This United State (17 page)

'The Americans can be a bit brash. Doesn't worry me. And the more I can find out what they're up to the better. We're very short of time, I sense.'

'You realize they are taking a great interest in us? Tonight Bob is dining with Sharon Mandeville at Santorini's. Then Marler is taking out Denise Chatel.'

'The same thought had occurred to me. Incidentally, I want you to book seats on the early morning Swissair flight to Basel for six people. Me, Paula, Newman, Marler, Harry Butler and Pete Nield. Not sure when we'll be going but it will be suddenly. So, each day book, then cancel, and immediately book for the next day. Keith Kent, the money tracer, called me to say millions of dollars have been deposited with the Zürcher Kredit Bank — confirming what Schwarz said. I wonder why.'

'Who knows? Millions of dollars. That's a vast sum. Going back to Osborne, I doubt he'll tell you much.'

'He might let something slip. Oh, at a civilized hour, get me Ren6e Lasalle, chief of the Direction de la Surveillance du Territoire — French counter-espionage in Paris — on the phone.'

'Will do.'

'Any luck with identifying Charlie?'

'No. As I told you earlier it's difficult, but I'll go on digging.'

The phone rang again. Monica pulled a sour face, took the call. She looked even more sour.

'Now we have Roy Buchanan on the line. Says it's urgent — at this time of night.'

'I'll speak to him.'

'I know you work all night,' Buchanan began. 'Sometimes I try to get a bit of kip.'

'Sorry, and all that. Something's happened. Can I come and see you now? I think you'd want to know about it,' Buchanan suggested.

'Can't it wait till morning?'

'It could, I suppose. When would suit you?'

'Eight o'clock. You sound worried. It's too early, to worry. Wait a bit longer and then you'll have something. to fret about. That is, if my present reading of the situation is correct.'

'I've got enough on my plate,' Buchanan snapped. 'Get a bigger plate. Goodbye...'

'And you'd better go to the office next door and get some sleep yourself,' Tweed told Monica.

'I think I will. You talk as though you're expecting a storm.'

'A gale. Force Ten.'

Tweed had two hours' sleep. He woke up, alert, hearing the door to his office open. His right hand slid under the pillow, gripped the 7.65mm Walther automatic under it. It was a measure of his estimate of the gravity of the situation, that he had taken this precaution. He hardly ever carried a gun.

The light came on. Tweed, twisted on his right side, aimed the weapon at the door. Howard, the Director, stood framed in the doorway, looking startled. Tweed sighed, shoved the gun back under the pillow, got up, put on his dressing gown.

'Sorry if I wakened you,' Howard burbled. 'But George told me you were still here.'

'As you see, I am.' Tweed glanced at his wristwatch. 'I've had two hours' sleep and that will have to do. What are you doing, prowling about the place? I heard you'd returned from a holiday.'

He sat behind his desk while the Director flopped into the largest armchair. Howard was six feet tall with a plump, clean-shaven, pink face, and touches of grey in his neatly brushed hair. A large man in his fifties, he was immaculately garbed in a blue Chester Barrie suit from Harrods, a snow-white shirt and a Hermes tie. He rested one long leg over the arm of the chair, his usual posture. His voice was plummy.

'Hardly a holiday. I've just returned from Washington. I caught up on sleep by going to a hotel after the flight had landed. Had early breakfast, then came straight on here.'

'What's happening in Washington? Why go there?' Tweed poured water from a carafe into a glass, left for him by Monica. He sipped as Howard ran a hand over the dome of his head, a characteristic gesture when he was worried.

'I went there at the invitation of the august and influential Jefferson Morgenstern - only to find he had suddenly dashed off over here. He'd left some of his top staff to look after me. I was wined and dined at all the best places. Everyone I met made a big fuss over me as though I was the most important man in the world. Not the usual reception by a long chalk. All of which worried me. They wanted something - but never got round to saying what it was. Under their glowing greetings I detected tension. Something's rotten in the woodshed.'

Tweed was surprised. The pompous Howard often didn't grasp what was going on. But sometimes he had flashes of insight. Tweed drank more water before he began.

'The woodshed where there's something rotten is over here. I've got a lot to tell you...'

It was unusual for Tweed to tell Howard everything that had taken place. He did so now. If I don't survive, he thought to himself, someone had better be in the picture. Howard listened with great attention. He even removed his leg from over the arm of the chair, leaning closer to Tweed.

'So now you have the full story up to date,' Tweed concluded. 'Didn't they tell you anything in Washington?'

'They kept going on about the importance of the special relationship between Britain and America, the way things are in the world today. Each time I asked them to be more specific they changed the subject.'

'Interesting. Anything else?'

'They also kept asking if I knew where Cord Dillon might be. Told me he'd been sacked for embezzling funds.'

'Poppycock.'

'That's what I thought. I wouldn't have told them he was over here even if I had known. You said all the key personnel are down at the Bunker. I see why you had the place created now.'

'Not all the key personnel — but enough to make it an effective operational headquarters in a secret location.'

'What's this Ed Osborne you're having lunch with like?' Howard asked.

'What a lot of Americans would proudly call a tough guy.

'Don't like the sound of him. Thank you, Tweed, for being so frank. You'll be wanting to take a shower and get dressed.'

'I will. One more thing before you go. I slipped over to see the new PM at Downing Street. Luckily I knew him when he was a Cabinet minister. He's playing the present situation softly, softly.'

'That wouldn't be your idea?' Howard enquired.

'I did make a few suggestions. Apparently Morgenstern keeps asking to see him urgently. The PM has fended him off, saying he'll see him as soon as he can but at the moment he's grappling with his new job.'

'Interesting, as you said a minute ago. Think I'll leave you to it for now. Anything I can do to help, you know where I am. Take great care.' -

Which was another surprise for Tweed. He had never before known Howard to be so cooperative. When he returned to his office, fully dressed, Monica was already behind her desk, using the phone. When she had finished the call she looked at Tweed.

'I could get Rene Lasalle in Paris now. He gets in early to work, I remember.'

'Try him...'

'Rene, you old ruffian, how is life?'

'Life, Tweed, is pure hell. I was going to call you. What is on your mind?' the Frenchman asked in perfect English.

'I'm trying to get information on a Frenchman called Chatel. I haven't got his Christian name. He was married to an American, has a daughter called Denise. Your people sent him across to Washington as some sort of diplomat. He was killed in a car crash - along with his wife - about a year ago.'

'Is this line safe?'

'I met Harry Butler when I was coming into my office recently. He had just flashed the place. It's clean.'

'Good. Because this is highly confidential. Jean Chatel was posted to Washington as an attaché to the French Embassy. He was actually a member of the Secret Service. We'd heard rumours that Washington was considering mounting a major operation somewhere in Europe. Jean went to try to find out.what it was. Before he could report he died, as you've just told me.'

'Probably murdered.'

'We were suspicious.'

'Any data you could collect on his daughter, Denise, would be helpful. When you can. Now, why were you going to call me?' Tweed asked.

'A small army of Americans has been passing through Paris from Washington, on their way to London. Not normal tourists - although they pretend to be. All carry diplomatic passports, look like tough professionals. Some fly on to Heathrow but more are coming to you via Eurostar. When I caught on I sent men to the airport. Passport officers signalled when a man showed a diplomatic passport and my people photographed him secretly. I have a collection of pies.'

'Could I see them? Urgently. I'd appreciate your sending them by courier to me.'

'Consider it done. What is going on? We don't like Americans too much.'

'I'm trying to find out. Let's keep in touch.'

'The courier will reach you today. Take care, my friend...'

Tweed sat staring into the distance. In his absence Monica had removed blankets, sheets, pillow and camp bed. She had also opened the curtains. In the distance trees in Regent's Park cringed under the onslaught of a bitter wind. Men hurried along the street, heads down. Women walked clutching their collars tighter, trying to keep in some warmth.

'Monica, could you please add Denise Chatel to your profile list? Sorry to burden you with more work. I gave you the gist of her life story so far last night before I went to sleep. Check it out.'

'I put her on the list myself.'

'Roy Buchanan is late. Not like him.'

'No, it isn't.'

'Thank you for the breakfast. I hope nothing's happened to Roy.'

At precisely 9 am a long queue of people crowded into a large department store in Oxford Street. SALE

EXTENDED. LAST-MINUTE BARGAINS. GREAT REDUCTIONS.

Soon the ground floor was crammed. Shoppers sidled past each other, grabbed hold of goods, queued again to pay. They then had trouble leaving, so many people filled the place. There were several arguments as two women grasped the same bargain together.

The huge bomb detonated at precisely 9.15 am. There was a brilliant flash, a deafening explosion. Counters were lifted into the air. Shattered glass flew in all directions, Bodies slumped to the floor. Shoppers streaming with blood staggered about, their expressions dazed,. Then the screaming started.

There was a powerful aroma of perfume on many people. The crowd surged towards the exits, stepping over bodies. Ambulance sirens in the distance came closer. It was a scene of havoc. Like a picture on TV of a foreign war.

12

'I think I should summarize what's happened so far. It might help us to get events into sequence at the moment we're in, a fog,' Tweed began.

In his office were Newman and Marler, with Monica and Paula behind their desks. Roy Buchanan had still not arrived and there had been no word from him. Monica had served everyone with strong coffee to increase their alertness.

'It began with the arrival of Cord Dillon, and Paula spiriting him out of a murder attempt. Cord, sacked from his job on the grounds of so-called embezzlement, is at the Bunker. Recently 1 hired Keith Kent, the money tracer, to check on American movements of money. He called me from Basel in Switzerland, suggested I went there. Then he tells me that huge sums in dollars have been sent from Washington to the Zürcher Kredit Bank - in Basel. Paula, give us your impressions of the characters we've encountered so far.'

'You're having lunch with Ed Osborne at the bar in Piccadilly today. At his suggestion. You went to see Sharon Mandeville. At her suggestion. Bob is dining with Sharon this evening. At her suggestion. Marler is taking out Denise Chatel, also this evening. It was at Marler's invitation, but she agreed immediately. All these people are key Americans. I get the idea they're trying to smoke us out.'

'You could be right,' Tweed agreed. 'Now give us portrait snaps of the characters involved.'

'Ed Osborne is tough, clever and dangerous. I'd say he's pretty high up in the opposition. Sharon I haven't met so far. Denise Chatel
appears
to be the nicest, but she's a mystery, so an unknown quantity who should be watched. Sir Guy Strangeways is also clever, but he's playing a peculiar game. Big question mark. Basil Windermere is a piece of social rubbish. Ditto for Rupert Strangeways, a worthless idler. Don't you agree?'