The Power (9 page)

'Greg?
Jennie spoke sharply. 'It was a polite question.'
She turned to Tweed. 'He has a small
cottage at Five Lanes
on the edge of the moor. The arrangement was we'd stay
away from here from eight in the morning until now. Amberg holds - held - business meetings here.'

'Do belt up, Jennie,' Gaunt said with less force. 'You
know something, Tweed? I don't feel like staying in here.
Let's repair to the living-room. Thank God the staff sur
vived. It's hell getting fresh servants.'

'He won't admit it,' Jennie whispered to Tweed as
Gaunt marched out, 'but he's in a state of shock. Would
you please join us for some tea? If Cook is up to it. I'll go and have a word, maybe give her a hand.'

'I'll come too,' Paula said.

She glanced at Tweed who was gazing out of the window
into the distance. The light was fading and night fell over the drive like a menacing shadow. Knowing they were
hemmed in by the desolate moor, Paula shivered.

'Where are you people off to when you leave?' enquired Gaunt. They had just devoured a huge tea of sandwiches and
home-made fruit cake. They sat in the living-room on
:ouches and armchairs. Gaunt faced Tweed and Paula
while Cardon sat on a couch next to Jennie. Butler and
Nield had chosen chairs facing the windows which they
watched constantly - no one had closed the curtains.

'London,' Tweed lied smoothly. 'There shouldn't be a
lot of traffic on the roads at this hour.'

'I'd have expected you to stay somewhere down here
until the morning,' Gaunt persisted.

No one had mentioned the bomb outrage at Park Cres
cent to their host. He reached for a box of cigars and, when
everyone refused, lit one for himself. It was quite a ritual:
trimming the tip off, after rolling it close to his ear, then
using a match to ignite it. He took a deep puff and sighed with enjoyment.

'That's better. After today. Tweed, I have been
wondering what happened to all the cars Amberg and his
guests must have arrived in. Amberg always had a Roller.'

'The police drove them away for further examination.'

'Fat lot of use that will do them.'

'It's surprising what forensic specialists can detect.'

'You really do sound like a policeman.' Gaunt's eyes gleamed as though scoring a bull. 'What do you do for a
living?'

'I'm an insurance negotiator.'

'Insurance!' Gaunt jumped up. 'Oh my God! I'll bet my
insurance doesn't cover damage caused by mass murder.'

'Depends on how the policy is worded,' Tweed said in a
soothing tone.

'Blast it, Greg!' Jennie raged. 'Stop being so obsessed
with money. You should be worried about how this terrible
experience has affected the staff.'

'It hasn't,' Tweed assured her. 'The police brought a
doctor with their team. He examined your staff, said all they'd suffer from were temporary headaches. Celia, the
new girl, was tapped only lightly on the head.' He saw
Paula watching him, startled by his recent slip of the
tongue. He covered it, looking at Gaunt. 'The reason I
know about the forensic business is the chief inspector - a
man called Buchanan - explained to me why they needed
the cars. Incidentally, he said he would need to talk to
you.'

'He won't be welcome, I can tell you that.'

'You said,' Jennie began, to ease the tension, addressing
Tweed, 'that this fake postman delivered a parcel which
poor Mounce was still clutching when the police examined
him. I wonder what it contained?'

'A technician opened the package outside in the gar
den,' Tweed told her. 'You'll never guess what
it con
tained. A box of Sp
r
ü
n
gli truffle chocolates.'

'I find that rather beastly,' Jennie commented.

'Spr
ü
ngli?' repeated Gaunt, who had sat down again. 'A
firm in Zurich - where Amberg came from.'

'I don't think Buchanan overlooked that,' Tweed
remarked drily. Checking his watch, he stood up. 'I think
we really ought to be going. Thank you for your hos
pitality.'

'It was nothing,' Gaunt said gruffly.

Jennie looked at Cardon. 'I live in Padstow in a rented
flat. Here is a card with my phone number. It's a strange
port-located on the estuary of the River Camel. Greg and
I go there quite often. At this time of the year it's so
gloriously quiet and hidden away. If you're down that way
do come and see me, won't you?'

Tweed kept a blank expression. Padstow was their real
destination.

The door to the hall had been left ajar as though Gaunt was
expecting a phone call. The bell began ringing at that moment. Gaunt walked briskly out of the room. He was back again, almost at once, looking rather annoyed.

'It's someone for you, Tweed. Wouldn't give a name.
People are so rude these days. No manners at all...'

Tweed closed the door behind him, crossed the hall,
picked up the phone. All the staff had gone home - Jennie
had explained they arrived early in the morning and cycled
home again in the evening.

Tweed here.'

'Hoped I might catch you,' the familiar voice said, deadpan. 'I'm back at the Yard - flew to London from St
Mawgan Airport. Exeter has been on the line. I wondered
how someone got hold of a postman's outfit. Now we
know.' Buchanan paused, waited.

'All right, you want me to ask how. So - how?'

'They stole the uniform of the genuine postman from his
cottage at Five Lanes.' He paused.
'They've just found his body, throat slashed open from ear to ear.'

6

Tweed drove the Ford Escort with headlights undipped as
he followed the lonely road in pitch darkness across the
moor, heading back to the A30. Paula, acting as navigator,
sat beside him while Cardon was alone in the back. Behind
them Nield, driving the Sierra, had Butler sitting alongside
him. He used the red lights of the Escort to warn him of
oncoming bends. His own headlights were dipped to avoid
a blinding glare in Tweed's rear-view mirror.

'Why are we going to Padstow?' Paula asked.

To go underground until I've identified the enemy.'

'Not like you to run,' she probed.

'A tactical retreat. We may be up against the most

powerful and dangerous enemy we've ever confronted.'

'What makes you think that?'

'First, Amberg begs me to join him at Tresillian Manor.
With a lot of protection. Maybe we were the targets for the
killer as much as he was.'

'And second?'

'Within a short time of the massacre a massive bomb destroys Park Crescent. Diabolical synchronization?'

'Not plausible,' she argued. 'I still maintain that no one could have timed the two events so close together.'

'I suspect the whole plot was triggered off by the arrival of Joel Dyson two days ago from the States. That conjures
up a very powerful network with a long reach. Also, how
many people knew the
location of SIS HQ? The top-flight
security services in Europe - and America.'

'You make it frightening,' Paula commented.

'You should be frightened. It must take a vast network
to organize all that. Which is why we're spending a day or
two in Padstow. Right off the beaten track.'

'So it could be unfortunate,' Cardon suggested, 'that by
chance Jennie Blade lives in Padstow.'

'It doesn't help,' Tweed agreed, 'but I've booked rooms
at the Metropole - which is in a strategic location. I
stopped there overnight with Newman a few years ago.'

'And Philip,' Paula teased Cardon, 'you seem to have
fallen for the golden lovely.'

'Fooled you, didn't I?' Cardon chuckled. 'She was pretending to take a fancy to me, that she thinks I'm the best
thing since sliced bread. I wondered immediately: "What's
this girl really after?"'

'Didn't know you were a cynic about women.'

'Not a cynic,' Cardon told her cheerfully. 'Just a realist. Are you offended?'

'Not in the least. Now I think you've got your feet on the
ground. And what on earth is this ahead of us?'

Tweed had slowed. In his headlights red and white cones
barred the way with a large notice. It carried the word
diversion
and an arrow pointing to the right up a narrow
lane. It was raining now and between the wipers he had set
in motion Tweed saw men in yellow oilskins and peaked c
aps. A burly individual waved a red lamp and walked towards the driver's side of the car as Tweed stopped, keeping the engine running. In the back Cardon had his
Walther in his right hand, inside his windcheater.

'Sorry, buddy,' the burly man with the lamp shouted as he came closer. 'There's been a multiple pile-up on the
A30. Go this route and you're back on the highway a short
way to the west...'

Accent and language were muffled American, Tweed
noted.

Tweed,' Paula whispered, 'I've checked the map and
the only turn-off to the right is a dead end. That is, before
we reach the A30. The lane he's diverting us to leads close
to another tor with a stone quarry close by.'

'Could I see some identification?' Tweed asked through
his open window.

'What the bloody hell for?' The man's face turned ugly.
He was reaching inside his slicker as he went on. 'You can't
get through . ..

'Don't do it!' Paula warned.

Her Browning automatic was pointed past Tweed at the
man outside. He withdrew his hand as though he'd burnt it.
He was looking uncertain and then turned to signal to the other men when Tweed reacted.

Ramming his foot down, he shot forward, scattering cones like ninepins. Men jumped out of the way and a missile of some sort landed on the bonnet, burst, spread a
light grey-coloured vapour.

Tear-gas!' Tweed snapped.

He closed his window, driving with one hand, main
taining his speed. A glance in his rear-view mirror showed
him the Sierra roaring after him. He heard two reports.

Shots had been fired. Nothing hit his vehicle. A quick
second glance in the mirror showed him the Sierra
rocketing up behind him: no apparent damage.