Cell

'A Browning?' Tweed enquired, concealing his surprise.

'Yes, a. 32. Surely you of all people must know about the weapon. I'm a member of a shooting club near the Thames. To continue, I watched from behind a gap in the curtains -watched this motor-cyclist carry an envelope to Drew's door and push it through the letter box. Then he roared off.'

'What did he look like?'

'Couldn't tell. Wore all the leather gear and a big helmet which completely concealed his face. Now, the envelope. It had no name or address on the outside. So, cheekily, I used a method for opening it I learned at Medfords – so you can later seal it and no one can tell it has been opened. I'd seen what was inside when the motor-cyclist came back. I stood to the side of the door with my Browning. He pushed open the flap of the letter-box and called out through the opening.'

'Same chap?'

'As far as I could tell. Again his machine was a Harley-Davidson. He spoke slowly and had a thick foreign accent. I decided that if he tried to break in I'd shoot him in the leg,' she said calmly.

'Why in the leg?'

'Then he could be interrogated later. He called out, "I delivered envelope wrong house. Push it back." I kept very quiet and he repeated the same words three times, then he gave up, rode away on his bike. Here it is.'

She handed Tweed a sheet of paper. It was good-quality bond paper and drawn in pen was a skilful picture of a cathedral with a huge dome. Tweed looked at her.

'St Paul's Cathedral,' she said. 'Very accurate. Good as a photograph.'

'I agree. What do you make of it?'

'The next target. This time in Britain. St Paul's is the supreme symbol of Christianity – which the fundamentalist Muslims want to destroy.'

'You're reading an awful lot into one drawing.'

'Am I?' Eva lifted her hand to push back a thick lock of hair away from her left eye. She had made this gesture several times. 'After the World Trade Center catastrophe in New York I asked Drew, who knows the Arabs, whether they really would be capable of planning such an intricate operation. He said it didn't really seem likely. Left it at that. I began to think about it, studying all the info I could get.'

'You came to a conclusion?' Tweed enquired off-handedly.

'I damned well did. I know the States. First they'd need one of those copious air timetables giving all flights – so they could pick out long-distance flights carrying tons of fuel. They'd have to decide which flights would be best. Then they'd have to check security. Find out where it was slack. Then locate quiet flats to rent where there was a mix of nationalities, so the killers wouldn't stand out. They'd have to visit the Trade Center several times, decide on the best place to hit both towers. Probably discover where the architectural plans were available so they could study the structure. And a whole lot more. I've been to Egypt, mixed with Arabs. They're not advanced enough to have planned September 11.'

'Who would be then?'

'My bet would be an American – or an Englishman.'

Eva was about to leave when Tweed asked her to wait a moment. He darted out of the office, ran upstairs to where he found Pete Nield and Harry Butler drinking coffee. He told them he wanted them to follow an Eva Brand who was waiting in his office. He described her vividly.

'I want to know where she goes, who she meets. You'll have to get cracking…'

Butler opened a cupboard, grabbed a beret and a cap which he shoved into his pockets. They wanted to take up positions outside before their quarry left. Tweed looked at Nield.

'Difficult for you to change appearance in that suit.'

'No it isn't,' Harry told him. 'He can turn it inside out and it's a boring grey colour. Seen him change in an alley. Timing? Thirty seconds. We're off…'

Like most of Tweed's staff they wore rubber-soled shoes, and without a sound slipped off down the stairs past the closed door of Tweed's office. Tweed slowly returned as the front door closed quietly. They would be in position well before his visitor left.

Whenever possible Tweed organized two people to shadow a target. The system worked well and made it very unlikely the target would have any idea he – or she – was being shadowed.

Eva was standing up, putting on her smart expensive grey coat. She smiled when he came in and checked her watch. Then she went close to him, kissed him on both cheeks.

'I have taken up too much of your time. Thank you so much for seeing me.'

'Didn't give me much choice, did you,' he replied with a warm smile. 'Do you want to give me your address and phone number?'

'Don't waste much time, do you?' she flashed back, smiling wickedly. 'But Paula has all my details.' She looked back at Paula. 'You take care. See you tonight at the Ivy.'

Then she was gone. With her absence the buoyant temperature inside the office seemed to have dropped. Even Monica seemed more subdued.

'What was all this business, Paula, about having dinner with her at the Ivy? You're developing expensive tastes,' Tweed remarked.

'It was Eva's idea,' Paula explained. 'She said it would be nice for just us two girls to go out and compare notes. I'm wondering whether she wants to interrogate me. I'll' be careful. But, that apart, I like her. She's clever. That business about who planned the atrocity in New York.'

'For weeks I have been wondering exactly the same thing myself. For similar reasons. Oh, I arranged for Pete and Harry to follow her.'

'So you don't trust her?'

'It's just that. As you know, I never take people at face value. Also I thought it curious that she never mentioned the disappearance of Mrs Warner. It has to be the main topic at Carpford.'

The door opened and Marler strolled in. He leant against a wall and produced one of his long cigarettes.

'Who was that devastating gorgeous woman I saw leaving here? The one with a great mane of dark hair and very tall.'

'You've just missed out,' Paula teased him. 'That was Eva Brand and Tweed has just sent Pete and Harry to shadow her. Now, if you had been here…'

'I don't think I like you any more,' he commented.

Paula had a point. Had Marler been available, Tweed would probably have sent him after her. An expert tracker, he always worked on his own and none of the targets he had followed had ever been aware of his presence. He lit his cigarette.

'What was Glamour Puss doing here?'

The phone rang and Monica looked surprised. She called out to Tweed. 'You'll never guess who is waiting to see you downstairs.'

Tweed hammered a fist on his desk, part of his new physical vitality. 'I don't want to guess. I want to know who it is.'

'Jules Beaurain.'

Wearing a blue bird's-eye suit, Beaurain breezed in. Tweed introduced him to Newman and Marler. Holding a posy of fresh flowers, Beaurain then walked swiftly to Paula's desk, laid down the posy.

'For an exceptionally intelligent and beautiful lady. It's a Belgian custom.'

'Don't believe that last bit, Jules,' Paula replied. 'They're wonderful. I can't thank you enough.'

'Then don't try.'

He sat down in the armchair facing Newman, stared at him as though he was some strange species. 'You're the reporter. I've read all your articles. Sometimes they're very good,' he chaffed, smiling.

'They're always good,' retorted Newman, returning the smile.

'Enough of this chit-chat. What brings you haring back to London, Jules?' Tweed asked.

'To give you information about Carpford I don't think you have yet. I phoned Buchanan. There are two more people up there you don't know about. You know where Margesson's house is?'

'Yes.'

Tweed had taken a large sheet of cartridge paper from his bottom drawer. Monica had earlier rushed to pick up the posy from Paula's desk, now she returned with a vase of water with the flowers carefully arranged. She placed them on Paula's desk. Paula extracted a rose, trimmed it with scissors, then went over to Beaurain. She inserted it in his lapel, using a safety pin to secure it. He looked up at her.