No Mercy (33 page)

High above the ship a different flag hung limply from the
pole. While in the Mediterranean it had flown the Liberian
flag. Now a different flag of convenience had been hoisted,
a Panamanian one.

Despite the fact that Abdul was taking the freighter along
little-used commercial sea lanes, he still had lookouts posted
on both port and starboard sides. He began touring the
vessel. On the port side he stopped suddenly. One of the
lookouts was slumped against the hull, fast asleep. His thin
lips tightened.

He called out softly to two more Arabs, who ran to him.
He pointed to the sleeping lookout, gave his orders in a cold
voice. They obeyed immediately, bent down, each taking
hold of the sleeping lookout's armpits, hauling him upright.

'AH,' Abdul hissed in Arabic, 'y°
^u
are
a
disgrace to Allah.
We do not need lazy slobs like you aboard.'

He nodded to his two men. They hoisted Ali up higher so
his shoulders were bent over the hull, over the sea. Abdul took
out his curved knife, leaned forward, slashed the throat of Ali
from ear to ear. 'No blood on the hull, please,' he said softly.

The two men reacted swiftly. They jerked the body,
dripping blood, well clear of the hull, hurled it as far as they
could into the sea. Abdul ordered them back to their posts.
An experienced skipper, he knew the body would be carried
away from the Portuguese coast, well out into an ice-cold Atlantic stream.

He checked his watch. He would reach his ultimate
destination after dark, which was the plan. On time. He took
out from under his long flowing galabaieh a sheet of paper.
The instructions of his unknown employer were clear,
passed to him by a middleman.

He should reach Angora port within ten days. By then the
freighter would be loaded with the missiles to be launched
from the long-range rockets already in their possession. The
chosen target would be annihilated.

Tweed and Paula were approaching Park Crescent. Fairly
close behind them followed Harry in his Peugeot, ready to
roar forward in an emergency, his automatic weapon
concealed under the overcoat on the seat beside him.

'Are we getting closer to the murderer?' Paula asked.

'I think it's possible we've already met the savage.'

'So you've narrowed down the suspects?'

'No, not yet. Are you feeling fresh?'

'Very. I sense some other visit after we've been to the office.'

'Ivy Cottage, Heel Lane, Boxton, Berkshire. Off the road
to Amersham.'

'Who on earth lives there?'

'Lived, unfortunately. Lee Greystoke. I think she may
have found something important during her night-time visits
to the Gantia plant. Being a woman, you're more likely to find where she's hidden it.'

'What is "it"?'

'I have no idea.'

'I can't wait. You do realize that it will be dark? Dark when
we try to find this cottage. Dark when we get there. I can't imagine after at least three months the electricity's still on.'

'Any more objections?' Tweed said irritably. 'I can always
get someone else to come with me. Are you tired? If so, I
don't think you ought to come.'

'Losing your memory?' she snapped. 'A moment ago I
told you I was feeling fresh. I do suggest we get Monica to
fetch us refreshment from the all-night deli before we start out. We haven't eaten for hours.
You
haven't.'

'A good idea.' Tweed was calm now. 'I'd much sooner
have you with me. Every day that passes the trail of the four-
time murderer grows colder. Also, I have another sense that
we need to move very fast.'

'I'll get out a map for a route to Berkshire — and I'll
navigate.' She grinned at him. 'I do it better than you.'

'You certainly do.'

The whole team were inside his office when they walked
in. Monica had closed the curtains over the dark outside.
Harry immediately plunged into an account of the bomb.
The effect on Marler was electric. He stood up, his
expression unusually grim.

'That's it, then. You said, Harry, the bomb was a French
design? Right. That means Charmian again.' He began
pacing, much in the manner of Tweed. 'We've got to wipe out that guy fast. My guess is he's holed up somewhere in London. Harry must have been followed by him when the
rat first saw Tweed leaving here.'

'Didn't realize I was being followed,' Harry said
apologetically. 'Tons of traffic on the M3 until we were near Gantia.'

Marler wasn't listening.

'I'm going to talk to as many as I can of my ladies of the
night. They are very observant, hear a lot. See you.'

Marler grabbed a long black leather sheath with
'Slazenger' printed on the side, slung it over his shoulder.
Paula squeezed his arm for luck.

'I don't think what you've got inside that thing is sporty.'

'Armalite.'

Marler left, closing the door quietly. Paula raised her
eyebrows as she stared at Tweed. 'I've never known him look
so ferocious.'

'Neither have I. The hunter is now the hunted.'

Newman stood up, put on his lightweight overcoat, left it
unbuttoned so he could reach his .38 Smith & Wesson
quickly. He was heading for the door when he spoke.

'I'm going after Marler. I have different informants from him.'

Peter Nield also headed for the door. He glanced round
the office before he left.

'Marler will be heading for Soho. Like Harry, I know people in the East End. Someone will have noticed a Frenchman recently arrived. We'll get him tonight . . .'

'I'm not joining them,' Harry announced. 'I sense Tweed
and Paula are going somewhere - she's been studying an
Ordnance Survey map of Berkshire. I'll be right behind
them. Paula, can you spare me a sandwich? I heard you
sending Monica to the deli.'

'And I guessed you'd be coming along. I've ordered for three of us.'

Tweed was surprised at the weight of traffic at that late hour.
Did it never stop? The endless crawl bumper to bumper?
Only when they were beyond Beaconsfield did the weather
change. Dark and
drizzly
in London, it was now a clear
cloudless sky, the landscape crystal bright under the moon's
glow, the atmosphere bitterly cold.

'It's so quiet now,' Paula commented. 'Incidentally, we're on the A355, so we'd better keep a close lookout. And it
would help me if you slowed down.' She had her map open
on her lap. She and Tweed were alert now after consuming
the sandwiches from the deli. 'It's a turning off on the right,
Lucinda told you?'

'Yes. We've passed several with no names. Very helpful.'

He slowed as they came to another turn-off, a country
lane with an evergreen forest on both sides. Paula tapped his
arm. He slowed down to twenty miles an hour.

'This is it,' she said quickly. 'Heel Lane, Boxton.'

'Now all we have to do is to find Ivy Cottage,' he
remarked. 'And Lucinda said it was isolated.'

'So keep crawling.'

The forest hemming them in on both sides was dense,
and mist began to drift across the lane. Tweed grunted,
concentrating on his headlights as they swung round curve
after curve. Paula was gazing to her right. No sign of any
habitation, no sign of life, no traffic. She glanced back
down an exceptionally long stretch of straight road.
Nothing.

'I think Harry missed the turning,' she warned. 'We're on our own.'

'I've got my Walther,' Tweed told her.

'And I've got my Browning, also my Beretta tucked down
inside my boot - and this.' She produced from a sheath
strapped to her right leg a knife. Tweed stared quickly at it and frowned.

'Where did that come from?'

'When I was down at the Surrey mansion training, the
new chap in charge gave it to me. Made me practise using it
against a leather dummy of a man. Wasn't satisfied until I'd
rammed it in up to the hilt six times running.'

'He offered me one,' Tweed said. 'I refused it.'

'Attacked suddenly at close quarters, a knife can be the
only answer.'

She had just spoken when they heard an oncoming
motorcyle. It was moving, had its light full on in a blinding
glare. Tweed flashed his lights but they had no effect. Paula
had a glimpse of a rider clad in leather with a large helmet
and enormous visor. Impossible to tell whether it was a man
or a woman. Then it was gone.

She blinked several times to clear her vision. Then she was
watching to her right past Tweed. He
was still moving the
car at a snail's pace. She gripped his arm.

'Stop! I think we've found it.'

'I didn't see anything,' he responded as he applied the
brake.

'Then let's get out and look.'

He locked the door, followed her. A rickety wooden gate stood half open, leaning over. The path beyond, illuminated
by Paula's torch, was narrow and hard mud spattered with
a few pebbles. Ahead he saw she was.right - there was an
ancient thatched cottage with mullioned windows. It needed
a coat of paint. Giant firs surrounded the cottage and it was quiet as the grave.

'This is it,' Paula whispered.

She was shining her torch on a grubby nameboard
attached to the side of the house:
ivy cottage.
Tweed peered
over his glasses. The name board hadn't been attended to for
ages.

'Damned silly place to put it,' he grumbled. 'Can't ever be
seen from the road. Strikes me Lee didn't want anyone to
find the place while she was here.'

Paula was standing still, one hand close to her ear. She
had acute hearing. In the distance, coming closer, from the
same direction they had driven, she heard the sound of a
motorcycle. Tweed now heard it too. It came closer, closer,
then about a hundred yards from the cottage entrance it
stopped. Tweed flapped a hand for her to turn off her torch,
which she did. At the same time she gripped the butt of the
Browning, hauled it out.

'It's the same motorcyclist that passed us,' she whispered.

The claustrophobic atmosphere of the cottage buried
amid the walls of firs made her keep her voice down.