Colin Forbes - Cell

'He could recognize me.'

'So much the better. Pressure. Marler, go down to Whitehall. Follow Peregrine Palfry. Same instructions as I gave Newman. Harry, you track Pecksniff. First phone him, ask him which estate agent handled the property transactions at Carpford. Then go and park near his office until he emerges. The same instructions I've already given. Pete, you go and park near Buller's place in Pimlico. Marler can give you the address.'

'But,' Paula objected, 'Buller has disappeared, his car found abandoned on the way to Carpford.'

'And,' Tweed told her, 'what would be the way to pretend to vanish? To leave your car where Buller's was found. By arrangement someone else picks him up, returns him to Pimlico.'

'I suppose so,' she replied. 'Two things bother me a lot – the two missing years in Eva's life. The impossibility of finding anything out about her father.'

'So, as I'm dining with her tonight, maybe I can solve the mysteries…'

'You also mentioned earlier the possibility of a ring being located at Carpford – presumably a ring controlling the al-Qa'eda cell. Could all of them at Carpford be in it?'

'An intriguing theory.'

'One thing you've overlooked,' said Beaurain. 'You'll be driving across London alone to get to Santini's. Already there's been one attempt to kill you. You'll be leaving here about 6.30 p.m. I imagine? Good. I'll call a girlfriend and take her out to dinner. At Santini's. I'll be close behind you during the drive there.'

'If you insist.'

'I do.'

Ali, who passed under the name of Adam, was inside the public phone-box when it began ringing. He glanced round. A deserted side street in London.

'Who is this?' he asked in English.

'Your name?' the distorted voice demanded.

'Ali here.'

'Abdullah speaking. I sense that Tweed is becoming dangerous. What went wrong?'

'Mehmet came close to shooting him at Hyde Park Corner. But the girl travelling with Tweed shot Mehmet before he could fire. Her bullet smashed Mehmet's hand. The police arrived. Mehmet is now being treated at St Thomas's Hospital.'

'Then send someone there, disguised as a doctor, to kill him. You should have thought of that yourself. Shut up! I haven't finished. Get someone else to kill Tweed immediately. Is the equipment in place now?'

'Up to a point. It has to be transferred to its ultimate site. Don't push me on that. London is crawling with the police.

You must leave it to me. The last small van with what it was carrying has arrived.'

'Kill Tweed. Make it look like an accident…' Once again Abdullah broke the connection without warning. Ali, who spoke such perfect English he might have been an Englishman, swore, in good old-fashioned Anglo-Saxon.

The monster truck of the type supermarkets use to transport supplies was parked at the edge of Park Crescent nearest to Euston. A red triangle a short distance from its rear warned drivers to steer clear. The truck was hauled by a cab attached to the main vehicle. The driver wore a floppy cap pulled well down, an old leather jacket and a pair of worn denims. He was watching the entrance to SIS HQ.

He had earlier studied a photograph taken of Tweed. It had cost Abdullah a small fortune to obtain the print from a sleazy man who specialized in taking pictures of important people. Most of his income came from private detectives – hired to watch a man or a woman suspected by their partner of playing the field.

The driver had a small pair of night binoculars looped round his neck. The binoculars were hidden inside the leather jacket. Whenever anyone left the building he checked them with his binoculars. Several men had already left but no one who looked like Tweed.

As he had expected, a patrol car had pulled up because he was a nuisance to other traffic. He had waited until one of the officers got out of the car and asked what was the problem.

'A little trouble, Officer, with engine. Fixed now. Will drive away in minutes.'

'See that you do.'

The officer was tired. So he failed to notice that the typically dressed driver spoke English with a faint accent. Minutes later Tweed emerged, climbed behind the wheel of his car. The driver climbed swiftly back up into his cab, revved up the engine, drove forward slowly. He increased speed as Tweed headed towards Baker Street. With the weight of his juggernaut he would crush Tweed's car flat. The body would be unrecognizable.

Harry Butler was the last to leave on the mission Tweed had given him – to watch Pecksniff's office. Tweed was amused as he listened to Harry phoning the solicitor.

'That's Pecksniff, isn't it?'

'Yes. Who is this?'

'I called on you. We had a nice little chat about Carpford. Remember me?'

'Yes. Unfortunately. What is it now? I still have a lot of work to get through.'

'Mr Pecksniff, one question I overlooked. I'm sure you won't mind answering. If you feel inhibited I can always pop down now in the car

…'

'What is the question?' The. voice quavered.

'You said you never handled the transaction for Victor Warner's purchase of that chunk of land New Age overlooked. But what about the legal junk when you rent a place? Who dealt with that?'

'I did, of course. No outside agent was involved.'

'See you…'

Before he put down the phone Harry thought he heard a choking protest. He grinned, told Tweed what Pecksniff had said.

'Something not right about that village,' Tweed remarked as he put on his raincoat. 'I'm off now for dinner with Eva…'

Outside, he paused under the nearby street lamp to pull up the collar. Getting into his car he drove to the end of the Crescent, noticed there was very little traffic as he turned left towards Baker Street. It was bitterly cold. He guessed most commuters had left for home early.

In his rear-view mirror he noticed a juggernaut coming up behind him. Too big for the roads, he thought. One of the really big jobs with a cab hauling its immense load. He'd seen them take half a minute to negotiate a sharp bend, holding up all the traffic behind them. He wondered how many tons the leviathan weighed. Too many.

The lumbering giant had picked up speed, was almost on his tail, A situation he always disliked. If he had to make an emergency stop, would the brute pull up in time? He doubted it. He drove faster to get away from it. The juggernaut driver also increased speed. Idiot! Tweed pressed his foot down.

Inside his Audi with the souped-up engine, Beaurain sat with his girlfriend, Sally, parked in the shadows of Park Crescent. He had only known her for a month and already decided she was high on good looks and low on intellect. He knew he'd soon be bored with her.

The advantage was she had a cultured voice and a smart – if not daring – dress sense. She would fit in at Santini's. She fiddled in her evening handbag, produced a cigarette case, perched a cigarette in her mouth.

'Don't light that, please,' he requested mildly.

'Oh, I see. I'm stuck with one of those non-smoking fanatics.'

'Actually, no. I do smoke. But never in a car. Smoke can get in a driver's eyes at just the wrong moment.'

'Well, let's get moving. I'm hungry.'

'So am I. We don't want to be first in the restaurant. You won't be able to make a grand entrance,' he said with a wry smile.

'I suppose you've got a point, Jules.'

Earlier Beaurain had noticed the juggernaut parked with its cab protruding. He had also noticed the binoculars used by the driver whenever anyone left the SIS entrance. Then Tweed came out, got into his car, drove off. Beaurain started his own engine and Sally, who had been tapping her varnished fingers on her bag, let out a sigh of relief.

'At long last.'

Beaurain timed it so the Audi emerged from the Crescent just as the juggernaut drove past towards Baker Street. He sat on its tail. At a curve he saw that Tweed had increased his speed. The juggernaut driver did the same thing. The lumbering brute was almost touching Tweed's boot. Tweed went faster. The juggernaut driver revved up like mad.