Colin Forbes - Cell

Buchanan waited until Warden had gone. Then he waved a hand round the wreckage. Tweed showed him the stained area discovered by Paula. The chief superintendent bent down, used a finger to touch part of the large discoloured patch. He straightened up.

'What do you think this is all about?' he asked Tweed.

'I'm worried that whoever is directing this operation is closing up loopholes. That suggests to me we are dangerously approaching the climax. As for Pecksniff, this is the fourth disappearance – probably the fourth murder.'

'You have to go straight over to Downing Street to see the PM,' Howard, the Director, fired at Tweed the moment he walked into his office past Monica.

'There's been a development?' Tweed asked.

'I'll say there has!'

Howard was a tall well-built man in his fifties. He wore an expensively tailored blue suit from Savile Row, a white shirt from a Jermyn Street shirt-maker, a blue Hermes tie and a pair of hand-made shoes. As usual, he sat in one of the armchairs, one leg draped over an arm. He had a large head with recently trimmed brown hair, turning white at the temples, a strong nose under blue eyes and, below an amiable mouth, a jaw suggesting energy but without aggression.

His main function was to keep in touch with Whitehall mandarins he secretly regarded as fools. His bland manner went down well with them and, behind his back, Paula had nicknamed him Mr Bland.

'Tell me,' Tweed said as Paula slipped past him, smiling at Monica before she sat at her desk.

Newman came in last, nodded to Howard and perched on the edge of Paula's desk. Howard's upper crust voice got on his nerves.

'First…' Howard waved a manicured hand '… I want to tell you, Tweed, I greatly appreciate the way you have kept me fully informed of what has been going on.

Frightening. Better get over to the holy of holies now. Be very blunt with the PM.'

'There's been another disappearance, probably the fourth murder,' Newman said casually when Tweed had left.

'What!' Howard jerked upright, his pink face flushing.

Newman explained in as few words as possible their visit to Pecksniff's office. Howard stood up, flicked a piece of cotton off his sleeve.

'Can't get a decent tailor these days. My God, Newman, what is happening?'

'Tweed thinks a major al-Qa'eda attack on London is pretty imminent.'

'Well, it's all down to Tweed. Maybe in the nick of time.'

'What does that mean?' Paula asked.

'Can't tell you, my dear, until Tweed comes back. All hush-hush. Won't be for long. I'd better get back to my office. In case something else blows up…'

'Paula,' Monica said, when Howard had gone, 'while you were in the loo, Tweed said your report had put him on the right track.'

'My report of my interview with who? I visited Mrs Gobble's shop, had a long talk with Peregrine Palfry, a confrontation with Margesson, a friendly chat with Billy Hogarth, a few words with his peculiar brother, Martin, then the last one with Drew Franklin. Which one?'

'He didn't say.' She looked at Paula. 'You really should go home and get some sleep.'

'Think I will. I'm dropping.' She looked at Newman. 'Bob, could you drive me there?'

'We're on our way now…'

Marler, Butler and Nield were in the office when Tweed came back. He was carrying a large envelope and his expression was abstracted. He gave Monica his raincoat, sat down and extracted a typed sheet headed Downing Street, handed it to Marler.

'You might as well be the first to know.'

Marler read it without showing any reaction. He handed the document back to Tweed. Taking out a cigarette he then spoke.

'Thank God!'

'What is it?' several voices wanted to know.

'Tweed,' Marler said, in a grim voice, 'has been appointed as Commander of all the security services. Including the Ministry of Security, Special Branch, the police and anyone else he wants to rope in.'

'Lordy!' exclaimed Monica. 'It is all down to Tweed.'

'Strictly within these walls,' Tweed explained calmly, 'the PM is scared stiff. He has appointed me Supremo -his word, not mine. I may need the SAS – its commander has been sent a copy of that document. As have the chiefs of all other services. Bob, you know the number. Can you get a senior officer on the line for me?'

'I can get Sarge, the man who ran the unit which trained me when I wrote my article on them. Through him I should get the man you want. I'll try now.'

'The SAS!' Monica said excitedly. 'The balloon is really going up.'

The team was still up to full strength in Tweed's office when the phone rang. Monica seemed to have trouble with the caller. Persistently she asked for the caller's identity but was obviously getting nowhere.

'What is it?' Tweed called out.

'Someone on the phone with a funny voice, cockney, as far as I can gather. Important information they can only give you. Could be a hoax.'

'I'll talk to them… Tweed here. How can I help?'

'Got information. Can't 'ang round 'ere much longer.'

'Then tell me.'

'Got the name of the boss of Alqueerda. Know what I'm on abaht?'

'Yes.'

'It's Abdullah. Runs that gang of killers.'

'Where is he based?'

'No idea. You've met with it. Got to scarper…'

'Wait a minute.'

The line had gone dead. Tweed told everyone what he had been told. So far as he'd been able to tell the caller was talking through a handkerchief to disguise its identity. Couldn't tell whether it was a man or a woman.

'Hoax call,' Newman said dismissively. 'Abdullah is a common Arab name!'

'I wonder,' Tweed said thoughtfully. 'The caller said I'd met with it. I haven't met any cockneys recently. I'm inclined to believe the caller knew what it was talking about. Also it's odd I should receive that call soon after the mandates giving me full powers will have reached everyone concerned. The PM was sending copies out by couriers the moment I left to come back here.'

'Can't see the significance,' Marler commented.

He had just made his remark when the door opened and Paula walked in, followed by Newman, who spread his hands in a gesture of frustration.

'Don't blame me. She's had less than five hours' sleep but she insisted on taking a quick shower and came straight back here.'

'I feel fine,' Paula said emphatically. 'Ready for anything. Any progress while I was in the land of nod?'

She had perched herself on the edge of her desk instead of sitting in her chair. Dressed in a black trouser suit, she was swinging her legs under the wide kneehole, the picture of energy.

Tweed stood up, walked over, handed her the document he had brought back from the PM. She read it slowly, twice. She looked serious as she handed it back.

'Maybe in the nick of time,' was her reaction.

'We don't know that, do we?'

There was a bite in Tweed's comment. Paula had noticed in the past there were rare occasions when he spoke in that tone. Always when he was concealing great anxiety.

'We have no vital data,' Tweed continued. 'As I keep reminding all of you, we need three things. Target, identity of the mastermind, timing of the attack. We have none of these. So I want all three within twenty-four hours.'

There was a hush in the room. The enormity of their task had dawned on them. Tweed studied each of them. He had jerked them out of any complacency. They were in a state of shock.

He dialled the private number of the Ministry of Security. Of course it would be Palfry who answered, an irritable Palfry.

'Tweed here. I need to know the present whereabouts of the Minister.'

'That's classified information…'

'Haven't you received a copy of the PM's directive?'

'Yes. So has the Minister…'

'So where is he? Tell me now if you want to keep your job.'