Blood Storm

'And Noel?' Tweed asked. 'He may be the youngest but I had the impression he's very clever. And he was the one who talked about reining in the State Security men in uniform. Could be any of the three.'

The traffic was either crawling like a snail or stationary. When he couldn't do anything about a problem Tweed was eternally patient.

'Anything else occur to you,' he asked, 'while you sat and watched them?'

'I was trying to imagine which pair of hands had strangled the cat so horribly all those years ago. Came to no conclusion at all. One of them had a viciously cruel streak in those days.'

'Probably still has. Which could link up with the horrific murder of Viola. That's only a theory,' he warned.

Eventually arriving back at Park Crescent they were met in the office by Marler. He handed Tweed an envelope.

'More snaps for your photo album. I waited near the exit of Special Branch HQ. Saw you both leave, then three men came out one by one, with intervals between them. I took their pics.'

'That's Nelson,' Tweed said, showing Paula who had darted over from her desk. 'Then this is Benton. Finally, we have Noel. You followed them, of course?' he said, looking at Marler.

'Of course. They left at intervals, and one by one they met inside a restaurant beyond Trafalgar Square. Cunning lot. They didn't want to be seen going to lunch together.'

'So how on earth,' queried Paula, 'did you get back here ahead of us – and in time to get these printed downstairs?'

'Motorbike. I passed your stopped car, nipping in and out of traffic. Knew you wouldn't spot me. Not with my helmet and visor. Any good? The pics.'

'First rate,' said Paula, picking them up again. 'You have their features so clearly.' She handed them to Pete and Harry. She told them who was who. 'In case you ever encounter one of them.'

'Maybe I could get a word in edgeways,' Monica piped up. She brought over a thick envelope, dropped it on Tweed's desk. 'Return tickets for you, Newman and Paula. To Marignane on your way to Aix. Phoned Jim Corcoran. He'll be on the lookout for you – to slip you past security.'

'Economy,' Tweed replied. 'Thank you.'

'Well, Newman told me Philip had warned us Noel Macomber was on his way to Aix. If he's delayed he might be on the same flight. I'm gambling that, if he is, he'll hide himself in economy.'

'Clever lady. What would I do without you?'

'Get the paperwork in a proper mess,' she joked.

'So where is Newman?' he asked.

'Back at his flat in bed with Roma, would be my guess. She has lasted longer than any of her predecessors.'

The Cabal had waited until they returned from lunch to talk about their visitors, and were seated at the three-sided table. Nelson set the ball rolling.

'I don't think we're going to get Tweed to join us…' 'No doubt about that,' agreed Benton. 'So the next item on the agenda is: how do we stop him cold?'

'By elimination,' Noel decided. 'I'll be thinking about the best method to deal with them – Paula has to go too – while I'm flying out to Aix. Best thing would be if they both disappeared for ever. Bodies never found. I've set the wheels in motion in case it comes to this.'

'Won't involve Fitch, I hope,' mused Benton.

'I'm the Planner,' snapped Noel, glaring at Benton. 'So you leave the problem to me. You don't want to know.'

19

Tweed was in a hurry. Monica had warned him they should leave soon or miss the Air France flight. He gave orders to Pete Nield to see Coral Flenton again, to extract more information from her – about the Parrot, about her friendship with Viola from their schooldays on.

'Harry,' he called out. 'You are coming with us to Aix, flying tonight. At the special late request of Philip.'

'Now we're in April,' Paula told him, 'it's warmer. I have checked Provence. It's warmer still down there. So in that bag you'll find lighter-weight clothes.'

Monica walked over, handed Harry an envelope. 'There's a return ticket for you also,' she said. 'So make sure you come back.'

'Thanks for the vote of confidence,' he replied.

Within minutes they were all inside Newman's Range Rover, on their way to Heathrow. Tweed told Newman to park in Short Stay. Crossing the bridge from the car park to the airport they met Jim Corcoran.

'You go aboard first,' he told them. 'Get a move on. I'll be with you until you're aboard…'

At the check-in desk Paula became aware of a passenger behind her who appeared to have survived a car crash. He was a tall man, smartly dressed, but his head was covered with a bandage. He gazed round through dark tinted glasses. As Paula presented her ticket he muttered something like 'wrong check-in…'

As he walked away Newman watched him and Paula did the same. The bandaged victim was standing near the exit talking into a sophisticated mobile. Newman grunted, smiled.

'A spy reporting the flight we're on. Maybe a reception committee waiting for us.'

'That was Mugger Morgan,' Harry said. 'Forgot to bandage his jaw. I broke it once.'

They settled in their seats. Very quickly the engines built up power, they were rolling towards the departure slot, straight on to the runway, then taking off.

Newman found two cushions, slipped one behind Paula's back, seated in front of him, the other behind her head. She rested her head, fell fast asleep. It was almost dark but in the seat beside her Tweed remained alert. He hated sleeping when flying.

Paula woke suddenly, looked out of the window. A moon cast a luminous glow over a landscape with rows of sticks on a south-facing slope. Vineyards were beginning to show signs of life. The plane was dropping rapidly. She'd slept during the whole flight.

'That man at the airport,' she whispered to Tweed. 'I wonder what will happen at Aix's airport?'

'Philip will have foreseen that development. Never misses a trick. I don't understand his late request for Harry.'

He kept his voice very low since Harry was seated across the aisle.

'He'll have a reason,' she replied, gazing out of the window.

In the distance she could see several new buildings. Beyond them nothing but a flat endless plain. Marignane was in the middle of nowhere. We have no weapons if there's trouble, Paula thought. Leave it all up to Philip.

They disembarked down the staircase and walked to the airport buildings. Paula was immediately aware it was much warmer. Philip met them the moment they entered. He was accompanied by a small Frenchman in an elaborate uniform.

'Armand,' Philip introduced. 'Chef du Securite. We must keep moving. Good flight?'

'Must have been,' said Paula, trotting to keep up with the two men. Tweed by her side, Newman and Harry guarding their rear. Armand unlocked a door, led them down a long corridor well away from the arrivals hall. Outside again, Newman shook hands with Armand, hustled them inside a grey people-carrier with small windows. No one had checked their tickets or the small bags they were carrying.

Behind the wheel, Philip Cardon smiled at Paula. He drove at speed along a narrow road, emerged on to an autoroute, pressed his foot down. Now they were really moving. Tweed, who had again given Paula the window seat, grunted.

'When we stop somewhere I'll catch my breath.'

'Soon,' Philip called back, 'we will stop briefly. So I can hand out cutlery, the weapons you're all used to.'

'So it's that sort of a trip,' Harry called out behind Paula. 'I guessed it might be when I was hauled in at the last minute. Fair enough…'

Paula gazed out of her window. The vineyards had disappeared. In their place were dense forests of evergreens. Between gaps she caught sight of high rolling hills, everything glowing in the luminous moonlight. Philip slowed down, glanced again in his rear-view mirror, then swung off the main road up a cutting fenced in by trees, arrived at a concrete circle. He turned round it, stopped, switched off headlights, engine.