Rhinoceros (12 page)

'Always.' Oscar chuckled. 'Double Scotch.'

'I'll join you. I've just had a conversation when it was
difficult to keep my temper.'

Thunder ordered the drinks, then stared at Oscar, look
ing him up and down. Oscar was beaming.

'Do you have to dress in such a noticeable manner?'

'Before you have asked. Before I have told you no one
takes me seriously. They think I am the clown. If only
they knew.'

Thunder remained silent until the waiter had served
them and closed the door. Oscar lifted his glass, drank
half the contents, beamed again. Thunder leaned close,
kept his voice low, rasping.

'So how are things progressing?'

'Under my command . . .' He drank the rest of the
whisky, looked at the glass, a hint which Thunder
ignored, '. . . they progress. As always. Reinforce
ments continue to arrive. A rehearsal will take place
tonight.'

'You'd better be damned careful. It's far too early yet
for the real thing.'

'This I know. Discipline. I insist. Under my command
..."

'Yes, I know. The reinforcements - where will you train
and hide them?'

'On the Bodmin Moor on the Cornwall.'

'They'll be conspicious,' Thunder objected.

'No. Tourist buses I hire will take them there. I go there
myself. I see the Jamaica Inn for the tourists. They go there.
Then they are gone - on to the Bodmin Moor.'

'You seem to have thought it out,' Thunder conceded reluctantly. 'And now I must go.'

'You go?' Oscar beamed, showing his large teeth. 'There
is something more. No?'

Thunder reached a gloved hand into his pocket. He
handed his guest a thick white envelope stuffed with
fifty-pound notes. £10,000. It was his habit to make Oscar
ask for the money. It exerted a degree of control over the fat
man. He wore gloves to avoid his fingerprints appearing on
the money or the envelope. He left the library.

On his way out he met the waiter. He told him to
take another double Scotch to his guest in the
library.
It would please Oscar. More important, it would prevent
Oscar appearing before Thunder left the building. Oscar
counted the money quickly. The Minister preferred not to be seen in Pall Mall again with Oscar Vernon, dressed as he was.

* * *

Paula arrived at Martino's in a side street off Piccadilly,
handed her coat to the hat-check girl, and saw Aubrey
seated at a table in a booth by the wall. He was drink
ing and a half-empty bottle of red wine stood on the
table.

Oh, my God! she thought. I'm going to have trouble
with this one.

Aubrey stood up. In doing so he nearly dragged off the tablecloth. He lurched forward to stop the bottle toppling over and grinned. He was reaching for her to kiss her but
she eluded him by slipping into the booth and sitting
facing him.

'Welcome to the banquet,' he greeted her, his speech
slightly slurred. 'What are you drinking?' The waiter had
arrived.

'No starter,' she said quickly. 'I'll have Dover sole off
the bone with French beans. No potatoes. To drink I'd
like still mineral water. No ice or lemon.'

'I'll have the same. And a bottle of bubbly. Make it Krug,' Aubrey demanded.

'That's not for me, I hope.'

'We . . . are . . . going
...
to
...
set
...
this town . . .
alight.'

As he paused between each word his fingers marched slowly across the cloth, straightened by the waiter.

'Champers is for you,' he told her.

'I don't want any. So if it's just for me cancel the
order.'

He shook his head, winced, refilled his wine glass, drank
half of it. She crunched a roll, began buttering it. He
grinned foolishly.

'How is the Brigadier?' she asked him.

"The fighting old Brig. Pater has St Vitus' Dance. Can't stay in one place for five minutes. Do . . . you . . . know.'
He leant a
cross the table confidentially. 'Tell you . . . secret. Strictly
entre nous
...
he flies all over the ruddy
place . . . Brussels, Paris, Berlin, Stockholm.' He paused to drink more, wine. 'How does he know . . . that's what
you're thinking.'

Paula had suddenly realized she had a golden opportunity to extract information without appearing to do so. She drank some water as Aubrey stared at her, his eyes
glazed.

'I don't believe a word of it,' she said eventually. 'You're
making it up.'

'Oh, so that's what you think. Well, beautiful Paula,
I've often hidden in a big cupboard in Pater's study . . .
listened in when he makes his phone calls. So
...
there.
What do you think of that?'

She thought it showed he was a little sneak, eavesdrop
ping on his father. She smiled as she replied.

'Really?'

'Yes. Really. Really . . . Really.'

He was mimicking the way she had pronounced the word. She tucked one hand under her chin.

'I can't imagine any of these calls are important.'

'Can't you? Don't know much, do you, Paula? These
calls he makes are
secret.
So there!'

The meal arrived. Paula began eating as soon as the
plate was put before her. Her host stared at his plate as
though he didn't recognize its contents. He had another drink, then smirked at Paula.

'My father isn't . . . retired at all.'

'Good for him.'

'He's matriculating people . . .'

'Matriculating? Sorry, I don't understand, Aubrey.'

'Manip-ul-ating people.' He smirked again. 'You are
one beautiful lady.'

As he spoke his right hand went under the table, grasped
her knee. She grabbed hold of the hand, removed it
forcibly, slammed down her knife and fork.

'If you touch me again I'm walking straight out of this
place.' Her voice was calm, icy calm. 'I thought you were
the nice brother. My mistake. Now behave yourself. Eat
something - leave the bottle alone.'

'My profuse apologies. I don't know what came over
me. I like you.'

'Your meal is getting cold.'

'I suppose you think I'm drunk?'

'We won't talk about it.'

'Paula . . .' He leaned across the table. 'Is there some
one else?'

'Mind your own business. You know something? I'm
not enjoying this lunch at all. I've lost my appetite,' she
continued in her cool tone. 'I'm going to leave now.'

'You can't do that.' His expression turned ugly. 'No one
walks out on me. And the staff here know me.'

'I'm sure they do by now. Goodbye, Mr Barford.'

She got up and quickly left the table. Collecting her coat, she went out to find a taxi. It might not have been pleasant but she had extracted intriguing information.

CHAPTER
6

Oscar Vernon strolled up St James's Street, malacca cane held under his armpit like a sergeant major's baton. He beamed at several women who stared at his clothes, not realizing they thought them bizarre. Turning along Piccadilly towards the Circus he checked the time, began to hurry.

He had arranged to make the call from phone box to phone
box. The subordinate he was going to
speak to would soon
be waiting. Diving down into the Underground, he found an
empty booth, made his call. At the other end, near Reefers Wharf, the phone was answered immediately.

'Who is this?' Oscar demanded.

'Delgado here. There's a queue waiting to use this
phone . . .'

'So what! Listen very good to me. This night at ten o'clock you do the rehearsal. It's been agreed from high
up. By me . . .'

'The men - and the women - will be outside targets.'

'They had better be. Now listen very good. They look,
they see. But no violence. Only if they need to do it to go
away. You hear me?'

'I do. I will tell

Delgado swore foully, slammed the phone back, pushed his way roughly past the queue. Oscar had again slammed
the phone down on him. Bastard!

* * *

Tweed, when Paula had left him in a taxi, had walked all
the way back to Park Crescent. Walking helped him to
think and the sun was shining strongly, so much so that
he felt its warmth on his face.

Entering his office, he found Newman reading a newspaper and Harry Butler, a cloth over his lap, reassembling
a 7.65mm Walther automatic he had been cleaning. He handed his coat to Monica and sat behind his desk, took a new writing pad from a drawer and began doodling
names. To his annoyance Monica broke into a verbal
flood.

'You remember that very strange thing which hap
pened on the Internet? While you were out I phoned as many of my contacts as I could reach. You are listening,
I hope?'

Tweed grunted. Newman had closed his newspaper and
listened to her as she went on.

'I wanted to find out if it was just a local breakdown. It wasn't. I called Birmingham, Manchester, then New York,
San Francisco, Miami, New Orleans, Paris, Berlin, Oslo and even Prague. Every one of my contacts told me their
systems had gone haywire at the same time ours did. That
is, allowing for time differences. And they all described the
same thing - the devilish screeching which deafened them,
those missile-like lines shooting over their screens.'

'A glitch,' Tweed mumbled. 'Never did like the Internet.'

Monica was about to protest when Paula came in,
her face flushed. She went to her desk, threw the loop
of her shoulder bag over the back of her chair, sat down,
her hands clenched.

'Enjoy your lunch with nice Aubrey?' Tweed enquired.

'Like hell I did!'

Tweed stopped doodling as she recalled every word of the lunch-time conversation, the state Aubrey
was in, what he had told her. Tweed began adding names to his pad.

'I'm sorry you had such an unpleasant experience,' he
told her.