Cell

'What is she drinking? Ready for another, you think?'

'Not yet. She just sips her drink. What will you have?'

'A glass of Chardonnay.'

'Two of a kind. Even like the same drink.'

'Marco, just give me the drink, then tell me the cost, including the lady's.'

'Didn't mean to be offensive. Sir.'

'Had you been, you'd have known about it…'

Having paid, Tweed made his way to the back of the bar. By now his eyes had become accustomed to the dimness and he could see her clearly. Sitting at a table in a secluded alcove, one hand slowly swivelling her glass by the stem as she watched him coming. He sat down, facing her.

'Cheers!' He raised his glass and she clinked hers with his. Her outfit surprised him. She was wearing a close-fitting white sleeveless dress, exposing her shapely arms and shoulders.

'Does he know you're here?' Tweed asked suddenly, abruptly.

'Victor? Certainly not. I keep my private life very private.'

'When was he first appointed Minister of Security?'

'Oh, about two years ago…' Eva replied.

'Why was he chosen?' Tweed asked.

'He was an MP and had been director of Medfords private security outfit. Obvious choice. The only one with the experience.'

'How did you come to work for him?' Tweed went on in a blank tone of voice.

'Thought you'd have realized that from what I told you when I slipped over secretly to your office. When he was with Medfords I was on the staff. It's a loose arrangement.'

'What does that mean?'

'It means,' said Eva, 'I'm not officially on his staff. So I'm not trapped in that idiotic Civil Service system. I'm paid out of his private income. Victor is a rich man.'

'How did that come about?'

'It came about, Mr Tweed, because it was the only way I would agree to work for him.'

'You have official office hours?' Tweed asked.

'I damned well don't. I come and go as I please. I thought this was going to be a fun evening.' She was still smiling as she had done since he'd sat down. 'Instead I find myself being interrogated. I did a lot of that myself at Medfords.'

Tweed sipped his wine. She waited, her large eyes glowing into his. He had the odd feeling she was penetrating inside his brain. An exceptionally intelligent lady with bewitching looks.

'Where were you born?' he asked suddenly.

'In a small village in Hampshire. Don't ask me the village's name because I won't tell you. My childhood is strictly my own affair.'

'You told me your mother was killed in a road accident. So what about your father?'

'You've hit a road-block. I don't want to talk about him. I will not talk about him.' Still smiling.

'You disliked him?'

'Didn't you hear what I just said?'

Eva lifted her almost full glass, swallowed the contents in two large gulps. She raised the empty glass to the barman, who came hurrying over.

'Same again,' she said.

'You left Medfords before Warner did?'

'As a matter of fact, I did. He contacted me two years later when he became a Minister, offered me the job.'

'And how did you spend those two years?'

'More interrogation.' She was still smiling. 'I was what they used to call a swinger, maybe still do. Cocktail bars and the best night clubs.'

'Miss Brand

'Eva, please.'

'Eva, I don't believe you. The swinger fairy-tale. Not your style.'

'Then that's your problem.' She waited until the barman, who had brought her a fresh glass of wine, went away. She drank half the glass at one go, then stretched out a hand and took hold of Tweed's resting on the table. 'We are friends, are we not?'

'I would hope so. I've just been doing my job.'

'Good. I asked you here to warn you. When the mandate from Downing Street arrived, appointing you Supremo in the present crisis, at first Victor was livid. Then he came to like the idea,' Eva explained.

'Why?'

'Because if al-Qa'eda launch a successful and devastating attack on London you get the blame, not Victor. He has always operated in this way – had a scapegoat tucked away in a cupboard, so to speak. After all, you are in charge of defeating al-Qa'eda – a point he has emphasized in the Cabinet.'

'So, secretly he's worried about an attack coming? Even though he pooh-poohs the idea in public?'

'Now you've caught on. Warnings about some terrible catastrophe being imminent are beginning to seep into the press. Our nice gossip writer, Drew Franklin, has seen to that. Sometimes I think Drew is not all he seems. He's suave, polite with women, natters them so he can get what he wants. Reminds me of a smokescreen.'

'You could be right,' Tweed agreed.

'He came after me. But I got the impression his main motive was not the bedroom. It was to pump me about Victor's security measures. I told him I couldn't talk about security- and I wasn't interested in having dinner with him. When he asked, 'Why?' I said because I didn't trust him. You ought to pay attention to Drew Franklin.'

'I will. And I appreciate what you have told me. Scapegoat? Interesting.'

'He developed that technique at Medfords. If something didn't work out he had someone else ready to dump the blame on to. He is, in fact, your typical politician. Manipulation is the name of the game. He's an expert.'

'Then maybe,' Tweed suggested, 'you should watch your back.'

She squeezed Tweed's hand, which she was still holding. Leaning forward, she kissed him. Tweed smiled, squeezed her hand, then withdrew his.

'You know,' she said, 'I've come to prefer more mature men who have a lot of experience. I can't stand the young macho type who has only one thing in mind with a woman. Plus they're such a bloody bore.'

'I have enjoyed talking to you,' Tweed said amiably. 'But if someone we know comes in here tongues will start wagging and that might hurt your job with the Minister. Shouldn't we call it a night?'

'After I've had another drink.' She waved her empty glass. Marco hustled over. 'Same again,' she told him. 'What about you?' she asked Tweed.

'If you insist.'

'I do insist.'

'Ever been to the Middle East?' Tweed asked suddenly. 'Since one of your languages is Arabic.'

'Don't really fancy the place.' Her large eyes still gazing into his. 'I prefer Switzerland. Everything there works.'

'True.'

Tweed remained silent until Marco had brought the fresh drinks and left them alone. He sipped his wine as Eva swallowed half her glass. He could see no sign that she was getting tipsy. A hard head.

'Do you think you're going to defeat al-Qa'eda?' she asked.

'As the Duke of Wellington once said, a battle may be won or lost until it's over. Not an exact quotation, but it conveys his meaning. I have enjoyed your company, but do you mind if we go in a moment?'

'The man has a battle to be fought.' She drank the rest of her wine. 'I've got my Audi parked round the corner so you don't have to offer me a lift…'

'I have been seduced mentally,' Tweed told Monica as he sat behind his desk.

'Only mentally?' Monica was grinning. 'Shame!'

Tweed then told her about their conversation. With his power of recall he told her everything. Monica checked her bun of hair at the back of her head before she commented.