Colin Forbes - Cell

'Marler,' said Tweed, 'would you be good enough to escort Mrs Sharp for tea at Brown's?' He glanced at his watch, was appalled to see it was afternoon. 'They'll have started serving by the time you get there.'

'I'm going to enjoy this,' said Marler with one of his rare warming smiles. 'Afterwards I can drive you to the station to take you back. No, it's no trouble at all.'

'No trouble indeed,' agreed Tweed. 'Mrs Sharp, have you told anyone else about this except Superintendent Buchanan?'

'Absolutely no one. When I was asked to phone the Yard I knew it could be serious. You can rely on me to keep quiet. I'll even resist the temptation to tell my sister…'

Tweed thanked her again, escorted her to the door, followed by Marler. Before descending the stairs she turned, smiled at Tweed.

'What a nice lady,' Paula commented.

'Shrewd too. What was that reference to Drew Franklin's column about?'

Newman handed over the copy of the Daily Nation he had been skip-reading after she'd made her remark. He had ringed a paragraph.

Tweed began reading it, frowning as he read it once more.

A large force of al-Qa'eda have come to town. Their purpose? To launch a devastating attack on the capital, an attack which will make September 11 look like a skirmish. As usual Our security chums are in a panic. Just possible the SIS will save the day ~~ and London. They are near professionals.

'Typically,' Tweed commented, 'dear Drew compliments us, then takes a swipe at us. Near professionals.' He looked round the room. 'But this is going to drive Victor Warner mad. He can't retaliate – the Ministry of Security is not specifically mentioned.'

He passed the paper to Paula, who had left her desk and was itching to read the paragraph. Tweed handed the paper to her, then looked at Buchanan.

'Mrs Sharp. Perfect name for the lady. Are you acting on what she told us?'

'Excuse me!' Buchanan was indignant. 'Before I left the Yard I instructed Warden to check out Oldhurst Farm immediately. He's got a marked map like the one I used here. He's taking three patrol cars full of armed men. Strict instructions from me not to use sirens or lights when they're near the place.'

'They'll find the place empty,' Tweed predicted, 'but they may find clues.'

'Manchester,' Newman said suddenly. 'Had a quiet word with Marler while you were talking to Mrs Sharp. As you know, he had been out trawling every informant he could find. When he asked the top-flight ones they told him the word on the grapevine was that al-Qa'eda is gearing itself up for some tremendous operation on London. Only two second-raters said the target was Manchester – both suspects I'm sure are fed by Special Branch. Manchester!'

'Decoy,' said Beaurain.

'Smokescreen,' agreed Tweed. 'It's getting dark already. I think now Jules, Paula and Bob should come with me on a tour of London. As with Mrs Sharp, we got lucky. Now we need one more piece of luck.' He took out an evidence envelope from his pocket. It contained the simple drawing the poor mutilated Eddie had clutched in his dead hand in Monk's Alley. He called out to Paula, who was reading Franklin's column for the third time.

'Come and look at this again.'

Without taking it out of the protective envelope, he smoothed out the drawing. He shrugged in frustration.

'What does this remind you of?'

'A canoe.'

'I see. And their weapons will be paddles.'

'You did ask me,' she snapped.

The phone rang. Monica answered, nodded to the phone on Tweed's desk. 'It's Harry calling on his mobile.'

'Another emergency? Tweed here, Harry.'

'Just to report all's well so far with my patient. He stays in all the time, eats at the place. I got him a batch of paperback thrillers. He never stops reading them.'

'Thanks for calling…' Tweed turned to the others.

'That was Harry reporting that everything is quiet where Billy is cloistered in his new hotel.'

'I have an idea,' Buchanan said. 'From what you've told me about Billy Hogarth he's trustworthy; I'll send Jean to question him, see if he has seen anything unusual up at the village.'

'Jean?' Newman queried.

'A clever and attractive policewoman. He might feel more comfortable with her.' He took the card Tweed gave him with the hotel's address.

'Just so long as he doesn't get too comfortable with her,' Newman remarked with a straight face.

'Time we prowled London after dark, looking for canoes,' Tweed decided.

He ignored the dirty look Paula gave him.

Beaurain, who had earlier been studying a detailed map of Central London, drove them. Alongside him sat Paula, while Tweed and Newman occupied the rear seats. He had his headlights on full beam. Paula soon realized he was heading south-west.

They eventually emerged on to a main road and he turned east. The traffic was heavy. Beaurain was leaning forward over the wheel, his gaze turned to his right. Signalling, he suddenly swung right off the main thoroughfare on to a wide, badly made track.

They quickly left the main capital behind, bumping over potholes as they were driven slowly through a wilderness. An area which had never been developed, with scrubby fields on either side. No buildings, and the fields were littered with rubbish a short distance back from the track – abandoned and rusty wrecks of cars, old metal buckets, a mix of rubbish which showed up in their headlights as Beaurain turned the car round corners.

'Why on earth are we going down here?' grumbled Newman.

'Leave him alone.' chided Paula.

She had sensed that Beaurain had an instinct for exploring the most unlikely locations. He was driving very slowly now, his eyes scanning left and right. He crawled round another corner, the track straigtened. He stopped. Ahead a woman was walking her poodle on the scrubby grass.

'We're still well upriver from the Albert Bridge,' Tweed complained.

'Do keep quiet,' Paula snapped. 'Please,' she added.

Beaurain switched off the engine, climbed out, walked towards the woman. She was well-dressed, in an expensive raincoat and leather boots. Still holding the white poodle on its leash, she turned as Beaurain approached her. Tweed had also got out, following Paula who was near the Belgian. With a snort Newman left the car.

'Excuse me,' Beaurain said as he bent down and stroked the small dog, 'we are searching for some rather dangerous men. Have you seen anything odd going on round here?'

Tweed backed up Beaurain by shining his flashlight on his identity folder which he held open for her to see.

'SIS,' she exclaimed. 'I read about you in Drew Franklin's column this morning. He's witty, but sometimes he goes too far. No need for that last remark.' She turned back to Beaurain. 'Excuse me, I must answer your question. I come here because it's quiet to walk the dog. Earlier, when it was dusk. Down there…' she pointed further down the track '… peculiar-looking workmen were carrying something heavy and cumbersome out of a white van. The men have gone but it's still there. You can see now the moon's come out.'

They all stared down the track. Perched broadside on was a small white van. Across its side one word was inscribed. Florist.

'My God!' Newman whispered under his breath.

'Can you describe this heavy and cumbersome object?' Beaurain asked.

'Do my best. It was shaped like a fat shell, much wider in diameter than an ordinary shell. My departed husband was an officer in the Artillery, so I've seen real shells. In other ways it looked like a vertical torpedo, hunched down in the metal platform which supported it. It took six men to carry it to a large motorized trolley, then they secured it. Afterwards it was driven off further down the track. I was scared stiff they'd see me. I knew something was wrong. I froze still, worried that any movement would catch their attention. I had Pooh on a tight leash, so he kept quiet then.'