Rhinoceros (6 page)

'This is Lisa Trent. I need to speak to Mr Tweed. I met
him at a party. He told me to call him so we could meet urgently.'

'I'm sorry, but
Mi
Tweed is out of the office keeping
an appointment. He may not be back for a while.'

'In that case could I speak to Paula Grey? I met her at
the same time.'

'I am sorry about this. Miss Grey accompanied Mr
Tweed to the same appointment. Could you
give me a
message?' Monica suggested.

'Not really. It is Mr Tweed I have to talk to. I'll call
back later in the day. Please tell him I phoned because I
know he'll want to see me . . .'

Lisa put down the phone and turned round, then froze.
Eyebrows and Skinny were marching purposefully across
the concourse. They were heading in her direction.

Monica was typing furiously on her word processor when
Harry Butler came into the room, parked himself on the arm of a chair. He removed the scarf that had protected
him from the bitter cold outside.

'Well, Monica, I've put the hatchback in for repair.
Took it to a pal who won't be reporting to the police
the bullet holes in the windows. Tweed didn't want that.
My car was just too far behind them for me to spot the
old bus - otherwise I'd have nabbed the killers. What are
you typing?'

'Tweed's report on the so-called suicide of Jeremy
Mordaunt.' She had removed her earpiece. 'He dictated
it on to the recorder, said he can think more quickly using
the machine. Want to hear his verdict?'

'Guess you'll tell me anyway.'

Butler was a short man with wide shoulders, a man
of great physical strength. He had a round head and an
expressionless face. Normally he used words frugally, as
though they were money.

'Tweed has no doubt Mordaunt was murdered. He dismisses the idea that he committed suicide as ludi
crous. Why does the phone always go when I'm explaining
something?'

'General & Cumbria Assurance . . .' She began. 'Oh,
it's you. Professor Saafeld. I'm afraid Tweed is out but he's anxious to have your report on the autopsy . . .'

'Is that Monica?' the abrupt voice asked. 'My report is
now ready - several copies.'

'I'll send a courier over to collect them immediately.'
She hesitated. 'Can you give me an inkling of
your con
clusion?'

'Cold-blooded murder. Not a shadow of a doubt. The
report has technical data. That's what I'll say at the inquest.'

He broke the connection and Monica used the phone
to send one of their couriers over to Saafeld's mansion in Holland Park. Then she printed out the report for Tweed,
talking as she worked.

'Nobody can fault Tweed now. Saafeld said it was cold
blooded murder. He doesn't normally use such strong
language.'

'Copies of the reports going to someone?'

'Yes. Gavin Thunder for one. He'll throw a fit.'

Harry stood up. 'I've been thinking about who ordered Tweed to be killed. Newman told me where Tweed had been. Have you a file on Lord Barford?'

'Yes. In the safe. Combination is 87, 24, 95. Why?'

'Just curious.'

Harry walked over to the large safe recently installed
in a corner of the room. His nimble fingers operated
the combination, swung open the heavy door. A number
of metal drawers were stacked
with top secret files. He
checked the A-to-Bs, found Barford's file, closed the safe
and resumed his perch on the chair arm.

'Lord Barford is one of the most distinguished men in
Britain,' Monica protested.

'So was Maxwell. For a time.'

Monica was intrigued. She knew Butler never trusted
or was impressed by anyone. Not until their integrity
had been proved up to the hilt. He skimmed the file
rapidly.

'Monica, could you take down these extracts as I call
them out? Right. Here goes.'

Brigadier Bernard Barford. Served Gulf War as
Officer in charge Communications. Awarded MC.
Rumoured to later act as liaison with obtaining lucrative armament contacts with Middle Eastern
and Asiatic countries. Indonesia was mentioned in
the rumours, a state to which Britain has supplied
large quantities of military hardware. Nothing was
ever confirmed concerning these rumours. Before
the Gulf War Barford was a colonel in the Signals
Corps. He commutes from his manor to London
City Airport by Sikorsky helicopter.

'That's it,' said Butler. 'Just extracts I find interest
ing. And why did the government create a Ministry
of Armaments — taking it away from the Ministry of
Defence?'

'Politicians trying to be crafty. It deflects criticisms of
the arms trade from the Foreign Office. And all of that
stuff about Barford is rumour.'

'Except the bit about his helicopter.'

'Why is that significant?'

'Because a chopper followed us all the way from the
Downs.'

'But,' Monica objected, 'Paula said this weird man,
Rondel, also has a helipad and a chopper was sitting on
it.'

'I was in the following car. I got the impression the
chopper lifted off from somewhere near the Barford estate.

Can't be sure,' he emphasized. 'And where have Tweed, Newman and Paula buzzed off to?'

'It was Tweed's idea - to go and call on Jeremy's widow, Mrs Mordaunt. She lives in Eaton Square. He wouldn't let
me phone her to say they were coming.'

CHAPTER 2

When Lisa saw Eyebrows and Skinny walking towards her
inside Waterloo station she moved fast. Grabbing hold
of her case, she waited a few seconds until a group of
businessmen were passing her phone booth, then slipped
out under the cover they provided. There was a large
bookstall in the middle of the concourse. She hurried
inside, wriggled her way past the crowd, emerged on the
far side.

Pausing, she whipped a folded scarf out of her pocket, wrapped it round her head, concealing her red hair. Now
she had to get rid of her blasted case, which was slowing
her down. She handed in her
case to an official. Now she
could really move.

Her next stop was the Underground. She bought a ticket for the first place which came into her head after glancing
at a route plan. Highgate. Glancing behind herself as she
hurried towards the escalators she saw Eyebrows, pushing
people out of his way, coming towards her.

'Oh, God!' she said under her breath. 'Will I never shake
them off?'

She saw a uniformed station guard ahead. Running up
to him, she spoke in a deliberately shaky voice.

'That dark-haired man just made an obscene proposi
tion to me. I'm frightened.'

'I'll have a word . . .'

At the top of the escalator Lisa looked back. The guard
was saying something to her pursuer. Eyebrows punched
him viciously in the stomach. The guard doubled up as
she ran on to the escalator and down it. At the bottom
she checked the signs for the right line and kept running.
She could move much faster without the case.

There was a crowded train arriving when she reached
the platform. She looked back. Skinny was coming towards
her, grinning, one hand inside his windcheater. Was he
always wearing that hideous grin? Behind him Eyebrows
followed.

As passengers left the train, others pushed aboard. A
crowded carriage, people standing up. She had no option. She stepped into the train, kept saying 'Excuse me' as she
worked her way deeper into the coach. The doors closed,
the train started moving.

She was still working her way through the crowd, smiling
as she apologized. The train rumbled on, swaying round
a curve. She grabbed a rail above her head to keep her balance. She was now opposite carriage doors.

'Would you like a seat, madam?' a man suggested,
starting to get up.

'Thank you, but I'm not travelling far.'

The train stopped three times. Lisa wondered whether
to get off. No, she was safer in a crowd. Gazing back
down the crammed coach she saw Skinny was having
more trouble than she had experienced. Passengers were
protesting, holding him up. The train was in motion when she saw a uniformed ticket inspector asking Eyebrows for
his ticket. He hadn't got one. Earlier he'd leapt over the
station barrier with Skinny.

'Sorry, Inspector,' Eyebrows started politely. 'Here's the
money for two tickets. My little friend is on his way to
hospital.'

'There's a ten-pound fine . . .'

Eyebrows produced a twenty-
pound note, shoved it into
the inspector's hand. Skinny was on the move again,
closing on her. Lisa realized the train was a lethal trap.
He only had to wait until it reached the next station before
he slid his knife into her and left the carriage.

She tensed her right leg. The train was pulling into Tottenham Court Road. She knew the area well. Skinny
reached her as the doors opened. She lifted her leg, ground
her hard shoe down his shin. He yelped. She was leav
ing the train as Eyebrows grabbed hold of Skinny, who
couldn't move.

'Make way,' he called out, holding Skinny under the
armpits. 'My friend has a bad leg.'

He was heaving Skinny out of the train when Lisa
vanished up a flight of steps. She got on an escalator and just before stepping off at the top glanced back. Eyebrows
and Skinny were staring up
at her from the bottom.

It was a relief for her to get out into the cold fresh air. She half-ran up Tottenham Court Road, then down a side street, then into Bedford Square. Slowing down, she took
in deep breaths of air. The square, enclosed with fine
old houses, was empty as she made her way round the
miniature park in the centre.

'I've had about as much as I can take,' Lisa said to
herself.

She looked back to check again. Between the trees
she saw the two men entering the square. Skinny was walking normally, seemed to have recovered from his
injured leg. She had to find somewhere to hide. Where
on earth could she go? She was confident that so far
the thugs hadn't seen her since she'd left the Under
ground.