Colin Forbes - This United state

Opening the door, he strode out. Reaching the drive he marched down it as though leading a division into battle. His rifle was elevated, aimed at the flat top of the mansion opposite beyond the rim of his wall. He stopped a few yards down the drive, called to her over his shoulder.

'Make a dive for your car. But first press the red button on the left-hand side of the door. Drive out fast. There's never any traffic in the square. Sorry about this. Keep moving…'

She obeyed him, pressing the button on the automatic security device. Throwing open the car door, she jumped inside, slammed the door shut. The gates were opening after she had pressed the red button. Strangeways moved on to the verge, his rifle still elevated as he continued to scan the rooftops. Gravel spurted up as she pressed her foot down. Then she was in the first deserted square, driving on into the second empty, larger square.

She slowed a lot to navigate her way through the village. As soon as she left it behind she rammed her foot down again. She was miles away when she reduced speed, continuing to check her rear-view mirror. No sign of any other vehicle. But she had been followed from London.

The heavy overcast dropped lower as she drove beyond Ashford and along a wide A-road. The massed black clouds made it almost as dark as night and she had her lights on. She was still on the almost deserted road when she first heard the distant sound of a helicopter approaching.

It was half a mile away when she glanced to the west and frowned. A Sikorsky. She couldn't see any identification signs on its fuselage. It was heading straight for her. She began to worry. If she continued straight ahead she would soon lead the machine to the secret Bunker.

To her left, a long way off across a vast field, she saw a tractor dragging a harrow. A moment later, by the roadside, she saw an old barn, its doors yawning open; the home of the tractor, she imagined. She looked again at the helicopter. It had just disappeared inside a low cloud. She reacted quickly.

Slowing down, she swung the wheel, drove inside the large barn. An aroma of straw on the floor filled her nostrils. Switching off the engine, she looked back at the entrance. She was deep enough inside the barn to be totally concealed from the air. Then she heard the loud beat-beat of the chopper, flying much lower.

She lit one of her rare cigarettes. No chance of the smoke drifting outside the barn. She sat quite still, tense. The helicopter was now circling. At one moment it sounded to be just above the barn. Now she had no doubt that the crew on board were looking for her.

'I'm having a nice couple of days,' she said to herself. 'I had the fight at Eagle Street. Today someone tried to kill me at Irongates. There's no doubt the marksman was the Phantom – for no good reason, you idiot. Now you can just sit it out here.'

Sooner than she had expected the machine flew away, the sound of its engine fading. She still stayed where she was. Could be a trick – it might suddenly dart back. After ten minutes she decided it had gone and resumed her journey.

Turning off the road where a lane to the left was signposted Ivychurch, she followed the complex route down winding country lanes. She knew the way because Tweed had driven her to the Bunker when it was in the process of being constructed. Just before she reached the automatic gate which she knew Mrs Carson would open she stopped the car, turned off the engine.

She was listening for the helicopter. Instead, an oppressive silence she could almost hear descended on her. On all sides a flat plain of fields stretched away endlessly. Not a hill, not a tree in sight. Nor was there any sign of human habitation. The leafless hedges lining the lane on either side were grim networks of stark twigs and thorns, reminding her of barbed wire. No birdsong. She shivered. I might be in the middle of the Mongolian desert, she thought. This must be among the most desolate parts of England. Romney Marsh? You can keep it.

She turned on the engine, drove on. As she approached the automatic gate, she saw it opening. Mrs Carson must have used her binoculars, seen her coming.

'Welcome to Paradise,' Mrs Carson greeted her as she parked inside the courtyard and stepped out.

'I could think of another name for it. Don't know how you stand it down here.'

'I read a lot, dear. Come on in. Cord is a changed man…'

'Hi, Paula. Good to see you.'

Dillon stood up from where he had been sitting by a roaring log fire, rubbing his hands. The air outside was ice-cold, but the living room was so warm Paula slipped off her coat and gloves. Dillon looked anything but restless and his expression was grim. He wore an old polo-necked jersey and shabby corduroy trousers, obviously provided by Mrs Carson, and could have passed for a farm worker.

'How are you?' she asked as he took her right hand in both of his.

'Feeling pretty bloody-minded. Mrs Carson and I watched the TV programme. A Bomb Squad chief said the massacre had definitely nothing to do with the IRA. He mentioned a very sophisticated electronically operated timer he'd never seen before. Electronics. Silicon Valley.'

'What do you mean?' Paula asked.

'Shortly before I had to run for it I overheard a conversation between two scientists from Silicon Valley and a new man, a Jake Ronstadt. They were talking about a new device which had been perfected – an electronically operated timer for delayed-action bombs,'

'You think that links up with what you heard on TV?'

'Damned sure it does. It makes me sick to think my people could be responsible for the Oxford Street massacre. If I got hold of them I'd line them up against a wall and personally shoot them, one by one.'

'Who is this Jake Ronstadt you mentioned?' she asked cautiously.

'One of the new men brought in to the CIA. He passed all the tough training tests. Except one. I got hold of the report on him. The psychiatrist who checked him out wrote "psychologically flawed". That should have kept him out. It didn't.'

'Are you willing to stay here a bit longer? Tweed would be much happier if you did.'

'Sure I am. Guess Tweed has enough to cope with without worrying about me out in the open. He doesn't show it but he does worry about things like that. The guy is very human.'

Paula joined Dillon in drinking coffee, chatting as cheerfully as she could. She appreciated the fact that he made no attempt to extract information from her about what was happening. Then she said she must go back to London.

'This place is like a fortress,' the American commented as he accompanied her to the door. 'Tweed, and I guess Newman and Marler, really know a thing or two. The defences round the perimeter are diabolical.'

She didn't have time to ask him what he was talking about. As she drove back, her car heater turned up full blast, she found her mind jumping back and forth. She was keeping an eye open for the helicopter but the machine never reappeared. She was also thinking about the new timer device Dillon had overheard being discussed at Langley. Up to that moment she had found it difficult to believe Washington could really be behind such an attack.

She was also recalling what Dillon had told her about Ronstadt. As Tweed would have said, key pieces of the jigsaw were beginning to fit together. What she wasn't prepared for when she arrived at Park Crescent was that the last person in the world she would have expected was in a state of semi-shock.

'A letter from the dead.'

Entering Tweed's office Paula immediately sensed a strange atmosphere. Newman was sitting upright in a chair. Marler stood upright near a wall, no cigarette in his mouth. Monica's face had a frozen look. Tweed sat behind his desk, hands clasped on its surface, his expression neutral. Nobody said a word to her – until Marler spoke those five words.