shadows. No street light for a distance. Nield pressed the bell hard. Nothing, until he saw through the stained-glass window a large figure approaching. The Yale lock was turned, the door opened. A man in his shirt sleeves with his collar open at the neck glared.
'If you're selling something you can shove off. I'm watching football on TV.'
'Sorry to bother you, sir,' Nield began with his engaging smile. 'I'm lost. Car parked down the road. Trying to find Albert Bridge.'
'You are bloody lost..,'The man gave swift instructions to reach Albert Bridge, then slammed the door shut.
While the door was open Nield had seen a lot. A narrow hall with a kitchen beyond an open door at the other end. A back door leading into the kitchen. A partial view into a living-room at the front.
He walked back and Newman joined him. Nield explained what he had grasped of the general layout. Under a street lamp he paused, took back the rolled-up leather case, spread it out on the bonnet of their parked car. He extracted pick-lock instruments, a small can of oil, handed them to Newman.
'You'll check, of course, but I think the front door has a Yale lock like the house I visited.'
'Of course,' Newman said sarcastically.
'First, let me dive down that alley and look at the back door. When I get to the other end I'll do a rehearsal – flash my torch twice quickly. That tells you I've checked the back door. Next time I flash the torch twice I'm ready to go in through the back door. Your cue to ring the bell. When Chummy opens it I'll be inside at the back. We'll get him in a crossfire. But if I've shot first you hold your fire. I don't want your bullet passing through him to hit me. Would spoil my breakfast…'
While Nield made his way down the alley, Newman went to the front door, used his small torch to check the lock. A Yale. His pick-lock could open that in no time. If there was also a chain he'd use his weight to smash the door down.
As on earlier expeditions with Nield, he was impressed with how cool Pete was. As though he was on a training exercise. He darted back to the end of the alley. At the far end a torch flashed twice. He waited there. Less than half a minute later the torch-flash signals were repeated. Newman rushed to the front door, pressed his thumb against the bell, held it there. He'd decided on a better strategy.
A very large man appeared behind the stained glass, jerked the door open swiftly. Over six feet tall, wide- shouldered, his face was brown-skinned, his hair trimmed short. He was wearing a windcheater and corduroy slacks. His eyes were dead as he stared at the visitor.
'Been… drinkin'… I'm lost… wanna get to…'
The giant had his right hand behind his back. His expression became a sneer. A drunk. He sensed something happening in the kitchen, swung round, his right hand holding a Mauser with a long barrel. He aimed it at Nield. Newman's hand had appeared from behind his back. He fired his Smith amp; Wesson three times. The brute tried to turn round, the three bullets embedded in his body. Newman pulled the trigger twice more. The brute fell face down along the hall.
Newman jumped inside, closed the door behind him, bent down, checked the carotid artery. Nothing. Blood was welling out down the windcheater. Newman chopped his left hand down, indicating to his back-up that the al- Qa'eda thug was dead.
Nield ran into the living-room. Mrs Proctor was tied to a chair, scared witless. Nield smiled as he asked the question quickly.
'Was he the only one?'
She nodded, unable to speak. Nield smiled again. 'We were sent to rescue you. I'm going to cut the ropes round you with a knife. Just sit tight. Can't do much else, can you?'
They left when they were sure she had recovered quickly. No, she didn't want a neighbour to keep her company. Mrs Worthington would never stop talking all night long. Should she phone Vince, her husband? They persuaded her that wasn't necessary, would only worry him, so she agreed. They told her the intruder was a drug dealer they'd been after for months. They'd take him away.
'All I want,' Mrs Proctor said, 'is a cuppa tea, maybe two, then I'm off to bed. Probably sleep in, take a couple of pills. They'll knock me out. Would you like tea?'
'Thank you,' Nield said, 'but we're short of time.'
'Excuse me, must dash to the toilet…'
Newman had asked Nield to take over the wheel. There was something he had to do. Between them, after Newman had driven his car up to the house, they had carried the great weight of the dead Saudi – at least Newman thought he was – and arranged it in the boot.
They were approaching Albert Bridge when Newman told Nield to, turn left. He did so, raising his eyebrows.
Above the name of the road they had turned down was another sign. St Jude's Hospital. Nield said nothing until Newman took a medicine pack from the car pocket, removed his jacket, started wrapping a bandage round his forearm.
'You wouldn't like to tell me what this is in aid of?' he suggested.
'I'm walking wounded when I go into the hospital.'
'Tweed will skin you alive. We're supposed to keep well clear of that place.'
'You wait outside for me.'
Newman took a small non-flash camera from his pocket, an advanced version invented by the boffins in the basement at Park Crescent. Took very detailed pictures and no flash to give the photographer away. His mouth tight with foreboding, Nield parked near the hospital, which was a blaze of lights.
'See you soon,' Newman said, leaving the car.
Approaching the entrance, he had his jacket folded over one arm, the other exposing a lot of bandage. An ambulance had just pulled up and the rear doors were being opened. A lot of nursing staff, two men holding a stretcher waited, so no one was bothered when Newman walked into the entrance.
White-coated doctors hurrying, stethoscopes dangling from their necks. Newman moved to the right, the side nearest the power station. He walked down a long corridor, turned left when he realized he'd reached the end of the hospital building. He was now walking down a very long corridor with few lights and no one about except a grim-looking nurse coming towards him. She stopped as he reached her.
'Can I help you?'
'Not really, thank you. Just seen the doctor who fixed me up. Told me to take a good walk inside, then come back to him so he could make sure I was OK. He wasn't worried.'
He resumed his walk and she went her way. Near the end of the corridor he could see the power station and its wharf through large windows. He looked up and down the corridor. No one about except himself. He gazed down on the wharf. A huge canvas screen had been erected. As he watched, the screen was moved. A thin man in camouflage clothes stood on top of the roll-over cover drawn over the interior of a barge. He stood near a very large open hatch in the middle of the barge. The tide was still coming in, shifting the barge towards the hospital. Newman took seven quick shots. As he was doing so three more men in camouflage kit appeared after climbing up a ladder from inside the barge. Slipping the camera back inside his jacket pocket, he walked rapidly back the way he had come. The dragon of a nurse with the superior attitude appeared, asked him the name of the doctor attending him. He ignored her, walked out to where Nield had the car parked, the engine running.
'Drive like hell,' he said. 'Get us out of here.'
39
'What!' Tweed demanded fiercely. 'You disobeyed my order not to go near that hospital, St Jude's? What madness got into you? The key to the success of our operation was not to risk letting al-Qa'eda know we knew their location. You've taken leave of your…'
Newman, jaw jutting, eyes blazing, stood up from the chair he'd been sitting in. He had just started explaining what Nield and he had accomplished. He was furious. He leaned forward, put both hands on Tweed's desk.
