Colin Forbes - Cell

Mrs Wharton carried over another chair to sit alongside her guest. Paula produced from her satchel a fold-up ruler which she unfolded. Intuitively she had guessed what Jules was after. He smiled wrily at her.

'Reading my mind? As I suspect you do with Tweed.'

'Sometimes.'

'Measurements are important,' Beaurain explained, turning his attention back to Mrs Wharton.

'I'm not much good at them, I'm afraid.'

'I think we'll get there,' he assured her. 'It took six men to carry this machine. How wide would you say the support base was – the base the machine was perched on?'

'Show me by stretching your hands apart,' Paula suggested.

'Yes. I think I could do that.'

She stretched her hands wide apart. Paula leant forward, used the ruler to measure the distance. She whistled. 'At least two feet wide.' Beaurain began drawing, starting with the base support.

'Now,' Beaurain continued, 'how tall would you say the machine was – from the base to the tip of the shell or vertical torpedo, as you described it, that it was supporting?' Mrs Wharton held one hand close to the floor, stretched the other hand as high as she could into the air. Again Paula measured. 'About two and a half feet at least.' Beaurain drew the outline of a monster shell, tapering to detonation tip, writing in the measurement once more. He showed her his drawing. 'Anything like that?'

'The body of the shell was fatter. 5 She held out her hands apart. 'About so much.'

Paula measured the distance. 'Lordy, the main diameter of the shell was over a foot wide.'

Beaurain re-drew the main body of the shell, increasing its size, then showed it to their hostess. She stared for a short time.

'You know,' she said, 'I think you've got it perfectly. Evil-looking thing.'

'We are dealing with evil men,' Beaurain told her as he wrote in the measurement in his neat hand. He then swivelled the sketchpad so she could see it clearly.

'Yes, that's the thing,' she said with a hint of vehemence.

'Mrs Wharton,' Paula said, 'we can't thank you enough for all the help you've given us. This is top classified data…'

'Don't worry.' Mrs Wharton smiled, 'I can keep my mouth shut. And I will. I do think you've got what you need. I do have a good visual memory. Won't you stay for tea?'

'Love to,' said Beaurain, standing up with Paula. 'But we have to get back quickly. Thank you again.'

As she led them back to the door Beaurain remembered to bend down and stroke Pooh, trotting happily along beside him. As she opened the door grey mist seeped in. It was going to be a foggy night.

'What do you think?' Paula asked, as Beaurain three-point turned their car ready to drive out of the cul-de-sac.

'I don't like it, don't like it at all. I just wonder how many of those things, as Mrs Wharton called them, al-Qa'eda have.'

Inside the power station Ali stood close to Proctor, the guard. He held an automatic close to his forehead, touched him with the tip of the weapon.

'You told me your chief, Mr Dixon, calls you once in the evening to make sure everything is all right here. Now when he does call I want you to remember your wife. Her life is in your hands. If you sound nervous, or in any way make Dixon suspicious, you'll only see your wife when they ask you to go to the morgue to identify her.'

'I can do it,' Proctor said hoarsely. 'But not if you're holding that bloody gun at my forehead.'

'That was not quite your natural voice, Mr Proctor. Try again,' he ordered, holding the gun behind his back.

'I can do it.' The hoarseness was now absent.

'Much better. Imagine you are talking to your wife when the time comes.'

Within minutes the phone rang. Proctor didn't move. Angrily Ali gestured for him to pick it up. Proctor shook his head, stared at Ali.

'He wouldn't expect me to be sitting next to the phone. Why don't you shut your filthy mouth and let me handle this?'

After a minute had passed, during which Ali had trouble not waving the gun at-him, Proctor picked up the phone.

'Mr Dixon?'

'Yes, it's me, Vince. Is everything all right down there?'

Ali was leaning close to Proctor, so he could monitor what was said.

'Everything is tickety-boo, sir. The three engineers are down with the plant, just keeping an eye on things, although it is automatic.'

'Good. Get plenty of sleep when you come off duty tomorrow. Good night.'

'Good night, sir…'

'What was that friggin' business about the engineers?' Ali demanded in a fury. 'A secret warning?'

'Don't be stupid!' Proctor shouted. 'I always mention them. They're just a stand-by. Not really needed since the system is automatic. But I always mention them. He'd have thought it odd if I hadn't friggin' mentioned them. Satisfied?'

'Don't yell at me. Your meal is being prepared by Mehmet so you can eat soon.' Ali smiled. 'You're being fed in case Dixon makes an unprecedented extra call later.'

Ali didn't feel it necessary to inform Proctor the three engineers had earlier had their throats cut, the bodies then weighted with chains and thrown into the river.

At Park Crescent Tweed had drawn up a list of suspects living in Carpford. He read out the list to Newman.

'Victor Warner

Drew Franklin

Peregrine Palfry

Billy Hogarth

Martin Hogarth.'

'You've left out Margesson,' Newman commented.

'If you say so.' He added Margesson's name.

'And Eva Brand,' Newman told him.

'She doesn't live up at Carpford,' Tweed objected.

'No, but I'll bet she visits Warner at his house up there with work.'

'All right, if you insist.'

He then called Jim Corcoran, Chief Security Officer at Heathrow. While he was doing so Buchanan was calling someone on his mobile, seated at Paula's desk.

'Jim? Good. Tweed here. I've got a tricky one for you. I'm not going to be your pin-up of the month. In fact, I'm not sure you can do this…'

'Do get to it, Tweed.'

'I have a list of people here and it's important for me to know if they've flown to the States during the past five months.' He read out his list, spelling some names. 'If I had dates that would be helpful. Shall I call you back?'

'No. Hold on. For security reasons, after September 11, and even before then, we have all the passenger manifests on the computer.. .'

He came back quicker than Tweed had expected. He chuckled.

'Bet you thought I couldn't do it. Sharpen your pencil. Here we go. Warner – flew to New York August 20, then back to New York October 12, back to NY November 16. On that trip he flew back from Boston. Palfry – flew to NY September 3 and September 9. Drew Franklin – to NY September 8, back to NY September 18. Nothing on Billy or Martin Hogarth. Nothing on Margesson. Eva Brand -to NY September 9, back to NY January 24, 2002. All the previous ones were 2001. OK?'

'A miracle. Now could you carry out the same exercise for the same names flying to the Middle East up to now?'

'Hang on…'

Again he was back more swiftly than Tweed could ever have expected.

'Computer was warmed up, which helps. These people do travel. Victor Warner – flew to Cairo January 4, 2002. All these flights are 2002. Warner flew again to Cairo January 29. Palfry, oddly enough, flew to Cairo each day after Warner had done. Drew Franklin made one flight – they're all to Cairo – on January 30, then on to Tel Aviv, back to Cairo, returned here February 2. Again, oddly enough, Eva Brand flew to both the cities on the same dates. That locks it up. I'll send you my fee. Better still, give me dinner at the Ritz.'

'Will do. You really are a miracle man…'

'The computer is. Got to go…'

Tweed handed the careful notes he'd made to Newman. Looking up, Newman pulled a face.

'This is going to take some sorting out.'