Rhinoceros

'Sense an air of tension,' he drawled in his upper-crust voice. 'Bit of excitement?'

Tweed began again, tersely reporting every word Lisa had said. Then, for Marler's benefit, he recalled the events since the journey he had made with Paula to Alfriston, the aftermath when two shots were fired into their car.

'Tweed, you live a charmed life,' Marler commented. 'And Newman's hatchback is parked outside, as good as new. Is this Lisa Trent trustworthy?'

'Frankly, I'm not sure,' Tweed told him. 'Which is why I've asked her to get here at 5.30. 'I want to grill her. But we should be ready. Harry, Pete Nield has just about had his holiday. Could you contact him?'

'Spoke to him on the phone this morning before I came in. He's bored. I can get him here in half an hour.'

'Do it when we've finished.'

'We carry weapons?' Harry suggested.

'Nothing lethal. We don't want to start a shoot-out.'

'Tear-gas bombs then?'

'Oh, if you insist. But if we do go with Lisa, and I did say if, we're only observing.'

'Organized gangs,' commented Newman. 'Sounds farfetched. I think Lisa exaggerates.'

'I don't,' objected Paula. 'You haven't seen her, talked to her. I have. She's very cool.'

'She was on the phone,' Tweed agreed. 'Although I detected an undercurrent of anxiety.'

'Bob,' Marler began, straightening up. 'Organized gangs. You know I have a lot of contacts in this country – as well as abroad. I've just got back from Brussels. A contact, who I've found reliable in the past, told me he'd heard large groups of so-called refugees were being trained in the remote Ardennes in military style, using live ammunition.'

'Belgium is in a mess,' Newman replied dismissively.

'Also,' Marler ploughed on, 'another contact who lives in that model village near Weymouth phoned me today. Said there were rumours more refugees in large numbers were being brought ashore secretly after dark. Thought I'd pop down there and have a shufti.'

'More rumours,' Newman commented. 'Soon we'll hear the Martians have landed.'

'I'm driving down to Dorset,' Marler said firmly. 'I'll call you, Tweed, if I find anything. And, for your information, Bob, this contact is also very reliable. Toodle pip…'

***

When Gavin Thunder's limo reached Trafalgar Square it ran into the normal traffic jam. The Minister, who had just made a call on his mobile, tapped on the closed window between himself and the chauffeur. The car was stationary as the chauffeur slid the window open.

'Carson,' the Minister told him, 'I'm getting out here. I fancy walking the rest of the way.'

'Very good, sir…'

Thunder walked back the way the car had come. In Pall Mall, as he approached Marlows, he saw a tall fat man strolling along the pavement. He caught up with him near the entrance to the club.

'Good timing,' he commented. 'Now let's get inside so you can tell me how things are progressing.'

Oscar Vernon wore a grey overcoat unbuttoned down the front. Underneath he wore a pale grey suit, a pink shirt, a grey bow tie. In his early fifties, he had a large head, a fat face with bulging grey eyes, a pudgy nose, thick lips and an aggressive jaw which would soon be double-chinned. Everything about Oscar was grey and fat. In his right, well-muscled hand he carried a malacca cane with a curious circular knob.

'You'd like a drink?' Thunder asked as they sat in the library.

'Always.' Oscar chuckled. 'Double Scotch.'

'I'll join you. I've just had a conversation when it was difficult to keep my temper.'

Thunder ordered the drinks, then stared at Oscar, looking him up and down. Oscar was beaming.

'Do you have to dress in such a noticeable manner?'

'Before you have asked. Before I have told you no one takes me seriously. They think I am the clown. If only they knew.'

Thunder remained silent until the waiter had served them and closed the door. Oscar lifted his glass, drank half the contents, beamed again. Thunder leaned close, kept his voice low, rasping.

'So how are things progressing?'

'Under my command…' He drank the rest of the whisky, looked at the glass, a hint which Thunder ignored, '… they progress. As always. Reinforcements continue to arrive. A rehearsal will take place tonight.'

'You'd better be damned careful. It's far too early yet for the real thing.'

'This I know. Discipline. I insist. Under my command…"

'Yes, I know. The reinforcements – where will you train and hide them?'

'On the Bodmin Moor on the Cornwall.'

'They'll be conspicious,' Thunder objected.

'No. Tourist buses I hire will take them there. I go there myself. I see the Jamaica Inn for the tourists. They go there. Then they are gone – on to the Bodmin Moor.'

'You seem to have thought it out,' Thunder conceded reluctantly. 'And now I must go.'

'You go?' Oscar beamed, showing his large teeth. 'There is something more. No?'

Thunder reached a gloved hand into his pocket. He handed his guest a thick white envelope stuffed with fifty-pound notes.?10,000. It was his habit to make Oscar ask for the money. It exerted a degree of control over the fat man. He wore gloves to avoid his fingerprints appearing on the money or the envelope. He left the library.

On his way out he met the waiter. He told him to take another double Scotch to his guest in the library. It would please Oscar. More important, it would prevent Oscar appearing before Thunder left the building. Oscar counted the money quickly. The Minister preferred not to be seen in Pall Mall again with Oscar Vernon, dressed as he was.

***

Paula arrived at Martino's in a side street off Piccadilly, handed her coat to the hat-check girl, and saw Aubrey seated at a table in a booth by the wall. He was drinking and a half-empty bottle of red wine stood on the table.

Oh, my God! she thought. I'm going to have trouble with this one.

Aubrey stood up. In doing so he nearly dragged off the tablecloth. He lurched forward to stop the bottle toppling over and grinned. He was reaching for her to kiss her but she eluded him by slipping into the booth and sitting facing him.

'Welcome to the banquet,' he greeted her, his speech slightly slurred. 'What are you drinking?' The waiter had arrived.

'No starter,' she said quickly. 'I'll have Dover sole off the bone with French beans. No potatoes. To drink I'd like still mineral water. No ice or lemon.'

'I'll have the same. And a bottle of bubbly. Make it Krug,' Aubrey demanded.

'That's not for me, I hope.'

'We… are… going… to… set… this town… alight.'

As he paused between each word his fingers marched slowly across the cloth, straightened by the waiter.

'Champers is for you,' he told her.

'I don't want any. So if it's just for me cancel the order.'

He shook his head, winced, refilled his wine glass, drank half of it. She crunched a roll, began buttering it. He grinned foolishly.

'How is the Brigadier?' she asked him.

"The fighting old Brig. Pater has St Vitus' Dance. Can't stay in one place for five minutes. Do… you… know.' He leant across the table confidentially. 'Tell you… secret. Strictly entre nous

… he flies all over the ruddy place… Brussels, Paris, Berlin, Stockholm.' He paused to drink more, wine. 'How does he know… that's what you're thinking.'

Paula had suddenly realized she had a golden opportunity to extract information without appearing to do so. She drank some water as Aubrey stared at her, his eyes glazed.

'I don't believe a word of it,' she said eventually. 'You're making it up.'

'Oh, so that's what you think. Well, beautiful Paula, I've often hidden in a big cupboard in Pater's study… listened in when he makes his phone calls. So… there. What do you think of that?'