'We know him. He can sit in with Newman. No one else.'
'Understood.'
'Target known?'
'Yes. Central London. Will be precise with contact. Zero hour is today. Probably after four in the afternoon.'
'Thank you, sir. Good luck, Mr Tweed…'
Switching off all the lights, Tweed went to the window and pulled a curtain aside a few inches. A tall man was walking out of the park from the direction where the Sikorsky had landed. Switching on the lights again, Tweed sat at his desk, called George.
'Ask Newman and Beaurain to come up immediately. Not Paula. Give her my apologies. Tell her I had no option.'
The door opened and Newman walked in, followed by Beaurain. Tweed asked them to sit down, then he gave them the news.
'A contact from the SAS is due to arrive any moment. The commander at Hereford gave permission for you both to be present while I outline the plan of attack. Ours, that is.'
'I'm surprised,' Newman replied. 'I know I did the course when I was writing an article on the SAS…'
He stopped as Monica called him on the phone. He listened as she spoke.
'George says a very suspicious character is asking for you. He's down here now.'
'Ask him to come up, Monica. Please join Paula in the visitors' room…'
The door was opened by George, who ushered in a very tall man. He was dressed in civilian clothes and a scarf concealed most of his face, leaving his mouth exposed. He stared quickly at everyone in the room.
'I guess you're Mr Tweed,' he said approaching the desk. 'You are expecting me.' He held out an identity folder.
'Sarge!' Newman had jumped up. 'Recognize your voice. You put me through hell on that training course.'
'Sarge also trained me,' said Beaurain, standing up, holding out his hand. 'Welcome.'
'Maybe we should start right away,' replied Sarge, occupying the armchair Tweed had gestured to.
40
Before beginning, Tweed apologized to Sarge, told him he had brief vital instructions to give, left the office. He ran down and entered the visitors' room. Paula, Marler and Monica were seated at the bare wooden table, drinking coffee. Tweed spoke rapidly.
'You both heard the orders I gave to Newman to drive to Carpford, to check who is there. Since Newman is occupied upstairs I want you, Marler, to take his place. Paula, go with him. Don't forget to check the rooftops for an elevated aerial or mast. Then get back to report to me. Urgently…'
He returned to his office, sat down behind his desk. He began explaining the situation. Sarge listened without saying a word. Tweed showed him a detailed map of the Thames area, pointed out the power station, St Jude's Hospital.
He showed Sarge Beaurain's drawing of the device, then the photo from Mayor Giuliani Buchanan had left with him, the photos Newman had taken from the hospital of the wharf. Mackie, the most brilliant boffin in the basement, had since provided blow-ups of Newman's photos. Sarge was most interested in the pic Newman had taken looking down inside the main hatch.
'Took that one,' Newman said, speaking for the first time, 'as the barge tilted towards me. A big police launch moving upriver had sent out a large bow wave, causing the tilt. The device you can now see clearly placed below the hatch is like the photo Giuliani sent from New York.'
Sarge nodded his agreement. Tweed explained the measures being taken by Buchanan along the Embankment later. He covered all the information they had obtained, his plan for eliminating the al-Qa'eda cell. Sarge nodded again. He had taken no notes.
When the time came for him to leave he asked for all the photos and Beaurain's drawing, together with Tweed's map. He put them inside the briefcase he'd been carrying – more cover as a businessman. He told them the SAS unit would number about thirty, got up to leave. 'We should meet here again. Midday? Good.' Then he left, after shaking hands.
41
Paula swore to herself as Marler drove over the crest into Carpford. A dense fog blotted out the village. She navigated as he drove very slowly, partly because of the fog and partly to make as little noise as possible.
'You see the lake?' she began.
'I do. Driving any faster and we'd have been in it.'
'Follow the road to the left. We'll start with Martin Hogarth's bungalow. I'm sure he'll be so glad to see us…'
Marler drove the car off the road on to the open field when he saw the dim outline of the bungalow. Switching everything off, he followed her towards the entrance. He gripped her by the arm, stopped her, whispered.
'He's up. Glow of light from between the shutters closed over the windows.'
Turning on his powerful torch, he aimed it at the roof. A slim radio mast protruded upwards. Reducing the strength of the beam, he went up to the door, examined the locks. A well-known make. He handed his torch to Paula, gestured to indicate he needed her to shine it on the lock.
Taking out a small folded leather tool-kit, he extracted an oilcan, a pick-lock. He squirted oil first on the lock, then a smear on the pick. He heard the tumblers drop back, put his tools back in the leather holdall. Very gently, he turned the door handle. His acute hearing had caught the sound of a voice speaking inside. He pushed the door open a few inches. No creak. The door's hinges were well oiled.
Paula stood next to him as light flooded out from the narrow opening. Martin's voice came to them clearly, speaking emphatically.
'I tell you Billy is not here. I have checked his bungalow and it's empty. What? No, I don't have any idea where he is. And no, I've no idea where he might have gone. Must go now…'
Marler realized Martin had been alerted to their presence by the drop in temperature as icy air percolated in from the outside. He walked in, Walther in his right hand, followed by Paula. Martin had his back to them as he put down a telephone on a table. His right hand reached inside his jacket.
'Don't do anything stupid, Martin,' Marler ordered.
Turning round slowly, Martin rubbed fingers across his mouth as though considering how to respond. He was fully dressed in a grey business suit. He dropped both hands, exposing them palms outwards, demonstrating he had no weapon.
'What the devil are you doing here?' he hissed. 'Breaking and entering? A crime. I'll put you both behind bars..,.'
'Martin,' Marler interrupted in cold voice, 'who were you calling on that phone?'
'None of your damn business.'
'But it is our damn business,' Marler told him, moving closer. 'You're mixed up with the New Age people – and something far worse.'
'Prove it,' Martin snapped with a feeble show of bravado.
'I'll leave Superintendent Buchanan to do that. You're already linked to New Age for starters.' With his left hand Marler produced a pair of plastic handcuffs, recently issued. Locked on wrists, they clicked tighter and tighter if the prisoner struggled with them. 'Turn round,' Marler went on. 'Hold both wrists close together behind your back.'
The next minute was horrific. Martin twisted his lips in a strange attempt to look defiant, then crunched on
