Colin Forbes - Cell

'I want to leave,' Martin protested feebly.

Newman stood behind him, looming over Martin. His tone was savage.

'You can answer Tweed – or you can leave here. In handcuffs when Superintendent Buchanan and his men come to pick you up. They are not so gentle at the Yard as we are. So answer Tweed's question or I'll bloody well call the Yard now.'

'Pecksniff was working on behalf of al-Qa'eda when he arranged for you to fly abroad to pick up the money,' Tweed snapped.

'I had no idea Pecksniff was working for them..,'

He had slipped up badly. First, he had not asked who Pecksniff was when Tweed used the name. Second, he had now admitted he had had dealings with the Dickensian solicitor. Paula was fascinated by the way Tweed had, with flashes of inspiration, led Martin into the trap. Monica mouthed the word 'coffee' and pointed at Martin's back. Tweed shook his head. Nothing must disturb the mood.

'Well, now you know he was working for them,' Tweed continued. 'So you might as well tell us the huge amounts you brought over from the Bahamas trips you made.'

'Bahamas…'

'Get on with it, for heaven's sake. I'm losing patience.'

The phone rang. Monica answered, beckoned to Newman, who went to her desk. He kept his voice low.

'Newman here. Who might this be?'

'Recognize your voice. Rick Pendleton here, your friendly bank director in the Bahamas. Just got back from a great holiday. Mexico. What's your query?'

'I desperately need to know who has collected the money sent to you from Aruba. The New Age Development Corp. I know you don't like revealing details of accounts. Keep this under your hat. London is facing an imminent catastrophic attack from al-Qa'eda. That New Age money financed it. Who was the courier who collected the money – maybe made several trips?'

'Jesus! Hang on while I check. I remember the guy. The sums were so large it came over to me. Hold the line…'

The door opened and Marler strolled in. Tweed reacted instantly.

'The Yard reacted very swiftly. This is the gentleman you may be taking away for intensive interrogation.'

Marler caught on immediately. He laid a strong hand on Martin's right shoulder.

'I'll cuff you when we're ready to leave.'

Martin looked up, stared into Marler's face, wearing its bleakest expression.

'You still there, Bob?' Pendleton's voice, speaking quietly, came back on Newman's line. 'Good. Three visits by a Martin Hogarth. October 15th 2001, November 20th 2001, January 10th 2002. Amounts drawn in sequence.?250,000.?750,000. One mil. Total, two million. All converted into Swiss francs. I wish you all luck in bringing down the bastards…'

Newman rewrote the figures he had scribbled down on a pad he'd been given by Monica. Tweed would now have no trouble in reading the data. The phone rang again, Monica answered, handed the phone to Newman.

'Newman here. Who is it?'

'Your friendly bank director again. Sorry, but I double-checked, found two sheets had stuck together. Third and last amount given to Martin Hogarth should be four mil. So total is now five million. He had the authorized documents from Gerald Hanover.'

'Any idea where that guy is?'

'No. We should worry. With commission like that. Adios.''

Newman quickly changed the two figures, underlining total is five million pounds, converted into Swiss francs. Then he beckoned to Tweed.

'Don't move an eyelash,' Tweed warned.

Marler again rested a hand on Martin's shoulder. Tweed took the sheet, raised his eyebrows. He memorized the data in a few seconds, folded the sheet and went back to his desk.

'That was Superintendent Buchanan,' Newman called out loudly. 'He's getting impatient to see the prisoner.'

Seated back behind his desk, Tweed studied the man opposite for a short time. Martin Hogarth was a broken man. His face had lost what little colour it had had when he stormed into the office. His hands were twisting, couldn't keep them still.

'Pecksniff checked each tranche of money in front of you,' he began. 'Right?'

'Yes…' Martin was croaking hoarsely. 'He unlocked the small case I gave him after I'd given him the key. Then he took out the Swiss banknotes stack by stack, counted them aloud. Now, I'd originally answered Pecksniff's first call to Carpford inviting me to visit his office…'

'You made three trips to New York. Each time you had a first-class return ticket to the Bahamas. I imagine that way you avoided the long slog through customs and passport control. You simply moved to transfer, caught the flight to the Bahamas.'

'Yes.' Martin looked taken aback. 'How do you know that?'

'I'm asking the questions. How much money? On each trip?'

'?250,000 first trip.?750,00 second trip. Four million pounds on the last one. Altogether five million pounds, all converted into Swiss francs.'

'You must have had a bad time arriving back at Heathrow.'

'I was careful to be about two-thirds the way along the queue. Each time. All three aircraft were crowded. When I reached the counter I plonked down the smaller case with the key on top. Then I quickly hauled up a huge case full of rubbish presents. They ignored the small case, then went through the big job as though looking for drugs. It worked on each trip.'

'And Mr Pecksniff paid you how much for your trouble?'

'Do I have to tell you?'

'You do.'

'Fifty thousand pounds in Swiss francs. I'm not a rich man…'

'Of course you're not. But I'm sure you've got a lot more. You have a Rolex on your wrist, a diamond pin in your tie. Get to hell out of here.'

'What?'

'He's telling you that you can go now,' Paula called out.

As soon as the door closed on Martin's frantic departure Tweed nodded to Marler.

'Follow him. Where he goes. Anyone he contacts.'

'I'm on my way. Keep in touch with reports on my mobile.'

'Is that Ali?'

'Yes, it is.'

Ali had one hand on the loose phone-box door, which the wind kept blowing open.

'Abdullah here. You have a photo of Martin Hogarth, along with the others photographed at Carpford?'

'I have. In my pocket.'

'Send your best man immediately to SIS HQ at Park Crescent. Martin Hogarth has just left the building.'

'I have a good man watching that place.'

'Then tell him to kill Martin Hogarth. Urgently…'

Tweed sat behind his desk, tapping his pen. Paula knew he was bothered by something. When he continued tapping the pen, gazing at the closed blind which masked the distant view of Regent's Park, she felt sure.

'What's disturbing you?' she asked.

'I'm thinking of phoning the Minister and demanding to know why there are no Special Branch men on the Embankment.'

'Don't! You were right before. You decided not to arouse any resentment. Let sleeping dogs lie.'

'I suppose you are right. I won't call him.'

Beaurain was pacing the office, restless, while Newman sat at ease, reading the Daily Nation. Beaurain put on his coat and Tweed looked up.

'Going somewhere?'

'I feel it would be wiser if we checked that Embankment again. I can tell you're in two minds whether to contact Warner or not. You'd look silly if there are camel-hair coats patrolling now.'

'I'll come with you,' said Paula.

'Restless people,' Tweed commented.

'Yes,' snapped Paula, 'we're all restless, expecting something terrible to happen and no idea what it is, where it will take place. Jules, let's get out of this claustrophobic atmosphere.'

It had stopped drizzling and was icily cold as they reached her car. Beaurain asked if he could drive again and she agreed. He headed straight down Whitehall for Westminster Bridge. Traffic was still very heavy but he drove with great skill, slipping through gaps.