Free Cell by Colin Forbes

arrived in London. They go vague when I ask where I can find them.'
    'Warner has Colombia on the brain.'
    'Agreed. But I also had a chat with a woman, Carla, who is my favourite informant. Wants to join our outfit, which is why she's working for me. She's clever. Well educated, she can dress like a tart and talk the lingo so a Cockney would think she was from the East End.' He paused to light a cigarette while Tweed waited impatiently. 'Carla,' Marler continued, 'has heard a strong rumour that London is facing its own September 11 - a monstrous attack. She says the killers have slipped into the country, Saudis and a group from Algeria. No clue as to the form the attack will take or where or when, but soon.'
    'You believe her?' Tweed pressed.
    'Carla's never been wrong before. She was in that Soho joint, Belles, which we have reason to know. She has languages, including French and Arabic. She lingered at the bar not far from a table where three Arabs in white turbans were talking . . .'
    'Not black turbans?' Tweed checked.
    'I thought I spoke clearly. Black would suggest something else now. Maybe they weren't keen to advertise. She caught a few words. "The equipment is on its way. It has already left the farm." That was all she could hear.'
    'You have a visitor,' Monica called out after talking on her phone. 'You'll be pleased. Waiting downstairs is Jasper Duller, Chief of Special Branch, together with a partner.'
    'Buller, the Bull, as his staff nickname him. A brute who terrifies everyone working for him. Should be fun.'
    Tweed returned to his desk. He took off his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves. He glared at Monica as he was speaking.
    'Tell Buller he can come up to see me on his own while his partner waits in the visitors' room. Actually, tell George, who won't stand any nonsense. If Buller doesn't like my suggestion he can go jump in the Thames.'
    Newman got up from his chair and perched on Paula's desk. 'I met Buller recently. He's as thick as five planks.'
    'He's on his way up,' Monica reported after a few min utes. 'On his own. I could hear him swearing at George who just kept repeating your instruction word for word.'

    As Tweed expected, Buller was wearing a camel-hair coat when he stormed into the room. About five feet eight tall, he was very heavily built and had a large head. His hair was cut to a stubble and the face below it suggested aggression. Under thick brows the eyes were dark, hostile and flickered about, checking everyone in the room. In his forties, he had the broken nose of a prize-fighter, a tight-lipped mouth, a determined jaw and the air of a man who expected instant obedience.
    'I won't stand for this,' he bellowed, 'shoving my partner in a bare room and locking the door on him.'
    'Then try sitting down,' Tweed suggested amiably. 'It is normal to phone for an appointment first.'
    'Blow that for a lark,' Buller growled and sagged into an armchair. 'You don't seem to know who you're talk ing to.'
    'It is Jasper Buller, I presume,' Tweed said genially.
    'It is the Chief of Special Branch.' His tone was a snarl.
    'Now, I need to know what you and that young lady . . .'He turned to look at Paula and his expression briefly became cordial as she stared back '. . . were doing ferreting around up at Carpford.'
    'Why?' Tweed enquired. 'You think the place is popu lated with Colombian cartel barons?'
    'Mr Tweed.' Buller leaned forward, lowering his voice to little more than a whisper. 'I would much appreciate it if we could talk in private. Please.'
    Tweed called to Monica to ask if Howard's office was available. She told him it was, that Howard was not expected back for at least an hour.
    Tweed stood up, went to the door, followed by Buller. He led the way upstairs to Howard's spacious office. He knew Howard was always careful to lock away any important documents when he was absent. They walked inside and sat down.
    'I appreciate this,' Buller repeated. His whole manner had changed and he spoke