The Power (22 page)

'Rumours. Nothing I can get my teeth into. Washington
abounds in rumours. The private army thing may be a trap
March has set. We go public about what is nothing but a
rumour, he proves we're off the wall, and any influence we
possess is destroyed.'

'I may make a statement criticizing his inaction over
foreign policy,' the statesman insisted. 'The position is we
have
no foreign policy. It might stir Galloway into urging
immediate action.'

'I still advocate silence,' Senator Wingfield replied.

In certain circles, limited to a very few old Washington
hands, they were known as the Three Wise Men. Wingfield
was very strong on the strategy of their remaining in the
shadows.

They talked for a little while longer. The banker could
hold himself in check no longer. He burst out with unusual
vehemence.

'The President has done nothing to reduce our soaring
deficit. America is going bankrupt. The way he's increas
ing our debt, we're heading for a crisis right here.'

'He's very popular still,' the Senator warned. 'I would
advise both of you to make no public statements pending
our next meeting.' He looked at his watch. 'And I am due
at the Senate in thirty minutes. ..'

Courteously he ushered them into the hall, shook them
by the hand, but was careful not to be present when the
front door was opened. The statesman and the banker left the mansion separately - with five minutes between their departures. Outside a chauffeured limousine waited in the
drive when each man hurried out of the front entrance.

Back in his study Wingfield decided he would make a
few very discreet enquiries. The problem was always to
find an ear where the mouth would stay shut afterwards.
Calm and dignified during the meeting, inwardly the Sena
tor was a very disturbed man.

14

It was dark as they waited close to Padstow harbour.
Newman sat with Paula alongside him in his Mercedes.
Cardon had taken over the wheel of the Escort. Butler and
Nield had taken the Sierra - but at that moment they were
both outside, watching the phone box with Tweed inside it.

A storm had blown up, the sea was in a rage. Paula got
out of the Merc., leaned in to speak to Newman.

'I'm going to get a closer look. It's really wild tonight.'

'I'll come with you,' Newman said, jumping out of his seat.

They walked near the edge of South Quay, but not too
close. The gale nearly blew them off their feet. Fascinated,
Paula watched the boats in the outer harbour swaying and
tossing. Huge waves rolled in, crashed against the rear
wall, exploded in a burst of surf and spume rising way up
above the wall. One smaller craft looked as though it was going to be upended at any moment.

Newman grasped her arm to prevent her getting any nearer to the brink. She glanced over her shoulder where
the interior light shone down on the occupant of the
telephone box.

Tweed had dialled the Surrey mansion, was put through
very quickly to Monica. He spoke rapidly.

'Short of time. Monica, I want you to prepare a profile
on a man called Gaunt. Lives at Tresillian
Manor on
Bodmin Moor. You won't hear from me for some time, but
don't worry.'

'What the hell is going on?'

It was the first time he'd ever heard her swear. Even on
the phone he could sense her tension - a tension
which probably pervaded the whole mansion.

'No idea yet,' he answered. 'Now, put me on to
Howard
...

Tweed, are you all right?' were Howard's first words.

'Yes. We're moving on. Had a word with the PM yet?'

'No, we're completely cut off from the outside world -
which is an eerie feeling. I did get one thing out of that fool
of a private secretary when I threatened to go up to
Downing Street. He said I wouldn't be admitted, that
there's a major terrorist hunt in progress. I can't imagine what he's talking about.'

Then you haven't got much imagination, Tweed
thought. He had a pad and a pen at the ready.

'Can you give me Commander Crombie's private
number? I may need to contact him.' He scribbled down
figures of a phone number in London. 'Thanks. Now
listen, Howard, you may not hear from me again for a
while. Don't worry about it. I'll be in a safe place with my
team.'

'Well, I hope you know what you're doing. Where is this
safe place?'

'Sorry, I'm leaving no forwarding address. Must go ...'

'Wait! I've just remembered. Had a call from Cord
Dillon. Take down this number ... Got it? He must be in
Switzerland. He wants you to call him urgently. Gave me
different times. Half a sec. Just checked my watch. You
could get him now, allowing for the time difference. There
are only fifteen-minute periods during the times he gave
me.'

'I'd better get off this line, then
...'

'But I need to know where I can get in touch with you.'

'No forwarding address
...'

Tweed put down the phone, fished in his pocket. He
needed more coins. The wind nearly hurled him back
inside the box as he emerged. Battling against the gale he
beckoned to Butler and Nield as Paula and Newman came back to the Merc. Tweed climbed into the back, called out
brusquely.

'I need all the change you've got to make a long-distance
call. Hurry it up

'Not another call?' Paula exclaimed. 'Maybe we'd better set up a coffee and sandwich bar for you inside that box,'
she teased.

'It's not funny. Just give me the change. Cord Dillon is
waiting for me to ring. Sounds like a fugitive, from the way
Howard reported it. The Deputy Director of the CIA -
something is terribly wrong. . .'

Armed with a large collection of coins Tweed returned
to the box. The first number Howard had passed to him
was 010.41. Switzerland. Followed by 1. Zurich. Followed
by the rest of the numbers. The operator put him through
quickly and he began listening to the ringing sound. He
checked his watch. He was damned close to the end of the
fifteen-minute period.

'Who is this calling?'

Dillon's abrasive American voice. No doubt about it.

'Tweed here. I got your message from Howard . . .'

'Where are you calling from? I can't hang about here
much longer

'Public phone box . . .'

'Like me. In Shopville. Just listen. Joel Dyson is here.
Still alive. Least he was when I spotted him, then lost the
guy. So is Special Agent Barton Ives, FBI. Again I go and
lose him. At least he's here.'

'You're staying at
...

The place you suggested. No names. Don't see how
they can tap every goddamn phone in this country, but
you just never know.'

'Cord. ..'

'I said just listen. I'm filling you in on the situation. Too
many Americans here who don't look like tourists. I guess
they're after Dyson. Ives, too.'

Tell me about this Barton Ives
...'

'Not over the phone. Maybe we can meet some place
some day. If I'm still walking around . ..'

'Cord. You may see me sooner than you think. Keep
under good cover . ..'

'What is good cover in this situation? Got to go. Hang
in there, Tweed . . .'

There was a click. Tweed sighed, pushed open the door as another gale-force gust tried to slam it shut on him. He
walked back to the Merc, with his head bowed, followed
by Butler and Nield, and dived inside the back. The wind
closed the door for him. Paula twisted round in the front passenger seat.

'It's quite a night. You should see what's happening in
the harbour.'

'Which is exactly what I shouldn't see. Bob, get
moving. You've found St Mawgan, Paula?'

'I can take us straight'there.'

'That will be a miracle.'

Paula didn't reply. Tweed was tauter than a guitar
string.

Newman drove along the A389 once he was clear of Padstow. Cardon followed in the Escort and the Sierra,
with Butler at the wheel and Nield beside him, brought up
the rear. The wind beat against the side of the Merc., bent
over hedges as though intent on tearing them up by the roots.
'We're heading for Wadebridge,' Tweed called out.

'We could have taken a side road and come out on the
A39 much further west.'

'Who is the bloody navigator?' Paula snapped. She'd
had enough of Tweed's brusqueness. 'I'm keeping us on A-roads. On a night like this we don't want to be driving on windy B-roads. Not until we have to later.'

'She's right,' Newman said. 'I'm driving and this is a big
car to take down narrow country roads on a night like this.'

'Sorry, Paula,' said Tweed, who realized he'd been
sharp with her. 'I'll leave the two of you to get us there.'

Tweed was enduring a mixture of emotions - im
patience to reach their ultimate destination and anxiety
about the safety of Cord Dillon.

'What about accommodation for the night?' Paula
queried after a while. 'Did you manage to fix up rooms for
the night at St Mawgan?'

'Yes. The Falcon Inn only has four rooms but we will
cope somehow.'

'One for you,' Newman said, 'one for Paula. I'll share
with Cardon and Butler and Nield won't mind sharing the
other. It's a nice place, the Falcon, Paula, and just about
the most difficult place on earth to find.'

'The latter being the main reason why you chose it?' Paula asked Tweed over her shoulder.

'Partly,' he said and relapsed into silence.

Paula guided them to the right on to the A39, another good wide road, and they drove on through the night,
meeting no other traffic, the wind still hammering the car.
Later she guided them off the A39 with a fresh right turn
on to the Newquay road, the A3059. She soon warned
Newman they had to keep a lookout for a side road. It
was Tweed who spotted the turning.

'Right here,' he called out. 'We're getting close now to where we turn off yet again .. .'

Paula was conscious they were getting into very remote
country. They drove down a steep narrow winding hill and
Tweed warned Newman to crawl. He then completed answering Paula's question.