Cell Page 11

  The dining-room was large, well and tastefully furnished and had only two businessmen at one table. The head waiter tactfully guided them to a distant corner table where they would have privacy. Paula studied the menu and when the waiter came over she ordered polenta and coffee.

  'Polenta!' Beaurain exclaimed when the waiter had gone. 'You'll never get through the huge helping they'll serve.'

  'Oh yes, I will. I'm starved again. Probably put on a few pounds but I don't care.'

  'What does it matter? You are as slim as a sylph.'

  'Thank you, Jules. Now, I've been meaning to ask you. How does that protective paper wrapped round our hand guns work?'

  'It was invented by a top chemist friend of mine at Louvain University. It is very special paper - I don't know exactly what it is. He soaks it in some chemical, dries it. It has the effect of rejecting any metal detector's attempt to spot metal. The Americans keep bidding up the price to get it but my friend refuses. He feels there is the risk it might fall into the hands of terrorists.'

  'A second question. Who do you think murdered poor Mario?'

  'My guess is the Mafia eventually discovered he was playing a double game.'

  'I'm not so sure. They wore balaclava helmets but one of them - who stood in the background - had let his helmet slip up to his nose. It exposed a large jet black beard. That could suggest al-Qa'eda?'

  'Possibly.' Beaurain paused as breakfast arrived. 'I was not going to mention this,' he went on when they were alone, 'but there was that vicious attack on you when you left the Ivy restaurant in London. I suspect you are the prime target. Maybe because during your investigations you talked to the wrong person. While we are in Italy you must never leave my side.'

  'I won't.'

  Paula was ladling large scoops of polenta, feeling better as it seeped into her system. In a few minutes she had cleaned her plate, then accepted a second helping. Also the very strong coffee helped. By the end of the meal she felt she was ready for anything.

  Beaurain asked the waiter to order a taxi. When asked for their destination he simply replied, 'The Pirelli building.'

  'When do you expect us to reach Verona?' Paula asked in a quiet voice.

  'By late afternoon. I want to see the meeting place before dark. The express stops at two places before Verona. First Brescia, then a small port on Lake Garda called Descenzano.'

  'You expect trouble?'

  'I expect trouble all the time we are in Italy.'

  'In Verona too?'

  'Especially in Verona. I sense our enemy controls a vast organization. I'm beginning to think you are right. Our enemy may well be al-Qa'eda.'

  15

  The Venezia express emerged from under the giant canopy of Centrale into blazing sunlight. Looking out of the window, Paula saw they were passing a zone of high-rise apartment blocks. Washing strung on lines fluttered on the balconies in a mild breeze. The usual boring exit from a national capital.

  'I'm glad to get out of Milan,' she said to Beaurain, who sat beside her. 'It's all enormous stone blocks hemming in the streets - like a vast prison.'

  'There are better areas. The gallerias as they call them. Full of very expensive shops and expensive ladies parading through them. We missed that area. Well, at least the train is picking up speed.'

  'It goes all the way through to Venice?'

  'All the way.'

  Their first-class coach was almost empty and soon they were racing through beautiful countryside. Cultivated fields, flat as a billiard table, stretched away forever. Already green shoots were projecting above the water-filled fields. Paula pressed her face to the window, watching women with bare legs tending the crop.

  'Rice fields,' Beaurain told her. 'Those women really do work. But we're in the Po Valley, the bread basket - and wine basket — of Italy. The water conies from the river Po.'

  A big male passenger in a business suit walked in as the train swung round a bend. He lost his balance, crouched down, bumped into Beaurain as he stood up. He lifted his dark wide-brimmed hat.

  'Most apologies. So sorry.'

  He walked on, gripping the tops of seats, then sat down several rows ahead of them. Beaurain glanced over the side of his seat. He nudged Paula, cleared his throat, his index finger on his lips when she looked at him. He cleared his throat again.

  'We'll get off at Brescia,' he said.

  She frowned, wondering what was going on, but kept quiet. He reached down to the side of his seat, got hold of something and jerked it loose, putting it into his pocket. Then he left his seat, strolled slowly up the aisle, stopped by the side of the seated passenger with the wide-brimmed hat. As the express thundered round another bend he seemed to lose his balance. His elbow hammered a hard blow into the jaw of the seated passenger. Such a hard blow the man drooped forward, unconscious.

  He strolled back to Paula and sat down beside her. She gazed at him.

  'What do you think you're doing?'

  He took something from his pocket. When he opened the palm of his hand she saw a small round black device. The top was silver. She shook her head, baffled.

  'When he lurched into me and crouched,' Beaurain explained, 'he attached this to the side of my seat. Listening device, with a magnetic base to hold it to the side of my seat. I noticed he had a concealed - almost - wire disappearing into his ear.'

  'We can't get away from them,' she commented nervously.

  'But now he thinks we're getting off at Brescia. He'll recover long before we get there. When we're coming into Brescia we'll get up, carry our bags, and wait in the exit space. He'll come and join us.'

  'What do we do then?'

  'It's what I'll do,' Beaurain said with a grim smile.

  She looked out of the window. A misty glow was rising from the fields, creating a beautiful luminous glow of rainbow colours. She had never seen anything so hypnotic. This was the real Italy, a place she resolved to visit one day. It settled her nerves as she went on gazing. She would remember this luminous glow all her life.

  The man Beaurain had hit with his elbow eventually recovered. Paula thought it significant that when he sat up straight he never once looked back.

  As they approached Brescia the view from her window changed. In the distance hills were looming up above the mist. When Beaurain nudged her she picked up her case, followed him to the exit compartment. As they stood close to the automatic doors, which were closed, Wide Brimmed Hat appeared. She caught a glimpse of the right side of his jaw. It was swollen. He had taken a brutal punch. The train slowed, slid into the station, stopped. The doors opened. Steep steps led down to the platform.

  Beaurain smiled, waved a hand, gesturing for Wide Brim to go first. The Italian waved his own hand, encouraging them to leave first. Still smiling, Beaurain repeated the same gesture. Wide Brim again waved his hand. Paula thought it was almost comic, then she noticed the useless wire disappearing into the Italian's right ear. Someone on the platform blew a whistle. The doors were about to close. Beaurain put a hand behind the Italian's back, pushed him forward. He tried to get his feet on the steps, failed, fell forward and sprawled on to the platform, face down. The doors closed, the express began moving.

  'That can't have done him much good,' Paula remarked as they returned to their seats.

  'I wasn't too concerned with his health.'

  'You went to the toilet quite some time ago. To get rid of that listening device?'

  'Smart lady. Yes. I lifted the lid, placed the device on the seat, crushed it with my foot, shoved the bits into the bowl and flushed the toilet. There will be someone else aboard. No matter.'

  An attendant appeared, pushing a trolley. Paula chose a large ham roll, a cardboard cup of coffee. She munched it quickly. Beaurain stared at her.

  'Hungry again? After all that polenta?'

  'Got to keep up my strength. I don't think Verona will be very peaceful.'

  'I'm sure it won't be . . .'

  She looked out of the window. The hills seemed high
er, closer. Soon they would be mountains. Beaurain leaned across her, pointed.

  'They're much too far away for you to see them, but beyond those hills are the Dolomites. I have skied on them. I read in the paper, after leaving our hotel, that there is heavy snow. It will be cold in Verona.'

  The express slowed, stopped suddenly in the middle of nowhere. Time passed. They were still not moving. Beaurain glanced at his watch, tut-tutted. Paula suddenly felt sleepy. She closed her eyes and fell asleep. She was woken when the express started moving again. Outside the sunlight was fading.

  'Sorry,' she said, 'I had a short nap.'

  'You have had a long nap. A whole hour. That means it will be dark when we arrive in Verona. We shall have to be very careful.'

  'We'll be late for meeting Petacci in the amphitheatre?'

  'No. But I wanted to check out the place in daylight. It can't be helped.'

  'But it will be more dangerous.' She prodded him. 'I'm a big girl now. Won't it?'

  'Yes, it will be much more dangerous.'

  16

  Late the previous evening in London Tweed had been checking his speed-up on the investigation. Monica was helping him as he read out the list. She was making sure he had missed no one.

  'Pete Nield is watching the Ministry. Target, Victor Warner. Harry is with him. Target, Peregrine Palfry. When either leave the building. No news yet?'

  'Both will call in a coded message when something happens,' she reminded him.

  'Marler is out there somewhere, tracking Eva Brand. Again, nothing from him yet?'

  'Not a dickey bird . . .'

  'Newman is chasing after Martin Hogarth, the sober brother from Carpford Bob saw approach this building, then walk away . . .'

  'Again zilch . . .' She picked up the phone, listened, looked at Tweed. 'There's a surprise visitor from Carp-ford. An Agatha Gobble. Runs a shop in Carpford? Right?'

  'Right. The last person on earth I expected. Must have driven all the way here. I left her my card when I saw her in that peculiar village. Get her up here . . .'

  Mrs Gobble was wearing a fur coat which had seen better days. She still had the blue beads round her neck. She plumped her substantial figure into an armchair when Tweed welcomed her, introduced Monica. When she took off her gloves he saw her hands were shaking. She accepted Monica's offer of tea.

  'Very late for you to drive here,' Tweed said, smiling.

  'Thought it safer to come after dark. Maybe nobody would see me then. Funny goin's on up at the village.'

  'Relax. Take your time. Tell me what has disturbed you.'

  'Frightened the hell out of me more likely. A lot goin' on up at the village and none of it good if you asks me. You were the only person I felt would listen. Two motor-cyclists have started making night calls on someone. Don't know who. They comes separately. One just after dark, t'other late on. They drives slowly round Carp Lake, keep stoppin' so I don't know who they delivers to. Saw one - funny foreigner.'

  'How did you come to see him, Mrs Gobble?' Tweed asked very quietly.

  She thanked Monica for the tea. Tweed waited while she drank the contents. Large swallow. Pause. Large swallow. Her round fleshy face was redder now, more normal.

  'Gives me the shock of me life,' Mrs Gobble continued. 'I went out to empty the rubbish and 'e comes round corner of lake on 'is bloody bike too fast. Keels over, sprawls on the ground, loses 'is helmet. Light from me 'ouse streamin' out and I sees 'im. Big black beard and fierce eyes. Gazes at me, then rams 'is helmet back on before 'e gets up, lifts 'is machine, gets back in 'is saddle and drives off towards Drew Franklin's place. I scuttled inside, closed the door, chained and locked it. Didn't sleep that night. 'Orrible face.'

  'Very strange, I agree. This was the second motorcyclist?'

  'Oh yes. We'd 'ad another earlier. Wish I'd never rented the shop.'

  'How did that come about, Mrs Gobble? Your renting it.'

  'Sees this ad in The Times. Single woman wanted to run small shop. Pleasant area in Surrey countryside. Rent reasonable. It gave a phone number. So I calls, goes to see this Mr Pecksniff.'

  'What was the name?'

  'Pecksniff. Like the Dickens character. I love Dickens. Can't say the same for the real Pecksniff. Here's his address. I gets there, 'e asks me a few questions, then says 'e's sure I'll do. Don't know why. Here's where he saw me. Mouldy place in the East End. Funny chap. I must go now.' She jumped up. 'Get back before dark.'

  'It is dark now.' Tweed pointed out. 'We can find a decent place for you to sleep in London for the night.'

  'I have a spare room at my flat,' Monica offered.

  'I am going back to the village,' Mrs Gobble said firmly. 'I only sleep in one place - my own bed.'

  'I'm going to my flat now,' Tweed said after their visitor had left. 'I may not be in tomorrow. I want to be quiet to think hard. Two motor-cyclists arriving at Carpford suggests the pace is hotting up. We may not have much time left. And so far we have a list of potential suspects and not one who stands out. I'm very worried. Don't phone me - except in case of an emergency.'

  'Here are my biographies so far on the people you asked me to check out.'

  She handed him a fat folder. He slipped it inside his briefcase, put on his coat, left the office.

  Tweed was in his pyjamas, sitting up in bed. He was reading the last of the copious reports, a notebook by his side for him to scribble a thought. The phone rang. He checked the time. 6 a.m. and still dark outside.

  'Monica here. So sorry to disturb you but you did say call in an emergency.'

  'What's happened?'

  'Superintendent Buchanan has just been here. Roy told me Mrs Gobble has disappeared. Her car was found abandoned on the road to Carpford.'

  17

  The Venezia express slid into Verona station, stopped, the automatic doors opened. Paula and Beaurain were already standing at the exit and descended on to the platform. The platform was deserted, it was night, the cold was raw and bitter.

  'Wait a minute,' Beaurain said, and pretended to button up the top of his coat. He glanced to his left, to the far end of the express. Paula looked in the same direction. Two men in dark coats had alighted from the rear coach. Beaurain grunted.

  'I said there would be more of them.' 'They could be businessmen returning home late.' 'Italian businessmen always carry a briefcase. They think it gives them an air of importance. Those two have no briefcases. We'll get out of here quickly, head straight for the amphitheatre.'

  He was moving as he spoke, striding out with his long legs. Paula had to hurry to keep up. It was not long before she was gazing at the buildings of Verona in wonderment. Like travelling back into the Middle Ages. They were masterpieces of architecture, seen clearly by illumination from ancient street lights and moonlight. There were superb arches, elegant rows of pillars on the ground floors. The colour was white or a muted ochre. She forgot why they were there as more and more magnificent ancient buildings came into view.

  'They're Palladian, aren't they?' she asked.

  'Yes and no. Palladio, the genius of architecture, worked mostly in Vicenza, often using brick and stucco. Here is a lot of stone. In a minute you'll see the amphitheatre.'

  'Like the Colosseum in Rome?'

  'No. That's a wreck. Verona's amphitheatre is intact, as it was when built ages ago. They even hold opera performances inside it in summer. There it is.'

  Paula gasped, stood still. The high curving amphitheatre was intact. She could see that already. Slim windows towards the top. A massive symbol of another civilization. Beaurain ran across to the huge double doors, checked the padlock with his torch, ran back to her.

  'It's still locked.'

  'We're early?'

  'Yes, by about an hour despite that long stop when the express sat in the middle of nowhere. We'll go into that bar. Warm you up - you must be frozen.'

  As he pushed open the solid sheet of glass which was the door a wave of warmth greeted them. No other customers. The bar exte
nded down the right-hand side with leather-topped stools. Restaurant tables were arranged in a large open space. A girl with black hair tied back came to serve them as they perched on stools.

  'What can I get you folks?' she asked in an American drawl.

  'Which part of the States are you from?' Beaurain asked with a smile.