This United state

'Precisely. All the way across the Atlantic.' Tweed unfolded the sheet of paper. 'You were born in Washington, DC. You are forty-two years old.'

'Not very gallant of you, to broadcast my age.'

'On this copy of the certificate it gives your full names. Sharon Charlotte Anderson.'

'So?' Her eyes were almost closed now. 'Where does this lead us to?'

'Charlotte. Sometimes abbreviated to Charlie. Even with a woman. You are Charlie.'

Paula had difficulty suppressing a gasp. She glanced at Newman. He looked stunned. She switched her glance to Tweed, sitting next to her. He looked very relaxed. Still holding the document, he was gazing back at Sharon.

'Charlie,' he said, 'we know masterminded the gigantic operation under way to absorb Britain into America as the fifty-first state. Do you deny you are Charlie?'

'Damn you! Nosy, insignificant little man. Friggin' two-bit so-called detective!' Sharon was standing up now, leaning over her desk as though about to leap at Tweed. 'You don't know what the bloody hell you're talking about!'

She continued screaming at the top of her voice, uttering a foul stream of obscene abuse. Her voice had completely changed. Her lung power was awesome. Suddenly she grabbed the certificate out of his hands, tore it to shreds, threw the pieces over her visitors.

'I do have other copies of that birth certificate,' Tweed informed her quietly. -

'Much good they will do you. You can't prove any of this friggin' nonsense you've been spouting at me. How dare you?' she yelled.

'Imminent events will prove me right.'

'Imminent events,' she screamed, 'will see you out of a job, you friggin' nobody. You'll be lucky to stay alive.'

'Is that a threat?' Tweed asked quietly. 'The kind of order you gave to Jake Ronstadt? Because he is no longer available '

'What do you mean by that?' she raged.

'Jake Ronstadt is dead.'

'Dead?'

'He tried to kill me in Strasbourg – under your orders, I'm sure. One of my people dropped a grenade into the launch Ronstadt was guiding along a waterway. Result? Ronstadt and the two men with him vanished when the launch sailed on into a wild sluice.'

'Tweed, you are a very inventive man,' she spat at him.

'Then there was Rick Sherman. He was torturing the wife of Kurt Schwarz – again on your orders, I'm certain. He's dead – with a knife through his throat.'

'You're lying, Tweed,' she said in a deep voice full of hate. 'You always lie.'

'I'm sure, when it is checked, that it will be found you organized the recruitment of this large gang of thugs front the back streets of New York. You must have sanctioned the issue of diplomatic passports to an army of killers. There has to be a record of who did that.'

'You're crazy,' she went on screaming. 'Stark raving mad. That is something which will be proved. Do you hear me? Do you hear me? Do you hear me?'

'I can hardly avoid hearing you, Sharon.' Tweed stood up. 'I suggest this interview is over, that it is time for us to leave.'

She picked up a cup, threw it at him. Tweed ducked. The cup hit the white wall on the far side of the room, broke into a dozen pieces. Tweed led the way to the door, opened it, stood aside as Paula and Newman walked into the corridor, then walked out himself, closing the door with never a backward glance.

'I'm breathless,' said Paula.

'I'm staggered,' said Newman.

'And you, Bob, once described her as. a demure English lady,' Tweed recalled as they headed for the elevator.

'Is Sharon really Charlie?' asked Paula.

Tweed hadn't the opportunity to reply. Walking briskly towards them was a familiar figure, a large man. Paula never ceased to be surprised that big heavyweight men often had small feet and moved with such agility.

'Hi, folks,' called out Ed Osborne. 'Great to see you paying us a visit. That's what I call real friendly.'

'Do excuse us, Ed,' responded Tweed, 'we're late for an urgent appointment. See you sometime.'

'Sure thing.'

'We have to keep moving,' Tweed warned as they approached the lift. 'Howard said the PM wants to see me. So, Bob, drop me off at Downing Street before you go on to Park Crescent.'

'We'll drop you off – then wait for you,' Newman said firmly.

When they stepped out of the lift on the ground floor the receptionist rose to her feet and called out to them, 'Have a nice day.'

48

Arriving back at Park Crescent from Downing Street, Tweed dashed upstairs to his office. Besides Monica in her usual post behind her desk Marler was waiting for him. Paula and Newman came in, sat down.

'I've just come back from a record-breaking trip to the Bunker,' Marler said.

'What sent you down there?' Tweed asked from behind his desk.

'Howard had briefed me after you'd rushed off to the American Embassy. Told me about the American task force, what Newman had observed from the pies about the SEALs and their exercises. He also told me about his own trip, how a chopper circled above the complex. I have a suggestion.'

'Fire away.'

'Howard told me that everything that mattered here is now down at the Bunker. I reckon one of the prime targets of that task force will be the Bunker. So I went down there to check out the defences. They seem OK to me.'

'Good. What is your suggestion?'

'I think we ought to send Alf's mob down there. I can contact Alf.'

'I agree. They won't travel in convoy, I hope?'

'No. Alf has his head screwed on. Also, if they drive down just after dark no one will spot them.'

'I agree. Monica, phone Mrs Carson and warn her seven men with their cabs will be descending on her. You can explain to her about Alf's mob.' He looked at Marler. 'They'll have to find somewhere to hide all those cabs – so they won't be seen from the air.'

'Alf will think of that himself. He does have all his marbles.'

'One more thing.' Tweed opened a drawer. 'Give him this map, otherwise he'll never find the place.'

'I was about to ask you.' Marler looked out of the window after taking the map. 'Talk of the devil. Alf's cab is parked on the main street. I think he's stopped to light a fag. I can tell him now if I move. See you all later. Things to do.'

'Blow!' said Tweed. 'One thing I forgot to tell him. When I've finished, Monica, phone this data to Mrs Carson. Tell her to warn Alf and his mob as soon as they arrive. I've warned everyone else down there, including Cord.'

'Warn him about what?' Paula enquired.

'When Marler was supervising the construction of the Bunker he found there were a number of very deep shafts in the grounds. He guessed, as they looked so ancient, they were ventilation shafts. They're like vertical tunnels which lead down to horizontal tunnels the smugglers used in the old days. Marler had metal gratings put over the top of each shaft so nobody would ever fall down one. They already had ancient grilles over them but they were crumbling with the passage of time, so he had them renewed. I worry he might have missed one.'

'I'll make it all one call to Mrs Carson,' Monica promised.

'So you're sure Sharon is Charlie?' Paula remarked. 'If we've time to relax for five minutes.'

'We not only have the time – we need it.'

'Were you suspicious of her earlier?' Paula suggested.

'Yes, up to a point. Who was always on the spot when attempts were made to kill us? In Basel? In Freiburg? In Strasbourg? Sharon Mandeville. Someone had to be instructing Ronstadt and his thugs.'

'Monica,' Paula went on, turning in her chair, 'while building up your profiles did you ever fill in those long strange gaps in Ed Osborne's life?'

'No, I was never able to fill one of them. A mystery man.'

Paula turned back to Tweed. 'I noticed that Sharon never admitted she was Charlie. And Osborne was always on the spot. In Basel. In Freiburg. In Strasbourg.'