by Hilary Green
Lithgow called, ‘Mr Askew? – Mr Askew, we’re police officers. You wanted to talk to us.’
There was no reply. Lithgow led the way up the path and then, after a brief conference, Carney moved away to the back of the house.
Lithgow tried again. ‘Mr Askew. We want to help you. Are you there?’
He glanced round towards the car. Fenton had got out and was standing by the driver’s door, watching them. Carney reappeared from behind the house. Turning to speak to him Lithgow did not see Fenton bend quickly and reach a gloved hand under the dashboard.
‘No sign of life round there, Sarge,’ Carney reported.
Lithgow stepped back and scanned the upstairs windows again. Then he knocked on the door.
‘Mr Askew! I must ask you to open this door!’
‘Oh Christ! I hope he hasn’t done anything!’ Fenton was standing by the gate now.
‘You keep back, Mr Fenton,’ Lithgow called. ‘Come on, Constable, let’s have this door open.’
The cottage door was not very strong and a few hefty kicks from Carney splintered the lock. There was no sound from inside the house and after a cursory glance into the two downstairs rooms the two men began to edge up the stairs. They were on the upper landing when they heard the car start up. From the window they saw it reverse into a gateway and turn round. By the time they reached the garden gate only the ripples in the puddles showed where it had passed.
*
The barn doors slid open and the white and red car nosed out and headed towards Risley.
‘Tango Able Foxtrot,’ said Carney’s voice, issuing from Vince’s mouth. ‘False alarm. Cancel the reinforcements. I’ll explain in my report. On our way. Out.’
Switching to a different wavelength Nick reported, ‘Delta One, this is Delta Two. All systems are go so far. We are on our way. Over.’
In a Triple S radio van parked on the edge of Speke Airport Stone replied, ‘Delta Two, this is Delta One. Good luck. Out.’
Harry Fenton, whose real name was Max Urquahart, parked the stolen police car neatly in a lay-by three or four miles from Willow Cottage and retuned the radio.
‘Delta One, this is Theta One. Pinky and Perky have lost their wheels and they’ve got a long walk ahead of them. Over.’
‘Theta One,’ Stone replied, ‘Delta One here. Well done. What about the phone-box?’
‘Delta One – don’t worry, I fixed it. They’ll have to get a lift to the next one. Am proceeding to my next station. Out.’
He carefully returned the radio to its normal frequency, got out of the car and into a red Cavalier which was parked just ahead of it, and drove away in the direction of the M6.
*
At the remand centre the prison van was waiting to start its journey. The driver looked at his watch.
‘They’re late,’ he commented morosely.
‘Not very,’ said his companion.
‘Not yet. But you know what it’ll be. If we get held up anywhere and the prisoners aren’t there to be put up when they’re wanted, we’re the ones who are going to get it in the neck – not them.’
‘But that’s the whole point, isn’t it?’ the other man said. ‘We won’t get held up with them in front of us – not by anything.’
‘Huh!’ was the only comment.
‘Here they are, anyway,’ continued the second man, as the white and red Rover swung in through the gates.
The police car executed a neat turn and pulled past the van, waving them to follow.
‘Not hanging about, are they?’ said the second man.
‘I should bloody well think not!’ returned the driver as he let in the clutch and followed the car out of the gates.
There was not very much traffic on the road and the police car lead them at a good speed towards the city. They did not particularly notice a Gas Board van parked beside the road and were not aware that immediately after they had passed two men got out and set up a Road Closed notice and another warning of a possible gas leak. Nor did they have any means of knowing that at a junction just ahead an articulated lorry had jack-knifed, effectively sealing off that section of road from the other direction.
As they passed the barn from which the Rover had started its journey Nick glanced at Vince in the passenger seat beside him.
‘Brace yourself!’
He reached out and pushed a button on the dashboard in front of him. There was a muffled explosion and the car skidded wildly to the left, almost wrenching the steering-wheel out of Nick’s grasp. It mounted the pavement, rocked as if about to turn over and finally collided with a tree and came to rest. Both men were thrown violently forward and lay without moving, while a wisp of steam began to curl up from under the bonnet.
Behind them the van had also braked to a sudden halt, to the accompaniment of expletives and warning shouts from the two prison officers,
‘Watch out!’ shouted the driver.
‘Where are they?’ demanded the other.
‘Was it a shot?’
They sat tensely, staring around them. There was no sign of movement. The road and the fields around were empty. Ahead, the two men in the car lay slumped against the dashboard.
‘We ought to give them a hand,’ said the second officer.
‘Sit tight!’ ordered the driver. ‘We don’t know who’s out there.’
His companion leaned forward. ‘Hang about, one of them’s moving.’
They watched as the driver of the car slowly dragged himself out of the wreckage, clutching his right arm to him, apparently useless. He limped round the vehicle and tried the opposite door, but it failed to open. Then he turned and came over to the van. He was swaying as if about to faint and a trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth. The second guard opened his window.
‘Give me a hand, can’t you?’ the policeman said. ‘I can’t get the door open and the car could go up any minute.’
‘Who’s out there?’ demanded the driver. ‘Who shot at you?’
‘Nobody shot at us,’ the man in sergeant’s uniform said through clenched teeth. ‘We had a blow-out.’
The second guard jumped down from the van. ‘You hop in, mate,’ he said. ‘I’ll get your pal out.’
The sergeant hauled himself into the passenger seat, while the guard ran over to the car and jerked at the door. The man inside was unconscious, lying against the door. The prison officer yanked again and the door opened, spilling the limp body out at his feet. It was when he stooped to raise it that he found his neck caught in a fierce grip.
‘All right, mate, all right!’ he gasped.
For answer, a foot was braced in his stomach and he found himself turning a near somersault to end up flat on his back with the man he had rescued kneeling on his chest. At the same instant the sergeant in the van suddenly recovered the use of his right arm and thrust an automatic against the side of the driver’s neck.
‘Out!’ he said tersely.
Within seconds the two guards found themselves handcuffed and hustled into the barn. Then, while Vince kept watch over them, Nick backed the van inside and unlocked it with the keys he had taken from the driver.
‘Elizabeth?’ he called.
‘Here!’ the voice answered at once, clear, vibrant – almost painfully familiar.
He unlocked the door of the cell. She was on her feet already. The five-day fast had pared away the flesh of her face and left the skin as translucent as the shell of a robin’s egg, but the eyes were alight with triumph and for a second the old Leo stood looking at him. Then he saw her face change and harden, as if she had put on a mask. She pushed past him and went to the door of another cell.
‘Open this one – quick!’
He unlocked it and once again she shouldered him aside to get to the other prisoner. Margaret Donelly was small, stockily built, with dark hair cut in a heavy fringe which almost hid her eyes – eyes which looked out at the world with a habitual expression of burning resentment; except, as Nick discovered, when they wer
e focused on Leo.
‘It’s all right, Meg,’ Leo was saying. ‘They’re my people. I told you they were coming.’
Nick moved to the door of the van. ‘Quick, come on!’
Parked next to the van was a white Transit with the name of a firm of builders on it. The two girls moved to the door after him and he made to offer his hand to help Leo down. She brusquely ignored it, as did Donelly. He opened the back of the Transit.
‘Get in. There’s a change of clothes for both of you, and a couple of wigs. Yours are in the blue bag L – Liz.’ He caught himself just in time. He had almost called her Leo. ‘In case we’re stopped, you’re a couple of hitch-hikers heading for the Lake District and we picked you up outside the University at nine o’clock.’
Leo nodded briefly and the two women climbed into the Transit. Nick shut the door on them, struggled out of his uniform and into a pair of dungarees and went round to the driver’s seat. Vince, already changed, had pushed the prison officers into the back of their own van and locked it. He opened the door of the barn and closed it behind the Transit as Nick drove it out.
Nick was speaking over the radio. ‘Delta One, this is Delta Two. The pigeons are free – heading east. Out.’
In the communications van parked by the airport Stone turned to Mitch, the Triple S Field Communications Officer.
‘Time I was airborne. Call Kappa One and Kappa Two, will you, and tell them to pack up and move on. I’ll keep in touch.’
A minute later the driver of the articulated lorry suddenly discovered a way of unscrambling his vehicle; and the Gas Board men decided that the gas leak was a false alarm and reopened the road, just in time to allow the passage of a white builders’ van.
Vince grinned at Nick and rubbed his neck ruefully. ‘You sure don’t do things by halves, do you. You know, for a bit there I thought those two sods were going to leave us there to fry.’
Nick nodded. ‘They were quite right, of course.’
‘I’m glad you convinced them otherwise,’ Vince commented. ‘That must have been a very effective bit of acting you put on.’
Nick grinned and jerked his head towards the back of the van. ‘I’ve had a pretty good coach!’
The panel between the driving seat and the goods compartment slid open.
‘Where are we going?’ Leo demanded, in the harsh, clipped voice which was so unlike her natural one that it made Nick wince.
‘Lake District,’ he returned. ‘We’ve found a place there – farmhouse, very isolated. You’ll be able to lie low until the heat’s off.’
‘No,’ she said sharply. ‘I’m sticking with Margaret.’
‘She can come too.’
‘We’re not going to skulk in some farmhouse doing nothing. Meg wants to get back to her own people, and I’m going with her.’
‘Don’t be daft! All her people were picked up after that Securicor job. There can’t be a safe house left in Liverpool.’
‘Not Liverpool, you fool! You don’t think that’s the only Irish community in Britain, do you?’
‘Where then?’
‘Never mind. Just drop us at the first service station on the M6. We’ll look after ourselves from there.’
‘But Liz…’ he protested.
‘Don’t whine!’ she snapped. ‘And don’t call me Liz!’
The panel closed with a bang. Vince glanced sideways at Nick, pursed his lips and shook his knuckles as if they had been rapped. Nick grinned.
‘You should see her when she’s really mad,’ he said softly.
The Cessna took off from Speke and climbed rapidly, circling eastwards. Stone picked out the line of the East Lancs Road and followed it. There was plenty of traffic now, and more than one white van; but the special scanner in the aircraft soon picked out the broad cross painted in ultra-violet paint on the roof of Nick’s vehicle. Stone overflew it, circled and came back, watching as it turned south onto the M6. He turned his radio to transmit.
‘Theta One, pigeons are heading in your direction. Stay put. Theta Two, Kappa One, move south. Acknowledge.’
One by one the acknowledgments came back. Below the circling aircraft the Gas Board van also headed towards the motorway while to the north a black Sierra pulled out of a layby and made for Junction 24.
Nick swung the van into the car-park of the Knutsford service area and stopped. The girls scrambled out of the back. Both had changed into jeans and anoraks and carried rucksacks; and both had put on wigs which radically changed their appearance. Leo now had long auburn hair and Donelly’s was light brown and curly, but whereas it had the effect of making her look more than ever like a mutinous Shetland pony Leo appeared more fragile and ethereal than before.
Nick said, ‘Change your mind, come with us!’ – and meant it.
For a second her eyes met his and he knew how much she would have liked to agree. Then she said,
‘I’ve told you. I’ve got more important things to do. I’ll be in touch – when I’m ready.’
The girls shouldered their packs and began to move away towards the slip-road leading back onto the motorway. For a second Leo paused and looked back.
‘That was an efficient operation – well done.’
Nick watched them out of sight and then climbed back into the van and reached for his microphone.
‘Delta One, this is Delta Two. Our friends are thumbing a lift at the Knutsford Services – southbound. Better make it snappy. I don’t think they’ll have to wait long.’
Circling above him Stone acknowledged the call and tuned a knob on a small receiver. A steady bleep told him that the homing device sewn into Leo’s clothes was working at full power.
‘Theta One,’ he called. ‘This is Delta One. The carrier pigeons are waiting to be picked up. On your way.’
On the far side of the car-park from the builders’ van the red Cavalier pulled out and set off down the slip-road, to stop a few seconds later just beyond a pair of hitchhikers.
‘Where to, girls?’ inquired Max Urquahart.
Nick and Vince did not have to wait very long before the communications van pulled into a parking slot a few yards away. They joined Mitch in the back of it.
‘What happened to you?’ he asked, and Nick realized that he still had a trickle of dried stage blood running down his chin.
Mitch, always well provided for operations of this nature, produced sandwiches and a thermos of coffee and while they ate they listened to Stone’s occasional, laconic reports as the Cavalier headed steadily southwards, and the bleeping of the homing device. Then they heard Stone say,
‘Stand by, Kappa Two. Theta One leaving at Junction 9.’
A minute after Max Urquahart had dropped his passengers on the Dudley road a Gas Board van slowed down just long enough for one of its occupants, a tall, loose-limbed black man in a boiler suit, to jump out. He saw the two girls ahead of him and strolled after them and when they stopped at a bus stop he joined the queue. As they waited he noticed a black Sierra glide past in the traffic, but he did not make any gesture of recognition. Later, when they had boarded the bus, he saw it pull out of a side turning and squeeze into the line of cars about three behind.
In the communications van Mitch tuned into the 11 a.m. news bulletin on Radio 4 and they heard the first report of the escape. ‘Police road-blocks have been set up all round the area,’ said the news-reader.
‘Control, this is Theta Two,’ said a voice from the set still tuned to the Triple S frequency. ‘The pigeons have reached Tipton. I think they’re nearly home.’
Nick got out of the van and found a phone-box. He called the Merseyside police and told them where to find the two prison officers, ringing off quickly before they could trace the call.
‘Viv’ Vivian, alias Kappa Two, paused to gaze into the window of a newsagent’s shop and saw in its reflection a dapper-looking young man carrying a brief-case jump out of the black Sierra and set off briskly down the road. A hundred yards further on the two girls turned into a s
ide-road. Viv smiled to himself and caught a bus back to his rendezvous with the Gas Board van.
The dapper young man, who answered to the code name of Theta Two, stopped a couple of housewives and involved them in answering a market survey questionnaire which he produced from his brief-case. While they talked he watched the two girls. They stopped at the door of a small, terraced house and rang the bell. After a moment the door was opened by a thin, dark man. A few words were spoken and then all three disappeared quickly inside. Theta Two thanked the housewives and put the questionnaire back in his case, activating as he did so a small radio transmitter.
‘Delta One, this is Theta Two,’ came the call. ‘I am in Daltry Road, Tipton. The pigeons have gone to roost.’
‘Understood, Theta Two,’ Stone replied. ‘Stand by. Kappa One will join you shortly.’
Twenty minutes later the Gas Board van turned into the street and set up a little tent over a section of road some fifty yards away from the house on the far side. Inside, Barney Lightfoot, Kappa One, checked that the homing device still registered that its wearer was stationary and then he and Viv Vivian settled down to wait for further instructions. The young man in the Sierra gave up questioning passers-by about their breakfast habits and went off to lunch.
Nick picked Stone up at Birmingham airport. They were due to meet Pascoe for lunch at the Excelsior.
‘How was Leo?’ Stone asked.
Nick made a rueful face. ‘Looking like gossamer and behaving like a barbed-wire entanglement,’ he said.
Stone grinned. ‘That figures,’ he agreed.
Chapter Four
Leo heard the lock on the door of the shabby front bedroom turn softly behind her and permitted herself a small, grim smile. Whatever Margaret Donelly said in her favour, it was hardly to be expected that she would be accepted straight away – if at all. She sat down on the edge of one of the two narrow beds and pulled off the auburn wig, running her fingers through her cropped hair. She was more tired than she could ever remember. She thought of Nick, standing in the sunlight in the service area car-park, his mobile, humorous face surrounded by the halo of reddish-brown curls which always made him look, to her, like a Renaissance prince, saying, ‘Come with us.’ If only she could have done! If only that had been the end, instead of just the beginning…