Colin Forbes - Cell

'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.'

The others? Paula glanced at Tweed as the elevator ascended. He was standing very erect in his most authoritative manner. When the elevator door opened on the penthouse floor Palfry was there to meet them. His expression was important and official.

'This way, gentlemen. Our people are waiting.'

He opened a door into a room they had not seen before. It was probably the dining-room, Paula thought. Very spacious, with a long table that might have been in the boardroom of a large company.

At the far end the Minister sat at the head. Clustered round him on both sides were six men, most of whom Tweed had never seen before. Except for a large man he knew was Tolliver, the recently appointed Chief of Special Branch in place of Jasper Buller. At their end of the table Eva Brand sat down to one side of the top chair. She turned round, gave them a warm smile. No mention of her recent visit to Park Crescent.

'Tweed, you sit at the head of your end of the table…'

Tweed had not moved. He scanned the unknown men grouped round the Minister. He put his hands in the pockets of his overcoat.

'Before I sit down, who are these strangers? I know Tolliver, so it's all right for him to stay.'

'To stay?' Warner spoke in the booming voice used when he was at the despatch box in the House of Commons. 'They are senior civil servants attached to my ministry…'

'We can't have them in on this meeting,' Tweed replied bluntly. 'They can have only a distant view of what is involved.'

'I must insist…' Warner began.

'If you do insist we'll transfer this meeting to Park Crescent. I'm not sitting down until they have left. And I am short of time.'

Tweed turned to Palfry, standing close to him.

'I heard you lock the door. Please unlock it so we can leave now. You can attend, of course…'

There was a muted buzz of discussion at the far end of the table. Then the civil servants picked up their files -you always had to have a file if you were Civil Service. They marched out of the room through the door Palfry had unlocked.

Their noses in the air, they made a point of not looking at Tweed as they left. Palfry re-locked the door. Tweed sat down, indicated to his companions they should do the same at his end of the table.

Warner was glaring at Tweed. He had removed his pince-nez, polishing them with a square of wash leather. A moment before, Tweed had removed his horn-rims, cleaned them quickly on a clean handkerchief, had them back on his nose before the Minister made a performance of replacing his pince-nez.

'I suppose,' he sneered, 'this action of yours emanates from the PM's mandate.'

'We are here, aren't we? Under your own roof. I could have asked for this meeting to be held at Park Crescent.'

Eva, now seated on Tweed's left, leaned over and whispered in her soft voice.

'Coffee is available whenever you wish. Drinkable. I made it myself,' she fibbed.

'Thank you.' He patted her hand. 'Maybe later.'

'Another point,' Warner boomed. 'You objected to strangers attending.' He aimed a long bony finger like a gun at Beaurain. 'What is he doing here? Not a member of your team.'

'Let me introduce you. This is Jules Beaurain. Recently Commissaire of Police in Brussels. Prior to that he was the controller of their anti-terrorist squad. He probably knows more about terrorists than anyone else in this room.'

'Then I'll start.' Warner paused for effect. 'Manchester.'

'What about it?'

'Very experienced operatives of Special Branch have cast their net wide among top flight informants. The word is London is not the target. Manchester is. I have stopped the army moving units south from the Midlands.'

'Manchester!' Newman whispered. 'Stuff that for a lark.'

Eva grinned. Paula kept her mouth expressionless, then winked at Eva.

'You really believe that?' Tweed asked innocently.

'I have to act on information received,' Warner said at his most pompous.

'Then why is it that my network of informants, once described as the most reliable by the present PM, hasn't heard a whisper about this Manchester distraction?'