stayed with it. Eva led the way to the study, via the elevator, knocked on the door.
'Who the hell is it?' Warner's voice barked.
'Someone to see you,' Eva replied as she opened the door and ushered Tweed and Paula inside. Warner was seated on a high-backed chair on an elevated platform with two chairs in front and below the desk. He swivelled round in the chair, saw who had entered, hastily placed a batch of papers in a red box and slammed the lid closed. One document remained in front of him, the directive from the PM.
'I'm surprised you have the nerve to show your face here,' he sneered, adjusting his pince-nez.
Tweed walked forward, occupied one of the chairs, gestured for Paula to sit in the one beside him. The fact that Warner was so lean and tall and perched above them gave him a dominant position.
'I'm sure you won't mind if my personal assistant is with me,' Tweed suggested quietly.
'Oh, no,' Warner sneered again. 'I appreciate you take your consort with you everywhere.'
Inside her gloves Paula's fingers clenched. She could have killed him. Her expression remained neutral. Eva was still standing by the open door. Warner glanced at her.
'Don't just stand there, Eva. You might as well come in and join the party. There was a time when women, if allowed into the system, occupied only junior positions. In those days they were clerks and pen-pushers. The system seemed to work more smoothly then.'
Eva had picked up a chair. She placed it next to Paula's, sat down, clasped her hands in her lap.
'A visitor from Whitehall has just informed me there is an air of panic abroad,' Tweed remarked.
Eva shifted slightly and nudged Paula. She was expressing appreciation that Tweed was covering for her. Warner sat up straight, glaring viciously at Tweed as he took hold of the directive from Downing Street, waved it in front of Tweed.
'You know what this is,' he rasped. 'I see copies have been sent to all heads of security services. Even to the MoD.' His voice rose, was savagely harsh. 'You think I'm going to put up with this absurd idea? It means I have to take my orders from you! Well, I'm not going to. It is the most outrageous document I have ever seen since entering government. Christ! I'm a senior member of the Cabinet. Also I'm in charge of security – or I was!' he shouted. 'I am going to phone the
PM.'
'That is your privilege, Minister,' Tweed replied equably.
Paula frowned. She was taken aback. She had expected Tweed to thunder back. Especially after his combative mood at Park Crescent.
'I'm glad you appreciate that,' Warner commented, his voice several decibels lower.'
'Minister,' Tweed leaned forward, his manner calm, 'I was hoping – still believe you will agree – that we can cooperate in this desperate situation. I look forward to a state of collaboration between us. We do have a common enemy. With our combined forces we will defeat that enemy.'
Warner was taken aback. He removed his pince-nez, exposing his hawk-like nose. He took out a cloth, polished the pince-nez, perched them back on the bridge of his nose.
'There is a lot in what you have just said,' he agreed, his voice now normal, verging on the polite.
Paula suddenly caught on. Tweed was being very clever. Realizing Warner was worried about his position in the Cabinet, he had just been provided with the perfect way to present the development to his colleagues.
Tweed has explained to me the meaning of the document. He says the meaning of the document is to encourage collaboration between all the security services.
'May I make a suggestion about one way forward?' Tweed asked.
'Certainly, my dear chap. I am all ears.'
'My Whitehall visitor had heard a rumour that Tolliver is now head of Special Branch.'
'That is so. With Buller disappearing I had to appoint someone to run that vital service. Tolliver is very able.'
'For some time,' Tweed continued, 'Special Branch officers have worn a kind of uniform – camel-hair coats. So much so that villains recognize them. I suggest a large number of Special Branch officers flood the main areas of Central London. Buckingham Palace, St Paul's, Canary Wharf, along the Thames Embankment.'
'What a brilliant, idea!' Warner smiled, as always an insincere smirk. 'I'll get that organized the moment you leave.'
'Then there are communications,' Tweed went on. 'Whoever is planning this attack has to communicate. It's possible he does so with radio. You have a section which monitors certain radio transmissions. They could be asked to listen for unusually heavy traffic. You have code-breakers. One is sitting next to Miss Grey.'
'You are full of good ideas, even if we are already listening. But I will direct that section to listen for any unusually heavy traffic. Tweed, I think it's time for us to seal our pact with sherry.'
Tweed stood up. 'Thank you for the suggestion. Another time, perhaps. I have to get back to Park Crescent.'
'Of course. Eva will show you out. I must deal with your suggestions urgently…'
They had left the study. The door was closed when Eva moved close to Tweed. She squeezed his arm as she whispered.
'I can see even more now why you hold the job you do. I'd never have dreamt you could turn him round the way you did.'
'The first rule,' Tweed told her, 'is self-control. You can then adapt your tactics to whatever situation confronts you.'
'I'm still stunned…'
They had left the building and were walking to where Newman had parked his car when Paula squeezed Tweed's arm.
'I'm wondering how Marler will get on at Carpford.'
27
Martin Hogarth's bungalow was a luxurious establishment. The walls were partly made of stone and above this expensive pine planks faced the wall. The front door, massive, was made of heavy oak and had three Banham locks. Pinewood shutters were closed over slit-like windows. In the dark lights from inside filtered through the shutters. Marler hammered on the iron door knocker, continued hammering.
The sound of locks being turned. A blinding glare light over the door was switched on. The door opened and a man in his late thirties was framed in the light, a man holding a gun. A 7.63mm Mauser with a long barrel, magazine capable of holding ten rounds.
'Marler, SIS.'
He was holding up his identity folder open. It could be clearly seen in the glare light. The slim man wore a polo-necked sweater, green slacks. No shoes, his feet were clad in white socks.
'Could you please stop pointing that thing at me?' drawled Marler. 'Guns are dangerous.'
'Didn't you know,' the man sneered, 'we live in a dangerous world. You come making one helluva row knocking on my door after dark. I have no idea what may be waiting for me when I open the door.'
'You know now,' Marler said, tucking away his folder. 'So put the damned gun away. We need to talk.'
'By that,' the man continued sneering, 'you mean you need to talk. Doesn't mean I need any conversation.'
As he spoke he placed the Mauser on a table next to the door. He nodded, indicating Marler could come in – nodded as he might to a tradesman. His thick brown hair was carefully coiffeured and below a sharp nose he
