'Really?' Morgenstern stared at her. 'Have you a short memory? If so, something could be done about that. Only minutes ago I reminded you I am Secretary of State.'

'I suppose I could make an exception.'

'Mrs Pendleton. Do you see the handle of that door you opened to come in here?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Go over it, take hold of it. That's right. Now turn it to the left.'

'I'm sorry, sir, if...'

'Now you keep hold of the handle. Pull the door open towards you. I see you've managed it. Now, walk into the corridor and close the door quietly behind you. It's not too difficult.'

Tweed smiled to himself. It was notorious that Morgenstern had an acid side to his nature. He couldn't suffer fools gladly.

'Now, we can do our homework,' said Morgenstern.. 'Excuse me if I go and sit behind my desk for a moment.'

Taking his chair back to its original position, he sifted through the photos and doc.u.ments he had quickly arranged in a pile before Mrs Pendleton arrived, so she couldn't see anything. Taking out his notebook, he then opened the ledger. He had perched it on an inkstand so his visitors could not see its pages.

Using a pen as a pointer, he began to check the names provided by Tweed with the list inside the ledger. It took a while but often he stabbed at a name in the ledger with his pen. His expression became grimmer. When he had closed the ledger he sat staring at Tweed. Then he hauled his chair back to join his visitors.

'I have decided,' he said.

'What is your decision?' Tweed enquired.

'Can you leave with me all the items you have given me?'

'Certainly.'

'I have a Gulfstream jet standing by permanently at Heathrow. I like to be mobile. Soon after you have left me I shall drive to Heathrow, board the jet, and fly immediately to Washington. If you want to contact me, call this number.' He took a pad from a drawer, wrote on it, handed it to Tweed. 'I shall inform all my aides that if you call you are to be put through to me - even if I'm at the White House.'

'Sharon Mandeville next,' Tweed said when they had left Jefferson's lair. 'Might as well tie the lot up at once.'

'Do come in.' Sharon, like Jefferson, had opened the door herself to welcome them inside. 'What a pleasure to see you all again.'

She kissed Tweed on the cheek, shook hands with Paula and Newman. Then she escorted them across the s.p.a.cious room towards a desk which was even larger than Jefferson's. As they followed her Paula glanced round the room. It was very expensively furnished - money had been no object - but unlike Jefferson's office, it was very modern.

Sharon's enormous desk was made of gleaming white wood, all the chairs were upholstered in white leather, the carpet was white and scattered across it were tiger- skin rugs. The coffee service on a tray on her desk was almost surreal in design. And the rims of the cups were six-sided, which made them very difficult to drink out of without the contents ending up in your lap.

Three chairs were arranged in front of the desk. Behind it was a high-backed chair which reminded Paula of a throne. Sharon gave Tweed a ravishing smile.

'Do sit down, all of you, please. Coffee for everyone?'

'Not for me,' said Tweed as he sat down.

'Me too neither, thank you,' said Newman.

'I'll also pa.s.s,' said Paula.

Sharon was wearing a navy blue trouser suit which suggested the high-powered businesswoman. Newman thought she had never looked more attractive. She was pouring herself a cup.

'Excuse me, but I need an ocean of caffeine to keep me going.' She sat in the chair behind the desk. 'Well, Tweed, I suppose we can say we have completed the Grand Tour of Europe.'

'Something like that.'

'Oh, come - ' she gazed at him over the rim of her cup - 'no call to be so serious. It isn't the end of the world.'

'Isn't it?'

Sharon's nails were painted blood-red, a varnish which Paula hated. She had a high collar, b.u.t.toned up to her neck. She went on gazing at Tweed, as though a.s.sessing his mood. He had taken off his gla.s.ses and was cleaning them on his handkerchief. He put the gla.s.ses on again.

'Now you get a clearer view of beauty,' Newman joked.

'I have a clearer view of a lot of things now,' Tweed replied.

'So why have you come to see me?' Sharon asked in her soft voice. 'How can I help you?'

'You can confirm certain information I have received.' 'You sound just like a policeman.'

'I was once a policeman,' Tweed told her. 'A century ago.'

'He was the youngest superintendent at Scotland Yard,' Paula explained. 'His speciality was Homicide.'

'What information are you referring to?' Sharon asked.

She was still her calm self. She was leaning back upright in her chair. Her half-closed eyes, glowing greenly, were fixed on Tweed.

'I have here a certain doc.u.ment.' Tweed took a thick envelope out of his breast pocket, extracted a sheet. 'This is a copy of your birth certificate.'

'Really? Isn't this rather personal? How, I wonder, were you able to obtain it?'

'By perfectly legal means. Such certificates are in the public domain, as you must know.'

'Oh, come on, Tweed.' She smiled, still leaning against the back of her upright chair, her body very erect. 'All the way across the Atlantic?'

'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 doc.u.ment, 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?'

'd.a.m.n 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 b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l 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' n.o.body. 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 pa.s.sports 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? 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 Emba.s.sy. 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 f.a.g. 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 n.o.body would ever fall down one. They already had ancient grilles over them but they were crumbling with the pa.s.sage 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.