Cell by Colin Forbes

the shoulder as he continued. 'Now we're off back in his cab to Pimlico. Pays the driver, disappears back into the flat. He's not there long. He comes out again, dives into another cab. This time he's clad in warm holiday clothes, carrying a suitcase. We set off again. Destination? Waterloo. Buller's heading for Eurostar when he swings round, catches me completely by surprise, talks straight at me. "Bit of a run-around for you, Marler. I want you to give a highly confidential message to Tweed. Tell him I'm on my way to meet a contact at Milan in Italy. I'm tracking the money route financing these hellish Taliban."'
    'I'm staggered,' Paula commented.
    'A bit more.' Marler took a folded sheet of paper from his pocket, handed it to Tweed. 'That's the name and address of his contact in Milan. He said you should have it in case he doesn't come back.'
    'I don't like the sound of that,' Newman said grimly.
    Tweed was reading the neatly written words on a sheet obviously torn from a notebook. Mario Murano, Via Legessa 290, Milano.
    'This opens a new front,' Tweed said quietly. 'Italy.'
    'Buller also said he might get the routes they were using, then he had to dash before missing his train. End of the story.'
    'As long as it isn't the end of Buller,' Tweed remarked.
    'I would never have dreamt all of this,' Paula burst out. 'I thought he was just a stupid bully.'
    'Which tells you,' Tweed said half to himself, 'what a complex mixture people - men and women - are. That act of posing as the Bull is remarkable cover.'
    'I bet his lordship, Victor Warner, hasn't a clue as to what Buller is really doing,' Paula reflected. 'And no one else inside his organization.'
    'Oddly enough,' Tweed told Marler, 'Monica was compiling a dossier on Jasper Buller. On her own initiative.'
    'Well,' Monica addressed him, 'I haven't dug up any thing like what Marler has told us. Only his address in Pimlico, plus the fact his staff really hate him, and the intriguing fact that he often goes off on his own for hours - despite insisting that employees sent out on a mission must always travel in pairs. Nothing about secret trips to the Finsbury Park mosque. That's the notorious one.'
    'I passed the short time he was inside taking photo graphs of everyone else who went in there,' Marler told them.
    He produced his tiny camera, which not only produced negatives but also converted them into prints. Extracting a roll of prints, he dropped it on Paula's desk. She started separating them into individual prints with a pair of scissors, then took them over to Tweed.
    'Don't suppose they'll amount to anything,' Marler warned.
    Paula went behind Tweed's desk and leant over his shoulder. Tweed checked each print carefully. Just a bunch of Arabs in Muslim garb. Paula reached for one, examined it under the magnifying glass she had brought with her. She half-closed her eyes.
    'This figure reminds me of someone. Damned if I know who.'
    'Let me see,' Tweed requested.
    The figure was leaving the mosque. Probably a woman. The figure carried a stick and appeared to have a limp. Crouched well forward, it was impossible to assess its height. The face was covered except for the eyes.
    'Doesn't ring any bells,' Tweed decided. He beckoned to Marler, pointed a finger at the crouched figure. 'Did you by chance notice where this one went to?'
    'Heavens no! I just snap-snap-snapped. Had to be care ful. Finsbury Park isn't the safest area in town.'
    'File them,' Tweed said pushing the photos towards Paula as she walked round the desk to head back for her own corner. 'Marler, you have achieved a minor miracle - finding out about the real Jasper Buller.'
    'Where is everyone else?' Marler asked.
    'I sent Newman to check up on Drew Franklin. Pete and Harry are following Eva Brand.'
    'You can't suspect such a lovely creature.'
    'She's a woman, not a creature,' Paula snapped.
    'She's a niece of Drew Franklin,' Tweed remarked. 'Plus the Hogarth brothers, Billy and Martin, being cousins of Drew