Colin Forbes - Cell

'Excuse me,' Paula said, leaning forward, her eyes fixed on Margesson's, 'but I have the strongest feeling that you are repeating, by rote so to speak, what someone else has preached to you. Rather like listening to a record, if I may say so.'

Margesson blinked. He was confused again. He stared round the room as though seeking help. So far he'd made no effort to deny what Paula had suggested. He gazed down at both of them as though not seeing them. As though drugged.

'So,' Paula continued in the same quiet voice, 'who is it that comes to see you? The person who propagates these ideas to you so forcefully you are convinced this is the real truth. One of your neighbours, perhaps?'

'I think I have to ask you both to leave now,' he mumbled. He looked at Paula. 'Who are you?' Then he lifted a large hand. 'No, please do not tell me. I do not wish to know.'

'We do have to leave,' Marler said, standing up. 'Thank you for allowing us in to your holy house.'

Margesson rose slowly, as though really he was reluctant to see them go. As he unlocked and opened the door, Marler asked his question suddenly.

'You see much of Palfry?'

'Palfry?'

'Your neighbour living in the round house.'

'He comes occasionally.' His reply came after a long pause. 'My blessings…'

The cold hit them like a hammer. Marler looked thoughtful as they made their way to the tub-house. As they got closer it looked enormous in the fog.

'That was very clever of you,' Marler remarked. 'He has been brainwashed by some unknown person. Maybe Palfry – you noticed how long it took him to answer my last question.'

'Or the unknown woman, the only one permitted to enter his house.'

No lights in Palfry's home. They walked all round it before approaching the front door. Paula was surprised by the dimension of its circumference. It was a very large place. Marler decided there was no one inside. Using his tool-kit, he dealt with the lock, opened the heavy door, stepped inside, felt round, found the switches, turned them all on. Paula gazed at the interior, taken aback by what she saw.

One vast room with circular walls. A kitchen area over to her right. Curved counters, curved cupboards against the wall, an immense American-style refrigerator, a stove, cooking utensils hanging from the wall behind the huge counter. No antiques, but plenty of tasteful chairs and sofas scattered around. On the far wall a curving staircase led up to a gallery.

I'd soon get dizzy living here, she thought. Marler had a nerve, breaking into the place. Supposing Palfry was sleeping upstairs, appeared with a shotgun. Then she noticed Marler had his Walther in his hand.

It was very warm and so silent. The only sound the faint gurgle from the curved radiators spanning the walls. She wended her way between the furniture, ran quietly up the carpeted curving staircase to the gallery. One heavy door with another lock. Carefully she turned the handle. Locked. She hissed down to Marler, beckoned.

It took him less than two minutes to deal with the lock. He turned the handle slowly, pushed the door open. Paula crept after him. This was the dangerous moment. Again Marler found the switch panel, turned everything on. A corridor curved off in both directions, a corridor with closed doors at regular intervals.

'You go that way, I'll go this way and we'll eventually meet. Check every room…'

None of the doors were locked. She had her Browning ready as she opened doors. Each room had a bed made up and in a corner a shower room. The beds were made up neatly. She felt the sheets but they were cold. She made her discovery in the last room. Neatly piled up in several stacks were piles of sleeping-bags. She counted. Twenty of them.

Emerging from the room, she met Marler coming from the other direction. He took her by the arm.

'Time we got out of this Ideal Home place.'

'I don't think they'd allow it to be shown at the exhibition,' she whispered back.

She even welcomed the cold when they were outside. Marler used his pick to relock the door, turned to her.

'What do you think?'

'I could never live in a place like that. I'd go mad.'

'Find anything?'

'Only in one bedroom. All the others had the beds made up with new sheets. In this particular bedroom stacks of sleeping-bags. Twenty of them.'

'Twenty sleeping-bags. Twenty members of al-Qa'eda en route. So where to next?'

Paula insisted on checking Mrs Gobble's cottage. It had the feel of any empty house. She even peered behind the folding screen. No telescope. She found it strange that the front door had been closed but not locked. She felt a sadness for Mrs Gobble. Was she gone for ever? Buchanan thought so.

'Now for Drew Franklin,' she said to Marler after closing the door on the cottage. 'Brace yourself…'

They kept close together because, if possible, the fog was now denser. It even muffled the sound of their footsteps on the road. Paula felt they were ghosts in a dream.

'Lights on Drew's first-floor window in that cube,' Marler said. 'Think this time I'd better ring the bell.'

'If you can find it.'

After trying several paved pathways they found the entrance. Marler pressed the bell, folded his arms. Very quickly the door was thrown open. Drew stood framed by the hall light behind him, fully dressed in a business suit. He glared.

'Yes?'

'We'd like a word with you…' Marler began.

'Then make an appointment to see me at my office in town,' he rasped at them.

The door was slammed shut in their faces. Marler shrugged.

There were no lights in the palatial Garda, home of Victor Warner. Marler shrugged again, said they'd better not push it this time. They were walking back to where he had parked the car when a figure loomed up in the fog. Marler had his Walther in his hand instantly. A familiar voice called out. Buchanan's.

'Don't shoot the postman, he's doing his best.'

'You've found Martin Hogarth's corpse?' Paula asked him.

'No. That first bungalow you come to is – was – his? Right?'

'Yes.'

'No body inside that place. No sign there ever was one. We've checked the next bungalow – Billy Hogarth's, isn't it? Nothing in there. Somebody, an amateur, had forced open the front door of Billy's place. Nothing. No body.'

'That's Number Five,' Paula said slowly. 'Disappeared up here. Or am I losing count?'

The battle meeting, as Tweed called it, began at Park Crescent at 6 a.m., from the original timing of 3 a.m. This was to give time for Paula and Newman to return from the journey to Carpford.

They had arrived earlier and Tweed had met them in the visitors' room. He listened in silence while they described what had happened, what certain people they'd encountered had said to them. He showed no reaction as Marler described the suicide of Martin Hogarth, the subsequent disappearance of his corpse. When Marler concluded his story Tweed merely nodded as he stood up. He said only one thing.

'It all fits with the suspicions I sensed a long time ago. You did say there was no sign of Palfry?'

'I did,' Marler confirmed.

'Then it is time now for us to attend the meeting. They are all waiting in my office. Everyone who will play a key part in the plan to destroy al-Qa'eda…'

Entering his office, Paula was surprised to find the furniture had been changed and a number of people present. Rows of chairs faced Tweed's desk, which he went to sit at. With Newman she had a seat in a fold-up chair in front of his desk.

Next to Newman sat Buchanan. On her left side sat Jules Beaurain, very upright. He smiled, squeezed her hand. On the seat beyond the Belgian Howard sat back with folded arms. In rows behind them she saw Marler, Harry Butler, Pete Nield and Monica. Tweed stood up. He spoke in a quiet voice, his eyes constantly switching from one member of his audience to another.