having searched it and noted the missing bed linen. The sharp eyed constable was feeding the cat some chocolate. Crime scene investigators were on their way and the place was filling up.
The chief constable rang Jack Fulton. Fulton upset as he was asked the name of the constable who had seen the cat licking the bone fragment. PC Jamie Ford he was told and he noted the name down on his desk pad.
Chapter 32
Inverness
8- 30 p.m.
April 17th
Stanton had made his phone reservation for the night sleeper to London via a call box using the Mastercard happy in the knowledge that it worked. It was a simple matter of check in and board. He walked into the station at eight-thirty. The train left at eight-thirty eight giving him just enough time to catch it. He knew he’d show up on CCTV and given the odd method of entry into the country and the cash limitations he felt that someone somewhere would be watching. He strode in quickly, head down and made every subtle move to make any camera image unclear.
“Ticket in the name of Sam Kirk please?”
“Yes Mr Kirk. I have it here.”
She handed over the ticket and asked, “You have a restaurant reservation…” Stanton tuned out. To his left, exactly the next ticket station along, he heard a voice he recognised. Slightly stressed sounding Spencer was there.
“No sleeper births at all?”
“No I’m sorry sir. You should have booked earlier.”
“Okay, Okay I’ll take any seat.”
“That’ll be seventy eight pounds.”
“Mr Kirk, you’ll have to hurry the train will be leaving very shortly”
“I’m sorry, I was distracted.” Stanton said politely then added “Do you know if Mr Townshend, he’s a friend of mine has booked in?” Stanton said this loudly. Spencer suddenly tuned in.
“I can’t check for you and you really should get moving sir.”
“Oh well he was booked for a sleeper on this train. I’ll try and catch him in the restaurant, I know he has a booking there.”
“Well each carriage has the name booked on a reserve ticket on the sleeper door so if you’re willing to walk the train I’m sure you’ll find him.”
“That’s really sweet, you’re so kind.”
He was handed his ticket and passed by Spencer, who gave him a grateful look. Spencer recognised Mason’s entry cover name, Townshend and realised that if Mason had taken another route the sleeper would be empty. Spencer counted out the cash he’d taken from the taxi driver. He was grateful that Stanton had helped him with the information as on the submarine he had not been one to talk, keeping himself to himself. The coded ‘I’m sure I’ll meet him in the restaurant’ didn’t pass him by unnoticed either.
They both made their way to the train, though separately. They boarded, both feeling safer, ironic as the nearest DIC watcher was keenly scanning for them and immediately sent a message to DIC centre.
Chapter 33
Euston Tower
8 – 45 p.m.
April 17th
Fulton was leaning against the table in the duty rota common area. There were three team pairs around him.
“Wally Tyson is missing. He was checking the Liverpool marina, Brunswick Lock, on the Mersey. He went out before my ‘go armed’ call around five.” Jack paused. “He’s almost certainly dead, if he ran into Cobb, which I’m sure he did. I’ve called the police and they’re checking the Marina. They’re due to call me. The thing is if Wally turns up dead it’s a murder investigation.” He paused again, struggling. “He’s one of us. I’ll be sending teams to that area, but I’ll be sending teams chasing Cobb. You’re those teams. I’ll want Cobb alive, but make no mistake I want him brought in. The police can’t move across counties and don’t have anything near our resources…”
In his peripheral vision he caught a waiting messenger.
“One at Inverness station, he boarded the sleeper.”
“Which one?”
The messenger spoke excitedly, almost breathless.
“Marco Spencer. We called the police, but the train leaves in two minutes. Armed police are their way…”
“Call them back. I’ve a plan. Get me the train times for the London sleeper out of Inverness and a map of the various stops.” Fulton turned back to the gathered duty team pairs. “Magda’s organised a helicopter transport to take all of you to Stansted, then you can fly to Liverpool. The jet can take one pair to the planned stop for the sleeper train.”
They went down in the lift to a viewing room. Up on a screen was CCTV footage of Spencer at the ticket desk and showed him walking away. McKie noted that the man at the next window seemed difficult to see clearly, in spite of being right in view of a camera; it jarred slightly with him and he was about to mention it when the view on the screen was replaced with the map of the route and a timetable.
“Right, I’ve called the police off for now, they agree. Surrounding the train station and disembarking all the passengers makes sure that no innocent people get killed. Looking at the map the best stop will be Perth. The train gets there around eleven o’clock tonight, which gives us two hours. I’ll call the Scottish police and get the trap in place.” He turned to the three pairs. “ Shadz and Terry I want you to go to Wally’s house and see his wife Ginny. Jaz and Tony I want you to meet the police at the Liverpool marina, a place called Brunswick Lock. Beaumont and David I’m sending you on to Perth. You’d all better go and pack overnight bags. Get your rucksacks, weapons and surveillance equipment. Wear your hand guns in shoulder holsters and have your diplomatic passes ready. Off you go.”
Ten minutes later three pairs met on the roof, just outside the shelter of the doorway. Behind them the receiving equipment, phone masts, array of five large dishes and complex analogue and digital signal aerials, sat in silhouette like one vast alien robot. In front of them the helicopter landing pad, lit up, created a sense of impending adventure, a stark step into the dark sky.
On the roof McKie suddenly felt afraid, it all seemed so dramatic and intense. Customs had its unnerving moments, especially at Dover, but the news of Wally’s possible death, of which Fulton seemed so sure now, made the helicopter ride ahead seem like being fired like a flare into a tomb. McKie’s grim thoughts were interrupted by a sudden shocking remembrance.
“I haven’t called my wife.” Beaumont turned from watching the sky, from which, through the wind and drizzle, there was the distance chatter of a helicopter.
“Me either.
“I said I would.”
Beaumont touched his arm. “Don’t worry. Call her with the satellite phone on the jet.” David nodded.
The three pairs, relative strangers, had joined each other the roof with bags. McKie, having seen them around took them in for the first time. He noted that Jazmin, or Jaz as she preferred to be called, reminded him of a Gladiators competitor, blonde, strong physique and intelligent focussed eyes. Shadz was a cool Indian man in his mid twenties. He was dressed immaculately, down to polished brogues, the slight purple tint in the grey suit matched by lilac shirt and deep purple silk tie. He had neat hair and a warm smile. His mathematical background
