Rhinoceros (35 page)

They worked quickly. The moment they had parked
the BMWs a few yards behind their own cars, leaving the
pavement side doors open, Operation Clearance began.
The bodies, all alive but unconscious, were tumbled inside
the BMWs without ceremony. The doors were closed. Butler suggested a refinement. Together with Pete, he
picked up the sledgehammers that were then used to
batter in the windscreens.

'Job's done,' Newman announced.

Gazing down from the cafe windows way up in the Turm,
Lisa and Paula had watched, fearfully at first, then with astonishment, the scene below.

'Reefers Wharf was a children's party compared to that,'
Lisa commented.

Tweed had been aiming his binoculars at Fat-Face,
Pink Shirt, watching the debacle with his arms folded.
As it ended he straightened his jacket, wandered out of
sight. It was his expression that intrigued Tweed. Rage?
No. Disappointment? No.

'We'd better get down,' Paula said. 'Newman's waving
at us.'

'We'll go down and away from here as fast we as we
can . . .'

When they arrived back at the hotel, Newman asked the
porter to garage their cars. Tweed ran up the steps with
Paula close behind him. He had checked his watch. Keith
Kent stood in the hall, waiting for them.

'Welcome, Keith. I'll get the material out of the hotel
safe.'

Then he noticed the man sitting at the back of the hall, facing the staircase up to the security room. The Brig sat
erect in his chair, motionless as a graven image, observing
their return.

'I've changed my mind,' he said suddenly. 'We'll go up
to my suite . . .'

Newman had joined them in the elevator and Lisa
slipped in just before the doors closed. Kent carried a dispatch case, explained he'd occupied his room a few minutes before seeing Tweed arrive.

'That chap,' he continued as they walked to the suite, 'by
himself in the lounge area. Surely it was Lord Barford?'

'It was.' Tweed turned to Lisa who said she was going
to her room. 'Could I see you in about ten minutes? I'll
call you in your room.'

'Can't wait. . .'

'She strikes me as excessively intelligent,' Kent remarked
inside the suite. 'Quite a personality. Attractive, too.'

'Keep off the grass,' Newman said amiably, nudging
him in the ribs.

'Lord Barford,' Tweed began.

'Hold on,' chided Paula. 'What would you like to drink, Keith? The management have put another bottle of cham
pagne in a fresh bucket of ice. Care for a glass?'

'Nice of you. Just one glass, please.' He accepted
Tweed's invitation to sit down, then raised the glass
Paula handed him. 'Here's to success to your present enterprised - and damnation to the villains.'

'Had some of that last bit this morning,' Newman
commented.

'Lord Barford,' Tweed began again. 'Sounded as though
you know him.'

'Know about him,' Kent replied. 'Like me he's a
member of a very select organization, the Institute of
Corporate Security. Membership confined to twenty at anyone time - and you're vetted first. Can't imagine why they asked me.'

'Have you talked to Barford? We call him the Brig.'

'A bit - at meetings of the ICS. He puts up a front as
the pukka Brigadier, a purely military type. But there's a
lot more to him. He has a vast knowledge of what's going on in the world. Has some very top contacts back home, in
Europe and in the States. I've heard he's consulted when there's a
major crisis. Travels all over the place.'

'Shall I pop down and see if the coast's clear?' Newman
suggested.

'If you would, Bob,' Tweed agreed.

Newman was back in no time. He gave the thumbs-
up signal.

'He's vanished. Probably gone to lunch.'

'Then I'll be back in a minute . . .'

'Keith,' Paula said thoughtfully, 'I've just remembered
an incident when Tweed and I met Gavin Thunder at
a club in Pall Mall. As the meeting ended and we were
leaving the library I glanced back. Thunder was collecting his coat and his jacket wasn't fitting him properly. So his
right lapel was turned and I could see the inner side.
Clasped to it was a metal symbol I thought at first was
Greek - but on reflection I don't think it was. It was like a
capital letter "E" - but turned the wrong way round . . .'

'Could you draw it for me?'

Kent's normal relaxed and easy manner had changed.
He had stiffened, was leaning forward. His expression had
become very serious, concerned. Newman came closer -he had noticed the transformation in Kent. Paula took a
pad, thought for a moment and drew the symbol.

'My God!' Kent exclaimed. 'He's a member of the Elite
Club

Tweed returned shortly afterwards, holding a large white
envelope containing the Kefler papers and the blue leather-
bound book Mark had stolen. He was immediately aware
of the strange atmosphere. Kent looked shocked. Paula
had a puzzled expression. Newman waved his hands, as
though to say 'I haven't a clue what's going on.'

'Something wrong?' Tweed asked quietly, sitting down
so he faced Kent. 'You look as though a bomb had dropped
on you.'

'It has. Paula, would you first tell Tweed what you
told me?'

She began with when they were leaving the library of
the Pall Mall club. She recalled how she had glanced back
at Thunder, what she had seen, that she had forgotten to
tell Tweed in her haste to meet the drunken Aubrey at
Martino's. She showed Tweed the pad with the symbol
she had drawn, quoted Kent's explosive reaction.

'What does it mean?' Tweed asked Kent. 'What is the Elite Club? Never heard of it.'

'Few people have,' Kent replied grimly. 'I only heard of
it by pure accident when someone had drunk too much -
the late Jeremy Mordaunt.'

'Like a glass of water, Keith?' Paula suggested. 'They
have left a carafe on ice. You've lost your colour.'

'Yes, please.'

They waited while Kent sipped water, then drank the
whole glass, held it out for a refill.

'This is terribly dangerous,' he said.

'Why?' Tweed pressed. 'What
is
the Elite Club?'

'A very small club.' Kent's glass trembled as he replaced
it on the table. 'I gather it has either four or five members selected from the most powerful men in the world. Men
who will stop at nothing to gain whatever they want. Evil men. If they knew what has just been said in this room I'm
sure none of us would stay alive for more than twenty-four
hours.'

There was a long silence. Kent waved aside an offer from
Paula of more champagne, a curt gesture. He sat with
both hands clasped, his fingers moving. Tweed realized
they were seeing a Keith Kent they had never seen before.
A very frightened man. Tweed spoke quietly.

'Take your time, Keith.'

'My only thought now is that I want to wake up tomorrow morning as usual. Alive.'

Tweed took out a packet of cigarettes. He projected one out of the packet, took from his pocket the jewelled lighter
Paula had once given him when he recovered from having
a bullet taken out of his chest.

'I know you rarely smoke, Keith.' he said in the same
quiet tone.

Kent looked up at him. He took the cigarette and Tweed
lit it for him. He took a small drag, expelled smoke, looked
again at Tweed.

'You must think me a coward.'

'Nonsense. Only a fool doesn't fear great danger.'

'Thanks.' He licked his lips. 'I had no idea that this
business involved that lot. Shook me up a bit.' He was
speaking more normally now and the colour was coming back into his face. 'I've never told you about them before,
Tweed, because there never seemed to be a reason to.'

'Who are "them"?'

'No idea. Except obviously Gavin Thunder is one of the group. Mordaunt was really in his cups that night.
One remark he did make. The members of the Elite Club
are not necessarily Presidents or Prime Ministers. They are
the strong men. I quote his exact words. A few minutes later he blacked out. I think he was an alcoholic.'

'Embarrassing situation for you, Keith,' Tweed remarked.

'In my world you run into these situations. I called a
cab, got him into it with the help of the barman, took
him to his flat in Eaton Square. Of course, he couldn't
find his key, so as there were lights on inside I rang the bell. A statuesque blonde with the brains of a peanut let
us in. Between us we got him into bed, fully clothed. She
said she'd undress him later.'

'Was probably used to doing that,' said Newman.

'Next thing I knew,' Kent continued, 'the blonde says
she feels like some fun and who was I? I said just a friend.
What was my name? Morrison, I said and I had to leave
to meet a businessman coming in from abroad. Heaved a
sigh of relief when I got out of the place.'

'So that was it?'

'Not quite,' Kent grimaced. 'Next day phone rings at
my office. It's Mordaunt - phoning from a call box. Was my phone secure?'

'I said yes, it was, and what did he want? He thought
he had maybe blacked out the previous night. Couldn't
remember a word he'd said. What had he said? I told him the truth - that he'd nattered on trying to get stock market
tips out of me. That I'd told him I never touched it and
didn't want to know about it. Then he'd collapsed. He
seemed relieved, put the phone down suddenly - he was
like that.'