Colin Forbes - Cell

As he turned left along the Embankment he noticed cars were still slow-moving on the bridge. He turned to Paula with a smile, nodding towards the bridge.

'Does it go on like this much longer?'

'It can start in the late afternoon with people trying to beat the rush. Then it can go on until nearly eight. It gets worse day by day.'

'Who would be a commuter?'

'Not me.'

Glancing at him, she saw his penetrating gaze was focused on the Embankment walk by the river. She started studying the same area. They had driven a short distance when she let out a gasp.

'Look. That's Martin Hogarth walking along the Embankment, away from us. I recognize his walk, his clothes. So where the devil is Marler? He's suppose to be following him.'

'If you can see Marler he's doing a bad job. He'll be nearby. Marler impresses me.'

'Don't see him anywhere…'

A dozen yards behind Hogarth a businessman was walking in the same direction. He wore the conventional City outfit. A black jacket and black trousers. His head was protected with a black hat and he was carrying a bulky briefcase.

'That's the "uniform" the City gent wears these days,' Paula explained to Beaurain. 'Black suit, which I think looks so dreary, and the fat briefcase to emphasize how important and busy he is. Hundreds of them dress just like that. At one time they wore a variety of smart suits, now this ghastly outfit.'

A large barge was proceeding upriver. It was laden almost to the gunwales with powdered black coal. A distance behind it was another big barge, also carrying coal. Beaurain stared at them as Paula enlightened him.

'My guess is they're headed for that new power station the lady with Pooh told us about. The tide is coming in but it will rise much higher during the next two days.'

'First I've seen since leaving Belgium. They ply the river near Liege. Much smaller jobs than those.'

'Still no sign of camel-hair coat types,' she said. 'That fool of a Minister is just asserting his authority.'

'Hogarth is still plodding along the promenade,' said the Belgian, glancing in his rear.-view mirror. 'Wonder where he's going? It's a cold night to be out.'

'Marler will find out,' she said confidently.

'Do you know how to get us to the East End? I'm looking for a pub where the locals gather.'

'I'll guide you.'

She would like to have asked what Beaurain had in mind but she desisted from speaking. He always seemed to know what he was doing.

Marler, the businessman, was still following Hogarth. Earlier his quarry had gone into a pub for a drink. Marler had slipped into the pub's cloakroom, locking himself in a cubicle. Opening the briefcase, he had taken out the crease-free black suit. Marler could change in less than a minute. Stuffing the clothes he'd been wearing into the briefcase, he walked back into the crowded pub, ordered a beer. Hogarth was still drinking further down the bar. When Hogarth left, heading for the embankment, Marler, the businessman, walking in a different way from his usual stride, took up a position twenty yards behind him, his eyes everywhere.

Halfway along the embankment Hogarth crossed the road when the lights were in his favour. On the far side he plunged uphill into a maze of quiet streets. Marler crossed before the green light changed at the pedestrian crossing.

After the muted roar of the traffic it was very silent and dark. Very few street lights, and those there were at long intervals. A walk in the shadows up the narrow climbing street. Heading for the Strand, Marler decided. He transferred his briefcase to his left hand. Something about this area away from the world he didn't like. He walked faster, his rubber-soled shoes making no sound as he got closer to Hogarth.

His quarry turned another corner, slowing down as he went on up the steep hill. Marler heard a vehicle crawling up the street behind him. He dodged up some steps into an entrance alcove. He waited.

A cab crept round the corner. No light up, showing he could not take a fare. No passenger in the back. The window on the far side from the driver open. Marler couldn't see the number-plate but felt sure it was the same cab he'd passed earlier, parked just beyond the end of Park Crescent.

The driver had his cabbie's cap pulled well down, increased speed a little. Marler ran after it. Round the corner Hogarth was still plodding uphill. Marler arrived as the cab stopped alongside Hogarth. Hogarth had paused, tired by his exertions.

Marler raised the Walther he held in his right hand. The cab driver was aiming a gun point-blank at Hogarth. Marler fired one shot. The driver sagged, his hand losing his grip on his gun. Hogarth, who had looked at the driver when he stopped, was terrified.

'You!' he said, recognizing Marler.

'Keep quiet. Sit on those steps.'

'He was going to…'

'Shut up, for God's sake. Sit!'

Marler slipped gloves on to his hands after sliding the Walther back inside his hip holster. While Hogarth sank on the steps, Marler opened the cab's front door. His single bullet had struck the hitman in the chest and blood covered his jacket.

Avoiding any contact with the blood of the dead man, Marler searched his pockets. Nothing to identify him. Figured – with a professional. He left the killer's automatic on the floor, used a folded coat by the side of the seat to cover the blood-soaked corpse's front, climbed out, shut the door. Then he grabbed Martin by the arm.

'Now we're walking back down the way you came. We get out of here fast. On your feet!'

He hustled Martin back towards the Embankment. With his hand gripping Hogarth's arm, he was half-carrying him. As they walked he gave his captive instructions.

'Did you drive in from Carpford? You did. So where is your car parked?'

'In a multi-storey near Baker Street…'

'I'm taking you there. You will then drive straight back to Carpford and sit tight inside your bungalow. Have you any weapons in the place?'

'A shotgun. Use it to shoot rabbits…'

'Keep it by your bed when you go to sleep. Make sure everything is locked up. If there's an alarm, call Tweed at the number for General amp; Cumbria Assurance. Do not return to London.'

'Where is Billy?'

'In a safe place, I have been told. Two hitmen attempted to kill him but they were thwarted. Billy is all right…'

They had reached the Embankment. Marler flagged down a cab. As they climbed inside he whispered his last instruction.

'Give the cabbie the address of that multi-storey car park.'

At Park Crescent Tweed was making notes, writing down a list of suspects. He was trying to link them up. Newman looked up from reading the Daily Nation.

'This is the weirdest obituary I've ever read. A Captain Charles Hobart. The weird thing is he died – was killed -almost two years ago. The MoD must have put a D notice on it. First time in history.'

He handed the paper to Tweed. Sighing, Tweed pushed his note book aside, spread the page out, read it carefully.

Captain Charles Hobart served with a well-known regiment. He soon developed the reputation of being a maverick, a quality overlooked by his superiors since he always proved to be right in his unorthodox views and behaviour. It is rumoured he worked closely with an Intelligence officer. Popular with his men – unusual for a maverick – he trapped large numbers of enemy troops. Serving in Yemen, nearly two years ago, he left his headquarters to locate another body of the enemy. He walked into an ambush and was killed instantly. There were rumours that he had been betrayed – vehemently denied by the MoD. There are still soldiers who insist he must have been betrayed by someone holding authority.

Tweed studied the photograph of Hobart in uniform, A handsome-looking man with shrewd eyes, he wore an Arab head-dress.