'I'm an owl, like yourself, Mr Tweed. Which suits Miss Mandeville, who likes to work when most people have left the Emba.s.sy.'

'Would you like some coffee?' Newman suggested. 'I'll make it,' Monica said in a brittle tone.

'That would be most acceptable. And a gla.s.s of cold water - if that's not too much trouble.'

She had a cool American voice. Underneath it Tweed detected a very different accent.

'Denise Chatel,' he mused, scrutinizing her through his horn-rims. 'That sounds like a French name.'

'My father was French, my mother American. When I was almost thirty they moved to Washington - my father was offered a good job. I went with them.'

'Do you ever return to France?' Tweed persisted gently.

'Oh, frequently. My job takes me to the American Emba.s.sy in Paris. Sharon likes to keep herself well informed about what is going on in Europe.' She smiled. 'Are you interrogating me?'

'Just interested in your unusual international background. An American mother, a French father. What job does he have?'

'He was a diplomat.'

Tweed had not been looking at her as he talked. He was' doodling circles on a pad, intertwining one with another. Something in her change of voice made him look up.

'Was?'

'He died a year ago. So did my mother. They were killed-in a road crash outside Washington.'

He could have sworn there was a film of moisture in her eyes. She suddenly picked up her cup of coffee, drank some, put it down, stared round the room like someone hunted.

'My condolences. Not that words mean a thing when something like that happens. What happened to the other car - or cars? I hope you don't mind my asking.'

'Of course not.' She swallowed more coffee. 'The police said there had only been one other car involved so far as they could tell. It vanished. They never found the driver.'

'I say,' Marler interjected, 'would you care to join me for dinner tomorrow evening?'

'May I think it over?' She had twisted round in her chair to address him, to look at him more carefully. 'Thank you for the offer.' She turned back to Tweed, leaned forward and whispered, 'Can you trust the people with us here? I know the woman who brought me coffee doesn't like me.'

'I could trust all three with my life,' he answered quietly. 'I have done in the past.'

'I'm frightened. Scared out of my wits.'

She was speaking again in a normal voice. But a transformation had taken place. When she had arrived she had been full of life, buoyant. Now her blue eyes appealed for help as she gazed at him. On the surface, she was indeed a very frightened lady. Newman refilled her cup.

'Is that the real reason you came to see me?' Tweed asked.

'Yes. I had an excuse to come - I can tell you that later.'

'Why me?'

'Cord Dillon said if ever I was in trouble you were the one man in London I could trust.'

Nothing in Tweed's expression changed. But she had shaken him. His mind was moving round at top speed - considering a variety of possibilities. All of them menacing.

'How did you come to meet this man, Cord Dillon?' he enquired carefully.

'Sharon used to ask him to come to her Washington office from Langley. I was always sent out of her office. Dillon struck me as a reliable soul. Once he arrived early and we were alone together in my office. I knew then that Sharon was due to come to London, that I'd be coming with her.'

'What is scaring you?'

'Well...' She paused. 'I saw some of the men who were to come to London. I've seen them since at the Emba.s.sy. They watch every move I make. I found my phone had been bugged. My apartment over here in Belgravia - close to Sharon's - was searched while I was at the Emba.s.sy. It was a highly professional job. Only a woman would notice that certain things were not quite as I'd left them.'

'What do you suggest I do to help you?'

'I want us to keep in close touch.' She turned to look at Marler. 'I'll be happy to have dinner with you tomorrow night. What is your name?'

'Alec,' Marler said instantly, using the first name to come into his head. 'We'll go to the Lanesborough. Can I collect you at your apartment?'

'No! Don't do that.' She was alarmed. 'They have someone watching my apartment whenever I'm there. I'll come to the hotel.'

'Eight o'clock suit you?' Marler suggested. 'I'll be waiting in the bar. I'll arrive early.'

'Thank you.'

'Maybe you'd better, tell us why you were supposed to come here,' Tweed reminded her.

'My G.o.d, I nearly forgot that.' She turned to look at Newman. 'You're having dinner with Sharon tomorrow evening at Santorini's. She sent me over in a limo to say she'll be there at eight thirty.'

'She could have phoned,' Tweed pointed out.

'She told me she'd tried to get you but the line was always engaged.'

Tweed glanced across at Monica, who nodded agreement. She had tied up the lines, making calls to her contacts inside America. She was still building up her profiles.

'I'd better go now,' their visitor said, 'they may wonder why it took so long. And please call me Denise.'

'I'll see you safely into your limo, Denise,' Marler suggested.

'No! Don't do that. They may have followed the limo and then they'll see you. But thank you for the offer.'

'Keep in touch,' Tweed told her, standing up to shake hands. Her grip was firm. 'If you want to tell Marler more tomorrow evening he'll report it to me.

Monica waited until she had gone. Then she began tapping her fingers on her desk to get their attention.

'You're all hooked on her.'

'I don't think so,' Tweed contradicted.

'Well, I do. I grant you she's a real looker.'

'Monica, maybe yes, maybe no. You've overlooked something.'

'What's that?'

'Your profile on Sharon Mandeville showed her parents died in a car smash in the States. Now we hear Denise's parents were also wiped out in another car accident, so called. That's too much of a coincidence - you know I don't believe in coincidences.'

'What are you suggesting?' she asked.

'One theory is the parents - in both cases - were killed so there was no risk of the daughters telling them something Washington didn't want spread around. I emphasize that is no more than my first thought. Have you identified Charlie?'

'Not yet. It's difficult,' Monica explained. 'I have to get copies of birth certificates faxed to me. A lot of people are given several names by their parents, then use only the one they like. I'll get there.'

'I know you will.'

Tweed began to doodle again. After a short time he looked at Marler.

'Basil... Schwarz...' he said half to himself. 'What nationality was Kurt Schwarz?'

'Swiss,' Marler said promptly.

'Which part of Switzerland?'

'The German-speaking part. His natural language was German.'

'Got it!' Tweed threw his pen down. 'Soon we'll all fly to Switzerland. Better get some warm clothes packed. There's heavy snow on the Continent.'

11.

Jake Ronstadt sat at the head of the long table in the large room at the American Emba.s.sy. The blinds were closed over the windows. He was shuffling a pack of cards. Eight Americans sat beyond him, four on either side of the table. The Executive Action Department was in session in the middle of the night.

'Two of my guys went missin' last night,' Jake growled. 'I don't like two of my people to disappear. Which is why Brad and Leo have joined us.'

'What happened to them?' asked Vernon, the thin- boned man with the hard face.

'Shut your stupid trap. I was comin' to that. Hank Waltz was sent to deal with Paula Grey. Don't know whether he made it. Don't like what I don't know. Remember that. Lew Willis has also gone missin' - I heard from him on his mobile that after he hijacked a London cab he followed two men from Park Crescent. They drove like h.e.l.l round all the friggin' side streets here. He loses them, drives back to Park Crescent. Next I hear he's following four people in a Merc. Then nothin' - friggin' nothin', so I try to call him on my mobile. No answer. You boys had better understand I'm good and mad.'

'We understand,' said Brad, a squat individual with large teeth.

'What you understand would fit into a pearl - but there'd be no value in it. Kinda shut your trap.'

Jake made them wait while he shuffled his pack of cards some more. It was important to make them know who was running this outfit.

'I figure it's time now we organize a reign of terror for London. Show them our muscle. Show the people in this town their police are a bunch of kids. Get it?'

'Sure, Jake,' eight voices echoed in chorus. 'We got it.'

'No, you ain't. So I'll tell you. It's called destabilization. For you who don't know what it means - which means all of you - I'll explain. We'll leave bombs - big bombs with timers - in markets. Over here they call them supermarkets. We'll plant them in bars, restaurants - everywhere a lot of people gather. The Brits will get so they daren't leave their homes. Until bombs start exploding inside houses. Terror is a powerful weapon. Got it now? Great idea.'

'Terrific!'

'A winner!'

'A blaster!'

Every man tried to compete with his colleagues in thinking up a better superlative. Jake glowered at them, his' mouth a thin tight line. He shook his large head, shuffled his pack a few times.

'You still ain't got it. When a load of bombs have gone off - with heavy casualties - the Brits will start shoutin' their heads off at their police. "Why can't you do something?" That's when we offer to send in an FBI unit. About a week after the FBI have supposedly gone for the tails of the bombers the explosions stop. Result? The Americans are much better at the job than the Metropolitan Police jerks. "Give the job to the FBI," the Brits will beg. We're in control. No more yapping. You had a trial run in Philadelphia when you planted dummy bombs all over the city. None were discovered.'

'When do we start?' asked Brad, daring to open his mouth.

'Soon. First I have to check with Charlie. Timin' is so G.o.dd.a.m.n important ...'

Tweed had fallen asleep on the camp bed Monica had hauled out of a cupboard then made up with pillow, sheets and blankets. The phone began to ring at 4 am and he was instantly awake as Monica answered it.

'Are you awake?' she called out softly.

'Yes.'

'I have Ed Osborne on the line. Wants to speak to you...'

'I'll take the call.'

Slipping on a dressing gown over his pyjamas, he sat behind his desk, picked up the phone.

'Tweed here, Ed. What can I do for you?'

'Hope you weren't asleep.'

'I was. What is it?'

'Think it's time you and I had a talk. Just the two of us. Do you know a pub called the Raging Stag in Piccadilly?' 'I do.'

'Can we meet there today? Say noon?'

'Can you give me a hint as to what this is about?' 'Sooner not, over the phone...'

'Noon at the Raging Stag, then.'

He told Monica the brief gist of his conversation. She raised her thick eyebrows, frowned.

'After his performance here I wouldn't have thought you would want another session.'

'The Americans can be a bit brash. Doesn't worry me. And the more I can find out what they're up to the better. We're very short of time, I sense.'