'You realize they are taking a great interest in us? Tonight Bob is dining with Sharon Mandeville at Santorini's. Then Marler is taking out Denise Chatel.'

'The same thought had occurred to me. Incidentally, I want you to book seats on the early morning Swissair flight to Basel for six people. Me, Paula, Newman, Marler, Harry Butler and Pete Nield. Not sure when we'll be going but it will be suddenly. So, each day book, then cancel, and immediately book for the next day. Keith Kent, the money tracer, called me to say millions of dollars have been deposited with the Zurcher Kredit Bank - confirming what Schwarz said. I wonder why.'

'Who knows? Millions of dollars. That's a vast sum. Going back to Osborne, I doubt he'll tell you much.'

'He might let something slip. Oh, at a civilized hour, get me Ren6e Lasalle, chief of the Direction de la Surveillance du Territoire - French counter-espionage in Paris - on the phone.'

'Will do.'

'Any luck with identifying Charlie?'

'No. As I told you earlier it's difficult, but I'll go on digging.'

The phone rang again. Monica pulled a sour face, took the call. She looked even more sour.

'Now we have Roy Buchanan on the line. Says it's urgent - at this time of night.'

'I'll speak to him.'

'I know you work all night,' Buchanan began. 'Sometimes I try to get a bit of kip.'

'Sorry, and all that. Something's happened. Can I come and see you now? I think you'd want to know about it,' Buchanan suggested.

'Can't it wait till morning?'

'It could, I suppose. When would suit you?'

'Eight o'clock. You sound worried. It's too early, to worry. Wait a bit longer and then you'll have something. to fret about. That is, if my present reading of the situation is correct.'

'I've got enough on my plate,' Buchanan snapped. 'Get a bigger plate. Goodbye...'

'And you'd better go to the office next door and get some sleep yourself,' Tweed told Monica.

'I think I will. You talk as though you're expecting a storm.'

'A gale. Force Ten.'

Tweed had two hours' sleep. He woke up, alert, hearing the door to his office open. His right hand slid under the pillow, gripped the 7.65mm Walther automatic under it. It was a measure of his estimate of the gravity of the situation, that he had taken this precaution. He hardly ever carried a gun.

The light came on. Tweed, twisted on his right side, aimed the weapon at the door. Howard, the Director, stood framed in the doorway, looking startled. Tweed sighed, shoved the gun back under the pillow, got up, put on his dressing gown.

'Sorry if I wakened you,' Howard burbled. 'But George told me you were still here.'

'As you see, I am.' Tweed glanced at his wrist.w.a.tch. 'I've had two hours' sleep and that will have to do. What are you doing, prowling about the place? I heard you'd returned from a holiday.'

He sat behind his desk while the Director flopped into the largest armchair. Howard was six feet tall with a plump, clean-shaven, pink face, and touches of grey in his neatly brushed hair. A large man in his fifties, he was immaculately garbed in a blue Chester Barrie suit from Harrods, a snow-white shirt and a Hermes tie. He rested one long leg over the arm of the chair, his usual posture. His voice was plummy.

'Hardly a holiday. I've just returned from Washington. I caught up on sleep by going to a hotel after the flight had landed. Had early breakfast, then came straight on here.'

'What's happening in Washington? Why go there?' Tweed poured water from a carafe into a gla.s.s, left for him by Monica. He sipped as Howard ran a hand over the dome of his head, a characteristic gesture when he was worried.

'I went there at the invitation of the august and influential Jefferson Morgenstern - only to find he had suddenly dashed off over here. He'd left some of his top staff to look after me. I was wined and dined at all the best places. Everyone I met made a big fuss over me as though I was the most important man in the world. Not the usual reception by a long chalk. All of which worried me. They wanted something - but never got round to saying what it was. Under their glowing greetings I detected tension. Something's rotten in the woodshed.'

Tweed was surprised. The pompous Howard often didn't grasp what was going on. But sometimes he had flashes of insight. Tweed drank more water before he began.

'The woodshed where there's something rotten is over here. I've got a lot to tell you...'

It was unusual for Tweed to tell Howard everything that had taken place. He did so now. If I don't survive, he thought to himself, someone had better be in the picture. Howard listened with great attention. He even removed his leg from over the arm of the chair, leaning closer to Tweed.

'So now you have the full story up to date,' Tweed concluded. 'Didn't they tell you anything in Washington?'

'They kept going on about the importance of the special relationship between Britain and America, the way things are in the world today. Each time I asked them to be more specific they changed the subject.'

'Interesting. Anything else?'

'They also kept asking if I knew where Cord Dillon might be. Told me he'd been sacked for embezzling funds.'

'Poppyc.o.c.k.'

'That's what I thought. I wouldn't have told them he was over here even if I had known. You said all the key personnel are down at the Bunker. I see why you had the place created now.'

'Not all the key personnel - but enough to make it an effective operational headquarters in a secret location.'

'What's this Ed Osborne you're having lunch with like?' Howard asked.

'What a lot of Americans would proudly call a tough guy.

'Don't like the sound of him. Thank you, Tweed, for being so frank. You'll be wanting to take a shower and get dressed.'

'I will. One more thing before you go. I slipped over to see the new PM at Downing Street. Luckily I knew him when he was a Cabinet minister. He's playing the present situation softly, softly.'

'That wouldn't be your idea?' Howard enquired.

'I did make a few suggestions. Apparently Morgenstern keeps asking to see him urgently. The PM has fended him off, saying he'll see him as soon as he can but at the moment he's grappling with his new job.'

'Interesting, as you said a minute ago. Think I'll leave you to it for now. Anything I can do to help, you know where I am. Take great care.' - Which was another surprise for Tweed. He had never before known Howard to be so cooperative. When he returned to his office, fully dressed, Monica was already behind her desk, using the phone. When she had finished the call she looked at Tweed.

'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 h.e.l.l. 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 Emba.s.sy. 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 pa.s.sing through Paris from Washington, on their way to London. Not normal tourists - although they pretend to be. All carry diplomatic pa.s.sports, 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. Pa.s.sport officers signalled when a man showed a diplomatic pa.s.sport 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 gla.s.s 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 appears to be the nicest, but she's a mystery, so an unknown quant.i.ty 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?' to be the nicest, but she's a mystery, so an unknown quant.i.ty 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.'

'b.a.s.t.a.r.ds,' snapped Newman.

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

'No idea. The staff who opened the doors saw no signs of forced entry. In addition they had neutralized the alarm system, then re-set it so the staff wouldn't be alerted when they came in first thing.'

'Someone trying to cause panic?' Tweed mused.

'If it was, it worked. Oxford Street was deserted before I had it closed off. The news spread like wildfire. Thank you,' he said to Monica, who had brought him a second cup of coffee. 'It was an atrocity,' he concluded.

'Any idea who was responsible, then?' Tweed asked.