Cell

'A few minutes ago Buchanan phoned me from the Carpford area.. .' He concluded by reporting the gist of the superintendent's much later phone call, that Buller had disappeared, and they were dragging Carp Lake.

'This is getting very grim,' Paula commented.

'And Buller reported that al-Qa'eda has moved its main base from Milan to somewhere over here,' Beaurain commented. 'Which links up with our experience.'

'Tell me,' Tweed said calmly.

He doodled as he listened, frequently glancing up at Beaurain. Nothing in his expression betrayed his reaction. When the Belgian had ended his story Tweed looked at Paula.

'Sounds as though you did pretty well during the battle of the amphitheatre.'

'I'd be dead if she hadn't been there,' Beaurain said.

'Oh, I guess we make a good team,' Paula responded casually.

'Describe this Petacci, who isn't really Petacci and who is English,' Tweed told Paula. He leaned forward, asked her for the man's likely age, height, colour of eyes, of hair.

She closed her eyes for a moment, visualizing him. Then she gave as detailed a description as she could.

'About fortyish, probably five feet eight, blue eyes, brown hair. No moustache.'

'It's Philip.' Tweed leant back in his chair. 'Left Special Branch several years ago. Good linguist so he went off trawling round the continent, made a living using contacts he'd picked up earlier to get information he could sell. But only to the West. Very patriotic.'

'His second name?' Paula asked. 'Philip who?'

'I'm not identifying him beyond what I've already said.'

'Reliable?' queried Beaurain.

'As reliable as you are.'

'Then his information about al-Qa'eda is to be trusted?'

'Absolutely. Combined with what Buller told me I think we can be sure their new base is somewhere over here – and that means they plan to make London our September 11. Not a comforting thought.'

'Maybe,' Beaurain suggested, 'we ought to explore Hastings and the area round it – where they come ashore.'

'Waste of time. Too late. They've landed at least twenty men. Similar number to the team which hit the World Trade Center in New York. So where are they hiding?'

'Up at Carpford?' Paula wondered.

'Unlikely. They could be driven there easily at night from Hastings, I agree. But where is the accommodation at Carpford to hide twenty men – maybe more? From what I know of the place it doesn't exist. It might just be the home of the mastermind, whoever he is.'

'What makes you so sure it is a "he"?' Marler drawled. 'Why not a woman? I've had a weird experience following Eva Brand.'

The idea stunned them. They sat silent, staring at Marler. He kept them in suspense as he took a cigarette from his gold cigarette case, didn't hurry lighting it, took a puff. He looked round, studying their expressions.

'Marler!' Tweed crashed his fist on his desk. 'Do get on with it. I have this horrible feeling the clock is ticking down to a catastrophe.'

'Yesterday evening she left her flat, took a cab to the Ivy, had dinner with the Right Honourable Peregrine Palfry…'

'I saw him meeting her when I was leaving,' Paula interjected. 'She told him about her experience.'

'Mind if I continue, my dear? Otherwise Tweed will slap you down. They spent two hours over dinner, seemed to know each other well. Then Eva, looking very serious, leaves in a cab she must have ordered. By now I'm back sitting in my car. I follow her. Back to her flat in Fulham. Once inside she turns on the light in the living-room, no curtains drawn. She unrolls a small prayer rug, kneels on it facing east, bows her head very slowly a number of times. Gets up, rolls the rug, tucks it under a sofa, showers – the bathroom window steamed up – then presumably goes to bed.'

'Are you sure of this?' Tweed asked, his tone disbelieving.

'You think I'd imagine a scene like that?'

'She's a ruddy Muslim fanatic,' Paula burst out.

'Hence,' Marler said gently, 'my question. What makes Tweed so sure the brain behind all this is a man?'

They were stunned again. Marler smoked his cigarette, looked at each in turn. Most people would be pleased with the idea of dropping a bombshell, reducing their audience to silence. Marler simply looked as though he'd been talking about the weather.

'Want to hear what she did next day?' Marler eventually enquired.

'Yes, we would,' Tweed said quietly.

'Gets up late – to avoid rush hour, I imagine. Has breakfast. Just croissants…'

'How on earth could you see that?' Paula demanded.

'Because, my dear, I'm using my monocular glass. She has good teeth. May I proceed? About ten she emerges, dressed in a windcheater, gets behind the wheel of her Saab after she's packed what she's carrying in the back…'

'What was she carrying?' rapped Tweed.

'I was coming to that. One very large Harrods carrier and a much smaller one which she puts in the car carefully. Briefly now, I follow her to Carpford. She parks the Saab out of sight behind Martin Hogarth's bungalow…'

'Not the boozy brother, Billy?' Paula queried.

'Who is reporting this sequence of events?' Marler gave her a look. 'Eva then reappears, carrying both carriers. The elegant Martin is waiting for her, opens the door, she goes inside. Spends a couple of hours there, then drives back to her Fulham flat. I wait nearby all day and half the evening. She doesn't come out again. So, here I am.'

'Mysterious,' commented Beaurain. 'I'd like to meet the lady.'

'You most certainly would.' Marler chuckled. 'I reckon she would dazzle you.'

'A good looker?'

'That's an understatement.'

'What Marler has told us brings Martin Hogarth into the picture,' Tweed broke in impatiently. 'We never thought about him…'

As though on cue, Newman walked in, followed by Harry and Pete. Newman's report on Hogarth was useless. He had tried to call on his target but the door was never answered. Even though Newman could hear movement inside the bungalow. He'd waited for hours but Martin had never appeared.

Harry's report was more positive. As always, he kept his narrative brief.

'Palfry stays in the Ministry until mid-evening, then takes a cab to the Ivy. I see Pete here watching the place.'

'I didn't see you,' Nield grumbled.

'You weren't supposed to. If you had seen me I'd be no good at my job, mate. By then Tweed had phoned me to tell me to watch the Ivy to guard Paula.' He looked at Nield. 'You certainly saw me then.'

'Bob,' Tweed said quickly, 'you were watching Victor Warner. What did you see?'

'Nothing. Never caught one glimpse of our brilliant Minister. All the time I was enduring the boredom of Whitehall Warner never appeared. I'm pretty sure he wasn't in the building. And that was a long absence.'

'Time I called on the lawyer, Pecksniff, who handles the finances for this invisible New Age company which developed Carpford.' Tweed was putting on his raincoat as he continued, 'You can come with me, Paula. I doubt we'll get anything out of him. A dubious lawyer.'

'I'd better come too,' Harry said. 'If he clams up I'll pay him one of my calls.'

Ali was waiting inside a phone-box in a remote village. He grabbed the phone on the second ring. 'Yes?'

'Who is that?' the strange voice talking through a distorter demanded.

'Ali.'

'Abdullah here. Is the equipment in place now?'

'Four milk vans carrying the bombs…'

'Idiot! I used the word equipment. You do the same. Well?'

'Four items of equipment are in place – inside the warehouse. They have to be transported to their ultimate destination. The fifth vehicle's engine wouldn't start. We're working on it. Another hour and