are they?'
'As I told you,' Tweed snapped, 'it's supposed to be a rehearsal for a major event later.'
'If you say so . . .'
He stopped speaking as the door opened and Lisa entered with Paula behind her. Everyone stared. Carrying her heavy raincoat with capacious pockets Lisa wore a leather skirt ending way above her knees. For a top she was wearing a gaudy silk blouse which fitted her tightly. It was sleeveless. Newman stopped staring, looked anywhere except at her legs.
'Sorry to dress like a tart,' Lisa explained. 'But a major target is the huge discotheque in the West End. I need to merge with the atmosphere. When we leave the place I'll put on what's in my raincoat pockets. Rolled-up sweater, pair of jeans, old windcheater.' She smiled. 'I'm only showing you this outfit so you don't get a shock later.'
Saying which, she slipped on the raincoat. Then she checked her watch, looked at Tweed.
'Shouldn't we leave during the next half hour? It's got late suddenly.'
'Transport,' growled Harry, jumped up, left the room.
Tweed introduced Lisa to Pete Nield, who shook hands, smiled at her.
'Welcome to the war party.'
'I don't want to hear any more language like that,' Tweed told him. 'It's the wrong attitude.'
'You hope,' Newman said under his breath.
'That SAS team I wanted here from Hereford has arrived, I hope,' Gavin Thunder snapped at the aide who had replaced Jeremy Mordaunt.
'It's across the street, secreted in a building near what used to be Scotland Yard, sir. I hope you don't mind my saying this — but don't they come under the control of the MoD? 5
'Yes, but I talked the Defence Minister into agreeing. I can talk him into anything. You've heard the rumours. Tonight that foreign scum we've let in has planned an inferno. We'll keep the SAS in reserve, see how it develops.'
'I hope, sir, the Cabinet will go along with you.' 'None of your damned business. But as you've raised the
point, I talked the Cabinet into agreeing, albeit reluctantly.
We may need to show our iron fist.'
'Which, I hear, sir, is your nickname inside the Cabinet.
Iron Fist.'
CHAPTER 8
Action this day.
The words went out on the Internet, from Ponytail at his base in the apartment on the shores of Lake Washington in Seattle. Went out to be decoded by 'chief executives' in London, Paris, Rome, Brussels, Berlin and Stockholm.
Even as they were deciphered, 'tourist' buses were mov ing in to the centre of each city. There were no convoys to attract the attention of the police. Single buses packed with men drove in from different directions, heading for their targets.
Ponytail then turned to operating on the home front. The same coded instruction went out to San Francisco, Chicago, New York, Los Angeles and New Orleans. In the States Greyhound buses had been hijacked at pre arranged points in the countryside, their passengers herded into barns where they were trapped once the doors had been locked. All mobile phones had been confiscated. Waiting gangs of rough-looking men boarded the empty buses which then proceeded to their destinations.
And no one realized that these three words of the instruction had once been the favourite phrase of Winston Churchill, urging lethargic civil servants to do what he said immediately.
It was 10 p.m. in London. Tweed and his team had entered the basement restaurant off Piccadilly in separate groups, had sat at three different tables. The only member absent was Harry Butler, which left Pete Nield by himself.
They had eaten a light dinner - without alcohol - when Harry ran down the stairs from outside, made a gesture for them to leave.
Lisa, wearing her sweater and jeans, dashed into the ladies', carrying her raincoat. Locked in a cubicle she swiftly changed into her 'tart's' outfit, emerged wearing the raincoat.
'Vorina's, the discotheque,' Harry told them and dashed out and up the steps into the street, followed by Pete Nield. The four-wheel drive was parked nearby and they jumped into it. Tweed
'As I told you,' Tweed snapped, 'it's supposed to be a rehearsal for a major event later.'
'If you say so . . .'
He stopped speaking as the door opened and Lisa entered with Paula behind her. Everyone stared. Carrying her heavy raincoat with capacious pockets Lisa wore a leather skirt ending way above her knees. For a top she was wearing a gaudy silk blouse which fitted her tightly. It was sleeveless. Newman stopped staring, looked anywhere except at her legs.
'Sorry to dress like a tart,' Lisa explained. 'But a major target is the huge discotheque in the West End. I need to merge with the atmosphere. When we leave the place I'll put on what's in my raincoat pockets. Rolled-up sweater, pair of jeans, old windcheater.' She smiled. 'I'm only showing you this outfit so you don't get a shock later.'
Saying which, she slipped on the raincoat. Then she checked her watch, looked at Tweed.
'Shouldn't we leave during the next half hour? It's got late suddenly.'
'Transport,' growled Harry, jumped up, left the room.
Tweed introduced Lisa to Pete Nield, who shook hands, smiled at her.
'Welcome to the war party.'
'I don't want to hear any more language like that,' Tweed told him. 'It's the wrong attitude.'
'You hope,' Newman said under his breath.
'That SAS team I wanted here from Hereford has arrived, I hope,' Gavin Thunder snapped at the aide who had replaced Jeremy Mordaunt.
'It's across the street, secreted in a building near what used to be Scotland Yard, sir. I hope you don't mind my saying this — but don't they come under the control of the MoD? 5
'Yes, but I talked the Defence Minister into agreeing. I can talk him into anything. You've heard the rumours. Tonight that foreign scum we've let in has planned an inferno. We'll keep the SAS in reserve, see how it develops.'
'I hope, sir, the Cabinet will go along with you.' 'None of your damned business. But as you've raised the
point, I talked the Cabinet into agreeing, albeit reluctantly.
We may need to show our iron fist.'
'Which, I hear, sir, is your nickname inside the Cabinet.
Iron Fist.'
CHAPTER 8
Action this day.
The words went out on the Internet, from Ponytail at his base in the apartment on the shores of Lake Washington in Seattle. Went out to be decoded by 'chief executives' in London, Paris, Rome, Brussels, Berlin and Stockholm.
Even as they were deciphered, 'tourist' buses were mov ing in to the centre of each city. There were no convoys to attract the attention of the police. Single buses packed with men drove in from different directions, heading for their targets.
Ponytail then turned to operating on the home front. The same coded instruction went out to San Francisco, Chicago, New York, Los Angeles and New Orleans. In the States Greyhound buses had been hijacked at pre arranged points in the countryside, their passengers herded into barns where they were trapped once the doors had been locked. All mobile phones had been confiscated. Waiting gangs of rough-looking men boarded the empty buses which then proceeded to their destinations.
And no one realized that these three words of the instruction had once been the favourite phrase of Winston Churchill, urging lethargic civil servants to do what he said immediately.
It was 10 p.m. in London. Tweed and his team had entered the basement restaurant off Piccadilly in separate groups, had sat at three different tables. The only member absent was Harry Butler, which left Pete Nield by himself.
They had eaten a light dinner - without alcohol - when Harry ran down the stairs from outside, made a gesture for them to leave.
Lisa, wearing her sweater and jeans, dashed into the ladies', carrying her raincoat. Locked in a cubicle she swiftly changed into her 'tart's' outfit, emerged wearing the raincoat.
'Vorina's, the discotheque,' Harry told them and dashed out and up the steps into the street, followed by Pete Nield. The four-wheel drive was parked nearby and they jumped into it. Tweed
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