Embankment, until as they closed on Westminster Bridge the cabby, giving more warning this time, signalled a right turn, towards Parliament Square. The policemen were almost trapped by a red light, but made it through safely, then picked up pace to match the taxi as it accelerated to catch the next set on green. 'This is magic,' said Mcllhenney, as they swung round the green with St Margaret's on their left.
`She can't be going home,' said Donaldson. If she had been she'd have headed along Millbank.'
`Chances are she's going to the bloody hairdresser,' laughed the Sergeant, as Donaldson allowed the cab to pull ahead in the lighter traffic of Victoria Street.
Almost at once, his supposition was proved wide of the mark. Indicator and brake lights came on in the same second as the cab drew to a sudden halt. 'Take a left, quick,' said Mcllhenney. Donaldson had already seen the turning and swung the Cavalier into the side street. As they took the corner, the Sergeant stared back along the pavement. He caught a glimpse of Ariadne stepping from the taxi, and as she did so, of a man moving forward from a doorway to greet her. There was enough daylight left for him to see that he was wearing a brown Army uniform.
Donaldson braked as soon as the Vauxhall was out of sight, and Mcllhenney jumped out.
He was headed at a half-trot up the slight slope, and turned into Victoria Street, just in time to see the soldier kiss Ariadne, and hug her to him. 'Oh aye,' the Sergeant muttered.
He was about to step back into Abbey Orchard Street, for fear of being spotted, when the pair turned away from him, the soldier's arm around the woman's shoulder and stepped into the doorway from which he had emerged.
Donaldson appeared at his shoulder. 'Where'd they go?'
In there, sir. The guy was in the court. They must have arranged to meet here. Let's see what this place is.' They advanced towards the spot, just as the taxi drew away. Through the glass, the DCI thought he saw the driver wave goodbye.
It's a wine bar, sir. What's it called?' Mcllhenney peered at the sign. 'Methuselah's. Very twee. Do we go in?'
Donaldson shook his head. 'No, no way. She'd spot us. We in luck, though. New Scotland Yard's just across the street. phone Garen Price, and tell him we need a hand.'
`You might ask him to bring us a camera, too. We'll want identify that soldier. I'm not brilliant on Army uniforms, but I got a feeling that his was the same as Major Legge's — the RAOC.'
`What, you mean..
Aye, sir, I do: the explosives experts!'
FIFTY-ONE
‘Jesus, Neil, are they ever coming out of there?' It was almost seven-thirty; Ariadne and the soldier had been in Methuselah's for almost three hours. The two Scots policemen sat in their borrowed Cavalier, parked on Victoria Street a hundred yards away from the bar.
'I don't know, but I'll tell you one thing. Whatever they're drinking, they've had more than one bottle. I hope our Welsh pal isn't keeping pace with them.'
Just at that moment, as if Mcllhenney had summoned him, white light spilled out into the street as Methuselah's door opened and Detective Sergeant Garen Price stepped out. He looked around for the car and then ran towards it. 'All these Welsh boys play rugby,' said Donaldson. 'From the way that one moves I'd say he was a hooker.'
`What, like Lily Savage?' said Mcllhenney, but the line was lost on the DCI. He reached back to open the rear nearside door for his Metropolitan colleague.
`They're just about to leave,' Price gasped, as he climbed in. 'He's calling a cab and she's paying the bill.'
What were they doing in there?' Donaldson asked. 'Eating,' said the Welshman, smiling.
'Not eating each other?'
They were affectionate, guy, but they were more interested in the lentil soup and the creamed smoked haddock. Very tasty they were too,' he added, with a smile.
Mcllhenney eyebrows rose in indignation. 'Christ, listen to him! We've been out here freezing our gonads off and he's been at the scran!'
The bullet-headed Welshman grinned even wider. 'Had to keep up appearances, mate. I'd have looked a right dildo sat there for three hours munching the free peanuts and gherkins.'
`How did they seem?' asked Donaldson.
`She looked relaxed enough. The guy seemed a bit tense, though. She was always stroking his hand and the like, as if she was soothing him.'
`Maybe the bugger has reason to feel tense.'
`Hoi, here they come.' Price pointed back down Victoria Street, towards another black cab which was waiting outside the bistro. A few seconds later Ariadne Tucker and her escort appeared.
He opened the taxi door and held it for her. She was slightly taller than him, and had to bend to kiss him. She hugged him, quickly, and stepped inside the taxi. To the watchers' surprise, the soldier closed the door after her.
‘Dammit!' snapped Donaldson. 'They're splitting up.' `What'll we do?' asked McIlhenney.
`You two bale out and follow the soldier, wherever he goes. I'll tail Ariadne home… if that's where she's headed!'
FIFTY-TWO
Andy Martin looked at the bed and saw his father, on the day he died.
Phil Martin had been in his early fifties when the cerebral haemorrhage had struck him down, without warning, in his stand seat at Parkhead, ten minutes from the end of an early season Celtic vs. Aberdeen league match.
He had been rushed to the Southern General Hospital, but not even the skills of Scotland's finest neurosurgeons could save him.
His son had arrived at the hospital late in the evening, having been flagged down on his way back from a day on the beach by a police colleague warned to look out for him.
He had been shown into a small room, not unlike this one. He had seen a still figure lying beneath a single sheet. Then he had been told the prognosis by the consultant neurologist.
Finally, after a heart-rending discussion with his mother, he had given his permission for his father's ventilator to be switched off, and with it, his life.
He had been to neither church nor confession since the day of the funeral, but now, looking at his friend, he remembered his own decision and offered up a prayer that Sarah would not be forced to do the same thing.
`How's he doing?' he whispered, taking the seat beside her. `His pulse is still firm and stable, but it isn't coming down fast enough for my liking.'
`What does the surgeon say?'
Oh,' she sighed, 'he says I shouldn't worry about it. He says the shock was pretty severe, and that it's still only twelve hours or so since he came out of surgery. He's right, of course, but still.. She glanced up at the bank of monitors, her young face pale and drawn.
'I just don't like it, that's all.'
Andy took her hand. 'Sarah, my dear. You need a break from here.'
`No!’ Her mouth drew into a tight line. 'I'm staying with him.'
He nodded. 'Fine, I understand that. All I'm saying is that you should go home for a couple of hours. Have a bath, see the baby, and have something to eat, then come back. Alex has a meal ready for you. I'll sit with him
