Blood Storm (43 page)

George had come rushing out from his guard post,
holding a gun. Instinctively, Tweed glanced up. He saw Paula's anxious face peering down at them. He grinned.,
waved a hand cheerfully. Then he gave terse instructions to
George.

'Contact Commander Buchanan. Tell him someone
tried to shoot me as I left the building, but Newman, who
was outside, fired first, killed the assassin. Named Radek.
Don't tell Chief Inspector Hammer anything. It must be Buchanan . . .'

'Are you all right?'

It was Paula who had practically thrown herself down the
staircase and was shivering. Not from the cold. He repeated
to her his instructions, adding something.

'Get a sheet of canvas to cover Radek's body. Be careful
not to move it. Tell Buchanan when he gets here I had to
leave in an emergency on my murder investigation. You
don't know where. I must go now. See you . . .'

She left George to cover the body, told him to stand in the
open door's shadow to watch over the corpse. Rushing back
upstairs, she called Buchanan, reached him immediately on his mobile.

'Understood, Paula. I'm in the East End. I'm leaving
now.'

Paula grabbed her windcheater, gave Monica a brief
report on what had happened. She had put on the
windcheater and explained quickly.

'I'm off to join the others and Newman has waited for
me,' she lied.

Checking her watch, she saw she was late. She hurtled
down the stairs. She paused in the empty hall to check the
loaded Browning was OK, then checked the Beretta in her
leg holster. Outside she paused to tell George she was on
her way to join the others, then rushed to her car, dived
behind the wheel. At that time of night there were no
crowds in Park Crescent rushing out to see what had
happened - they had all gone home. She started the engine and drove off as fast as she dared through fairly deserted
streets to her destination.
Covent Garden.

39

It was after 9 p.m. when Paula parked in the street where
Coral lived. The street lamps at intervals created a pleasant glow in the moonless dark. A few couples strolled slowly,
stopping to chat, to engage in an embrace.

On the first floor above the entrance to the flat a window
of frosted glass was illuminated by a pink lamp inside. It was
almost red and Paula suppressed a shudder. With the key Coral had given her she opened the front door. There was
a groan from the hinges which startled her. She went inside the wide hall which was also lit by a ceiling lamp.

She closed the door slowly and avoided it groaning a
second time. She was very late and wondered whether
Coral was taking a bath behind the frosted-glass window.
Her rubber-soled shoes made no sound as she ascended the
stairs at the end of the hall.

The door to the living room was open. Paula glanced
inside, then entered the bedroom where the door was also
wide open. The double bed was a very low affair, only a few
inches off the floor. The floor was wooden, covered here
and there with rugs.

She moved cautiously, very quietly. In the far wall a glass
door was slid half-open. She could now hear the shower
going full blast. Under the cover of the noise she walked
quickly to the second closet which contained Coral's coats.
She didn't think Coral would open this closet unless she
was going out. Which seemed unlikely - there was a
bottle of champagne in an ice bucket, two glasses on a table.

She opened the closet door slowly. It stuck at first, then
gave way with a loud creak. She glanced at the bathroom but the noise of the shower had muffled the noise. Beyond
a glazed door she had a glimpse of Coral's figure. She
looked away quickly.

She had stepped inside the roomy closet, pushing coats aside, when the shower was turned off. She heard Coral
talking on a mobile, her voice soft, excited.

'Hi, there. Great to hear your voice. What was that?'

Presumably the caller had said something, then Coral
replied.

'Sure I'll be ready for you then.' She giggled. 'In fact I'm ready for you now.'

Again, presumably, a response from the caller.

'No, I'm not. Don't be naughty . . .'

Another pause while the caller said something.

'Didn't say I loved you. Liked you a lot, I said.'

Another pause.

'That's all right. Get here when you can.' Another giggle. 'I'm not going anywhere. Bye.'

Paula, behind the coats, tensed. If she came into this
closet . . . Unlikely with only three coats for outside wear,
but still. . .

She remembered seeing a neatly folded pile of underwear
on a chair in the bedroom. Also a dress had been folded
carefully over the back of another chair.

The closet door looked heavy but the next thing she
heard distinctly was the clink of a glass. Coral was not
dressing for her visitor. Instead she was sitting down to
drink champagne. Wearing nothing.

Paula wished she'd taken off her windcheater - it was
warm inside the closet. She decided she dare not risk it. She
might make a noise, hit one of the coats hanging from the
brass rails.

She settled down to wait.

40

Seated in the passenger seat at the rear of the cab, Tweed
was checking maps of the area round where the Parrot
lived. He was busily changing several of the positions Newman had suggested for the watchers.

'Told 'im you'd muck about with the sentry posts. Guv,' Harry called back.

'How close are we now?' Tweed called back.

'Five minutes away at the most. Then we're outside the
side street where the Parrot 'ibernates. We're in
'Ammersmith already.'

'I want you to cruise round very slowly so I can check up
on the team.'

'Parrot's pad is in sight now.'

Tweed peered out. The Parrot's first-floor flat was on the
corner of the main street and the side street. It had two
windows on the main street side. They were a blaze of
lights. He could also for a moment see the windows
overlooking the side street. Again the lights behind them
were on. The Parrot was at home.

He saw a decrepit-looking individual sweeping the
pavement with a broom. The sweeper was tall, was wearing
an Australian-style hat with the brim pulled well down. He suddenly realized it was Newman.

Harry crawled so slowly past the end of the side street he
was almost stationary. Tweed spotted a down-and-out
leaning against a wall opposite the entrance to the Parrot's
flat. A beer bottle, held by the neck, was dangling from his left hand.

'That's Pete Nield,' Harry told him.

'And Marler?' Tweed queried.

'Never spot him. Why do you think we call him the
Invisible Man?'

'I want to know now where Marler is,' Tweed demanded.
'That is an order, Harry.'

'OK. He's merged in the shadows of the house next door
to the entrance to the Parrot's place. No one can enter that
building without Marler being within feet of them. So how
far do you think an intruder - or a visitor - can get?'

'Thank you, Harry. This means the Parrot's place is
sealed off. Which is what I wanted. Now cruise slowly
back and forth as though looking for a customer. I'm
slumped down out of sight. I'll appear if someone tries to
hire you.'

'They won't. I've got the light off, showing I'm busy. I
suggest you relax and eat your meal.'

Tweed slowly ate his meal, drank from his water bottle as he kept an eye on the silent streets and thought.

He was going over in detail the reports the team had
given him about their interviews. Somewhere there was a
clue. No one under pressure of interrogation was able to
avoid making a slip at some time.

Then he had an idea. He asked Harry to lend him his
mobile, then to turn on the overhead light. From his top
pocket Tweed extracted the card General Macomber had
tucked into it. He rang the General's phone number. A
woman, sounding like a housekeeper, answered quickly.
'General Macomber's residence. Who is this?'
'Tweed of the SIS. I'm sure the General has told you I
met him this morning . . .'

'Yes, sir, he did. I know who you are.'

'Then could I please have a word with the General?'

'I'm afraid not. He left early this afternoon for London. He wasn't able to say when he would be back.'

'Thank you. I may call you tomorrow. Good night.'

Tweed was disturbed. What could the General be doing
now, prowling round London? Where? Why? He had
dismissed him from his mind after the explosions on Black
Island which had destroyed the prisons. Had he misjudged
the General?

Benton. He was a strange character. Difficult to under
stand. Apparently the peacemaker in the Cabal.
Apparently? Yet he had revealed an evil temper when
ending Nield's interview with him.

Noel. Violent in many ways. The Planner of the whole
grim system. Was his mind unbalanced? If so, to what
degree?

Nelson. To some extent appeared to have similar views to
himself on the present state of Britain. He was controlled
and clever. During his recent visit to Park Crescent had he
been throwing a smokescreen in Tweed's eyes? To keep
him quiet?

The Parrot. Harry was now taking the cab back to the
area of her flat. All those lights in her windows began to
bother Tweed. Had they been switched on automatically by
timers? Was the Parrot actually inside her flat?

At the back of his mind he was being irritated by the play
ing of a pop song. Louis Armstrong. 'What A Wonderful World.' What a wonderful world . . .

There flashed back into his restless mind Paula's
description of the scene in the room next to the Cabal's
HQ. The newspaper folded to the glaring headline on Coral's desk. Her dancing, singing 'What a wonderful
world'. The Parrot screaming at her to shut up
...

'Harry!' he called out. 'Give me back the mobile.'

He pressed the numbers which would put him through to
Monica at Park Crescent.

'Put Paula on the line immediately.'

'She's not here.'

'What?' Tweed went cold.