No Mercy (23 page)

Tweed hated the pompous manner adopted by certain
lowly officials. At the top of the escalator his folder took
them past a guard armed with an automatic weapon. Inside,
a severe-looking girl behind a counter stared unpleasantly at
Paula.

'You can't take that bag into this building.'

'So why don't you keep it for me?' Paula said, perching
her bag on the counter.

'It's locked,' the girl in uniform snapped. 'I have to see inside. It could be a bomb.'

'I've been holding my folder for you to look at. Look at it
and tell us where we'll find Aubrey Greystoke.'

'You might have shown me that before,' the girl griped
after looking carefully at the folder.

'I've been holding it up for you to look at ever since we
walked into this architectural monstrosity. I want my bag
locked away in one of those steel cupboards behind you. I will also need a receipt.'

'Mr Greystoke is in Room 750. Seventh floor. Take that
second elevator over there. Welcome to the Tower. It's had
an architectural award.'

It took them only five minutes to wait for the elevator in the
much-vaunted twenty-first-century Tower. Room 750 was opposite the doors when the elevator reached the seventh.
Impatiently, Tweed pressed the bell. The door opened and a smartly dressed girl with a nice smile stood there.

'What can I do for you? My appointments book doesn't
register visitors.' Another smile. 'Maybe my system is
breaking down.'

'My name is Tweed.' He showed her the folder. 'Nothing's
wrong with your system but I urgently need to see Mr
Greystoke. We have met.'

'Oh, Lord,' she said, staring at his folder. 'Mr Greystoke has left the building ten minutes ago for a business dinner. I'll tell him you called.'

'I wouldn't bother,' Tweed replied, smiling. 'When I can
I'll phone him. May not be for a while.'

As they drove back, creeping through the gridlock, Paula
asked her question as they sat, going nowhere.

'What did you think of Larry?'

'Apart from Greystoke, I think I now have a picture of the
Voles family.'

'And that's important?'

'I'm convinced that, eventually, we'll find the solution to these dreadful murders near Abbey Grange. Which is why
every scrap of information I can obtain about them - and their relationships - is the key to the massacre.'

'Well, we do have the interview with Drago Volkanian. It
should be interesting.'

'Except from all accounts he's a past master at revealing only what he wishes to. The vital question I'm going to ask is the location of his armaments works.'

'You think that's really important?'

'It is probably the real key to what's going on. We'd best
spend the rest of the day preparing for the trip to Marseilles.'
'I can't wait.'
'You may well wish you had done when we get there.'

Marler was waiting for them when they arrived back at Park
Crescent. So was everyone else. Marler lit a cigarette.

'I've been educating the team as to what faces us. And we
must all go. We'll need every man, according to Marin.'

'What did he say?' Tweed asked calmly.

'I'll start again.' Marler said quietly. 'The freighter we
want to check out - coming from Angora - arrives at the He
des Oiseaux in two days' time.'

'Can't we fly there?' asked Paula.

'Do you mind?' Marler snapped. 'We don't fly because the
French Secret Service is photographing all arrivals at both
Charles de Gaulle and Orly airports. The top man would
certainly spot Tweed when he checked the photos. So it has
to be Eurostar. I need two hours in Paris to purchase
weapons - for everyone. Then we board the TGV for
Marseilles. I've booked rooms for us at a hotel overlooking
the Vieux Port.'

'I stayed there once,' Tweed interjected. 'There used to be
a good one along the promenade.'

'Marin told me the Vieux Port place,' Marler said firmly.
'That's where he hires a boat to take us out to the He. A boat
with a powerful engine which can really move.'

'Sounds delightful,' said Tweed, who hated the sea.

'Marin says the He may be quiet, but he doubts it. We
have to identify the freighter they're using, then race back to
the Vieux Port and from there to the station. We catch the
TGV back to Paris, then Eurostar to home.' He paused. 'It
was emphasized by Marin that on the lie we may well run
into the worst thugs in the world. Algerians and Moroccans.
If so, we take no prisoners. They won't.'

'Just my cup of tea,' Harry said.

Tweed turned to Newman. 'Bob, you'll stay here to look
after the shop. I need someone with strong character and
authority. We may find Gallagher comes crashing in again.
You've sorted him out before.' He saw Newman's
expression. 'Bob, what I've just said is an order.'

'They said Gallagher was out when I called,' Marler remarked. He looked at Paula. Before he could open his
mouth she jumped up, grasped him round the neck with
both hands, her face close to his.

'Whatever you were going to say, don't. Unless you want
me to throttle you. I'm going to Marseilles.'

17

The interview that afternoon with Drago Volkanian was one
of the most unusual Tweed had ever experienced. With
Paula he arrived at 490 Jermyn Street and rang the strange square-shaped bell.

'I've wanted to meet Volkanian ever since I heard he
existed,' he told Paula as they waited. 'His invisible presence
hangs over this case like a giant cloud.'

The door opened and Paula gazed at one of the most
imposing men she had ever encountered. Over six feet tall,
he had very broad shoulders, a large regal head and white
hair. His face had a dominant cast, his nose long and
beaked, the eyes above green, darting swiftly. Clean-shaven,
he had a wide mouth, the jaw below expressing willpower.

'Welcome to both of you. Please do come inside. You are
so punctual. I do, sir, approve of punctuality.' Volkanian held
out an outsize hand. 'Miss Grey, so kind of you to come. Mr Tweed, sir, you are someone I have looked forward so much to meeting.' His hand clasp was a strong grip. 'We will repair
to my study.' He had closed the door, turning two wall
switches.

As they entered his study off the hall, its walls furnished
with hanging Persian rugs, they were in a different world.
The spacious study was furnished with English antiques,
carefully placed against the walls. It was the finest collection
Paula had ever seen.

'May I make a comment on security?' Tweed enquired as
an attractive girl with Eastern features took their coats with
a glowing smile.

'Of course you may, sir,' Volkanian rumbled in his deep voice. He chuckled. 'After all, you are the expert on such
matters.'

'You kindly came to the door yourself. London is these
days a dangerous place. I could have been anyone.'

'Aha!' Another chuckle. 'I appreciate your concern for my
safety but you omitted to look up. There is a mirror above
the front door with a hundred and eighty degree sweep. It
allows me to see who is calling - and whether someone
hostile lurks in the yicinity. Now, what can I provide you
with in the way of a stimulant? I shall be sipping an excellent
Scotch whisky. Or would you prefer coffee or something else? Sasha,' he said, gesturing towards the girl with the
glowing smile, 'will bring you anything you fancy.'

'I think,' Tweed said to Paula's surprise, 'I could also do with a Scotch.'

'So will I,' Paula decided as their host turned to her with
an open hand.

Volkanian escorted them to a circle of comfortable chairs,
waited until they were seated, then lowered his bulk into a large chair he could just fit into. When the drinks arrived
Volkanian raised his glass, smiling.

'Devastation to our enemies.'

'I'll drink to that,' said Tweed.

'Miss Grey, you live in a pleasant first-floor flat in a cul-de-
sac off the Fulham Road,' Volkanian remarked. 'But maybe it
would be safer to send it to Park Crescent? Yes, I think so.'

He seems to know everything about us, Paula thought.

Paula resisted the temptation to ask what 'it' might be.
She was curious, but it would be bad manners to enquire.
Tweed was speaking.

'Mr Volkanian . . .' he began.

'I would be honoured if you would both call me Drago.
Miss Grey, may I be so bold as to call you Paula?'

'Please do.'

Paula was thrown off balance. She had never been in the
presence of a man with such a powerful personality. His aura
seemed to fill the room with warmth but without any hint of
aggression. He wore a grey two-piece suit, the jacket
unbuttoned over his ample stomach. A regimental tie
splayed down over a crisp-collared blue shirt. She felt sure
at some time he'd had an association with a regiment. He was not a man to wear such a tie unless entitled to do so.

'Drago,' Tweed had begun, 'it would be helpful to me if I
knew the location of your armaments plant.'

Drago roared with laughter, his whole body wobbling. He
took out a handkerchief to wipe his eyes. He chuckled again.

'You are a man after my own heart, sir. You go straight for
the jugular. That is a secret I cannot reveal
to you, sir. Only
five people - apart from myself- know its location.'

'Michael, Larry and Lucinda,' Tweed said quickly. 'Also
Aubrey Greystoke. The fifth I don't know. I'm guessing.'

Drago let out another burst of laughter, looked at Paula.
'Your chief is a very shrewd man.' His expression became
serious. 'At the moment I understand we must forget
Michael. His amnesia distresses me. I will tell you one thing about the armaments plant, Tweed. At one time it
produced both missiles and shells for artillery pieces, for
the MoD. The design was my own. I was once an engineer.
So you simply turn a lever and the machinery switches
from making artillery shells to missiles. Then I saw a film
of the impact made by missiles. Supposedly totally
accurate. They are not. In this film a missile aimed at a military HQ missed and hit a schoolhouse full of children instead. I banned the production of missiles immediately. At least artillery is aimed at the enemy's own guns. That I can live with. I assume everything at this so entertaining meeting is off the record.'