The Power (6 page)

'There was no one inside that vehicle,' he informed Howard.

'Let's hope we don't make fools of ourselves.'

'You've overlooked one point,' Newman commented.
'All the lines were jammed up with calls - phoney calls is
my guess. If this is what I think it is we're up against a genius of a planner.'

'I'll call the Bomb Squad from one of the offices along
Marylebone Road,' Howard decided. 'It's probably all a
false alarm.'

'That doesn't link up with the avalanche of calls -
including the crazy one to George,' Newman reminded
him. 'I'll stay here.'

They had rounded the corner and Newman stayed
behind a wall in a position where he could watch the
building. He saw a silver Renault parked just beyond the
far side of the Crescent. That was the moment when the
world blew up.

Newman had put on sun-glasses he used for driving when the sun was low in the sky. There was a blinding flash. An
ear-splitting roar. A cloud of dust dense as a fog. A brief
nerve-wracking silence, succeeded by a sound like a major
avalanche crashing down a mountain. No shock wave,
which puzzled Newman.

The dust cloud thinned. He stared, hypnotized. The
Espace had vanished. The section of Park Crescent which
had been SIS headquarters was a black hole. Masonry
rumbled as it slid down on to the pavement, out across the street. What staggered Newman was the clean-cut destruction of the target. On either side of where the building had
stood as a section of the Crescent the walls stood scarred
but erect. It was as though a vertical rectangular wedge of a
giant cake had been sliced away. The sinister rumble of more debris slithering down over rubble continued, grew
quieter, ceased. RIP, SIS headquarters.

Newman glanced across the Crescent. The silver
Renault had disappeared. Howard came running up to
him.

'What the hell was that? I called the Bomb Squad

'Hope they brought their sandwiches. No work left for
them.'

'Oh, dear God!'

Howard stood like a man transfixed as he gazed at the
ruin.

Automatically, he used both hands to adjust the knot of his tie, a mannerism Newman had noticed before when
Howard was under pressure. With an effort he pulled

himself together, looked back at the small groups of
people standing on the pavement.

'It's cold,' Newman said. 'Some of them are shivering. Send them home. Tell them to stay there pending fresh
orders.'

'Best thing to do.'

Like a zombie Howard walked back slowly and began
talking to his staff. Newman stood very still, thinking
about the silver Renault. Odd - the way it had been parked at that observation point and had then dis
appeared. By his side Monica was recovering from her
shocked state.

Tweed should know about this urgently.'

'How can I reach him?'

'I have the phone number of Tresillian Manor. He
might still be there.' She extracted her Filofax and a
notebook. On a sheet of paper she wrote a number,
handed it to Newman. 'Tresillian Manor.'

'Howard will be back in a minute. He may want a word with Tweed. More likely the other way round
...'

The driver of the silver Renault was stopped temporarily
in a traffic jam in the Huston Road. He picked up his
mobile phone, dialled a number.

'Ed here. The property has been liquidated. The con
tract closed

'What about dispossessed occupants?'

Norton meant dispossession of their lives.

'A general evacuation took place a few minutes before
we closed the contract.'

'It did?' Norton's American twang was a rasp. 'Could
anyone have carried out the film and the tape?'

'I'm sure they didn't. No one carried anything which
might have contained the canisters.'

'Any sign of Tweed? You have his description. No?

That I don't like. We'll have to trace him. He's due for a
long holiday, a permanent one

'I'll report back in.'

Ed was talking into air. Norton had slammed down the
phone.

'The Bomb Squad sent the top brass,' Howard observed
while they stood in Marylebone Road near the corner of Park Crescent.

'Is it any wonder?' Newman remarked.

The door of a cream Rover opened and Commander
Crombie, chief of the Anti-Terrorist Branch, stepped out.
Several trucks had arrived, Bomb Squad operatives in
protective gear were cordoning off the crescent,
evacuating buildings. Other men stood in front of the pile of rubble.

'You're not here for a story, Newman, I trust?' were
Crombie's opening words.

A powerfully built man with broad shoulders, in his forties, clean-shaven with a large head, he wore an over
coat with the collar turned up. As he spoke his eyes
scanned the area of devastation.

'No, of course not,' Newman snapped.

'Just checking. You saw this thing happen? Any
casualties?'

'None,' Howard assured him. 'We evacuated the build
ing in the nick of time. I'll explain why later. The IRA?'

'I don't think so,' said Newman.

'How would you know?' Crombie demanded aggres
sively.

'No shock wave. Look, I'll show you where I was
standing when the Espace blew itself to pieces...' He was
walking fast and Crombie, a fit man, was hurrying to keep
up. 'It was a maroon-coloured Renault Espace parked
outside,' Newman continued tersely. 'Don't ask me for the
registration number - I didn't get it - we were intent on
saving our lives. Here is where I stood.'

'And no shock wave, you said?'

'Exactly. Look at the garden railings opposite. Not a
scratch on them.
All
the blast went
one
way - into the building. From what I've seen of photos of IRA bomb
damage the blast flies in all directions.'

'That is true. Excuse me. I'll want to see you later.'

'When you're ready . . .'

Newman walked rapidly back to where Howard was
escorting the last three staff members into a taxi.
Monica
was still standing on the pavement.

'I'm going to call Tweed from a phone box in Baker Street Station,' Newman said, hardly pausing.

'I'll come with you,' Howard decided.

'Me too,' Monica said. There's something Tweed
should know. We might just have a link.'

'Tweed here, Bob,' the familiar voice responded when
Newman had dialled Tresillian Manor.

Tweed listened in silence as Newman reported concisely
the events leading up to the catastrophe. Monica was squeezed into the box with him. Howard stood outside, erect, hands clasped behind his back, looking none too pleased at being excluded.

'Any casualties?' Tweed asked at one stage, expressed
relief at the news. He listened as Newman told him about
the visit of Joel Dyson two days earlier. Newman then
handed the phone to Monica who explained that no one
had seen the film or listened to the tape and that both had
been still in the safe when the building was wrecked.
Tweed asked to speak to Newman again.

'Bob, I'm speaking from Cornwall, as you know, so I'm
phrasing this carefully. The phone doesn't appear to be
bugged, but still. Now! Do you remember - no names - a
place down here we once stayed at overnight?'

'Yes.'

'Drive down to the same place as soon as you can. Make
sure you're not followed.'

'For Pete's sake, I'd know.'

'Make sure!
Now put Howard on the line. Tell him I am
short of time.'

'Wherever you are I want you back in London
quickly ...' Howard began.

'No! Now listen to me and don't argue. You'll need a
fresh base

'There's that concrete horror down at Waterloo ...'

Howard was referring to what the public thought was the
new HQ of the SIS. Pictures had appeared of it in the press
but it was purely for low-level admin.

'I said listen to me!' Tweed snapped. 'I suspect we're up
against the most powerful network in the world - and don't
ask me to identify them yet. That network is Out to exter
minate all of us. I'm not sure why yet. You've got to go underground. Move the whole of our staff- and yourself-to the training mansion at Send in Surrey. It's surrounded
with large grounds and is well guarded. That is if you value
your life. And I'll only phone you at Send.'

'I don't like running
...'

'We're all running from now on, Howard. Running to
survive. Think of the lives of your staff.'

'All right. Send it is. A bit of peace and quiet might be quite a change. What are you going to do?'

'Go underground.'

4

'Lord, it's marvellous to be outside in this fresh air,' Paula
said as she walked with Tweed, climbing up the moor.

Below them Tresillian Manor was a miniature house
huddled in its bowl. Butler walked a few paces behind. He had insisted on accompanying them for their pro
tection.

Tweed had earlier phoned the police after talking to Cook, who had recovered quickly. She had not been
optimistic about an early arrival.

'No good phoning Padstow. The police station's just a cabin and most of the time no one is there. In the phone
book they advise phoning Launceston but I think your best
bet is Exeter. That's a real headquarters.'

Tweed had phoned Exeter. He had sensed the inspec
tor's shock at the other end when he'd given details of the
massacre waiting for him.

'Never 'ad anything like that. Might be best if I called
Lunnon.'

'Just so long as someone gets here fast,' Tweed had
snapped and put down the phone.

The ground was hard, ribbed with rocks
,
covered here
and there with gorse. As they climbed higher Paula
pointed to a rocky eminence rearing up in the distance
from the shallow bleak moor
surrounding its base.