Part 12 (2/2)

'Do you feel like talking for a few minutes?'

'Of course I do. I'm tired but the brain is ticking over.'

'What happened at Eagle Street never happened. We've never even heard of the place. If we reported this to Buchanan we'd get bogged down in his investigation. We can't afford the time. The body of Hank Whoever...'

'Hank Waltz,' Newman said. 'Known as Diamond Waltz. I had a run-in with him months ago in New York when I was trying to interview Sir Guy Strangeways.'

'You mean a thug like that was protecting Strangeways?' Tweed asked in a tone of disbelief.

'So it seemed.'

'Before I force myself to take a shower,' Paula said, 'I'll get two pairs of blankets to make Pete and Harry more comfortable on the couches.'

'One pair,' said Nield. 'We'll take it in turns to stay awake while the other sleeps. G.o.d help anyone who tries to sneak in here.'

'Then I'll say goodnight.' Paula went to Tweed, hugged him.

'Now, don't brood over the fact that I came back to the flat from Goodfellows alone. I can look after myself. I did...'

'Earlier,' Tweed began after she had gone, 'I was going to say the body of Hank Whoever is likely to be washed up further down the Thames. Which is why we don't know anything about it. And how, Bob, did you know he was Diamond Waltz?'

'Two things. First from Paula's description of the thug. Also he happened to be in Goodfellows the night you were there with Paula and I was up at the bar with Basil and Rupert. Where to now?'

'Back to Park Crescent. It's going to be a long night ...'

'I had sinister news when I talked to Buchanan on the phone,' Tweed told Newman and Marler when they were settled in his office. 'An American syndicate is bidding for control of two leading London daily newspapers. Plus bidding for one of the top TV stations and three key radio stations. They're offering so much money they're bound to succeed.'

'What's going on?' asked Monica, who had finished one phone call prior to making another.

'It's serious. The syndicate - when it gets control - will be in a position to start brainwas.h.i.+ng the British public. There are shades of Dr Goebbels here.'

'Creepy, Monica replied.

'The size of this gigantic operation is growing by the hour,' Tweed warned.

'How do we counter this?' Newman wondered.

'We need more men as tough as - or tougher than - the opposition,' Marler interjected. 'As you know, I've spent quite a bit of time in the East End. Just in case we ever needed reinforcements I've trained a team of c.o.c.kneys. They're known as Alf's Mob. They're gut fighters.'

'They will never be a match for men with guns,' Tweed objected.

'Really?' Marler's expression was sardonic. 'They are lethal with their fists. In addition, in a remote spot in the countryside, I've trained them to use grenades stun, smoke, the deadly variety. They're now familiar with automatic rifles and handguns. They're masters of stealth - they can creep up on me and have their hands round my neck before I know anyone is near me.'

'I'm impressed.'

'Don't forget,' Marler reminded him, 'if you read the history of the Burma fighting in World War Two it was c.o.c.kneys who out-fought the enemy. c.o.c.kneys! In jungle warfare.'

'So we have a reserve. We may well need it. I'm working on a plan to go on to the offensive. We're not going to let these thugs have it all their own way. More details later.'

'About time,' Marler drawled.

'Tweed.' Monica leaned over her desk. 'I ought to alert you. Howard is back from his overseas visit. So he could be up here any moment.'

'We'll all go home and leave you to it,' Newman suggested.

'Hear, hear,' agreed Marler.

Howard, the Director, was not popular A pompous man, he was always complaining that Tweed didn't keep him fully informed about what was going on. His complaint was not without foundation - Tweed had a habit of keeping progress to himself until he was certain he knew what was happening. The phone rang, Monica answered it, looked surprised, put her hand over the mouthpiece as she spoke to Tweed.

'There's a Denise Chatel on the phone. Says she's Sharon Mandeville's a.s.sistant. Asked if you were still here - she's speaking from a car phone. She could be here in five minutes.'

'At this hour? Oh, well, we need to find out all we can. What does she sound like?'

'She has a lovely voice. Enchanting.'

Tweed stared at Monica. He had never before heard her refer to a woman with such words. Nodding, he indicated that the woman calling could come to Park Crescent.

'Now,' he began as Monica put down her phone, 'before Paula returned from her ordeal in Eagle Street we were talking about the Ear. You were telling me what happened to him.'

'I still feel rotten,' Marler said, 'leaving him there propped up against the steps, then making an anonymous call to Buchanan, telling him where there was a body.'

'Don't feel guilty,' Tweed a.s.sured him. 'The last thing we can cope with is getting caught up in an involved police investigation. Are you sure those men with umbrellas didn't kill him? You said they had guns.'

'Handguns,' Marler corrected. 'I should know enough now to recognize when a rifle bullet has. .h.i.t someone. It has to be the Phantom.'

'And,' Newman pointed out, 'Basil Windermere had disappeared inside his flat a few minutes earlier. Plus the fact that the last words Kurt Schwarz grasped out were Basil... Schwarz Basil... Schwarz.'

'Funny that he used his own name. Incidentally, I told you that when I was inside the American Emba.s.sy I saw Jefferson Morgenstern, accompanied by guards, putting a file in a safe. I'd like to get hold of that file. I think it's a job for Pete and Harry. They'll need a diversion. Heaven knows how they can manage it.'

'Set fire to the ruddy building,' Monica burst out. 'You know, that could be a good idea.'

'I was only joking,' Monica protested.

'I wasn't.' He paused while Monica answered the phone. She told him their visitor from the Emba.s.sy had arrived. 'Ask her to come up,' Tweed told her.

George opened the door, stood back, closed it when Denise Chatel had entered and stood quite still. Newman stared, then stood up. Marler leant against a wall, straightened up. He gazed at their visitor. Tweed. was amused at their reaction.

Denise Chatel, thirty-something, was about five feet eight tall. She had a good figure, without being voluptuous. A brunette, her hair fell below her shoulders. She had a longish face, excellent features and the hint of a warm smile lingered on her mouth. Wearing a figure-hugging two-piece blue suit, she was enticing. Tweed stood up, held out his hand.

'Do sit down, Ms Chatel. I'm intrigued to know why you have called to see me in the middle of the night.'

She crossed her legs elegantly as she sat down. Neither Newman nor Marler could take their eyes off her.

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