The Power

'London,' Tweed lied smoothly. 'There shouldn't be a lot of traffic on the roads at this hour.'

'I'd have expected you to stay somewhere down here until the morning,' Gaunt persisted.

No one had mentioned the bomb outrage at Park Crescent to their host. He reached for a box of cigars and, when everyone refused, lit one for himself. It was quite a rituaclass="underline" trimming the tip off, after rolling it close to his ear, then using a match to ignite it. He took a deep puff and sighed with enjoyment.

'That's better. After today. Tweed, I have been wondering what happened to all the cars Amberg and his guests must have arrived in. Amberg always had a Roller.'

'The police drove them away for further examination.'

'Fat lot of use that will do them.'

'It's surprising what forensic specialists can detect.'

'You really do sound like a policeman.' Gaunt's eyes gleamed as though scoring a bull. 'What do you do for a living?'

'I'm an insurance negotiator.'

'Insurance!' Gaunt jumped up. 'Oh my God! I'll bet my insurance doesn't cover damage caused by mass murder.'

'Depends on how the policy is worded,' Tweed said in a soothing tone.

'Blast it, Greg!' Jennie raged. 'Stop being so obsessed with money. You should be worried about how this terrible experience has affected the staff.'

'It hasn't,' Tweed assured her. 'The police brought a doctor with their team. He examined your staff, said all they'd suffer from were temporary headaches. Celia, the new girl, was tapped only lightly on the head.' He saw Paula watching him, startled by his recent slip of the tongue. He covered it, looking at Gaunt. 'The reason I know about the forensic business is the chief inspector – a man called Buchanan – explained to me why they needed the cars. Incidentally, he said he would need to talk to you.'

'He won't be welcome, I can tell you that.'

'You said,' Jennie began, to ease the tension, addressing Tweed, 'that this fake postman delivered a parcel which poor Mounce was still clutching when the police examined him. I wonder what it contained?'

'A technician opened the package outside in the garden,' Tweed told her. 'You'll never guess what it contained. A box of Sprungli truffle chocolates.'

'I find that rather beastly,' Jennie commented.

'Sprungli?' repeated Gaunt, who had sat down again. 'A firm in Zurich – where Amberg came from.'

'I don't think Buchanan overlooked that,' Tweed remarked drily. Checking his watch, he stood up. 'I think we really ought to be going. Thank you for your hospitality.'

'It was nothing,' Gaunt said gruffly.

Jennie looked at Cardon. 'I live in Padstow in a rented flat. Here is a card with my phone number. It's a strange port-located on the estuary of the River Camel. Greg and I go there quite often. At this time of the year it's so gloriously quiet and hidden away. If you're down that way do come and see me, won't you?'

Tweed kept a blank expression. Padstow was their real destination.

The door to the hall had been left ajar as though Gaunt was expecting a phone call. The bell began ringing at that moment. Gaunt walked briskly out of the room. He was back again, almost at once, looking rather annoyed.

'It's someone for you, Tweed. Wouldn't give a name. People are so rude these days. No manners at all…'

Tweed closed the door behind him, crossed the hall, picked up the phone. All the staff had gone home – Jennie had explained they arrived early in the morning and cycled home again in the evening.

Tweed here.'

'Hoped I might catch you,' the familiar voice said, deadpan. 'I'm back at the Yard – flew to London from St Mawgan Airport. Exeter has been on the line. I wondered how someone got hold of a postman's outfit. Now we know.' Buchanan paused, waited.

'All right, you want me to ask how. So – how?'

'They stole the uniform of the genuine postman from his cottage at Five Lanes.' He paused. 'They've just found his body, throat slashed open from ear to ear.'

6

Tweed drove the Ford Escort with headlights undipped as he followed the lonely road in pitch darkness across the moor, heading back to the A30. Paula, acting as navigator, sat beside him while Cardon was alone in the back. Behind them Nield, driving the Sierra, had Butler sitting alongside him. He used the red lights of the Escort to warn him of oncoming bends. His own headlights were dipped to avoid a blinding glare in Tweed's rear-view mirror.

'Why are we going to Padstow?' Paula asked.

To go underground until I've identified the enemy.'

'Not like you to run,' she probed.

'A tactical retreat. We may be up against the most powerful and dangerous enemy we've ever confronted.'

'What makes you think that?'

'First, Amberg begs me to join him at Tresillian Manor. With a lot of protection. Maybe we were the targets for the killer as much as he was.'

'And second?'

'Within a short time of the massacre a massive bomb destroys Park Crescent. Diabolical synchronization?'

'Not plausible,' she argued. 'I still maintain that no one could have timed the two events so close together.'

'I suspect the whole plot was triggered off by the arrival of Joel Dyson two days ago from the States. That conjures up a very powerful network with a long reach. Also, how many people knew the location of SIS HQ? The top-flight security services in Europe – and America.'

'You make it frightening,' Paula commented.

'You should be frightened. It must take a vast network to organize all that. Which is why we're spending a day or two in Padstow. Right off the beaten track.'

'So it could be unfortunate,' Cardon suggested, 'that by chance Jennie Blade lives in Padstow.'

'It doesn't help,' Tweed agreed, 'but I've booked rooms at the Metropole – which is in a strategic location. I stopped there overnight with Newman a few years ago.'

'And Philip,' Paula teased Cardon, 'you seem to have fallen for the golden lovely.'

'Fooled you, didn't I?' Cardon chuckled. 'She was pretending to take a fancy to me, that she thinks I'm the best thing since sliced bread. I wondered immediately: "What's this girl really after?"'

'Didn't know you were a cynic about women.'

'Not a cynic,' Cardon told her cheerfully. 'Just a realist. Are you offended?'

'Not in the least. Now I think you've got your feet on the ground. And what on earth is this ahead of us?'

Tweed had slowed. In his headlights red and white cones barred the way with a large notice. It carried the word DIVERSION and an arrow pointing to the right up a narrow lane. It was raining now and between the wipers he had set in motion Tweed saw men in yellow oilskins and peaked caps. A burly individual waved a red lamp and walked towards the driver's side of the car as Tweed stopped, keeping the engine running. In the back Cardon had his Walther in his right hand, inside his windcheater.

'Sorry, buddy,' the burly man with the lamp shouted as he came closer. 'There's been a multiple pile-up on the A30. Go this route and you're back on the highway a short way to the west…'

Accent and language were muffled American, Tweed noted.

Tweed,' Paula whispered, 'I've checked the map and the only turn-off to the right is a dead end. That is, before we reach the A30. The lane he's diverting us to leads close to another tor with a stone quarry close by.'

'Could I see some identification?' Tweed asked through his open window.

'What the bloody hell for?' The man's face turned ugly. He was reaching inside his slicker as he went on. 'You can't get through…

'Don't do it!' Paula warned.

Her Browning automatic was pointed past Tweed at the man outside. He withdrew his hand as though he'd burnt it. He was looking uncertain and then turned to signal to the other men when Tweed reacted.

Ramming his foot down, he shot forward, scattering cones like ninepins. Men jumped out of the way and a missile of some sort landed on the bonnet, burst, spread a light grey-coloured vapour.