Colin Forbes - Cell

Gazing through the viewfinder of her camera, Paula saw a huge object hurtling upwards. A brief vision. Then the world exploded. Deafening thunder rolled down the river. A swift blinding flash.

The entire centre of the bridge shattered, great sections of it hurtling into the sky, taking for ever to descend and disappear under the water. Waves rolled towards both shores. Fragments of white-painted railing hurtled up even higher to greater altitudes. Chunks of masonry the size of huge boulders flew across the Embankment, crashed into the houses in the Cheyne Walk area. The initial ear-splitting crash when the bomb hit had died down. Now they could hear the masonry fragments hitting buildings like a bombardment. On both sides of the river. A lot of black smoke obscured the wreckage which had once been a bridge. The breeze blowing downriver cleared the smoke, revealing the ghastly spectacle of the remnants of the bridge which had spanned the Thames for so many years.

Paula could take no more photos. She stood staring, camera held in hand by her side. The barge had gone as if it had never existed. Confined under the bridge, it had taken the full force of the devastating explosion. Later its entire savaged hull was found on the river bed.

Only one section of the bridge still seemed intact. On the left bank side a third of the span perched over nothing. Tweed pressed his binoculars to his eyes. Just in time to see the span wobble, give way, plunge down into the river. Albert Bridge was no more than a memory.

'Well,' Newman said, 'now we can see what we saved the other major five bridges. London would have been bisected for years.'

Paula turned away. She no longer wished to look. As she did so she heard on her headset Buchanan's firm voice.

'I think everyone might like to know Proctor, the hostage guard at Dick's wharf, was rescued. Alive and well, he's on his way home to meet his wife.' 'Thank God,' Paula whispered.

During the long, slow, circuitous drive back to Park Crescent Newman sat next to Harry, behind Paula. He explained he'd handed over the wheel of his jeep to Beaurain. After this remark no one spoke for a long time. Tweed broke the silence when they were close to Park Crescent.

'Tomorrow we all have to keep our appointment with Warner at Carpford. It is only polite to do so.'

'So we can all come with you?' checked Paula.

'Yes, everyone. I don't think he's expecting anyone except me, but he'll have to put up with that. We were all part of what happened.'

'Forecast is for a clear sunny day tomorrow,' Newman said cheerfully, then shut up.

He didn't think Paula would appreciate the remark. From the way she was sitting, motionless, he guessed her mind was on what they had seen during the last moments of Albert Bridge. He thought of something else.

'Interesting that this time no dinghies were lowered. None of al-Qa'eda survived.'

'No they didn't.' Paula's tone of voice was a mix of cynicism and contempt. 'They thought they were on their way to heaven – where seventy-two beautiful young girls would be waiting, available. They've got a hope.'

'Just before everything blew up,' Newman began, 'through my binoculars I saw a slim, intelligent-looking man run from the deckhouse to the main hatch. Struck me he could well have been the mastermind behind the whole operation.'

'Maybe,' said Tweed. 'While I remember, travelling with us to Warner's meeting tomorrow we shall be taking Billy Hogarth and Margesson with us. So you know, Bob, how many four-wheel-drives we'll need.'

'Billy Hogarth and Margesson?' queried Paula. 'Why?'

'Because they live in Carpford.'

'Oh, I see,' she said. But in fact she didn't.

'Well, at least,' Newman said, 'there won't be any more of those disappearances. I wonder what did happen to those people. Such a strange mixture.'

'One other thing,' Tweed said as they reached Baker Street, a stone's throw from Park Crescent. 'I've invited Buchanan to join our party tomorrow. He played a great part in what was achieved. So add him to your list, Bob.'

'Quite a party then.'

Approaching Park Crescent, Tweed eased the jeep on to the pavement. It was the only way to get there. The road was solid with traffic bumper to bumper, and nothing moving. A uniformed policeman rushed up to him, furiously indignant.

'You can't do that. The pavement is for pedestrians. I'm going to have to…'

He stopped in mid-sentence. He had just noticed the yellow flag waving on Tweed's bonnet. He swallowed, saluted.

'Sorry, sir. We've been told to watch out for you. Hold on just a tick…'

He turned round, began ushering pedestrians to move back. He was not popular but he was firm. He gradually cleared the pavement back to the entrance to the Crescent. Tweed thanked him. The policeman saluted again.

'Who's that?' a cockney voice called out. 'I don't think…'.

'He's probably the most important man in Great Britain at the moment,' the policeman shouted.

'Come through on the grapevine,' Newman suggested.

'From Buchanan,' Tweed corrected.

'Anyone else except Warner expected to be at Carpford?' Paula enquired.

'Yes,' he told her. 'The apparently clownish Palfry. Also Eva Brand.'

'I predict I'm going to be bored stiff,' she replied.

'Odd you should say that. Your predictions are normally so accurate.'

It was a brilliantly sunny morning when they reached Carpford. An icy nip in the air. No fog. Not a trace of mist. Carp Lake was a blue still sheet, like glass. Paula sat beside Tweed, driving the four-wheel-drive. In the back Newman sat beside Billy Hogarth, as though guarding him.

In the vehicle close behind them Nield was driving with Harry next to him. In the back sat Buchanan with Margesson next to him. Again like a guard.

The rear vehicle was driven by Marler. Travelling alone. A characteristic arrangement. Paula experienced a pang as Tweed drove round the curve with a rock outcrop. This was where Linda Warner had mysteriously disappeared, never to be seen again.

Tweed alighted as they reached Garda. He walked up to the heavy studded door, was about to press the bell when the door was opened. Eva Brand, clad in black trousers and a long loose black jacket, smiled, gave a small bow.

'Please come in. He is waiting for you. I see you have company. Maybe everyone would like to join you. Hello, Paula. You are looking very serious.'

'I suppose it's after what happened yesterday.'

'Yesterday. Of course…'

She waited by the door as everyone followed Tweed and Paula, like a crocodile. She smiled at Beaurain, closed the door when they were all inside. Paula was struck by the luxury of the interior – the furnishing, the gilt-framed portraits on the wall. She recognized Wellington.

Arriving at the door to Warner's spacious study, Eva gave him a warning. 'Your guests have arrived.'

'Guests?'

The Minister was seated behind a large Georgian desk in an imposing throne-like chair covered with tapestry. He sat close to the panelled wall behind him. Clad in a formal dark business suit, he stared as everyone entered. Peering over his pince-nez, he gazed at two of his visitors.

'I fail to see why Mr Hogarth and Mr Margesson have come with you.'

'They are your neighbours,' Tweed said easily. 'I have brought them back from London.' He looked across at Palfry, standing a distance away from the desk, also formally clad. 'You did not tell me your assistant would be here. So we have both taken liberties. Can we proceed with the – was it inquest you called this?'

'It was.'

Buchanan had taken up a position, standing, near the leaded light windows. From here he could see everyone. Beaurain stood alongside him. Eva had positioned herself in a far corner, hands in the pockets of her jacket. She had guided Hogarth and Margesson close to her. Everyone was standing. They had not been asked to sit down. Paula was perched against the back of a couch which faced the windows, so she also could see most of the occupants.