This United State Part 8

'Rupert goes to the Continent a lot. Takes one of his fancy ladies with him. He's had a harem of floozies. No, that's not quite right. They're a snooty type, well educated, with not a hint of a brain.'

'Really?'

'He likes the casinos over there. Gambles heavily. Must cost him a packet.'

'I expect he can afford it.'

'Don't know he can. When his mother died she left him some kind of regular allowance. Wouldn't have thought it ran to the sort of life he lives.'

'I see.'

Paula ate one of the cakes. She was being careful not to say much. She didn't like gossip. Above all she didn't want to say anything which might be repeated to Rupert's father.

'He likes shooting. Pheasants. Boasts about it. He's always saying one bullet, one bird. I'd better leave you now. I'm going up to the turret.'

'What's up there?'

'Gives me a good view of what Rupert is up to. You mind my words. Give Rupert a clear berth.'

On this note she ambled slowly to the door, left the library, closing the door behind her. Paula selected another cake. As she consumed it her mind whirled with thoughts. She was also wondering how Tweed was getting on with his host.

'How about a double Scotch?' Strangeways had suggested as soon as they were alone.

'No, thank you. I'm driving.'

He watched Strangeways walk briskly to a cabinet against a wall. Taking out a gla.s.s and a bottle of expensive whisky, his host poured a generous drink. As the bottle touched the rim of the gla.s.s it rattled. He drank half the contents, returned to the table, sat facing Tweed.

'That's better. I needed it.'

'You're worried about something?'

'Tweed, you know I've spent a long time in the States. By now I know America. I know a lot of the top people. I know the way they're thinking. Incidentally, I'm having dinner with Jefferson Morgenstern in town this evening.'

'Is he worried?'

'I think so. Look at it from their point of view. Globally. They feel encircled. Across the Pacific they have China facing them. That's a distance, but not in these days of inter-continental ballistic missiles. They think the Russians are going to ally themselves with the Chinese.

That's looking west from where they sit. Now take Europe and the Middle East. Iran, to mention only one Muslim state, is building a nuclear a.r.s.enal. If it combined with Turkey - which could soon become a Muslim state again - they might over-run Europe. Turkey, as you know, is close to having 'a population of a hundred and fifty million. Bigger than any nation in Western Europe.'

'Iran is a long way from America,' Tweed pointed out, glancing at the wall map of the world facing him.

'London is roughly half the distance Beijing is from San Francisco - and they're worried about Beijing.'

'Why mention London?'

'It's much closer to the East Coast of America.' 'Why is that relevant?'

'If an enormous Muslim power took over Britain, America would be an isolated fortress, menaced on both coasts.'

'Why do they think that would happen?' Tweed enquired.

'Because they think this European Union idea is a shambles. Umpteen nations, speaking different languages, with different histories, many secretly hating each other. They quote the old Austro-Hungarian Empire - also a. goulash of nationalities - which collapsed at the end of the First World War. More recently, they point to Yugoslavia. Again a mix of races with their own languages, religions. t.i.to dies and the whole house of cards comes tumbling down.

'So?'

'They foresee a scenario whereby an overwhelming Muslim force could conquer Western Europe. Supposing a federated Europe was attacked. Imagine the indecision in Brussels. They'd still be working out what to do when the Muslims crossed the Rhine. There'd be a large element arguing that any life would be better than death.'

'So what do the Americans propose to do about it?'

'They have a plan. I do know that. Morgenstern, remember, was born in Europe. Was in Europe until he was a young man and went to the States.'

'It's his plan?'

'I don't know. But he carries tremendous influence in Was.h.i.+ngton.'

'What is the plan?' Tweed asked point blank.

'I don't know. They never forget I'm English.' Strangeways finished off his drink. 'So they don't confide in me.'

'But you seem to know a lot.'

'I simply know how they're thinking. What about you? Have you a clue as to what is going on?'

'Nothing, really,' Tweed replied evasively.

'I do know they think very highly of you, Tweed,' Strangeways said casually.

Strangeways was looking at the wall as he said this. His right hand was playing with his empty gla.s.s. For a moment Tweed detected a hint of s.h.i.+ftiness in his host, something he had never seen before.

'Why me?' he asked.

'They respect your global outlook. Your achievements in the past. Above all, you're not a politician. Morgenstern once described you as having the brain of a statesman.'

'Nice of him. Do you agree with what is happening?'

'd.a.m.n it, I can't make up my mind. The world is changing day by day. There's no precedent for the present grim situation.'

'Why did you ask me down here, Guy? If I may call you that?'

'Of course you may. I felt a strong need for a sounding board. To get your reaction. I'm going to have another drink.'

'I hope you don't mind - ' Tweed checked his watch - 'but I'll have to be going soon.'

He looked round the chilly uncomfortable room. Yes, it all came from a boarding-school upbringing. There was an atmosphere in the room he didn't like, a restlessness which he felt sure originated in his host. He also felt alarmed and couldn't put his finger on the reason for this sensation.

'Sorry, Tweed,' Strangeways said, returning with his refilled gla.s.s. 'I've been pouring out my anxieties to you. Not like me.'

'Why do you think the Prime Minister was a.s.sa.s.sinated?' Tweed asked suddenly.

Strangeways was sitting down. He froze. The liquid in his gla.s.s shook. Then he stood up, his expression grim.

'That was a nasty business.' He drank more whisky. 'But I'm detaining you.'

He accompanied Tweed into the forbidding hall, went over and opened the library door. Paula was immersed in her book. She looked up and smiled.

'I've really enjoyed the peace and quiet in here.' 'Rupert hasn't been bothering you, has he?'

'Heavens, no.'

She spoke over her shoulder as she carefully replaced the volume where she had found it. Strangeways watched her action with approval.

'You know something,' he told her, 'you're the first visitor who hasn't taken out a book and then left it on one of the couches. Tweed is leaving now...'

The three of them were walking across the hall when the front door was hurled open. Rupert entered, slapping his crop against his thigh. He stared hard at Tweed.

'Don't know you.'

'No, you don't,' Tweed replied abruptly.

'But I must say goodbye to the alluring Paula.'

'Go straight upstairs to your room,' Strangeways snapped.

'Your wish is my command.'

Rupert began running up a wide curving staircase to the left of the doorway Tweed and his father had just left. As he ran he twirled his riding crop in a way which reminded Paula of an American girl leading a parade before a sports match, manipulating her symbolic stick. He's athletic, she thought. Then Rupert threw the crop into the air, caught it with one hand as it fell behind his back. And quick reflexes, she said to herself.

'I'll give you a buzz,' he called down to Paula. 'We'll have dinner in London.'

She didn't reply, Strangeways tightened his mouth and then his son was gone. The doorway where Rupert had entered was still open. Paula thanked their host as they left and Tweed turned on the terrace.

'Enjoy your dinner with Morgenstern,' he said.

Strangeways said nothing, merely nodded before closing the door. At the bottom of the steps Tweed paused with Paula, glanced up at the right-hand turret before getting behind the wheel of his car.

'Someone is watching us.'

'I know. Mrs Belloc, seeing us off the premises. I'm glad we are going. Something creepy about that place.'

7.

Tweed had a shock when he arrived back at Park Crescent. He had found the Merc parked outside a tea shop in Parham. Newman had emerged immediately with Butler and Nield. Paula was secretly relieved to see Butler. During the drive back Tweed had told her he would explain what had happened with Strangeways when they got back. This made Paula resolve to say nothing about her encounter with Rupert for the moment.

It was dry and bitterly cold when Tweed parked his car and they entered the SIS building. George, who let them in, pointed to the waiting room.

'You'll never guess who is waiting to see you.' 'Then I won't try.'

Newman and Nield were heading up the stairs to Tweed's office when George called out to them, 'Marler has arrived. You'll find him up there.'

Butler paused. He made no attempt to follow the two men up to the first floor. He spoke tersely before heading for the door to the bas.e.m.e.nt. 'I have to visit the boffins. They're cooking up a new gadget for Marler.'

'Well, George, what is it?' Tweed asked when he was alone with Paula.

'And you'll never guess what he said to me. Chief Inspector Roy Buchanan has been waiting for almost an hour. He told me that if anyone at the Metropolitan Police asked if he was here I was to say I hadn't see him.'

'He used the phrase Metropolitan Police?' Tweed checked in a puzzled tone.

'His very words.'

'Sorry to keep you waiting so long, Roy,' Tweed apologized as he entered the waiting room with Paula. 'You didn't phone to let me know you were coming.'

'Deliberately. My office may be bugged.'

Paula was gazing at their visitor. Normally Buchanan's manner was sardonic, deceptively offhand. Now he looked like a man under pressure, his expression grim. She recalled the bizarre change in Strangeways' appearance, how the jokey amiability had been replaced by tension. He had struck her at Irongates as being taut as a guitar string under unbearable strain. What on earth was happening to these men?

'Roy,' said Tweed briskly, 'in my office there are Newman, Nield and Marler. And, of course, Monica. Would you sooner they didn't hear what you have to say?'

'I'd sooner they did. At least they are trustworthy ...'

When they were all settled in his office Monica suggested some coffee. Buchanan accepted the offer gratefully. Paula sensed that Monica had noticed the change in the Chief Inspector. Their guest normally lounged in his armchair. Now he was sitting bolt upright.

'Fire away, Roy,' Tweed invited.

'Something terrible is happening to this country,' Buchanan began. 'Like a monster octopus extending its tentacles round every key position. I've been told to lay off the Americans,' he said savagely.

'In what way?' Tweed enquired.

'For starters, no investigation of the outrage in Albemarle Street. No witnesses...'

'Oh, yes, there are!' Paula exploded. 'I'm a witness - that is, if Tweed agrees. But I can't reveal the ident.i.ty of the man they tried to kill.'

'I know it was Cord Dillon, ex-Deputy Director of the CIA,' the Chief Inspector replied. 'Tweed called me at home from his flat. I gather he's in hiding and there are no other witnesses.'

'The street was empty,' Paula went on vehemently. 'It was a freezing night. And it happened just after ten o'clock. No one was about - which isn't surprising.'

'Then,' Buchanan went on, 'I've been told to destroy my report on the Lincoln Continental incident, when Newman rammed it outside here. Again, lay off the Americans.'

'Who told you this?' Tweed asked.

'The Commissioner himself. Had me in his office this morning. Just the two of us. He was apologetic, defensive. The trouble is there's a strong rumour he's going to be replaced. And he's the best man in the country to hold down the job.'

'He was adamant?' Tweed suggested.