Blood Storm

'I see,' he said as Newman sat down. 'Then that does it. We will use any unorthodox method to remove the Cabal from any contact with politics. Any method, however ruthless. The gloves are off. I'm glad you killed those State Security thugs. We may have to eliminate many more. From this moment on no one leaves this building without carrying weapons. And I want a guard to accompany Paula wherever she goes.' He held up a hand as she started to protest. 'I have a premonition you may be one of their main targets – from the way Partridge looked at you when she pretended to visit us on her own.'

'You think the Cabal knew?' she asked.

'I doubt if they knew everything she told us, but she's too smart to come here without their knowledge.'

'May I report something?' Pete Nield requested. 'While you were away I had another long talk with my informant. She told me the Parrot is crazy over Nelson. At least she was. For some reason now she hates him.'

'Paula,' Tweed asked, 'what emotion is most likely to cause a woman to turn into a murderous rage?'

'Jealousy.'

'It opens up a new possibility.'

'Well,' Paula said, 'at Professor Saafeld's didn't I correct him when he kept saying "he" for the murderer? I suggested it could be a woman who was responsible for Vander-Browne's awful fate.'

'We'll keep all our options open.'

'You know,' remarked Newman to Tweed, 'you do have so much on your plate now. First this merger of the security services you're fighting. Second, the investigation into the Fox Street murder. Two separate problems. A bit much?'

'Not necessarily. I'm beginning to wonder if there isn't a link between the two.' Tweed produced a sketch from a locked drawer, invited his team to come and look at it.

It was a retouched photo produced by Joel, the artist in the basement. They crowded behind Tweed and stared at the result. It showed an attractive woman's head and shoulders. Her dark hair was close to the side of her head, like a helmet.

'Joel worked on one of those photos of the Parrot you took, Paula,' Tweed explained. 'I gave him a description of someone. You are now looking at the picture of the waitress, so-called, who laced my margarita with Percodin and brought it to the table. "With the compliments of Mr Mungano." On the way back from Peckham Mallet I called in at Mungano's, saw the proprietor. I knew he'd been adding to his staff of waiters by hiring a few suitable girls. I showed him this.'

'Go on,' Paula urged, 'what did he say?'

'That he'd never hired anyone who looked a bit like her.'

'So that links her directly with the plot to frame you for the Fox Street murder,' Paula said, concealing her excitement. 'Now we can concentrate on the Parrot.'

'She was never out of my calculations – among a range of suspects,' Tweed replied. 'What triggered me off was that contact lens you found on the floor. The fake waitress who drugged me had blue eyes. I'm going to see the Cabal soon. It will be interesting if Partridge appears so I can see the real colour of her eyes.'

'May I corne with you when the time comes?' Paula asked.

'I was going to take you with me in any case.' Tweed looked at Newman. 'Bob, I also want to go down with you and Paula to Black Island, urgently. I found out General Lucius Macomber lives there. Not far from the village of Lydford. I think it's important I have a long talk with him. He is the father of the three men composing the Cabal.'

'What about those explosives in that furniture van? I'd like to go down and check out that black box, maybe muck it up,' said Harry.

'Do that. But Peckham Mallet is the devil of a place to locate. Mainly because it doesn't really exist. I'll draw you a plan marking the lane to the General's cottage, the cottage itself and location of the barn. Both the van and the doors to the barn it's inside have very heavy padlocks.'

'Piece of cake for me.' Harry bent down, lifted up the bag with his tools he carried almost everywhere. 'I've already located Peckham Mallet on the map.'

'Then we don't waste time,' Tweed decided firmly. 'Tomorrow, Harry, you go check out that furniture van.'

'Excuse me,' Monica broke in, 'I checked the name on the side of the van, as you asked me to. No firm with that name exists. I also checked the number plate. Stolen from a car in a police compound.'

'Fitch has a nerve,' Newman commented grimly.

As they were talking, Marler walked in.

Marler was a key member of Tweed's team. He dressed at least as smartly as Pete Nield. This afternoon he was sporting a blue Aquascutum suit, a cream shirt and a blue tie decorated with herons in flight. His feet were clad in black handmade shoes with concealed razor-sharp blades in the tips.

In his early forties, but looking like a man in his thirties, he was slim, and five feet nine tall. Women found him good-looking. His hair was fair, he was clean shaven with features which suggested he felt superior, although he had perfect manners and an upper-crust voice. He was also reputed to be the most deadly marksman in Europe. He walked across to his usual corner by Paula's desk, leaned against the wall, took out a cigarette and inserted it into a black holder before lighting it.

'Thought I heard the name Fitch, my old sparring partner Amos. Weird that such a murderous villain has a biblical name. Last time I met him he tried to knife me. He ended up on the floor, cold to the world. I've often thought I should have killed him,' he remarked casually. 'World would have been a better place without him.'

'It certainly would,' Paula said coldly.

Tweed heard this uncharacteristic tone in her voice. Paula had become even tougher. He guessed it was since seeing Viola's shattered body. He stood up.

'It's been a long day. Tomorrow will be another one. So I suggest you all go home and relax in whatever way you prefer.'

'I'm taking my girlfriend, Roma, out to dinner,' Newman announced. 'She's very bright and entertaining. Two degrees from Cambridge. I have to be alert to keep up with her.'

'Then make the most of it,' Paula teased him. 'It won't last long.'

'You might be more polite. I'm escorting you home.' He saw her expression. 'No option, Tweed's orders. I'll call back later to make sure everything is secure.'

'That will be about 4 a.m.,' she said wickedly. 'When you've torn yourself away from Roma. That's a curious name.'

'She was born in Rome, daughter of the British Ambassador. She was born in the Embassy, so she's as British as you are. Ready to leave?'

'Not for half an hour at least, maybe longer. I have a report to type. If that's going to mess up your date with Roma…'

'It isn't. I'm not seeing her until eight o'clock.'

'I'm off to prowl the East End,' Harry called out as he left.

'I'm off too,' Marler said. 'To have a drink with some Members of Parliament. To see whether they've heard of State Security. If so, get their reaction. Toodle-oo…'

Nield said he had a job to do. He left the building, climbed into his car. He was waiting for Tweed to leave so he could follow him home. No good telling him. He'd blow up.

'I'm off too,' Tweed decided. 'Let's hope we have a quiet night.'

It was a statement he later regretted.

11

That afternoon Fitch had used his mobile to contact his accomplice, Tony Canal. They had arranged to meet at 9.30 p.m. at the Pig's Nest in the East End but Fitch had used this tactic before. It was important to show who was boss, to throw his henchmen off balance. He called Canal again in an hour.

'Meet me at the warehouse now!' he snarled.

He switched off before Canal could reply. Fitch was inside the abandoned warehouse. The old wooden floor was still solid but the skylights were missing several panes of glass. The large room, once used by a shipping company for storage, had been rented by Fitch for a song. In a fictitious name.

While he waited his booted feet clunked up and down the floorboards, pacing impatiently. He was smoking a cigar, a Havana. Only the best was good enough for Amos Fitch, and he had a nice balance in a small bank, the fruits of his criminal exploits.