Part 18 (2/2)

'I haven't seen him so far,' Paula commented.

'You may well. Yet.' Newman warned. 'He's intelligent, so could be dangerous.'

'Came in three weeks ago,' Tweed said, looking at the back.

'And that,' Paula pointed out, stabbing her finger at another of the prints, 'is Jake Ronstadt.'

'Came in five weeks ago,' Tweed noted. 'Which is interesting. He was in the vanguard, which suggests he came early to set up something. Maybe the Executive Action Department.'

'There are three people missing,' Paula observed. 'Denise Chatel, Ed Osborne and Sharon Mandeville. Maybe the French didn't photo them.'

'I don't think that's the explanation,' Tweed objected. 'I'd say they flew direct here from Was.h.i.+ngton to Heathrow. Just as Jefferson Morgenstern did.' He stood up. 'Which reminds me, I'm having dinner with Jefferson at the Amba.s.sador's residence this evening. It's no more than a quick walk from here. Jefferson called me before I left my flat. I accepted immediately.'

'You need a bodyguard,' said Newman.

'I do not. Jefferson is one of the old school. A very devious man - has to be to do his job - and he has his own idea of honour. Monica, you're still booking seats for us on the Swissair flight, I imagine.'

'Day by day.'

'Since you're all here,' Tweed said, glancing round the room, 'I hope you have your bags packed with cold-weather clothing. You have? Good. Because we're leaving for Basel on the early flight tomorrow morning.'

'You're going somewhere?' Monica asked as Tweed put on his coat. 'It's much too early for your meeting with Morgenstern.'

'I know. I have somewhere else to go first.'

'I'd better warn Butler and Nield about the flight,' Monica said.

'Don't do that. They have a job to do back here. They'll come on to Basel when they're finished. So keep booking seats for them daily. I've got to go now. Everything is breaking loose.'

When he had gone Monica slammed down the pen she was holding. She sat behind her desk, arms folded, looking furious.

'What's the matter?' Newman asked.

'Tweed's always doing that to me recently. Says he'll be back as soon as he can. I ask him where I can contact him. So he simply says something like, ”I have to be somewhere else in a hurry.” No clue as to where he's gone.'

Back behind her desk, Paula's brain was in turmoil. She had felt better when Tweed seemed like his normal self, full of activity, carrying on as usual but with a hint of great urgency. Now Monica's grumble had made her wonder again. Why was he being so exceptionally secretive? Who was he going to see?

Marler sat behind Tweed's desk to call Cord Dillon at the Bunker. Mrs Carson answered, put Dillon swiftly on the line.

'Cord, Marler here. We have a problem which might just be up your street. If you're willing to go for it. There's a young woman, in her thirties, at the Emba.s.sy. Had dinner with her last night. She's called Denise Chatel. I'll spell that...'

With his notepad open in front of him, Marler explained the problem, gave him all the data. He spelt out the name of the little town in Virginia where the fatal car crash had taken place over a year before and everything else Denise had told him. Dillon asked him to slow down so he could scribble on a notepad.

'Can you do anything, get some facts?' Marler ended.

'Sure thing. Glad to have a problem I can get my teeth into. This is just the sort of problem I dealt with sometimes, back at Langley - tracing a missing person or someone on the run. I'll get Jim Briscoe's number, wherever he's retired to Virginia is on New York time, so they're five hours back. I'll wait for people to get to work, then go into action. Can I call you back at Park Crescent?'

'You can. And I'm very grateful...'

'Consider it done.'

In his usual abrupt way Dillon broke the connection. Marler took the envelope from Paris that Tweed had left on his desk. He spent some time examining each print, memorizing faces, recalling names that had been put to each one. Eventually he put them back inside the envelope.

'Enjoying yourself?' Paula enquired.

'It helps to know the enemy. Now I'm going back to my flat to collect a few more things for what Tweed keeps calling cold weather. I thought it was pretty nippy here...'

Marler did not drive straight to his flat. He had decided to look at the outside of the flat where Denise Chatel lived. Plus the fact that Sharon Mandeville lived next door. It was always useful to know the locations of people involved.

There was heavy traffic on the way to Belgrave Square. Marler knew he would have a parking problem so he drove slowly into one of the most expensive squares in London. Checking the numbers, he was close to where Denise lived when he saw a big truck pulled in at the kerb. The driver was changing a wheel. Marler played with his engine, causing it to make funny noises. He stopped near to the truck. The driver, stopping for a cigarette, saluted him.

'You got trouble too, mate?'

'Engine's playing up. It would. I'm in a hurry.' 'That's when they always let you down.'

Still seated behind his wheel, Marler was watching the entrance to the Chatel flat and hoping no police car came along. He was parked illegally. Then he sat up straighter, stopped playing about with the engine. It took a lot to startle Marler, but startled he was. The door to the flat on the ground floor had opened and Tweed walked out a few paces. He turned round and Denise appeared. They chatted for only a moment, then they shook hands and Denise closed the door.

Marler slumped down behind the wheel. An unoccupied taxi came along. Tweed flagged it down after glancing round the square. Saying something to the driver he climbed inside, pulled the door shut behind him. The taxi moved off, vanished round a corner.

Marler started his engine, backed, waved to the truck driver who gave him a thumbs-up sign. Then Marler drove back to Park Crescent in heavy traffic. For once he felt dumbfounded. What on earth could Tweed have been up to? He couldn't think of any explanation. He decided to keep quiet about what he'd seen.

'Tweed's with Howard,' Monica told Marler as he entered the office at Park Crescent. 'I expect he's telling him about your trip to Basel with the others. I've got your ticket, of course.'

'Thanks. 'Fraid I have to ask you to change that. Book me on the earliest possible flight to Geneva tomorrow.'

'What's the idea?' asked Tweed, who had just returned and heard Marler's request.

'Presumably we have to pa.s.s through all the usual checks at Heathrow before we beard.'

'Actually, no.' Tweed was settled behind his desk now. 'I got in touch with Jim Corcoran, my old friend and Security Chief at Heathrow. We'll bypa.s.s Customs and Pa.s.sport control so we get aboard the plane before anyone else.'

'But we'll still have to pa.s.s through the metal detectors,' Marler persisted.

'Yes, we do. Even Jim can't get us past that check.' 'So we'll arrive in Basel unarmed.'

'You have a point.'

'Which is why I'm flying to Geneva. I have a contact there who will supply me with an a.r.s.enal. For a price.'

'Then you travel the same day to Basel,' said Newman, who sat in one of the armchairs. 'By train - where there are no checks.'

'Got in one, chum,' Marler agreed.

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