'A letter from the dead.'
Entering Tweed's office Paula immediately sensed a strange atmosphere. Newman was sitting upright in a chair. Marler stood upright near a wall, no cigarette in his mouth. Monica's face had a frozen look. Tweed sat behind his desk, hands clasped on its surface, his expression neutral. Nobody said a word to her – until Marler spoke those five words.
He walked across to her slowly. His complexion was ashen. He handed her an envelope without saying another word. Then he walked back to his corner and stood very still.
Paula remained where she was, standing, her coat over her arm. She examined the outside of the envelope. It was addressed in a foreign-looking script to Mr Marler, c/o General amp; Cumbria Assurance, followed by the address. She noticed that it had been posted in London, carried a second-class stamp. Carefully she extracted the single folded sheet inside. It was written in the same script.
Dear Marler – Be very careful of the barges. You must locate the printing presses. Yours, Kurt Schwarz.
She looked round the room again, placed the letter, folded, inside the envelope. Then she walked across to Marler, gave it back to him. Dropping coat and gloves on her desk, she sank into her chair. She was worried about saying the wrong thing, was relieved when Newman began talking.
'The letter has naturally…' He had been going to say 'upset' but decided Marler wouldn't like that. '… disturbed Marler. As it has me. Marler had known Kurt for years. They were friends who trusted each other completely.'
'One more bullet for the Phantom,' said Marler in the same monotone he had spoken the first five words when she had entered.
'We both feel rotten,' Newman went on quickly, 'about leaving him propped up against those steps.'
'You couldn't do anything else,' Paula said quietly. 'And I'm upset…' She paused with a lump in her throat, forcing herself not to cry. 'He was such a nice man. I liked him from the moment he came to my flat. He joked with me, made me laugh. It's too cruel. So macabre…' She trailed off.
'Time for me to go,' Marler said, his voice normal. 'Must have a bath, smarten myself up. I have a date with Denise Chatel this evening. See you.'
Tweed waited until he had left. When he spoke his tone was offhand. He gave the impression that business as usual had now resumed.
'Kurt may have given us valuable information at some stage. I can understand Marler's reaction. He realizes Kurt wouldn't have sent that letter unless he thought he wouldn't survive long enough to pass on the message personally.'
'The barges,' Paula said, mystified. 'Does he mean barges on the Thames? And which printing presses was he referring to?'
'I have no idea,' Tweed responded. 'But we may understand in due course. You looked tense the moment you opened the door. How did you get on at the Bunker?'
'I'll have to learn to control my expression.' She paused, wondering whether to tell him about the attempt on her life, feeling sure he would go up in smoke. She decided she must give a complete report. 'On the way down to the Bunker I decided to call in…' she began.
Tweed sat like a Buddha, his eyes fixed on hers, listening. When she had finished he decided the last thing to do was rebuke her for taking chances on her own. She had gone through enough recently.
'You seem sure the bullet was intended for you,' he remarked.
'Why do you say that?'
'From your graphic description, Sir Guy Strangeways was standing beside you. Surely the bullet could have been meant for him?'
'I hadn't thought of that. Now you mention it, I don't know.'
'The Phantom has spoilt his record,' Newman commented. 'This time he missed his target, whoever it was.'
'Interesting that Basil Windermere wasn't at his flat when you called him. That was quick thinking,' Tweed remarked.
'As I told you, Cord Dillon seems content to stay where he is.'
'Pretty conclusive,' Newman said grimly, 'what he told you he overheard at Langley about the new timer. We know who we're up against now.'
'Up to a point,' Tweed told him.
'How did your lunch go with Ed Osborne?' Paula wondered.
'Never got there. I was leaving the building when a call came through from him. Full of apologies. Would I mind making our meeting this evening. Same rendezvous. Nine o'clock at the Raging Stag in Piccadilly.'
'Shouldn't you have a bodyguard, after everything that's happened? And they did try to kidnap you outside the American Embassy. It was a good job Newman and the others were there.'
'Tweed gave us the signal that he was in trouble,' Newman explained. 'Standing at the top of the step on his way out he ran a hand over the top of his head as though smoothing down his hair.'
'I have to love you and leave you now.' Tweed stood up. 'I want to keep Howard up to date with the latest developments. Bob, enjoy your dinner with Sharon – I don't see how you can fail to do so. Paula, I suggest you go home early, get Pete Nield to drive you home, check out the area. Then cook yourself something simple and get an early night.'
Paula nodded, said nothing. She didn't want to refer to her intention to have dinner with Pete at Santorini's in front of Newman. He might not be best pleased with her idea of her checking up on Sharon from a distance. Monica waited until Tweed and Newman had left, the latter on his way home to get ready for his night out.
'Don't worry about Tweed,' Monica told Paula. 'I've fixed it up with Harry Butler to put on his best suit and to go to the Raging Stag discreetly – to keep an eye on him.'
Santorini's, the new in-place, was decked out luxuriously. One section even projected out over the river. The place bubbled with activity. Sharon, with Newman at her side, answered the maitre d' when he immediately came up to them.
'Sharon Mandeville. You have a table reserved overlooking the river.'
'Good evening. We have indeed got your reservation. The best table, of course…'
Sharon wore a close-fitting, simply cut shift dress in purple which must have cost a fortune, with elegant court shoes. Her blonde hair fell in sweeping waves almost to her shoulders. As she preceded Newman men turned to gaze at her. Some to the amusement of their escorts, other women looking annoyed. She was undoubtedly, Newman thought, the most striking-looking woman in the place. And there was competition aplenty.
Their table was placed next to a large window looking out over the river. The water actually flowed below them. Sharon sat down and her hypnotic green eyes stared at Newman. She seemed unaware of the stir she was causing at other tables.
'I hope this suits you, Bob,' she said in her soft voice. 'Perfect. You must have clout to have secured this table.'
'Not really. I used the Ambassador's name. I don't really want to be well known. The waiter's here. Let's order our aperitifs.'
She was very calm, almost withdrawn, her movements slow and dignified. Her eyes held his, without in any way being aggressive or come-hitherish. They touched glasses when the aperitifs arrived.
'Here's to a memorable evening,' Newman said buoyantly.
'I'll drink to that,' she agreed quietly.
'How are you settling in at the Embassy? Must be a major change from Washington.'
'I prefer London. After all, my mother was English.
So I feel at home here. Washington is rather a bear garden. I have a nice house in Dorset.'
'And yet everything important in your life happened in America.'
'You're probably referring to my four husbands. Let's study the menu. This is my treat, by the way.'
'No, it isn't…'
'I hope you don't mind, but you can't do much about it. I have opened an account here.'
'Wicked of you.' He grinned. 'Next time it's my treat.'
'I'll look forward to that.'
They took time examining the large selection. Newman glanced out of the window and saw a massive barge tied up for the night. He stared. Be very careful of the barges. Kurt's warning in his last communication flashed into his mind.
'A penny for your thoughts,' said Sharon.
'Sorry. The reflections in the river look wonderful.' 'Dreamy…'
'Like the outfit you're wearing. Purple really suits you.'
'Thank you.'
He noticed there was not a trace of an American accent in her voice. She spoke as though she had lived all her life in England. He found her voice, her calmness very attractive. It was no effort to talk to her. He just felt comfortable. And her greenish eyes were remarkable, although she made no effort to use them as a weapon the way some women did. They said little as they consumed a magnificent meal. Looking round the tastefully appointed restaurant, he saw a lot of the in crowd were present, most of whom he disliked. Sharon brought up the subject when they were drinking coffee.
'I hope you don't mind but I'm also in the way of a messenger tonight. I've been asked whether you'd consider writing an article urging a closer special relationship between Britain and America.'
'May I enquire who asked you to do that?'
'I'm sorry, Bob, but I'm not supposed to say. It comes from someone very high up…'
Paula and Pete Nield had arrived at Santorini's a few minutes before Sharon and Bob entered. Paula had used Howard's name to ask for a secluded table. Howard, a member of several clubs, could get any table he wanted in London. Their table was in an alcove and Paula had a clear but distant view of the table over the river.
'What do you think of her?' Nield asked as they finished their main course.
'They seem to be getting on very well together. What do I think of Sharon? I'm not sure. She's beautifully dressed. Real taste in every way.'
'That's not what I asked.'
'She's poised. Quite at home in a place like this. She has an unusual technique for impressing a man.'
'Go on.'
'She's cool, very calm on the surface. A good listener – and that appeals to a man. She has control of the situation, without appearing to do so.'
'You used the phrase "on the surface".'
'I just wonder what she's really like under that appearance of unusual calm. I'm honestly not sure.' 'Not sure of what?' Nield smiled. 'Come on. Give.' 'I'm simply dist- puzzled. She's hard to read.'
'You were going to say disturbed and then altered it to puzzled. What is it about her that disturbs you?' 'Maybe a touch of envy.' Paula smiled. 'She's a very beautiful woman.'
'Be cagey, as you'd say to Tweed. And for my money you're looking like a present from Heaven.'
'Thank you, Pete.' She almost blushed. 'Do you want pudding?'
'I'm full up – this meal I've had will last me for days. But you go ahead.'
'I'm in the same state as you. Talking about Tweed, I know the Raging Stag stays open late. He may still be there. Do you mind if we have coffee there? I feel we ought to check there are no thugs in that area.
'Good idea. I'll get the bill.'
They had chosen a moment when Sharon and Newman's table was masked by other guests also leaving. Nield drove them back towards Piccadilly, found the only empty parking slot in Mayfair and grabbed it. They made the rest of the journey on foot.
Paula clasped the collar of her coat round her neck. A wind which must have originated at the North Pole was blowing. Their natural route took them down Albemarle Street, which was deserted. It brought back to Paula the evening when she had bumped into Cord Dillon outside Brown's, the nerve-racking moment when a bullet fired from the Cadillac had smashed the glass behind them as they stood in front of it.
Nield made no comment on the incident but took Paula's arm and hurried her even more briskly. They slowed down as they approached the Raging Stag. Both their eyes were everywhere, checking for men waiting in the shadows. Piccadilly, also, was deserted.
Entering the expensively decorated pub-cum-restaurant, Paula scanned the place, saw Tweed, among the crowd sitting at a table in the restaurant further in. He had his back to her and next to him sat Ed Osborne. Nield had also spotted them.
'Two stools free at the bar,' he said. 'I'll take them.. He reached the stools seconds before two men, who looked annoyed and tried to muscle their way in. Nield shook his head.
'Those are our places,' a large middle-aged man said aggressively.
'Sorry, but I have a lady with me. You wouldn't want her to have to stand, I'm sure.'
Paula backed him up by slipping past and perching herself on one of the stools. She turned, spoke to the aggressive man.
'Thank you so much. That was very kind of you.'
'You worked that well,' said Nield as the two men went away, muttering. 'What are you having to drink?'
'I'll stick to wine, I think. A glass of medium dry French.'
The place was as crowded, even at that hour, as Santorini's. Paula found she was in an ideal position to observe Tweed's table – she had a clear view of it reflected in the mirror behind the bar. She slipped off her coat, folded it in her lap as the drinks arrived, then she stiffened, held her glass motionless.
Tweed and Osborne sat on chairs close together. She had the impression they were having a friendly argument as Osborne waved his hands about and Tweed nodded. What had made her stiffen was the sight of a bulging briefcase perched against Tweed's chair.
'Something wrong?' Nield enquired:
'Nothing.'
She wrapped her scarf round her head to conceal her hair. A waiter had brought back the bill to Osborne, placing his credit card on it, which Osborne whipped up and slipped inside his wallet. Nield slumped further forward across the bar. He was wearing a new suit and he'd sensed Paula didn't want Tweed to see them. The two men who had tried to take their stools were standing behind them now, holding drinks, chatting. In the mirror it seemed to Paula they were concealed from anyone leaving. She saw Butler hidden in a corner.
Osborne was standing up. He slapped Tweed on the shoulder and made his way towards the exit, pushing aside anyone who got in his way by his sheer bulk. He wasn't even wearing a coat. It must be all that flesh on his large frame which enabled him to stand the arctic weather outside, Paula thought.
'We wait?' Nield asked.
'If you don't mind. Just a bit longer. It's only the second time I've been in this place. It's lively.'
Tweed waited at his table for a few minutes after Osborne had left. When he stood he was holding the briefcase in his right hand. Unlike Osborne, he threaded his way through the crowd politely.
'Excuse me… thank you… excuse me…'
Paula felt a chill down her spine as Tweed walked out into the night, still carrying the briefcase. She had never seen him own anything like it. She waited a few minutes longer, then finished her drink.
'If it's all right by you, Pete, I think I've had enough.'
Something in her voice, in the way she held herself, caught Nield's attention. He waited until they were walking back to the car before he spoke.
'Is something worrying you?'
'Nothing at all. I've had a wonderful evening. I'm grateful to you, Pete…'
Nield had assumed he would be driving Paula back to her flat in the Fulham Road. She surprised him when they reached the car and had jumped inside it to escape the cold. He started the engine, turned up the heater.
'Be warm in a minute. Back to your flat?'
'No, Pete. I'd appreciate it if you dropped me at Park Crescent. I've got some work I want to deal with. I can drive myself back in my own car later.'
'No good. You need a bodyguard.'
'Pete! I'm not a puppy that has to be kept at the end of the leash,' she snapped. -
'You are worried about something. A worry shared is a worry halved.'
'I'm sorry, Pete – sorry that I flared up. That was awful of me after the marvellous evening we've had together. But I do want to call in at Park Crescent.'
'Fair enough. Why don't I drive on and check out your flat and the area round it? Someone very hostile knows where you live.'
'You're right, of course. And I'm grateful. Here's the keys to my flat so you can get inside.'
'If you don't mind I'll wait until you arrive.'
'Don't mind at all…'
She was silent during their drive. Furious with herself for the unjustified outburst, she couldn't think of anything to say. She gave him a kiss on the cheek, squeezed his hand before she got out at the entrance to Park Crescent. There was a light on in Tweed's office.
'Evening, Paula,' George greeted her. 'Mr Tweed's gone up to have a bath. Monica's still here.'
She went quietly up the stairs and opened the door. Monica wasn't there, she had probably gone upstairs to make herself a snack. She closed the door and stared. She almost trembled with trepidation. The bulging briefcase was propped up in the knee hole under Tweed's desk, the flap fallen open. Standing very still, she tried to make up her mind. She had never been one to snoop. But she felt she had to know the truth or the uncertainty would torture her mind.
Bending down, she carefully pulled out the case. She looked inside it and felt sick. It was stuffed with stacks of one-hundred-dollar bills. Each package had an elastic band round it. Taking one out, she quickly counted. One hundred US banknotes. With the number of packages there the case must contain thousands of dollars.
She replaced the case exactly where – and as – she had found it. Dazed, she stood up. She had to get out of the building before Tweed reappeared. She couldn't face him tonight. She ran down the stairs, paused to speak to George.
'Don't bother to tell anyone I was here. Tweed thought I was going to have an early night.'
'Very good, miss…'
She sat in her car after starting the engine, waiting to calm down. Then she drove back to her flat, thankful that there was no traffic, that the streets were empty – as empty as she felt.