This United state

'I could get Rene Lasalle in Paris now. He gets in early to work, I remember.'

'Try him…'

'Rene, you old ruffian, how is life?'

'Life, Tweed, is pure hell. I was going to call you. What is on your mind?' the Frenchman asked in perfect English.

'I'm trying to get information on a Frenchman called Chatel. I haven't got his Christian name. He was married to an American, has a daughter called Denise. Your people sent him across to Washington as some sort of diplomat. He was killed in a car crash – along with his wife – about a year ago.'

'Is this line safe?'

'I met Harry Butler when I was coming into my office recently. He had just flashed the place. It's clean.'

'Good. Because this is highly confidential. Jean Chatel was posted to Washington as an attache to the French Embassy. He was actually a member of the Secret Service. We'd heard rumours that Washington was considering mounting a major operation somewhere in Europe. Jean went to try to find out. what it was. Before he could report he died, as you've just told me.'

'Probably murdered.'

'We were suspicious.'

'Any data you could collect on his daughter, Denise, would be helpful. When you can. Now, why were you going to call me?' Tweed asked.

'A small army of Americans has been passing through Paris from Washington, on their way to London. Not normal tourists – although they pretend to be. All carry diplomatic passports, look like tough professionals. Some fly on to Heathrow but more are coming to you via Eurostar. When I caught on I sent men to the airport. Passport officers signalled when a man showed a diplomatic passport and my people photographed him secretly. I have a collection of pies.'

'Could I see them? Urgently. I'd appreciate your sending them by courier to me.'

'Consider it done. What is going on? We don't like Americans too much.'

'I'm trying to find out. Let's keep in touch.'

'The courier will reach you today. Take care, my friend…'

Tweed sat staring into the distance. In his absence Monica had removed blankets, sheets, pillow and camp bed. She had also opened the curtains. In the distance trees in Regent's Park cringed under the onslaught of a bitter wind. Men hurried along the street, heads down. Women walked clutching their collars tighter, trying to keep in some warmth.

'Monica, could you please add Denise Chatel to your profile list? Sorry to burden you with more work. I gave you the gist of her life story so far last night before I went to sleep. Check it out.'

'I put her on the list myself.'

'Roy Buchanan is late. Not like him.'

'No, it isn't.'

'Thank you for the breakfast. I hope nothing's happened to Roy.'

At precisely 9 am a long queue of people crowded into a large department store in Oxford Street. SALE EXTENDED. LAST-MINUTE BARGAINS. GREAT REDUCTIONS.

Soon the ground floor was crammed. Shoppers sidled past each other, grabbed hold of goods, queued again to pay. They then had trouble leaving, so many people filled the place. There were several arguments as two women grasped the same bargain together.

The huge bomb detonated at precisely 9.15 am. There was a brilliant flash, a deafening explosion. Counters were lifted into the air. Shattered glass flew in all directions, Bodies slumped to the floor. Shoppers streaming with blood staggered about, their expressions dazed,. Then the screaming started.

There was a powerful aroma of perfume on many people. The crowd surged towards the exits, stepping over bodies. Ambulance sirens in the distance came closer. It was a scene of havoc. Like a picture on TV of a foreign war.

12

'I think I should summarize what's happened so far. It might help us to get events into sequence at the moment we're in, a fog,' Tweed began.

In his office were Newman and Marler, with Monica and Paula behind their desks. Roy Buchanan had still not arrived and there had been no word from him. Monica had served everyone with strong coffee to increase their alertness.

'It began with the arrival of Cord Dillon, and Paula spiriting him out of a murder attempt. Cord, sacked from his job on the grounds of so-called embezzlement, is at the Bunker. Recently 1 hired Keith Kent, the money tracer, to check on American movements of money. He called me from Basel in Switzerland, suggested I went there. Then he tells me that huge sums in dollars have been sent from Washington to the Zurcher Kredit Bank – in Basel. Paula, give us your impressions of the characters we've encountered so far.'

'You're having lunch with Ed Osborne at the bar in Piccadilly today. At his suggestion. You went to see Sharon Mandeville. At her suggestion. Bob is dining with Sharon this evening. At her suggestion. Marler is taking out Denise Chatel, also this evening. It was at Marler's invitation, but she agreed immediately. All these people are key Americans. I get the idea they're trying to smoke us out.'

'You could be right,' Tweed agreed. 'Now give us portrait snaps of the characters involved.'

'Ed Osborne is tough, clever and dangerous. I'd say he's pretty high up in the opposition. Sharon I haven't met so far. Denise Chatel appears to be the nicest, but she's a mystery, so an unknown quantity who should be watched. Sir Guy Strangeways is also clever, but he's playing a peculiar game. Big question mark. Basil Windermere is a piece of social rubbish. Ditto for Rupert Strangeways, a worthless idler. Don't you agree?'

'Not entirely, but please go on,' Tweed urged her.

'Jake Ronstadt. I only saw him for a short time at Goodfellows but I feel he's very dangerous. He exudes dynamic energy. He was suave when he talked to us – I wonder how he talks to his staff. Hank Waltz tried to torture me to get information – he would have killed me later. I won't dwell on that episode. But it demonstrates the lengths to which they'll go. Then we have a horde of professional thugs entering the country via Paris. Why Paris? Because they hoped to get here secretly.'

'I spoke to Rene Lasalle of the DST this morning,' Tweed told her. 'He's very worried about the Americans – he's sending me by courier some photos discreetly taken of a lot of them. I'd like you to look at them when they arrive. What is really happening, then?'

'They're trying to increase their influence over Britain. At the least.' She paused. 'They could be planning to occupy Britain. You'll think I'm mad-'

She stopped speaking as the phone rang. Monica answered, told them Chief Inspector Roy Buchanan had arrived. Tweed told her to ask him to come up immediately.

When Buchanan entered they were all struck by how grim he looked. At Tweed's invitation he sat down, accepted Monica's offer of a cup of coffee.

'I need it.' He looked round the room. 'I trust everyone here, so I can talk freely. You've heard the news?'

'What news is that?' Tweed enquired. 'You look haggard.'

'A huge bomb went off this morning at a big department store in Oxford Street, when it was crowded with shoppers because of a sale. The bomb was planted under a perfume counter with a lot of boxes of stock. Casualties so far thirty dead and many injured. I've come from there – I closed off Oxford Street, which is why I'm late. It was horrific.'

'A rebellious IRA splinter group?' Marler asked.

'Absolutely not. The Bomb Squad arrived quickly. They found a second huge bomb which hadn't detonated. They locked the timer, dismantled it quickly. They told me it was such a sophisticated electronic device it couldn't be the IRA. Electronics suggests Silicon Valley in the States. Guess where the second bomb was planted.'

'Where?' asked Tweed.

'In the baby clothes and children's toys section. And there are dead children among the casualties.'

'Bastards,' snapped Newman.

'How did the bombers get in?' Tweed probed.