'Think better when I'm moving.'
Picking up a blank pad off Paula's desk, he wrote down the address of the hotel. He added brief instructions how to find it. As Paula ended her description he handed the sheet to Pete.
'Marler,' Tweed ordered, 'I want you to contact every informant you can tonight to spread a rumour. Within days the army is moving into London. Whoever the mastermind may be, I want to rattle his cage.'
Pete had already left the office. He was followed by Marler. Newman frowned. The atmosphere in the office was growing more electric by the minute. This was what they all wanted. Action.
'During the night will Marler be able to find his informants?' Newman wondered.
'Best time,' Harry assured him, grinning. 'He has a string of call girls who make a powerful grapevine. They operate at night, if you didn't know.'
Paula was opening her case, which she had hauled from a cupboard, its contents ready for instant departure. Monica had dashed out of the office earlier. She returned later with a large canvas satchel, handed it to Beaurain.
'You'll find a flask of coffee to keep you both going. Plus a batch of sandwiches. Hope you like ham or cheese. Too bad if you don't. Also plenty of fruit.'
'When I was in Billy's place,' Paula piped up, 'I peeped into his kitchen through the open door. He has a cafetiere, cans of coffee, cans of beans, bread, butter – all spread out on a shelf under cupboards. We won't starve.'
Harry had also left the office earlier. He came back holding two large violin cases. He opened one, stood aside so Beaurain could see the contents. Beaurain smiled again. He had just called Monica 'the most wonderful woman in the world^, had hugged her, the satchel slung over his shoulder.
'Might come in useful,' Harry remarked. 'The other case has the same. You never know.'
Beaurain stared at the Uzi sub-machine gun resting in the violin case. Stacked alongside it were spare magazines. He lifted the weapon out, made certain adjustments, aimed it at the ceiling, pulled the trigger.
'Feels good.' He slapped Harry on the back. 'Thanks.'
'Time to get moving,' Paula said impatiently. 'We've got what we need – enough for a small war. I'll carry the second violin case. You've got your own case you brought with you, your violin which you play so well, I'm sure, and your satchel. So, what are we waiting for?'
'Keep me in touch,' Tweed called out as they rushed from his office.
'That leaves me,' Harry said, disgruntled.
'No, it doesn't,' Tweed rapped back. 'Your informants are different from Marler's. Prowl London, spread the rumour Marler is circulating.'
'See you. Some time…'
Harry was gone. Newman stood up, went to the clothes cupboard, took out a long black coat. He put it on and it almost reached his ankles. He asked Monica to fetch him another 'violin' case. He peered out of the window.
'Paula and Jules have left in his car. I'll wait a few minutes before I drive after them up to Carpford. I'm going to be the mysterious figure lurking at the edge of Black Wood. Back-up for Paula and Jules. Even if you object I'm still going.'
'Mutiny!' Tweed threw up his hands. 'First Paula, now you. Get up there as fast as you can. Communicate with me on your mobile. When you can.'
Monica appeared. She handed Newman the Uzi inside the case. She pursed her lips.
'Don't go and shoot yourself.'
'What?'
Then he saw the smile on her face. He kissed her on the cheek. She then handed him a smaller satchel than the one provided for Beaurain and Paula.
'Coffee in a flask. Plus a bottle of mineral water. Still. The way you like it. You get thirsty, I know.'
'Bless you. I'm on my way…'
The office seemed strangely quiet with only Monica and Tweed left. It was the contrast with the frenetic activity which had taken place. Tweed asked Monica for her book with the list of phone numbers. He first called the Ministry of Security. The dull voice of a guard told him the Minister was not there.
Tweed called the penthouse number where Victor Warner lived in London. He was taken aback when a soft voice answered.
'Hello?'
'You sound like Eva. Tweed here.'
'Maybe it's because I am Eva,' the sultry voice replied. 'Hold on, don't go…' He heard her call out to Mrs Carson that this was a personal call and could she have some privacy. There was plenty to do in the kitchen. A door slammed. 'Old Nosy,' Eva whispered. 'Now what can I do for you? Always a dangerous question for a woman to ask a man.'
'Sometimes. Is his Lordship there?'
'If you mean Victor Wannabe, no he isn't. He drove up to Garda – his hideaway in Carpford. I can give you the number, but don't tell him how you got it. Ex-directory.'
'Thank you, but I won't bother.'
'I'm feeling lonely, restless. Could we meet somewhere? I'd suggest Marco's Love Nest in Lower Cheyne Street. It's off Walton Street.'
'I know it.'
'You do? I'm surprised at you. In an hour's time?'
'See you then…'
In a subtle way Eva had sounded seductive. There were many sides to Eva Brand. He phoned the Ministry of Security again, asked for Peregrine Palfry.
'He's not here. Didn't you phone a few minutes ago?' the same dull guard's voice asked.
'No. Good-night…'
His new call was to Martin Hogarth. He handled this carefully. A superior voice snapped.
'Yes. Who is it?'
'Martin?'
'Yes…'
Tweed hung up. His last call was to Drew Franklin at the Daily Nation. He was transferred from one person to another. Then a girl's voice answered.
'Drew?' she said. 'He's shoved off into his country place. Who is calling?'
'Charlie Wilson. Not urgent. Thank you…'
He broke the connection. Monica was gazing at him, intrigued.
He drank some cold coffee which had been in the mug for a long time. She pulled a face.
'Don't know how you can swallow that. You've been phoning all the suspects, haven't you? To find out where they are.'
'That's right. The only one I've left out is Margesson, whom Paula called the Priest. We haven't his number but it's probably ex-directory. Doesn't matter.'
'They do say that it's the one you've missed you should have called.'
Despite Monica's protests about lack of protection, Tweed drove himself to the bar off Walton Street. He was glad to be on his own. He could think better without company.
Marco's Love Nest was discreetly advertised. No flashing neon lights. The name simply engraved on a brass plate with a dim light above it. When he walked in he had to pause to get used to the dimness. A long thin room with the bar on his left. The only illumination was a series of wall sconces glowing with a shadowy light. Behind the bar was a thin man clad in a white apron decorated with the name Marco. He approached the bar.
'I was supposed to meet a lady here.'
'She is waiting for you at a table at the back. Arrived ten minutes ago.'
'How do you know she's waiting for me?'
Marco now had a secretive smile. Not a smirk but knowing. He put down the glass he was cleaning, leaned forward and spoke in a low voice.
'She described you, sir. Medium height. Could be in his mid-forties. Wearing horn-rim glasses.'
