Colin Forbes - Cell

'Hardly close enough.'

'It would have bored you.' She picked up his hat, put it on his head back to front, giggled. 'You do look funny. Take care.' She bent down, kissed him on the cheek and was gone.

Marler didn't think it had been the moment to ask her out to dinner. In any case, he wanted to get back to report their conversation to Tweed.

At Park Crescent Tweed had decided to call Dixon, the millionaire owner of the power station. He had spoken to him earlier.

'I've just spoken to Harry,' Nield spoke up. 'He's happy to keep on guarding Billy Hogarth but maybe I ought to relieve him.'

'Stay here while I make this call… Mr Dixon, this is Tweed again. The drug dealers we thought might be near your power station are elsewhere. Everything all right at the wharf?'

'Proctor, the guard I mentioned to you, told me over the phone everything is normal. So nothing to worry about. After all-night duty he'll be glad to get back to his wife in Balham.'

'His wife lives in Balham? Give me a moment…'

Tweed sat thinking. He doodled on his pad, decided, picked up the phone again.

'Mr Dixon. This is highly confidential. The big operation to trap key drug dealers is taking place in Balham. Our men are armed. I don't want to risk upsetting Mrs Proctor. Would you mind giving me her address? Then we won't call at her house.'

'Very considerate. I will, of course, keep this under my hat, the one I never wear. I won't contact her but here is where she lives.. .'

'Thank you,' said Tweed, after writing down the address. 'I won't bother you again…'

He looked at Newman and Nield after showing them the address.

'I have spent a lot of time visualizing how I would conduct this spectacular operation, imagining I was the mastermind behind the planning. As regards Dick's wharf, they will have intimidated the guard, Proctor, so he said the right thing to the owner when he phoned Proctor this evening. These are the most ruthless and merciless enemies we have ever faced. I have little doubt they now hold Proctor's wife as hostage in his house. What will they do just before the operation is launched? Kill Proctor. They will also kill his wife. You know the area now you have the address?'

'I do,' Nield replied who had been studying a map of Balham. It's a side street, probably terraced houses.'

'We must try to save Mrs Proctor. I don't expect a hitman is holding her at this stage. It will be some al-Qa'eda terrorist. It will be tricky.'

'Even dangerous,' Newman said doubtfully. 'Supposing the man holding her has time to phone the leader at the wharf?'

'Go with Nield. Your job is to see he doesn't get the time to do that. Kill him…'

Newman drove across Albert Bridge with Nield, navigating, by his side. There was heavy mist and still a lot of traffic. Prior to leaving Park Crescent Nield had collected certain tools, had wrapped them in a leather sheet, now rolled up and in his lap.

'Going to take us all night to get there,' Newman grumbled.

'No, it won't,' Nield said cheerfully. 'You concentrate on driving while I deal with navigating. After my original training session down at the Surrey mansion when they half-murdered me they brought me up here to Balham. Learning to track a suspect, watch a house opposite for two days without falling asleep. All that stuff.'

'Understood, Pete,' agreed Newman.

They had left the bridge behind and the traffic began to thin out. Nield spoke suddenly.

'Slow down, turn right down the next side street. We can get there quicker…'

Nield directed him through a maze of turns past old terraced houses with dim street lighting outside. Without consulting the map, he guided Newman, ordered him" once again to turn right.

'Crawl,' he ordered after the turn. 'This is the street. So where is No. 12? There it is. Park further along and we'll walk back and do a recce.'

When they walked back in their rubber-soled shoes they found No. 12 was at the end of the terrace. A narrow alley led down its windowless end, since it was the last in this block. No mist here. Just a deadly silence.

Steps led up to the front door direct from the street, and the old front door had stained glass in its upper half. There were lights behind the front bay window, which had curtains drawn closed across it. The frontage was only one window wide and they could hear nothing inside. No lights in the upper window.

'I want to call at another house like this one,' Nield said.

'What on earth for?' whispered Newman.

'To get an idea of the interior plan. They'll all be alike. You keep out of sight. And tuck this tool-kit under your arm…'

He walked up the block five houses, paused while Newman took up a position across the road in the shadows. No street light for a distance. Nield pressed the bell hard. Nothing, until he saw through the stained-glass window a large figure approaching. The Yale lock was turned, the door opened. A man in his shirt sleeves with his collar open at the neck glared.

'If you're selling something you can shove off. I'm watching football on TV.'

'Sorry to bother you, sir,' Nield began with his engaging smile. 'I'm lost. Car parked down the road. Trying to find Albert Bridge.'

'You are bloody lost..,'The man gave swift instructions to reach Albert Bridge, then slammed the door shut.

While the door was open Nield had seen a lot. A narrow hall with a kitchen beyond an open door at the other end. A back door leading into the kitchen. A partial view into a living-room at the front.

He walked back and Newman joined him. Nield explained what he had grasped of the general layout. Under a street lamp he paused, took back the rolled-up leather case, spread it out on the bonnet of their parked car. He extracted pick-lock instruments, a small can of oil, handed them to Newman.

'You'll check, of course, but I think the front door has a Yale lock like the house I visited.'

'Of course,' Newman said sarcastically.

'First, let me dive down that alley and look at the back door. When I get to the other end I'll do a rehearsal – flash my torch twice quickly. That tells you I've checked the back door. Next time I flash the torch twice I'm ready to go in through the back door. Your cue to ring the bell. When Chummy opens it I'll be inside at the back. We'll get him in a crossfire. But if I've shot first you hold your fire. I don't want your bullet passing through him to hit me. Would spoil my breakfast…'

While Nield made his way down the alley, Newman went to the front door, used his small torch to check the lock. A Yale. His pick-lock could open that in no time. If there was also a chain he'd use his weight to smash the door down.

As on earlier expeditions with Nield, he was impressed with how cool Pete was. As though he was on a training exercise. He darted back to the end of the alley. At the far end a torch flashed twice. He waited there. Less than half a minute later the torch-flash signals were repeated. Newman rushed to the front door, pressed his thumb against the bell, held it there. He'd decided on a better strategy.

A very large man appeared behind the stained glass, jerked the door open swiftly. Over six feet tall, wide-shouldered, his face was brown-skinned, his hair trimmed short. He was wearing a windcheater and corduroy slacks. His eyes were dead as he stared at the visitor.

'Been… drinkin'… I'm lost… wanna get to…'

The giant had his right hand behind his back. His expression became a sneer. A drunk. He sensed something happening in the kitchen, swung round, his right hand holding a Mauser with a long barrel. He aimed it at Nield. Newman's hand had appeared from behind his back. He fired his Smith amp; Wesson three times. The brute tried to turn round, the three bullets embedded in his body. Newman pulled the trigger twice more. The brute fell face down along the hall.