This United State (13 page)

'We'll find a cab and I'll see you safely home,' he said.

'That isn't necessary. It's out of your way. You can see me into a taxi and it will take me straight home.' 'Are you sure?'

'I'm certain.'

Tweed was in two minds. His instinct was to drop her off at her flat in the Fulham Road. On the other hand he wanted to go back to his office. He felt sure Monica would be working on her profiles into the early hours. He was impatient to see what she had come up with - and to add to her list the name of Jake Ronstadt. He had sensed something disturbing about the American's personality.

'That was odd,' Paula remarked, pulling her coat more tightly round her against the chilly night, 'Rupert, of all people, turning up at the bar.'

'He probably haunts places like that at night. Especially a new one like Goodfellows, only opened two months ago. On the lookout for new girl friends. You told me Mrs Belloc, down at Irongates, made a reference to his harem.'

'He's a typical rich man's son. An idler and a wastrel. He seemed to know Windermere.'

'Like attracting like. Both of them are worthless.'

'At one moment it looked like turning ugly,' Paula reflected. 'Bob certainly moved fast, getting Windermere out of the club.'

'Here's a cab.'

Tweed flagged it down. He opened the rear door and Paula dived inside, glad to get into some warmth. Tweed gave the driver a banknote to cover the fare and the tip.

'It's your job to see my friend gets back safely to the address I've given you.'

'With a tip like that, mate, I'd take her safely to Singapore,' the driver assured Tweed.

'I must be tired,' Paula called out to Tweed after she had lowered the window. 'I forgot to thank you for a marvellous dinner. I feel so relaxed.' She leaned out, kissed him on the cheek. 'Thank you again.' She looked down at the pavement. 'And don't get wet — it must have rained when we were inside.'

'Good night. See you in the morning.'

Newman had two surprises when he steered Basil outside Goodfellows. His companion suddenly straightened up, walked a few very steady paces before he turned back.

'Aren't you coming? You know my flat is just off Regent Street. Takes only a few minutes to hoof it there.'

Newman's second surprise was when he looked across the street at another restaurant. Sitting at the window table by himself, still wearing the horn-rims, was Marler. What on earth was he up to?

'I said, aren't you coming?' Basil called out again. 'Bloody cold hanging around out here.'

'That flat of yours must be damned expensive,' Newman commented as he hurried to walk alongside his companion.

Basil, striding along, showed no sign that he was affected in any way by the amount of alcohol he had consumed. He was even humming a tune.

'Awfully damned expensive,' he agreed in a lordly way. 'What does it matter? I've borrowed it from a wealthy lady who has gone abroad.'

'Do you ever buy anything yourself?' Newman wanted to know.

'Not if I can help it. Here we ire. Down this side street.'

Newman had the uncanny feeling they were being followed. He glanced back once. Couldn't see any sign of another human being. Odd. His instinct in that direction had always been right before. They walked rapidly down the narrow street. It was deserted. Basil stopped by his front door, felt for his keys. Newman turned to see if he could fit key into lock first time. He did without hesitation.

'Bob,' he said, turning on his heel. 'Now we've got here I'm feeling a bit tired.'

'Go straight up to bed,' Newman urged, relieved he wouldn't have to spend any more time with him. 'You look fresh but...'

'I was up till 4 am last night — that is, this morning. Do you mind? And thanks for coming with me.'

'Off to beddy-byes.'

Basil disappeared inside, closed the door. Newman felt spots of rain on his face. He swung round and Marler was only a few paces away. Newman grinned, punched Marler on his shoulder.

'Thought I had a tail.'

'You did. But it wasn't me.'

'Who the hell was it, then?'

'The Ear. He's been tracking Windermere all evening. I just wonder why.'

'Where is the Ear?'

'Ahead of us. He slipped past you when you watched Windermere opening his door. You never hear him. You rarely see him. And we're going to get soaked. Let's walk on, find a cab.'

They turned up the collars of their raincoats. It was very quiet. Only the patter of the rain and the squelch of their shoes on the pavement. Newman stopped suddenly, staring ahead. A small figure wearing a trilby hat appeared out of nowhere, shuffling away from them.

'I wonder who that is,' Newman mused.

'That is the Ear. Maybe he wants to talk to me. Now he is slowing down. Why?'

He looked up as he spoke and thunderclouds seemed almost to touch the top of the flat roofs of the terrace houses, most turned into flats, one of which was occupied by Basil Windermere. A brilliant flash of lightning was followed instantly by a deafening clap of thunder.

'Under cover,' said Marler. 'The Ear has darted into the shelter of a doorway.'

They had just reached their own shelter, close to a front door and under an overhang of a stone beam, when the cloudburst enveloped the street. Rain sluiced down at a slanting angle like a curtain of fine wires. Rivers of water ran down the street's gutters, the top of drainpipes overflowed, sending cascades of water down.

'That's why the Ear paused,' said Marler. 'He knew what was coming.'

Frequently he glanced out to make sure the Ear hadn't moved out of his shelter. The cloudburst ceased as quickly as it had erupted. They heard the storm drifting away to the east. Marler peered out again, stood stock-still.

'What's the matter?' Newman asked.

'The Ear is coming this way. I see now why he really paused.'

'Why?'

'Four men coming up the street this way. The Ear may be the target.'

It was the first time Newman had heard alarm in Marler's voice. He followed him, looked along the street. The small man was shuffling swiftly towards them. He must have recognized Marler, who had removed his glasses. He gestured over his shoulder, dived into another doorway.

Beyond him was a sinister cluster of four black opened umbrellas, feet walking under them. It wasn't possible when Newman first saw them to identify who was approaching — the cluster had the large umbrellas lowered, the feet steadily advancing beneath the shallow black cones. Then the front two umbrellas were elevated.

Each of the two visible men held handguns. Newman saw their weapons clearly as they passed under a street lamp. Soon they would reach the doorway where the Ear was hiding. He grabbed for his Smith & Wesson.

'Not wanted,' Marler snapped. 'Leave this to me.'

He took something out of his raincoat pocket. Newman saw it was a grenade. Marler waved a hand sideways at the Ear, who responded instantly, diving inside another doorway. Crouching down, Marler thrust his right hand, holding the grenade, behind him. Pressing a button, he rolled the object at high speed along the pavement.

It shot forward and the four umbrellas stopped moving. The object reached them, arriving in the middle of the group. There was a loud crack and the four men panicked, running along the pavement until they disappeared round a corner, their umbrellas waving madly.

'It was a dud,' Newman said. 'It should have killed them all.'

'Hardly.'

Marler was grinning as he stood up. He pulled his rain-covered coat away from his knees and waited for the Ear to reappear.

'What the hell was it?' Newman demanded.

'One of the new devices cooked up by the boffins in the basement back at Park Crescent. Looks like a grenade, it sounds like a grenade when it goes off. It explodes into tiny fragments you'd have trouble finding. It also contains a glue-like liquid which sprays all over the targets. They won't know what it is - probably be sure it's some kind of poison, which it isn't. I don't think we wanted dead bodies sprawled all over the pavement. We would have had a problem.

'Well, it worked. The thugs appear to have gone for good. They're probably rushing back to the Embassy to get checked by a doctor.'

'Here comes the Ear,' Marler observed. 'I'll introduce him as a friend.'

The little man was shuffling towards them. He glanced over his shoulder twice. A cautious chap, Newman thought - which was probably why he had survived so long. He was close to them when he crossed the street and looked back again to see round the corner where the attackers had vanished. A shot rang out. One single shot.

The Ear staggered, stumbled against the wall of a house, slid down the wall, his legs extended in front of him. He lay slumped there, very still, as Marler ran to him with Newman at his heels, the Smith & Wesson in his hand. Marler bent over the prone form. A red patch was blossoming on the forehead. He opened his mouth, staring at Marler. Blood gurgled.

'Basil...' Another grim gurgle. 'Schwarz...'

Then nothing. Marler checked his neck pulse. He stood up slowly, gazed at Newman. There was sorrow in his eyes - something Newman had never seen before.

'He's dead,' Marler said slowly. 'Not one of the thugs - he looked back towards us a fraction of a second before the bullet hit him. From the angle he was facing, the shot came from the roof of those houses. The Phantom.'

'I'll kill that bastard when the moment comes,' Newman said.

'No, you won't.' Marler placed a hand on Newman's arm. 'He's my meat.'

9

The taxi taking Paula home arrived close to the entrance to her flat. The driver had overshot the mark by a few yards. She got out into the quiet street, paid the driver, thanked him. She turned and walked the short distance back to the cul-de-sac.

Several cars were parked illegally by the kerb. It happened often at this late hour - wardens were rarely on duty at this time of night. An old lady approached her with a wrinkled hand held out.

'A fiver to save a soul,' she whined. 'I ain't eaten in two days. I'm droppin' with 'unger.'

The old woman had matted grey hair which hadn't been washed for Heaven knew how long. Her clothes were rags, held together in places with safety pins. Her beady eyes were pleading, at the end of their tether. Her thin lips trembled and her extended hand shook with the cold.

Paula tried to do two things at once. She pulled her shoulder bag in front of her, then used both hands to extract a five-pound note from her purse. Tired as she was she saw her shadow thrown by a street light on the damp pavement. Then she stiffened. There were two shadows.

With both hands holding her purse, she couldn't reach for her Browning in the special pocket. A rough hand grasped her throat. She lifted one foot to scrape it down the shin of her assailant. Then a pad was pressed against her face, covering her nose. She smelt chloroform. She tried to breathe out but the cold air had forced her to breathe in.

The old lady, bad teeth bared in an evil grin, blurred. Paula, as in a dream, was aware of the sound of a car door opening. Then she sagged, lost consciousness, knew nothing.

She was woozy, her eyes closed, her stomach threatening to erupt. She forced it to behave. She appeared to be sitting against some sort of couch. She kept her eyes closed. The fabric of the couch was well worn. She felt the hard edge of a wooden strut pressing against her back. It was icy cold. She forced herself to keep still.

She could hear the clump of hard shoes on a wooden floor. She opened one eye, then both eyes. A few yards away she could see who was making the clumping noise: The back of a short, thickset man with a bald head. The room was huge, like an old warehouse. She closed her eyes quickly as her captor began to turn round.

During her quick survey of her prison she had seen a large beam spanning the width of the warehouse, about ten feet above the floor. She felt sleepy, willed herself to keep awake. Something had been slung over the beam. She heard the clank of a chain.

That was what she had seen, a gleaming new chain with links about three inches wide. He was clumping about again, further away. Without moving her feet, she wriggled her toes. Anything to bring herself back to normal. The bald man had been holding something in his hand. A Colt automatic.