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'My favourite creep,' Newman told her. 'He'll be there tomorrow evening. I know he likes to hide himself away when he's typing his column. You'd better watch it. He has a reputation for being a professional ladies' man.'

'That might help me to get him talking,' she teased Newman. 'You think I'm his type?'

'He'll either tell you to go to hell or flatter the life out of you. So you won't know whether you're coming or going.'

'In case you didn't realize it, I have had experience fending off numerous predatory males. I'll cope.'

'If I can, could I come with you? Unless you have Tweed by your side.'

'Thanks. I'll bear it in mind.'

'And,' Newman warned, 'those Hogarth brothers -strange name – don't sound like the sort you'd ask to dinner. Especially Billy.'

Tweed jumped up, began pacing as he gave orders to Monica. 'I've a load of work for you. I want dossiers compiling on all those people who live up at Carpford. Where they came from, their associates, as far as possible. Also a dossier on Victor Warner, the Minister. That will have to be dealt with delicately. Finally, one on Eva Brand. You've got her address, Paula.'

'Yes, she lives not far away from me in Fulham. Surely you don't suspect her of something?'

'I'm not trusting anyone. Eva came charging in here with her drawing of St Paul's. Can't imagine what that has to do with Warner's apparent interest in a Colombian drug cartel. Check her out. I'm also intrigued about the circle of relationships in that village. The Hogarths are brothers, but they're also cousins of Drew Franklin. On top of that Eva Brand is a niece of Franklin's. Too much coincidence. You know I don't believe in coincidences.' He extracted from a drawer his detailed plan of Carpford and its inhabitants, handed it to Paula. 'I'd like you to check that and show the position of Black Wood. I'm not sure how far away it was.'

'Pretty close. I'll draw it in for you.'

'Tweed,' Monica called out after answering the phone. 'I have Pete Nield on the line for you…'

'Pete, how are you getting on. Haven't lost her, have you?' he joked.

'As if we would. It's a bit odd. She first took a cab to the Ministry of Security. Was inside fifteen minutes. Then she comes out, catches another cab and goes into the maze of streets near Covent Garden. The cab waits while she walks out of sight of it and enters Monk's Alley, crouching to slip under the crime scene tape. She uses a torch – it's dark by now – and appears to be looking for something on the ground. When she comes out she's holding a Beretta automatic in her right hand which she slips inside her coat presumably so the cab driver waiting for her a distance back won't see it…'

'Hang on, Pete. How could you know it was a Beretta? You wouldn't be just behind her, I assume.'

'I used my monocular with the night glass lens attached to it. She gets inside the cab and it drops her at an address in Fulham…'

'Wait a second.' Tweed gestured for Monica to give him the slip of paper with Eva's address Paula had taken to her earlier. 'Now, what address?'

It was the same address Eva had written, plus her phone number, on the piece of paper she had handed to Paula before leaving.

'That's where she lives,' Tweed told Pete. 'What on earth is she up to now?'

'Getting ready to go out tonight would be my guess. The bathroom window is all steamed up.'

'Right. This is what you do. Stay there out of sight. I say that because I'm getting the impression she's pretty smart. She's having dinner with Paula at the Ivy. Follow her, then wait outside the restaurant. One of you had best grab some sandwiches and get that flask you always carry filled with tea. When she goes inside with Paula wait outside for them to come out. Something might happen.'

'Understood. We'll be ready for a fracas.'

Tweed began pacing up and down his office again, a sign Paula recognized that the momentum was building up. He was about to issue another order when Marler strolled in, wearing a camel-hair coat as he went to lean against a wall. Tweed stared at the coat.

'In that garb you could be mistaken for Special Branch.'

'Which is the general idea. I've been talking to some of Mr Special Branch's informants. Way below the calibre of mine.'

'Well, get on with it,' Tweed snapped. 'Anything to report?'

'The mugs all tell the same tale. Rumours that top people from the Colombian cartel have arrived in London. They go vague when I ask where I can find them.'

'Warner has Colombia on the brain.'

'Agreed. But I also had a chat with a woman, Carla, who is my favourite informant. Wants to join our outfit, which is why she's working for me. She's clever. Well educated, she can dress like a tart and talk the lingo so a Cockney would think she was from the East End.' He paused to light a cigarette while Tweed waited impatiently. 'Carla,' Marler continued, 'has heard a strong rumour that London is facing its own September 11 – a monstrous attack. She says the killers have slipped into the country, Saudis and a group from Algeria. No clue as to the form the attack will take or where or when, but soon.'

'You believe her?' Tweed pressed.

'Carla's never been wrong before. She was in that Soho joint, Belles, which we have reason to know. She has languages, including French and Arabic. She lingered at the bar not far from a table where three Arabs in white turbans were talking…'

'Not black turbans?' Tweed checked.

'I thought I spoke clearly. Black would suggest something else now. Maybe they weren't keen to advertise. She caught a few words. "The equipment is on its way. It has already left the farm." That was all she could hear.'

'You have a visitor,' Monica called out after talking on her phone. 'You'll be pleased. Waiting downstairs is Jasper Duller, Chief of Special Branch, together with a partner.'

'Buller, the Bull, as his staff nickname him. A brute who terrifies everyone working for him. Should be fun.'

Tweed returned to his desk. He took off his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves. He glared at Monica as he was speaking.

'Tell Buller he can come up to see me on his own while his partner waits in the visitors' room. Actually, tell George, who won't stand any nonsense. If Buller doesn't like my suggestion he can go jump in the Thames.'

Newman got up from his chair and perched on Paula's desk. 'I met Buller recently. He's as thick as five planks.'

'He's on his way up,' Monica reported after a few minutes. 'On his own. I could hear him swearing at George who just kept repeating your instruction word for word.'

As Tweed expected, Buller was wearing a camel-hair coat when he stormed into the room. About five feet eight tall, he was very heavily built and had a large head. His hair was cut to a stubble and the face below it suggested aggression. Under thick brows the eyes were dark, hostile and flickered about, checking everyone in the room. In his forties, he had the broken nose of a prize-fighter, a tight-lipped mouth, a determined jaw and the air of a man who expected instant obedience.

'I won't stand for this,' he bellowed, 'shoving my partner in a bare room and locking the door on him.'

'Then try sitting down,' Tweed suggested amiably. 'It is normal to phone for an appointment first.'

'Blow that for a lark,' Buller growled and sagged into an armchair. 'You don't seem to know who you're talking to.'

'It is Jasper Buller, I presume,' Tweed said genially.

'It is the Chief of Special Branch.' His tone was a snarl.

'Now, I need to know what you and that young lady…'He turned to look at Paula and his expression briefly became cordial as she stared back '… were doing ferreting around up at Carpford.'

'Why?' Tweed enquired. 'You think the place is populated with Colombian cartel barons?'