That conjures up a very powerful network with a long reach. Also, how many people knew the location of SIS HQ? The top-flight security services in Europe - and America.'
'You make it frightening,' Paula commented.
'You should be frightened. It must take a vast network to organize all that. Which is why we're spending a day or two in Padstow. Right off the beaten track.'
'So it could be unfortunate,' Cardon suggested, 'that by chance Jennie Blade lives in Padstow.'
'It doesn't help,' Tweed agreed, 'but I've booked rooms at the Metropole - which is in a strategic location. I stopped there overnight with Newman a few years ago.'
'And Philip,' Paula teased Cardon, 'you seem to have fallen for the golden lovely.'
'Fooled you, didn't I?' Cardon chuckled. 'She was pretending to take a fancy to me, that she thinks I'm the best thing since sliced bread. I wondered immediately: "What's this girl really after?"'
'Didn't know you were a cynic about women.'
'Not a cynic,' Cardon told her cheerfully. 'Just a realist. Are you offended?'
'Not in the least. Now I think you've got your feet on the ground. And what on earth is this ahead of us?'
Tweed had slowed. In his headlights red and white cones barred the way with a large notice. It carried the word diversion and an arrow pointing to the right up a narrow lane. It was raining now and between the wipers he had set in motion Tweed saw men in yellow oilskins and peaked c aps. A burly individual waved a red lamp and walked towards the driver's side of the car as Tweed stopped, keeping the engine running. In the back Cardon had his Walther in his right hand, inside his windcheater.
'Sorry, buddy,' the burly man with the lamp shouted as he came closer. 'There's been a multiple pile-up on the A30. Go this route and you're back on the highway a short way to the west...'
Accent and language were muffled American, Tweed noted.
Tweed,' Paula whispered, 'I've checked the map and the only turn-off to the right is a dead end. That is, before we reach the A30. The lane he's diverting us to leads close to another tor with a stone quarry close by.'
'Could I see some identification?' Tweed asked through his open window.
'What the bloody hell for?' The man's face turned ugly. He was reaching inside his slicker as he went on. 'You can't get through . ..
'Don't do it!' Paula warned.
Her Browning automatic was pointed past Tweed at the man outside. He withdrew his hand as though he'd burnt it. He was looking uncertain and then turned to signal to the other men when Tweed reacted.
Ramming his foot down, he shot forward, scattering cones like ninepins. Men jumped out of the way and a missile of some sort landed on the bonnet, burst, spread a light grey-coloured vapour.
Tear-gas!' Tweed snapped.
He closed his window, driving with one hand, main taining his speed. A glance in his rear-view mirror showed him the Sierra roaring after him. He heard two reports.
Shots had been fired. Nothing hit his vehicle. A quick second glance in the mirror showed him the Sierra rocketing up behind him: no apparent damage.
Thank you, Paula,' Tweed said. 'I was suspicious but you confirmed it. A multiple pile-up? On the A30 in February and at this time of night? And a road crew with an American foreman? The whole set-up was phoney, stank to high heaven.'
'So what had they waiting for us up at that dead end?' Paula mused.
'A dead end - for all of us,' Cardon suggested.
'You have a macabre sense of humour. It doesn't bear contemplating - out in the middle of that moor ...'
She started checking her map again. Tweed was driving at speed, lights undipped, swerving round corners. He was anxious to reach the main road.
'What worries me,' he said, 'is how did that gang of thugs know we would be travelling along that road at this hour? Again it suggests a powerful, well-organized network. I get the feeling our every move is being monitored.'
'We're close to the A30,' Paula warned. 'As to how they could know where
'You make it frightening,' Paula commented.
'You should be frightened. It must take a vast network to organize all that. Which is why we're spending a day or two in Padstow. Right off the beaten track.'
'So it could be unfortunate,' Cardon suggested, 'that by chance Jennie Blade lives in Padstow.'
'It doesn't help,' Tweed agreed, 'but I've booked rooms at the Metropole - which is in a strategic location. I stopped there overnight with Newman a few years ago.'
'And Philip,' Paula teased Cardon, 'you seem to have fallen for the golden lovely.'
'Fooled you, didn't I?' Cardon chuckled. 'She was pretending to take a fancy to me, that she thinks I'm the best thing since sliced bread. I wondered immediately: "What's this girl really after?"'
'Didn't know you were a cynic about women.'
'Not a cynic,' Cardon told her cheerfully. 'Just a realist. Are you offended?'
'Not in the least. Now I think you've got your feet on the ground. And what on earth is this ahead of us?'
Tweed had slowed. In his headlights red and white cones barred the way with a large notice. It carried the word diversion and an arrow pointing to the right up a narrow lane. It was raining now and between the wipers he had set in motion Tweed saw men in yellow oilskins and peaked c aps. A burly individual waved a red lamp and walked towards the driver's side of the car as Tweed stopped, keeping the engine running. In the back Cardon had his Walther in his right hand, inside his windcheater.
'Sorry, buddy,' the burly man with the lamp shouted as he came closer. 'There's been a multiple pile-up on the A30. Go this route and you're back on the highway a short way to the west...'
Accent and language were muffled American, Tweed noted.
Tweed,' Paula whispered, 'I've checked the map and the only turn-off to the right is a dead end. That is, before we reach the A30. The lane he's diverting us to leads close to another tor with a stone quarry close by.'
'Could I see some identification?' Tweed asked through his open window.
'What the bloody hell for?' The man's face turned ugly. He was reaching inside his slicker as he went on. 'You can't get through . ..
'Don't do it!' Paula warned.
Her Browning automatic was pointed past Tweed at the man outside. He withdrew his hand as though he'd burnt it. He was looking uncertain and then turned to signal to the other men when Tweed reacted.
Ramming his foot down, he shot forward, scattering cones like ninepins. Men jumped out of the way and a missile of some sort landed on the bonnet, burst, spread a light grey-coloured vapour.
Tear-gas!' Tweed snapped.
He closed his window, driving with one hand, main taining his speed. A glance in his rear-view mirror showed him the Sierra roaring after him. He heard two reports.
Shots had been fired. Nothing hit his vehicle. A quick second glance in the mirror showed him the Sierra rocketing up behind him: no apparent damage.
Thank you, Paula,' Tweed said. 'I was suspicious but you confirmed it. A multiple pile-up? On the A30 in February and at this time of night? And a road crew with an American foreman? The whole set-up was phoney, stank to high heaven.'
'So what had they waiting for us up at that dead end?' Paula mused.
'A dead end - for all of us,' Cardon suggested.
'You have a macabre sense of humour. It doesn't bear contemplating - out in the middle of that moor ...'
She started checking her map again. Tweed was driving at speed, lights undipped, swerving round corners. He was anxious to reach the main road.
'What worries me,' he said, 'is how did that gang of thugs know we would be travelling along that road at this hour? Again it suggests a powerful, well-organized network. I get the feeling our every move is being monitored.'
'We're close to the A30,' Paula warned. 'As to how they could know where
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