Rhinoceros (15 page)

'Is he trustworthy?'

'He should be.'

'Why, if I might ask?' interjected Mark, who had kept silent while he watched her.

'Why?' She turned on him. 'Because at one time he
served with bloody Military Intelligence.' She took a folded
sheet from her shoulder bag, handed it to Tweed. 'That is
a list of the probable targets tonight.'

Tweed read slowly through the typed list. He was careful
not to show his anxiety. He looked straight at her.

'This covers a lot of territory. My guess is that Herb, with his Army experience, has helped build up this list.'

'You've hit the nail on the head.' She smiled. 'He also said you were very quick on the uptake.'

'Herb, you mean?'

'No, the man who sent me over here as the Messenger to warn you. You said there will be six of us . . .'

'Seven. Including yourself.'

'We'll need transport to move us from the West End to
the East.'

'And we have loads of it,' said Harry Butler. 'In all makes
and sizes.'

'I've worked out how we'll travel,' Tweed announced.
'Three cars. I'll drive Car One with Paula next to me.
Newman will drive Car Two with Lisa and Mark as
passengers. Car Three will be yours, Harry, taking Pete
Nield with you, if he does ever get here.'

'He will,' Harry said. 'And mine will be the four-wheel
drive. I've reinforced the ram at the front. Might come in useful.'

'Could I go to the bathroom?' Lisa asked as she finished her coffee. 'That was very good,' she added, turning round
to look at Monica. 'Thank you.'

'I'll take you,' Paula volunteered. The two women left the room.

'Well, what do you think of her?' Tweed enquired, glanc
ing round the office.

'She'll do,' said Butler. 'I've been watching her.'

'Resourceful, reliable.' Newman gave his verdict.

'I second Bob,' Mark agreed.

'I case you're interested in my opinion,' Monica began,
'I think she's the tops. And in a rough-house my bet is
she'd give a good account of herself. Notice the steel rims
on the toes of her shoes?'

'No, I didn't,' Newman admitted.

'That's because she'd covered the steel with thick
polish.'-

'Sounds as though she could be an asset in our car,'

Mark said to Newman. 'And I thought we'd have to look
after her . . .'

'You may find she has to look after you,' Monica
commented wickedly.

'Weapons,' said Harry.

'I'm taking my Smith & Wesson,' Newman remarked.

'Now listen.' Tweed raised his voice.
'There is to be no
shooting on this expedition.
Only if your life is in danger or
you fear serious injury. The police will be there.'

'When it's all over,' Newman replied cynically.

He had just spoken when Pete Nield came in. He gave
Tweed a little salute.

'Sorry I'm so late. Saw an accident on my way here. A lady had a broken leg. As usual, no one knew what to do.
I lifted her into the back of a car which was going to drive her to a hospital. Got a glass of water from a nearby house
and got her to swallow a couple of painkillers. Always carry
stuff like that with me.'

'Ruddy walking medicine chest, you are,' Harry snorted.

The two men often worked as a team, knew they could
always rely on each other. The contrast between them was
striking. Butler always wore a shabby windcheater, denims
which had seen better days, a pullover ragged at the cellar.
Whereas Nield, slim and erect, was smartly dressed in a
blue suit with shirt and tie.

Tweed began talking, bringing Nield up to date tersely
with everything that had happened. Nield listened care
fully, perched on the edge of Paula's desk. Tweed repeated his warning about the use of firearms, showed him Lisa's
list of targets, which caused Nield to whistle softly.

'Going to try and level London to the ground, are
they?'

'As I told you,' Tweed snapped, 'it's supposed to be a rehearsal for a major event later.'

'If you say so . . .'

He stopped speaking as the door opened and Lisa
entered with Paula behind her. Everyone stared. Carrying
her heavy raincoat with capacious pockets Lisa wore a
leather skirt ending way above her knees. For a top she
was wearing a gaudy silk blouse which fitted her tightly. It
was sleeveless. Newman stopped staring, looked anywhere
except at her legs.

'Sorry to dress like a tart,' Lisa explained. 'But a major
target is the huge discotheque in the West End. I need
to merge with the atmosphere. When we leave the place
I'll put on what's in my raincoat pockets. Rolled-up
sweater, pair of jeans, old windcheater.' She smiled.
'I'm only showing you this outfit so you don't get a
shock later.'

Saying which, she slipped on the raincoat. Then she checked her watch, looked at Tweed.

'Shouldn't we leave during the next half hour? It's got late suddenly.'

'Transport,' growled Harry, jumped up, left the room.

Tweed introduced Lisa to Pete Nield, who shook hands,
smiled at her.

'Welcome to the war party.'

'I don't want to hear any more language like that,'
Tweed told him. 'It's the wrong attitude.'

'You hope,' Newman said under his breath.

'That SAS team I wanted here from Hereford has arrived,
I hope,' Gavin Thunder snapped at the aide who had
replaced Jeremy Mordaunt.

'It's across the street, secreted in a building near what used to be Scotland Yard, sir. I hope you don't mind my
saying this — but don't they come under the control of the
MoD?
⁵

'Yes, but I talked the Defence Minister into agreeing.
I can talk him into anything. You've heard
the rumours.
Tonight that foreign scum we've let in has planned
an inferno. We'll keep the SAS in reserve, see how it
develops.'

'I hope, sir, the Cabinet will go along with you.'
'None of your damned business. But as you've raised the

point, I talked the Cabinet into agreeing, albeit reluctantly.

We may need to show our iron fist.'

'Which, I hear, sir, is your nickname inside the Cabinet.

Iron Fist.'

CHAPTER 8

Action this day.

The words went out on the Internet, from Ponytail at his
base in the apartment on the shores of Lake Washington
in Seattle. Went out to be decoded by 'chief executives' in
London, Paris, Rome, Brussels, Berlin and Stockholm.

Even as they were deciphered, 'tourist' buses were mov
ing in to the centre of each city. There were no convoys
to attract the attention of the police. Single buses packed with men drove in from different directions, heading for their targets.

Ponytail then turned to operating on the home front. The same coded instruction went out to San Francisco, Chicago, New York, Los Angeles and New Orleans. In
the States Greyhound buses had been hijacked at pre
arranged points in the countryside, their passengers herded
into barns where they were trapped once the doors had
been locked. All mobile phones had been confiscated. Waiting gangs of rough-looking men boarded the empty
buses which then proceeded to their destinations.

And no one realized that these three words of the
instruction had once been the favourite phrase of Winston
Churchill, urging lethargic civil servants to do what he said
immediately.

It was 10 p.m. in London. Tweed and his team had entered
the basement restaurant off Piccadilly in separate groups,
had sat at three different tables. The only member absent was Harry Butler, which left Pete Nield by himself.

They had eaten a light dinner - without alcohol - when
Harry ran down the stairs from outside, made a gesture for
them to leave.

Lisa, wearing her sweater and jeans, dashed into the
ladies', carrying her raincoat. Locked in a cubicle she swiftly changed into her 'tart's' outfit, emerged wearing
the raincoat.

'Vorina's, the discotheque,' Harry told them and dashed
out and up the steps into the street, followed by Pete Nield.
The four-wheel drive was parked nearby and they jumped
into it. Tweed had taken the precaution of paying his bill early while he drank coffee. The others had done
the same.

Lisa appeared, her raincoat belted tightly, joined Newman
and Mark. They dived into their car, Newman taking the wheel. Tweed and Paula led the convoy - he had parked
his car ahead of the other two vehicles.

'Where the heck is this Vorina's?' Tweed asked.

'In a side street off Regent Street. I'll guide you . . .'

The moment they entered the side street Tweed saw
Vorina's. It was impossible to miss with the glow of
lights shining out through enormous plate-glass windows.
Earlier, after consulting Harry, Paula had arranged with
him to rush out in the afternoon and purchase three
members' tickets. One ticket admitted three people.

'Only ninety quid for that lot,' he'd told her when he
came back and distributed tickets.

'Ninety pounds!' she'd exclaimed. 'It must be a high-
class place.'

'Decide for yourself when you see it,' he'd told her.

They parked in a wide alley with the four-wheel drive in
front. A doorman in a blue uniform checked their tickets
while Paula stared inside. Behind the windows attractive
girls in various states
of
undress were dancing. When the
door was opened a blast of sound hit them, the latest
modern 'music'.

Crystal balls of lights were suspended from the ceiling
of the vast room. They flashed on and off non-stop in wild colours. On a platform halfway down the left-hand side a
group of five young men were armed with saxophones,
guitars, and heaven knew what else. Huge amplifiers built
up the deafening noise to incredible decibels. Couples
sat at tables, drinking and trying to hear each other. At
intervals down the right-hand side were booths where men were playing at undressing their girlfriends. A number of older men were urging younger girlfriends to drink more.
Tweed could see no activity the police would regard as
obscene. They were all people of various ages enjoying
themselves. But he didn't like the hellish noise or the
flashing lights.
C'est la vie,
as the French would say. Paula
grasped his arm after looking back.