The Greek Key

Two vans. No, it doesn't look like him. He wore hornrimmed glasses, not rimless, and a driver's cap.'

Tweed looked at Paula, pushed the Identikit towards her. 'You are the artist. Mr Latimer, please describe as best you can the type of glasses, the kind of cap. Miss Grey will convert the picture under your guidance…'

He changed places so Paula sat next to Latimer. She produced a small clipboard and a felt-tip pen from her capacious shoulder bag and worked on the picture, altering it from Latimer's instructions. Then she pushed the picture in front of him.

That's the chap. Magic it is, the way you did that. I've a good memory for faces. No doubt about it.'

'You said he bought two vans. He had someone with him?' Tweed enquired.

'No. Collected them both himself, one by one. Both the same day. Was gone about eight hours before he came back for the second job. Twin vans, they was. Only one left now.'

'He spoke with an educated accent?' Paula enquired.

'No. Workingman's lingo.' Latimer scratched his head. 'Mind you, it didn't sound it came natural to him.'

'He paid by cheque?' Tweed probed.

'No. Cash. Fifties. I held them up to check them. You can't be too careful these days. Funny sort of bloke. And that cap didn't fit him too well.'

'You said you had only one van left,' Tweed reminded him. 'Is that the same as the two you sold to this man?'

'Came from exactly the same stable. Want to see it?'

'Yes, please.' Tweed looked at Paula. 'Did you bring your camera?'

'Always carry it. Plus flashbulbs…'

They were there another half hour. Paula took pictures of the van from different angles. Tweed then persuaded Latimer to drive the furniture van into the street, deserted at that hour. Paula peered out from a top-floor window in the warehouse, looking down on the van with her camera. In the street below Tweed saw three flashbulbs go off. Then Pauia waved her hand.

Latimer backed the van further away, stopped it at the entrance to another street, presenting her with a sideways angle. Three more flashbulbs went off. Tweed told Latimer he could drive the vehicle back into the warehouse.

'What's this all about?' he asked as he climbed down from the cab.

'A gang of very dangerous terrorists. Now, I want to pay you for your time.'

'On the house, Guv. If it's bleedin' terrorists I'm 'appy to oblige. Shoot the bastards when you catch up with 'em.'

'Thank you for your cooperation. I'll bear your advice in mind. Now,' he said to Paula who had reappeared with Fox, 'we have to get moving. And Constable Fox, I'll be recommending your work to your inspector when this is all over…'

It was 2 a.m. when Tweed and Paula arrived back at Park Crescent. All the lights were on in the building behind closed blinds. They went straight down into the Engine Room in the basement where the staff were waiting. Paula handed one of the technicians her film, Tweed told him to develop and print immediately, then to produce two dozen copies.

His office was full of people when he opened the door. A large table had been moved in and round it sat Howard, Newman, Marler, Butler and Nield. The remnants of a meal were on the table and Monica was pouring more coffee. Marler sat smoking one of his king-size cigarettes.

'Any joy?' he enquired.

Tweed explained what they had learned as Paula took a spare seat at the table. Most of his listeners looked weary except for Howard and Marler who appeared fresh and alert. Howard raised the query.

'What on earth would they need two furniture vans for?'

'Remember the Stingers,' Marler told him. That reference to them we got from Mode rambling in high fever. Those vans are mobile rocket launcher platforms. Who notices a furniture van? It stops, they drop the tailboard and fire the missiles from the rear opening.'

'Oh my God!' Howard was appalled. 'Hadn't we better contact the PM?'

'And alert the SAS?' Newman suggested.

'We're on our own,' Tweed said quietly. 'SAS teams are guarding the Brize Norton perimeter. The PM calls us her private insurance policy. And while I remember, each one of you must carry one of these cards. Force Z is what she's termed us – Z for zero hour.' He dropped a pile of fresh identity cards he'd collected from the Engine Room on the table. 'Sort them out. Each carries an individual photograph. Including one for you, Howard – if you still insist on coming.'

'I do.'

'All security personnel at Brize Norton have been informed about Force Z. If you run into one of them you'd better speak quickly, then show the card.'

'How the hell do we go about this?' Howard demanded.

In reply, Tweed walked across to a wall map he had pinned up. It covered Oxfordshire, Wiltshire, Berkshire, Hampshire and London Airport. A tiny village called Liphook came just within the large circle he drew with a felt-tip pen.

'We have to think ourselves into the mind of Winterton.' He glanced at Howard. 'That is the codeword for the Englishman directing this operation.'

'Who is Robson, Barrymore or Kearns, you still think?' Paula asked.

'Yes. Based on the fact that Petros heard during World War Two that the Greek Key was controlled by an Englishman located in Cairo. The fact that the Oporto seaman who talked saw Anton being taken ashore near Porlock Weir by a man disguised with a Balaclava. The facts which came out of the tape recording Nieid made of their conversation at The Luttrell Arms. The fact that the secret Spetsnaz base was situated on Exmoor. The fact that the murders of Andreas and Stephen Gavalas took place when those three men were nearby. The fact that Partridge and Mrs Larcombe were murdered on Exmoor. The fact that when Jill Kearns was run down in London those three men were staying at a hotel not a quarter of a mile away.'

'I get the point,' Paula agreed. 'But now you've withdrawn everyone from Exmoor. Shouldn't someone be keeping an eye on those men now we're so close to the climax?'

'Yes. And you're elected.'

There were protests at the idea. From Howard. From Paula. 'I want to be in at the finish,' she objected. "I believe I have contributed to the investigation…'

'Agreed,' said Tweed. 'You were the first one who spotted – and persisted – something was wrong with that bungalow estate. To mention only one thing. But from what Newman told me on the phone all three men are still on Exmoor…'

'It's too dangerous,' Newman snapped. 'She's already had her taste of gunpowder confronting Norton and Mode. And Winterton may have left the area by now.'

'He hasn't.' Tweed was emphatic. 'I haven't had time to tell you – but the Chief Inspector at Taunton has set up roadblocks on every route east out of the area. Barrymore, Robson and our friend, Kearns, are well-known. If one of them – Winterton – tries to leave Exmoor I'll know within minutes.'

'So that explains why we were stopped by the police near to Glastonbury,' Newman commented.

'And Paula will again be armed.' Tweed took a Browning automatic and spare mags from a desk drawer, placed them in front of her. 'Now, are you happier?' he asked her. 'Your job is to see which of the three makes a move.'

'I'll settle for that.'

'Good. Now maybe we can get on. I've tried to think myself inside Winterton's mind. He would know in advance there was a good chance Gorbachev would land in Britain to meet the PM – he would have found that out from Moscow, I'm sure. The hardline faction is there. He knows Gorbachev is coming, but where will he land? London Airport? Possible, but unlikely. Lyneham Air Force Base in Wiltshire? A good bet. Brize Norton in Oxfordshire? Another good bet – because security would be easier to set up rather than at London Airport. Makes sense?'

'Yes,' said Marler. 'How does he go on from there?'

'He sets up an advance base…' Tweed went to the wall map and waved his hand round the circle he had drawn. '… somewhere inside this area. This gives swift access to whichever landing point is chosen. The furniture vans will be hidden there. But I don't think we'll see them from the air until Gorbachev's aircraft is approaching Brize Norton on this coming Monday. Today is already early Saturday. ..'