No Mercy (24 page)

'Completely,' Tweed said emphatically. 'And you can trust
Paula as much as you can trust me.'

'I know that.' Drago chuckled again, sipped his whisky. 'I
would not have her here otherwise.'

'You seem to know a great deal,' Paula ventured.

'My dear.' He leaned towards her. 'Information is more
valuable than gold.'

'Something I have always remembered.'

'Tweed,' Drago said suddenly, his eyes still. 'Have you yet
a suspect for these four frightful murders?'

'Four?'

'Oh come, sir, do not underestimate me. I refer to the late
Christine Barton, brilliant forensic accountant; poor Lee
Greystoke, her skeleton found by yourself in the mine shaft on Dartmoor; John Jackson, the detective Christine's sister,
Anne, employed. The fourth victim is the male skeleton on
Dartmoor - so far as I know still to be identified.'

'If you find the suspect yourself you might let me know,'
Tweed joked to lighten the atmosphere. 'And now I think the fifth person who knew the location of the armaments
plant was Lee Greystoke.'

A rumbling burst of laughter, Drago's body shaking with
amusement. 'Glory, sir, no wonder you have such a
reputation as a detective. Yes, the fifth was Lee. I miss her dreadfully. So who is your suspect?'

'If I had one I'd tell you.' Tweed swallowed the rest of his
drink. 'I feel we have taken up enough of your time. That time you've given us is appreciated.'

'Please wait a little longer. Give me your opinion of Larry.'

'Very competent, likable, excellent with staff.'

'And now Lucinda.' Drago was leaning forward again.

'Extremely competent. Just the person for her job. Tough
with staff if someone doesn't do their job properly.'

'Michael?'

'He has never said a word. How can I tell?'

'
I witnessed murder.'
Why, Paula mused again, was Tweed
keeping these three vital words to
himself? He had quoted
them to no one after hearing them from Buchanan. Tweed
was walking towards the door into the hall when he asked
Drago the question.

'It makes sense to me that the five people who know
-
or
knew - the location of the armaments plant would have keys
to enter the plant. Including Lee.'

'Your clever deduction is correct. There is one more
element which might help you. They all have Armenian blood in their veins. Armenians have survived down the
centuries by their instinctive deviousness. You cannot always
trust someone who has Armenian blood to tell the truth.'

'With the exception of yourself,' Tweed said politely, 'I
think everyone has been lying to me over one thing or
another.'

'You are on your guard, then. You are a wise man, my
friend. I am sure we will meet again.' Drago gave Tweed a
card. 'If you wish to communicate with me call that number,
give your name. There will be a delay, then you will be
transferred to another line.'

They were in the hall. Paula noticed Sasha was near the
front door. She slapped shut a lid against the wall. Drago
took hold of Paula's arm. 'I saw you admiring the wall rugs.
Which most caught your attention?'

'This one. The design is so brilliant. Quite unique.'

Sasha lifted the lid when they reached the closed front
door. On a screen was a clear view of Jermyn Street,
probably fifty yards in each direction. She turned to Drago.

'I have been watching Mr Tweed's car. No one has been anywhere near it. The car is safe.'

'That was very thoughtful of you,' Tweed told her. 'I'm
most grateful.'

Drago operated the two switches to unlock the door,
opened it, shook their hands and closed the door as they stepped into the street.

18

The following afternoon they were in France, aboard the TGV as it thundered south like a Concorde flying on land.
Their first-class coach was empty except for the two of
them - Tweed seated next to Paula.

It was now March and a brilliantly sunny day. Paula gazed
out of the window at a distant straight line of poplar trees,
like a cavalcade of giant bristle brooms. Too early for any
leaves. She guessed they bordered an autoroute - she had
caught an occasional glimpse of cars moving at breakneck
speed. By her side Tweed sat very still, taking no notice of
the view. Outside the entrance to their coach Marler stood
on guard. At the far end Nield was performing the same
duty, also out of sight.

'You're brooding,' Paula said to Tweed eventually.

'Churning over all we've seen, all the people we've met.
I know I'm missing something. Had a weird dream. Church
bells clanging in my head. The vicar, the Reverend
Stenhouse Darkfield, was advancing on me, holding a large knife, sharp edge on one side of the blade, serrated edge on
the other. Then I woke up, couldn't sleep again. One of
those things.'

'Dreams can be significant — recalling something you
didn't observe at the time. You think he's
a suspect? There
is the cult business.'

'Forget it. You think a cult would extend from Dartmoor
to Champton Place?'

'That's where Anne Barton lives. You're thinking of
Christine, her sister.'

'Of course. I must be tired. You think a cult would extend
to Wensford, where Jackson, the detective, was cut to
ribbons? Pretty unlikely.'

'We still haven't identified the skeleton we found on the
moor - covered in snow. I think that's important.'

'I agree,' said Tweed. 'Could be the key we're looking for.
Don't ask me how we're going to identify him. But it's a
priority when we get back. And Keith Kent is taking a devil
of a long time checking those sheets of figures you found
Christine had hidden under that drawer. Her coding of the
data must be complex. Understood only by whoever hired
her.'

'Any idea who that could be?'

'None at all.' The racing express was now going so fast
that the view from the window was a blur. It heeled to the
right as it swayed round a long curve. 'This thing is going to
end up off the line,' Tweed grumbled.

'Don't say things like that. Makes me nervous. You had a
good lunch in the restaurant car. Try to get some sleep.'

She had just spoken when a uniformed official appeared.
He had a large leather satchel slung over his shoulder. Dipping his hand inside the satchel he grunted the word.

'Billets . . .'

The hand came out of the satchel holding a large knife.
He aimed it at Tweed's chest. A pistol butt descended with force on the man's head. The gun was held by Marler, who
had arrived silently. The fake ticket collector began to sag.
At the other end of the coach Nield appeared. Marler used
his head to gesture for Nield to hurry. His two hands had grabbed the slumping body by the armpits.

Nield, wearing a latex glove, picked up the knife. Marler
was hauling the body backwards towards the rear entrance.
Nield shoved the knife inside his belt, crouched to lift up the
legs. They disappeared rapidly.

Paula was in a state of shock. Her right hand gripped the
.32 Browning inside her shoulder bag. She released her
grip, her hand shaking. She stiffened it. She felt she should
have seen what was happening, should have protected
Tweed.

'I really f— that up. I'm so sorry. It was so quick. No
excuse for me. And I'm wide awake . . .'

Tweed realized she was in shock - she hardly ever used
that expletive. He grasped her arm, squeezed it.

'Don't talk rubbish,' he reassured her. 'I was in the aisle
seat, you were by the window. I should have seen him. You're
too far back. So don't give me any more twaddle. Relax.'

He looked up as Marler reappeared. Butler was
alongside him. Marler drifted into the middle of the coach, took a seat facing them. Butler was carrying a violin case.

'What happened to the assassin?' Tweed asked quietly. 'Did you kill him?'

'Of course not. He's in the loo next to the exit door. Nield
used a tool to turn the slide to
occupe.
I checked his pulse. Ticking over nicely. He's soused with cognac.'

'Really?'

'When we get to the next stop,' Marler explained, 'two of
us will be standing by the doors, holding up the drunk. Just
before the automatic doors close we'll heave him down on to
the platform. A cognac-soaked drunk will be found after the
train's gone.'

'Neat.'

'The bad news is they know we're on this train.'

'So?'

'We can expect a reception committee soon after leaving
the
gare
at Marseilles.'

'And Harry is going to make them swoon by playing on
his violin?' suggested Paula, who had completely recovered.

Harry lifted the case, held it past Tweed so Paula could see inside. He lifted the lid. She stared in disbelief at the
violin resting on a velvet cloth, then looked at him.

'I'm not at my best this morning, but I can't see that's
going to help if we have hostiles meeting us outside the station.'

'Lift the velvet cloth.'

She peeled it back slowly. Underneath rested a Sten gun
and a number of spare magazines. She glanced at Marler,
who was standing holding a golf bag. She wondered what
that contained. At the two-hour switch in Paris from Gare du Nord, after leaving Eurostar, Tweed had taken her in a
cab to the Gare de Lyon. They had spent their time waiting
for the rest of the team drinking cafe creme in the station
buffet. Plenty of time, she now realized, for Marler to have
visited his contact. Which was why he'd handed her a .32
Browning now tucked inside the shoulder bag, and a
Beretta, concealed inside the holster strapped to her lower
right leg.

'That false ticket inspector,' Tweed enquired. 'Any ideas?'

'My guess,' said Marler, 'is he caught the real collector
back at the
gare.
Knifed him probably - for silence. Stripped
him of his clothes, gear, including the satchel and ticket
machine. Got rid of his identity papers. Having seen you
board the TGV, gets on board himself at the last moment. I was waiting for something like that.'