Cell (63 page)

'He felt Western society had collapsed, that it no longer
had any moral structure. That the so-called liberation of women was to blame. Morals had been thrown out of the window, the divorce rate was soaring, everyone behaved
as they felt urges. Married men went with other women,
women were worse, going with other men when the mood took them. Married women. He thought the only salvation
lay in the East. Muslim women kept their place, would
walk three paces behind their husbands, covered themselves
with clothing and veils, so avoiding the attentions of men. Discipline was a word he often used. He wished to impose
the Muslim system on the West.'

'Fundamentalist Muslimism?' Tweed suggested.

'Oh, he used that first word frequently,' Margesson
replied. 'I found myself absorbing his views, his language,
believing in it. Now I know I was used.'

'Used how?' Tweed enquired.

'He needed someone he could bounce his ideas off. I feel
he is a lonely man, under permanent pressure.'

'You do realize this man is as mad as a hatter,' Warner
said quietly. 'He should be in an asylum,' he went on as
he polished his pince-nez, then perched them back on the bridge of his hooked nose.

'It's a thought,' Tweed agreed. 'The trouble is we have
another witness with damning evidence. Billy Hogarth.' He turned to Hogarth. 'Would you describe to us what you saw
on the night Paula Grey was attacked and imprisoned?'

'I saw it clearly.'

Billy was
a
less confident speaker than Margesson. He
hesitated. Tweed made no effort to prod him to cont
inue.

'A friend who visited Israel gave me a pair of night glasses,' Billy went on. 'Being on my own I often used
them to scan the village. I was doing so on the night
you are talking about. I didn't know what to do, so I did nothing.'

'After you have witnessed what?' Tweed prompted.

'I saw Miss Grey call at Drew Franklin's house after
dark. Drew came to the door. I had the impression their
conversation was short.'

'Gerald,' Tweed said suddenly. 'Enjoy the Bahamas?'

'Beautiful. . .' Warner stopped suddenly, his expression
panicky.

'Meet Gerald Hanover, financier and master planner for
al-Qa'eda. Please go on,' Tweed urged Billy Hogarth.

'She was leaving Drew's house,' Billy explained. 'I think
she had decided to return to her car parked in Mrs Gobble's shed.'

Billy paused, as though recalling something which had
scared him. Taking a deep breath he continued.

'As she started to walk off, the front door of this house
opened. A huge man wearing a black turban appeared, crept up behind her, hit her on the back of her head. He carried her unconscious body back inside this house.'

'He's potty,' Warner burst out. 'Pecksniff chose some
strange people to occupy rented houses. And you've lost
your
mind, Tweed. Gerald Hanover indeed. Who the hell
is he?'

'You are. Master planner and financier of al-Qa'eda.
We have witnesses in the Bahamas who identified you from photos airmailed there,' he fibbed. 'Better still, we have the evidence of Billy Hogarth about Paula's kid
napping. Billy, you are sure it was
this
house Paula was
carried into?'

'Quite sure,' Billy replied emphatically. 'Garda is set
apart from Drew's house. So the brute walked a short distance to get here, carrying Miss Grey's limp body to this house. Saw it clearly.'

'He's simple-minded,' Warner raved. 'A fairy-tale.'

'There is one way to prove it,' Buchanan said in a stern
voice. 'You may have heard two cars pull up outside. Police
cars with trained searchers and forensic experts. Miss Grey
gave us a detailed description of the cellar where she was held before, showing great courage, she escaped. We will
soon find that cellar if it is under our feet.'

'No, you won't!' Warner had jumped up behind his
desk. 'You cannot search this property which is owned
by a Minister of the Crown.'

'But we can,' Buchanan informed him. 'I have warrants
in my pocket to search every property in this village. Including this one.'

He walked forward, dropped a long folded document on Warner's desk. Then he retreated to his original position at
the back of the room. Warner opened the document, read
it very swiftly. He looked up with a self-important smile.

'This is signed by a judge everyone knows is senile.'

'It is still a valid search warrant.'

'What the devil do you expect to find?' snapped Warner.

'Possibly the horrible cellar where Miss Grey was held.
We are also interested in discovering the bodies of five
people who have disappeared. Including that of your
wife.'

'Then I have something here which will make you change
your mind.'

He unlocked a drawer, ferreted among a collection of
files. He then stood up. In his right hand he held a .455 Colt
automatic. He aimed it at Paula's chest. Newman withdrew
his hand, empty, from inside his jacket where his Smith & Wesson was holstered.

'You will all leave this house immediately,' Warner ordered. 'All except Miss Paula Grey.'

'No, we won't,' an icy voice spoke.

Eva Brand was walking forward towards the desk, a Beretta automatic gripped in her right hand, steady as a
rock, Paula observed. Eva paused within ten feet of the Minister.

The tone of her voice, her expression, were almost frightening.

'Attempt to shoot Paula,' she continued, 'and I'll put a bullet into that evil head of yours.'

54

A stand-off., Newman thought. Two guns, each aimed point-blank at a different target. Dangerous. Eva's 6.35mm Beretta.
It was a light weapon, but fired at close range it would crush
Warner's skull, kill him.

'Eva,' Warner said with the hint of a tremble. 'Why?'

As he spoke he was careful to keep his Colt aimed at
Paula, a clever move to freeze everyone else in the room.
With her left hand Eva reached inside her jacket, took
out a newspaper cutting, dropped it on his desk. Tweed
recognized it as the strange, much delayed obituary notice
Newman had extracted from the
Daily Nation.

'What is this?' Warner asked, his voice weaker.

He made no attempt to look down. He was too concerned
with keeping Paula under his gun.

'An obituary of a man who died two years ago in Yemen,'
Eva told him. 'Captain Charles Hobart. Remember him?
Don't say you don't. I'll pull the trigger.'

'Vaguely.' He hastened to amplify. 'It's coming back to me. A
...
casualty. A
...
Special Forces . . . offi
cer.'

'Yemen,' Eva repeated in the same disturbing monotone.
'A mission to kill an al-Qa'eda unit in the desert. One man
volunteered to wipe it out. He could have done. Except he
was betrayed. You were there when it happened. You'd just
been appointed Minister of Security. You out-ranked the
unit's commander. You secretly sent a message warning
al-Qa'eda he was coming. Alone. So they killed him. An
ambush. Killed my father . . .'

'Hobart. . . you are . . . Eva Brand.'

'No, I am Eva Hobart. Before leaving Medfords to get
a job close to you I changed my name by deed poll. The
Director of Medfords, a friend, agreed to keep quiet. I
know you were the mastermind controlling the attack on
London. I can prove it.'

'Im . . . poss . . . ible.'

Again Eva used her left hand to reach inside her jacket.
She produced a folded sheet of paper, dropped it on his
desk. Once more Warner dare not look down. Had to keep
his eye on Paula, his Colt still aimed at her chest.

'That,' Eva told him, 'is the first coded message which I told you I had never received. So another was sent to you.
It's in Arabic, but not from the Embassy - instead from an
address in Cairo. I decoded it, then told you it had never arrived. Want to know what it says? Top Secret.'

'You had no right. . .'

'Shut your treacherous trap. It reads, "Happy to hear
attack on London is imminent. That it will be greater than
September 11."'

'There must
...
be a
...
mistake.'

'No mistake. It was addressed to you. "For your eyes
only."'

'You decoded it
...
wrongly.'

'Victor, I was very fond of my father. He meant every
thing to me. When I flew with Drew to Cairo I talked to Sergeant Langford, retired now, but a key NCO with the
unit in Yemen. He overheard you talking in Arabic in a tent
on a phone - Langford is fluent in Arabic. He heard you say that one man only, a Captain Hobart, was coming to
eliminate them the next day. Langford decided he couldn't report it because who would believe him? He's now flying
to London to report to Drew, under oath, what he heard.
Drew will publish. You are going down.'

'You bitch

'Superintendent Buchanan, could you come alongside
me? But don't attempt to grab my pistol. I can fire instantly.'
She used her left hand to extract something from a pocket.
'Mr Tweed, I would sooner you came to me.'

Tweed approached slowly, stood beside her while Warner
kept his Colt aimed at Paula. She asked Tweed to hold out his hand, dropped a small key into it. Tweed went back to
where he had been standing.

'Victor Warner is a master planner,' Eva went on. 'I will
give him that. He also was the planner behind September
11. That key opens a secret drawer in the
side
of his desk. I managed to open it while Warner was in Cabinet. Medford
training. In that drawer you will find a mass of material -
a big airline timetable, American, listing all major flights. All those long distance, carrying a huge petrol load, are
marked in blue. In red are marked the flights used from
Boston and Newark on September 11. Al-Qa'eda trained the killers. Warner planned the routes . . .'

'I should kill you,' screamed Warner.

'You want a bullet in the head now?'

Warner, still aiming the Colt at Paula, began backing away from his desk. He soon reached the panelled wall. He used his left elbow to press against it. A section slid
back like a secret door. Beyond was a tunnel. As he dived
into it, Eva fired. The bullet hit the panelling.

'Missed,' Newman said to himself.