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helicopter flying fairly high up behind us. The odd thing is it looks as though it came from Lord Barford's estate. Has he got a chopper?'
    'No idea,' Tweed replied, his eyes half closed.
    'Bob, what did you think of Mark Wendover?' Paula went on.
    'Calls himself a freelance, which struck me as odd. What is he like? Only a slight American accent. His mother was English. Has a first-class brain, really knows his stuff. And he doesn't miss much. He's convinced Jason Schulz was murdered, then it was mocked up to make it look like suicide.'
    'Two fake suicides,' Tweed mused. 'Three and a half thousand miles apart. Both men in top government posts - so both had access to top secrets. What's the link? I've no idea, but as you know I don't believe in coincidence. Could the assassin be the same person?'
    'Easily,' Newman replied. 'The deaths took place roughly five days apart. Plenty of time for someone to do the job in Washington, then catch a flight over here from Dulles Airport.'

    While they were descending the switchback road towards the A27 a quiet voice spoke by radio-telephone to the pilot of the chopper waiting by his machine.
    'Follow two cars leaving Eagle's Nest. Report their route. They are probably heading for Park Crescent in London. Give regular reports of their position to Bronze . . .'
    The owner of the same quiet voice then pressed fresh numbers.
    'Listen to me carefully. And don't make mistakes or you know what will happen to you. A chopper pilot will tell you at regular intervals the location of the two cars. I'm sure their destination is Park Crescent. Bronze, move fast. Steal an unusual vehicle - the target is smart. You have his description. Tell Zero to kill Tweed.'

    'That chopper is still with us,' Paula said as they reached the centre of London.
    'Probably not the same one,' Newman told her. 'London has them flying all the time. And Tweed is fast asleep.'
    'Perhaps we had better stop chattering.'
    'You stop chattering,' Newman suggested. 'Park Cres cent is very close.'
    'Look what's coming towards us. At this hour. 3 a.m. I don't believe it.'
    The vehicle moving towards them along an otherwise deserted street was an old-fashioned sightseeing bus with an open top. The notice above the driver's cabin seemed superfluous. NO'I IN SERVICE. Paula crouched down to get a better look as it crawled towards them. A pre-Second World War museum piece but tourists loved them. She saw the driver staring straight down the road, cap perched at a jaunty angle. Then she saw movement at the top of the bus, a man in the front seat aiming a barrel-shaped object.
    'Look out!' she yelled. 'Gunman aboard . . .'
    Newman turned the car across the path of the oncoming bus. Two sharp reports split the silence. Bullets tore holes in a side window, missing Tweed, who was slumped in his seat. Two more holes appeared in the side win dow opposite as the bullets continued their vicious track. Newman braked as the car slammed into a wall.
    'Are you all right?' Paula asked Tweed anxiously.
    'Yes. So who phoned ahead from Alfriston? Or Barford Manor?'

    CHAPTER 1

    Lisa woke for the fifth time and it was daylight. She had felt exhausted when she had flopped on the bed in her clothes. After sleeping an hour she had decided to explore her room. Not daring to switch on the light again, she had crept over to the curtained window, cautiously pulling aside one curtain. What she had seen gave her the horrors.
    Outside the window was a fire escape leading down into the wide alley where she had parked her car. She could see the vehicle a few yards away below her. Anyone who had managed to follow her could have mounted the fire escape and climbed into her room. She no longer felt safe. ,
    Checking the feeble catch that locked the window, Lisa risked turning on the light. Working quickly, she hauled three cheap wooden chairs to the window, turned them on their sides, scattered them. At least that way she might have a warning of danger.
    She thought of