This United state

The phone rang. Lasalle answered, listened, took a pad from a drawer, scribbled on it. At one stage Tweed heard him asking the caller to spell a name. He then ended the call.

'Tweed, this information may – or may not – be of interest to you. A Mlle Sharon Mandeville left the Ritz a while ago to catch a flight back to London. Shortly afterwards, in another car, a M. Osborne also left to catch the same flight. A M. Basil Windermere with a M. Rupert Strangeways left earlier to board the Eurostar for London.'

'Yes, the information is useful,' Tweed replied. 'May I ask, how do you know this?'

'Because I had one of my men staying as a guest at the Ritz to see what was going on. The information does not involve the staff of the Ritz in any way.'

'Thank you, Rene, for everything. We had better get back to the Ritz ourselves now. Would you know the quickest way we can get back to London?'

'Yes.' Lasalle checked his watch. 'You have two to three hours. The next Eurostar will get you back to London most quickly.'

In the lobby of the Ritz Tweed quietly gave Newman some instructions.

'Please contact Marler, Nield and Butler. Also Keith Kent, of course. Tell them to be ready to leave with us in precisely ninety minutes from now. And book seven. first-class seats on Eurostar through the concierge. Also we shall need two hotel cars to take us to the Gare du Nord, where we board Eurostar. Finally, hand in to the nearest relevant car-hire outfits the two Audis we drove here in. Now, I'm going to my room to make a phone call.'

'Can I come with you?' Paula- asked. 'I'm ready to leave now.'

'Yes, you can.'

Once inside his room Tweed hurried to the desk, sat down, used Beck's mobile to call Monica. Paula wandered over to the window to take a last look at the Place Vendome.

'Tweed!' Monica sounded so relieved. 'I've been trying to call you but the hotel operator said you were out.' 'I was. What is it?'

'I've got a whole load of data for you, on all the profiles I've been working on. Birth certificates sent to me by courier from the States. giving most of the profiles' full names, et cetera. Are you ready?'

'Hold on just a moment.' Tweed called out to Paula, 'Get me the pad out of the zipped-up pocket in my suitcase.'

She found the pad, ran with it, placed it in front of him on the desk. Then she returned to the window.

'Fire away, Monica.'

Tweed began scribbling away, using sheet after sheet, keeping all the data on each name on a separate sheet. When Monica had come to the end he stared at one sheet, then closed the pad.

'Howard wants to speak to you very urgently. He's here now,' Monica said quickly.

'Tweed, when are you going to be back at Park Crescent? It's vital you arrive here within hours. A monster crisis has arisen. Defeat is staring us in the face. A hideous defeat.'

There was no element of panic in Howard's voice. He sounded to be in command of himself. But, underneath, Tweed detected a terrible anxiety.

'Tell me about it,' he said quietly.

'Not over the phone.'

'This line is safe. Perfectly safe.'

'No phone line is safe. I can't risk going into any detail. I have to wait until see you. When will that be?' 'Today. Definitely. At a guess, mid-afternoon.'

'I can't wait to see you.'

When the connection was broken Tweed decided he wouldn't mention what Howard had said. What was the point in unsettling his team, even causing an atmosphere of alarm? He swung round in his chair.

'I now know who Charlie is,' he told Paula.

'Who?'

'I'm not saying yet. Before you accuse me of being cryptic, it's unlikely you'll meet Charlie, but you might have trouble keeping a blank expression, behaving normally. I think I'd like us to get to Gare du Nord early.'

Settling himself once again in his chair on the control level of the President, Crag opened the signal which had just arrived from the Pentagon. It was a long signal and was accompanied by a map. As he finished reading it once he sat up straighter, his mouth tightened. He looked at his Operations Officer.

'Bill, we have to hit the Brits.'

'What?'

'Not with missiles, Bill. This is a job for the SEALS.' 'What's their objective, sir?'

'A main and secret communications centre. Situation between a funny little place called Dungeness and another one called Hythe. The actual area of attack is Romney Marsh. It's almost on the coast – there are smooth sandy beaches the SEALs can land on, then they move a short distance inland, locate the installation, destroy it.'

'Won't it cause an international crisis?'

'The Chairman usually knows what he's doing and this operation has top sanction. The map is good – pinpoints the exact location of this communications centre. Contact the Mission Controller aboard the vessel carrying the SEALS. I reckon the attack ought to go in at midnight tomorrow. Get the Commander's opinion – after he's received this signal and the map. Have a look at it yourself first.'

'So this is going to be more than a demonstration of power?'

'Kind of looks that way.'

46

Arriving at Park Crescent, Tweed first ran up the stairs to his own office with Paula and Newman. Monica beamed with relief when she saw him. She pointed to his desk.

'The fat envelope came in from Roy Buchanan.'

'Good.' Tweed opened it, glanced quickly at its contents. 'Now, Monica, try and get Jefferson Morgenstern on the line.'

'I'm sorry. That's one thing I forgot to tell you. Morgenstern wants to see you. He must have called me eight times.'

'Tell him I'm now available to meet him within the hour. At any place of his choosing. Now I have to go up and see Howard.'

He left his office, ran up the stairs, followed by Paula and Newman, who waited outside Howard's office. Tweed walked straight in. Howard, as always impeccably dressed, was seated behind his desk. He showed signs of strain but his voice was firm.

'Am I glad to see you,' he greeted Tweed, standing up to shake his hand. `Do sit down.'

'I have Paula and Bob outside. Could they join us?' 'I think they'd better.'

When everyone was seated Howard clasped his hands on top of his desk. He leaned forward.

'Briefly, a vast American task force is approaching our shores. No warning from Washington that it was on its way here. We'd never have known until the bastards showed up – except for the captain of a BA jet flying to New York. He saw it through a break in the clouds, even took video pictures of the damned thing, which was smart of him. The pics were flown back here on the next flight from New York. See for yourselves.'

Howard pushed forward a number of large colour prints across his desk. Tweed was surprised at their clarity. He looked at Howard.

'How high up was the aircraft?'

'I spoke to the captain myself over the phone. He was flying at thirty-five thousand feet. Apparently photography is his hobby. Told me he'd spent a mint on his camera. As soon as he'd taken his pics he sent a signal to the Ministry of Defence. A high-ranking pal of mine contacted me. The originals are with the MoD. Those are copies.'

'Amazing detail. What's that microscope you've got on your desk?'

'The most advanced version in the world. Loaned to me by my naval pal. Use it.'

Newman reached for the microscope. Under its lens he studied a warship sailing to port of the aircraft carrier. Then he whistled quietly.

'I'd say there are a load of SEALs aboard that ship. And they appear to be exercising for a landing. They're lowering small motorized amphibious landing craft over the side.'

'That's what my naval friend said,' Howard confirmed. 'Sinister, don't you think?'

'Any idea of their course, of when this battle group arrives?' asked Tweed.

'The captain of the aircraft told me that, as far as he could tell, it is headed straight for Britain. Time of arrival? The naval people tell me that, if it continues on course, they estimate the task force should appear in the English Channel after dark. Tomorrow.'