Colin Forbes - Cell

Newman jumped inside, closed the door behind him, bent down, checked the carotid artery. Nothing. Blood was welling out down the windcheater. Newman chopped his left hand down, indicating to his back-up that the al-Qa'eda thug was dead.

Nield ran into the living-room. Mrs Proctor was tied to a chair, scared witless. Nield smiled as he asked the question quickly.

'Was he the only one?'

She nodded, unable to speak. Nield smiled again. 'We were sent to rescue you. I'm going to cut the ropes round you with a knife. Just sit tight. Can't do much else, can you?'

They left when they were sure she had recovered quickly. No, she didn't want a neighbour to keep her company. Mrs Worthington would never stop talking all night long. Should she phone Vince, her husband? They persuaded her that wasn't necessary, would only worry him, so she agreed. They told her the intruder was a drug dealer they'd been after for months. They'd take him away.

'All I want,' Mrs Proctor said, 'is a cuppa tea, maybe two, then I'm off to bed. Probably sleep in, take a couple of pills. They'll knock me out. Would you like tea?'

'Thank you,' Nield said, 'but we're short of time.'

'Excuse me, must dash to the toilet…'

Newman had asked Nield to take over the wheel. There was something he had to do. Between them, after Newman had driven his car up to the house, they had carried the great weight of the dead Saudi – at least Newman thought he was – and arranged it in the boot.

They were approaching Albert Bridge when Newman told Nield to, turn left. He did so, raising his eyebrows.

Above the name of the road they had turned down was another sign. St Jude's Hospital. Nield said nothing until Newman took a medicine pack from the car pocket, removed his jacket, started wrapping a bandage round his forearm.

'You wouldn't like to tell me what this is in aid of?' he suggested.

'I'm walking wounded when I go into the hospital.'

'Tweed will skin you alive. We're supposed to keep well clear of that place.'

'You wait outside for me.'

Newman took a small non-flash camera from his pocket, an advanced version invented by the boffins in the basement at Park Crescent. Took very detailed pictures and no flash to give the photographer away. His mouth tight with foreboding, Nield parked near the hospital, which was a blaze of lights.

'See you soon,' Newman said, leaving the car.

Approaching the entrance, he had his jacket folded over one arm, the other exposing a lot of bandage. An ambulance had just pulled up and the rear doors were being opened. A lot of nursing staff, two men holding a stretcher waited, so no one was bothered when Newman walked into the entrance.

White-coated doctors hurrying, stethoscopes dangling from their necks. Newman moved to the right, the side nearest the power station. He walked down a long corridor, turned left when he realized he'd reached the end of the hospital building. He was now walking down a very long corridor with few lights and no one about except a grim-looking nurse coming towards him. She stopped as he reached her.

'Can I help you?'

'Not really, thank you. Just seen the doctor who fixed me up. Told me to take a good walk inside, then come back to him so he could make sure I was OK. He wasn't worried.'

He resumed his walk and she went her way. Near the end of the corridor he could see the power station and its wharf through large windows. He looked up and down the corridor. No one about except himself. He gazed down on the wharf. A huge canvas screen had been erected. As he watched, the screen was moved. A thin man in camouflage clothes stood on top of the roll-over cover drawn over the interior of a barge. He stood near a very large open hatch in the middle of the barge. The tide was still coming in, shifting the barge towards the hospital. Newman took seven quick shots. As he was doing so three more men in camouflage kit appeared after climbing up a ladder from inside the barge. Slipping the camera back inside his jacket pocket, he walked rapidly back the way he had come. The dragon of a nurse with the superior attitude appeared, asked him the name of the doctor attending him. He ignored her, walked out to where Nield had the car parked, the engine running.

'Drive like hell,' he said. 'Get us out of here.'

'What!' Tweed demanded fiercely. 'You disobeyed my order not to go near that hospital, St Jude's? What madness got into you? The key to the success of our operation was not to risk letting al-Qa'eda know we knew their location. You've taken leave of your…'

Newman, jaw jutting, eyes blazing, stood up from the chair he'd been sitting in. He had just started explaining what Nield and he had accomplished. He was furious. He leaned forward, put both hands on Tweed's desk.

'So tell me how you knew, really knew that al-Qa'eda were, at Dick's wharf? Positively and without doubt. You assumed they were there. You made a really dangerous assumption…'

'The white vans dumped in the river,' Tweed retorted.

'Those vans could have been dumped in the place least likely to be found. But al-Qa'eda could have been based miles away. The damned vans proved nothing…'

'You're forgetting,' Tweed fumed, 'Mrs Wharton saw them transferring a device on to their motorized trolley…'

'And what the hell did that prove?' Newman roared. 'Simply the movement of the device towards the river. There's a ramp at the end of that track. They could just as easily have been putting it aboard a vessel to transport it either further upriver – or downriver. Up to this moment there has been no absolute proof that al-Qa'eda was based on Dick's wharf. So every detail of your counter-operation was based on an unproven assumption. Right?'

Paula, seated behind her desk, was fascinated by the explosive confrontation between the two men. She had only once in the past seen Tweed and Newman at each other's throats. And what an audience they had. Buchanan had returned, was seated in front of her. Beaurain, perched calmly on a hard chair, was watching the two men with keen eyes. Nield, keeping quiet, was seated on a hard chair near Monica's desk. And at that moment Marler walked in. Sensing the atmosphere, he strolled over to lean against a wall. Now only Harry Butler was absent.

Newman was leaning forward over Tweed's desk, almost over his chief. Tweed, gazing up at Newman, sat back in his chair. He folded his arms. When he spoke his voice was normal, almost quiet.

'Based on an unproven assumption, you said. Actually, you could be right. I can see that now. Maybe you'd like to sit down and tell me what happened from the moment you left here with Pete Nield. I'll just listen.'

Newman sat down. He drank the glass of water Monica brought him, thanked her. In a controlled voice he explained where he had been with Nield, this time starting in the right sequence with their confrontation with Mrs Proctor's captor in Balham.

Tersely, he painted a vivid picture of their encounter with the al-Qa'eda killer. The aftermath when they had left Mrs Proctor calmed down. The body still in the boot of the car.

'It's downstairs,' he explained. 'Maybe Superintendent Buchanan should send an ambulance to collect it. Take it to the best pathologist, Professor Saafeld, if I may suggest that.'

'Saafeld is a good idea,' agreed Buchanan. 'I'm using my mobile to call Warden to deal with it at once…'

Newman then explained their trip to St Jude's Hospital, his idea. His venturing inside the hospital, the taking of the photographs when the screen aboard the barge was moved. He took out of his pocket the self-developed prints, laid them out on Tweed's desk.

Everyone got up to gather round and study them. Tweed picked up one, the picture taken when the barge heeled over and gave a view down the main hatch. Taking out a magnifying glass, he studied it for several minutes. He then handed it to Buchanan and Beaurain with the glass.