well within the speed limit, cautious as to what might lie round the next corner – in this section there was only room for one car.
A violent honking started behind them, continued non-stop. Paula looked back. She recognized the aggressive driver in his Alfa-Romeo. Martin Hogarth, wearing a baseball cap. The honking of the horn went on, sending the message: Get out of my way.
'This is ridiculous,' Paula protested. 'It's Martin, Billy's brother. How can he possibly hope to pass here?'
'He wants me to speed up,' Beaurain said with a smile. 'How old is he?'
'At least forty and he's wearing one of those stupid baseball caps.'
They turned yet another corner and the road widened. As the honking was maintained, Beaurain steered into the middle of the road, making it impossible for their harasser to pass. Beaurain waved a hand out of his window, indicating he was slowing down, which he did, then stopped.
'Won't take a minute,' he said, still smiling.
Martin slammed on his brakes, left his engine running as he dived out to confront the Belgian. Beaurain stood with his arms folded, smiling. Martin came up close to him, his tone sneering.
'Think you own the bloody road? Time you read the Highway Code. Of course, you're a foreigner.'
Paula had left her car. She stood beside it, watching.
'Actually,' Beaurain said mildly, 'I have read the Highway Code from cover to cover.'
'Didn't do you much good, did it? You're a slob. You need a lesson.'
Martin bunched his right fist, aimed it at the other man's jaw. Beaurain moved his head, the punch went past him, then he did something, the movement so swift Paula couldn't follow what happened. Beaurain now had Martin's right arm gripped in a peculiar angle, pushed him back over the bonnet over his Alfa.
'Watch it!' Martin yelled. 'You'll break my arm.'
'Just keep quiet and listen,' Beaurain said calmly. 'What is your job? That is, if you've got one.'
'I'm… a stockbroker… if you must know.'
'I pity the people you advise. Doubtless they all lose money. Now I'm going to release you. Don't move until I tell you.'
Martin remained bent backwards over the car. He glanced to his right, saw Paula, averted his gaze quickly. Beaurain had walked round to the open driver's door. Leaning inside, he switched off the engine, took out the ignition key, then threw it into the grass verge, which had not been cut for ages.
'You can get up now,' he called out as he walked back and got behind the wheel as Paula sat again in the passenger seat. He began driving downhill.
'It will take him ages to find that key,' Paula said with a touch of malice.
'Not too long. I could have thrown it into the field, but I don't like overdoing things. London, here we come.'
'Tweed will have been up all night,' she predicted. 'Maybe he has found something important.'
When they walked into the office at Park Crescent it was crowded with members of the team. Newman occupied one armchair facing Buchanan, who sat in the other one. Marler was leaning against a wall, smoking a cigarette. Pete Nield was perched against the edge of Paula's desk, and was speaking. He stopped when Paula walked in with Beaurain. The only one not present was Harry Butler. Nield moved away from the desk as Paula went to sit behind it. Monica, Beaurain observed, was seated behind her word-processor. Paula stared at Newman and her tone was sharp when she spoke.
'Bob, has that Airsight friend of yours flown over Carpford to take pictures? If I could study them I'm sure I can work out which house has the cellar I was imprisoned in.'
'Soon now,' Newman assured her. 'He's taking longer over his holiday than expected. He's the best.'
'He shouldn't take holidays if he's the best,' she grumbled.
There was a knock on the door and Monica jumped up to open it. A middle-aged grey-haired lady, wearing a spotless white apron, pushed a trolley in. Monica gestured.
'Breakfast for anyone who's interested. Fried eggs, bacon, toast, marmalade, coffee. Hands up.'
Every hand went up instantly. Nellie, as Monica called the woman, was going to serve Tweed first but he waved her away, pointed at Beaurain, Paula, then Newman and Nield.
'Their need is greater than mine. Serve me last. You have plenty of trays. Not much of a breakfast-room in here.'
Paula fetched folded chairs propped against the wall, opened them. The door opened again and Eva Brand strode in. She sniffed.
'Any leftovers? I haven't eaten for ages.'
The door opened again and Howard, the Director, strolled in. He wore a smart grey-striped suit, perfectly creased trousers, a pink shirt and a Hermes tie. His plump pink face broke into a smile.
'Smells good. You'll be relieved to hear I've just had breakfast at my club.'
'Well, there's nothing left for you anyway,' Paula said.
He rested a hand on her shoulder, squeezed it gently. 'I've heard about the Battle of Carpford from Bob. I've been told how well you did. Felling a giant.'
'A colossus,' she said.
'Won't interrupt your meal. Any more developments, Tweed? If so, tell me later…'
'He's tactful.' Paula said, scooping up egg yolk.
'More than you were,' Newman chided her with a grin.
'He doesn't like people who bow down to him,' she retorted.
'Can I report now?' Nield asked. 'About the Pink Hat and the two gentlemen who called on Billy?'
'Those so-called gentlemen are in custody,' Buchanan remarked. 'You don't know how good a job you did. They're both professional hit men we'd been after for months. Sergeant Warden, who called here a while ago for the evidence bags containing the weapons and bullets, is interrogating them. Separately, of course. Warden can be very tough. Not actually using physical force, of course.'
'Actually?' queried Paula.
'No need to go into the details. Obviously they'd arrived to kill Billy Hogarth. Pete, as he has done before, saved the day, saved Billy.'
'Who,' Pete explained, 'is safely cloistered in a different hotel with Harry parked outside, watching the place.'
'That incident was significant,' said Tweed, wiping his lips with a napkin.
'You mean your breakfast?' Paula asked mischievously.
Tweed was relieved to note her humorous mood. Newman had given him a brutally detailed account of what had happened at Carpford. And it wasn't so long ago since she had been a prisoner in a bleak underground room, uncertain whether she was going to live or die. None of this showed in her appearance or manner.
'The incident I called significant was the attempt on Billy Hogarth's life, his remark that lots had been going on in the village. The mastermind is taking no chances, trying to wipe out anyone with information. The attack on Billy Hogarth's bungalow is even more significant, for the same reason. It suggests the timing of the attack is very close.'
'Communications in al-Qa'eda,' Beaurain said.
'Obviously by word of mouth. The farce of motor-cyclist couriers carrying empty envelopes. Calling on everyone up there. The messages are passed by word of mouth. Who is the real recipient is concealed by the courier calling at every dwelling. I'm convinced the same word-of-mouth technique was used in America. Hence neither the FBI nor the CIA were alerted. More and more I'm convinced that the same mastermind who planned September 11 is planning the imminent attack on London.' He checked his watch. 'Time for us to attend the meeting called by the Minister at his apartment for 10.30 a.m.'
'Why,' protested Paula, 'do we have to go traipsing over there? I'm surprised you didn't insist the meeting should be held here.'
'Tactics,' Tweed told her, 'no point in creating resentment. Warner will be more open with us on his own patch. Heaven knows what he's planning now.'
Newman drove them. Tweed had also selected Beaurain, Eva and Paula to go with him. Mrs Carson opened the apartment door and made a typically tactless welcome.
'You're just on time. He's waiting for you with the others.'
