by Alan Veale
But for one American passenger it felt like being at the dentist, waiting for a wisdom tooth extraction. For Chrissakes let’s get this over with!
*
Billie’s nerves were in a similar state. He hoped he had said enough to warn Chrissie. Meredith snatched back the phone, anger barely contained. They were stood on the platform with at least a hundred others, their attention mainly on screens displaying static updates for delayed or cancelled journeys. Two men in hi-vis jackets approached through the crowd, one addressing Meredith in a confident manner.
‘Just a moment, sir. We’d like a word with this gentleman.’
Meredith was ready to challenge. ‘Officer?’
‘I have a message for you, Mr Meredith. From Chief Superintendent Tanner.’ He passed him a written note, then took a firm grip of Billie’s arm. ‘We’ll keep Mr Vane safe, don’t you worry.’
Billie was nervous at a policeman treating Meredith with the cosy respect normally reserved for one of their own. As they marched him away towards a door marked “Staff Only”, he looked back and wished he could wipe the smirk off that smooth face.
The train now arriving on Platform 3 is the delayed 10.05 from Edinburgh…
Helen Vinke listened to the announcement, but stayed where she had been told, waiting for Billie and Meredith to return. She leaned across to speak to a woman sitting opposite, dressed in a sari, eyes fixed on the screen above her head.
‘Can you smell something? I thought I could smell garlic.’
But the woman didn’t appear to hear her under another announcement:
The next train to arrive at Platform 4 will be the delayed 11.58 service from London Euston.
*
At the top of the stairs Billie was experiencing two extremes: relief and panic. Finding both Ed and Robin on the other side of the door marked “Transport Police” came as a complete contrast to what he knew he should feel, and he stood in the doorway in shock. Were they all under arrest? As the two men got to their feet, Ed rather more slowly than his partner, one of the police officers intervened.
‘One moment, please. Mr Vane, we need to check a few things. Are you injured in any way?’
‘What? Injured, no. But aren’t you… with him?’
‘We’re the Transport Police, sir. We’re not with anyone.’
‘But I thought… oh God. This jacket… I think he might have tampered with it.’
Billie spread his arms, inviting an inspection. Rescue was close, but danger potentially closer. He gazed in desperation at his friends while the officer radioed a call for assistance.
*
Meredith approached one of the armed officers. ‘You know who I am?’ He held up a small wallet containing some ID.
‘Yes, sir, Mr Meredith.’
‘I need to locate Sergeant Baddiel, SCO19. A Code twenty-three?’
‘Can’t help you right now, sir. We’re on lockdown until the PM has cleared the station.’
‘What?’
‘Prime Minister’s train, sir. Just arriving. I’ll have to ask you to wait until we get the all clear, sir.’
Meredith stood his ground, but only for a moment. He turned away and swore quietly, glancing again at Tanner’s handwritten note: Highly sensitive change of plan. Sgt Baddiel SCO19 your contact asap. Code 23. T
Plan B then. With everyone’s attention on the train approaching Platform 4, he moved smartly back down its neighbour to fetch Helen from the waiting room. He needed another set of eyes to track down Emily. But she wasn’t there.
Stepping out again onto 4, he spotted a flash of mauve among the crowd. The coat stood out, especially now she had put her hood up for some reason. He strode quickly over, grabbed her arm from behind and pulled her round to face him.
And stared straight into the face of Emily Blake.
*
The train now arriving at Platform 4 had the Prime Minister on board, but few of those waiting were aware of it. Passengers intending to disembark waited in vain for the buttons on their doors to turn green. Those on the platform faced a similar problem. The train manager had locked all bar one carriage, giving his special guest the privilege of some extra privacy to exit discreetly down the station subway under the protective screen of a police barrier. Emily caught the preparation for all this in her peripheral vision, while confronting the man in the suit face to face.
‘Hello, Meredith. It’s been a long time.’
She saw his eyes bulge with surprise, but only for a moment.
‘You!’ Then he spun her round, clamping both her arms against her chest and forcing her body against his, whipping his stiletto blade up and against her throat, while taking a step backwards. An unconscious echo of a similar incident with the girl’s brother thirty years earlier. Shouts and screams all around, police levelling guns, safety catches released, orders shouted for everyone to move back. Meredith’s eyes darted everywhere, keen to spot threats or support in equal measure.
‘IT’S OKAY! I have her under control. She was going to attack the Prime Minister. Baddiel? You there?’
Emily tried to make light of the situation. ‘You know, for someone who’s a smart dresser you’ve got awfully bad breath.’
An armed officer called out. ‘Sir! Are you aware if the subject is carrying a weapon?’
‘I’m NOT carrying a weapon!’ Emily shouted back. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Blake, an officer with the GMP, and this man is a trained assassin!’
‘Bad move, Emily,’ breathed Meredith. ‘They know who you are.’ Then he raised his own voice. ‘I believe the subject to be wearing a device, Baddiel. You need to get Expo down here!’
‘On their way, sir!’
Police officers discreetly urged people to move back and clear the area, but fascinated faces remained at the windows of the train. The same voice called out again. ‘Officer Blake, please move away from Mr Meredith, lie face down on the ground, keeping your hands where we can see them at all times, and then put them above your head. Do you understand me?’
Emily didn’t move. She was thinking back to the moment she had found Helen in the waiting room, and they had swapped coats. That smell. Not Meredith’s breath. Not even garlic. The significance of his reference to her wearing a device hit home. He’d called for Expo. Bomb disposal crew. The odour was associated with yellow phosphorus explosive. Almost certainly sewn inside the coat. Shit! She spoke urgently to Meredith. ‘I’m prepared to cut a deal. Give you what you’ve been looking for.’
‘What would that be?’
‘My father’s letter.’
‘Officer Blake…’
‘WAIT!’ shouted Meredith, then to Emily, ‘Where is it?’
‘I don’t have it on me. I’m not stupid.’
Yes, I am. She remembered a road in Bootle. Emma yelling at her side. The roar of a car. Pushing her so roughly it hurt. Now who’s being stupid?
Meredith raised his voice again. ‘WAIT! I can manage this myself!’ Then to Emily, ‘Where?’
‘My bag. I left it in the ladies loo.’ She needed to get all three of them—her, Meredith and the bomb—away from everyone else, including the Prime Minister. If he wanted the thing badly enough, he’d know this might be his last chance. I have to push you back, Em. No other way.
‘Okay. Just do exactly as I tell you. Sergeant?’
‘Sir!’ came the response.
‘It will be safer for everyone if I take her off the platform. Officer Blake has agreed to do as I say, so I’m going to isolate her inside. But I’d appreciate it if you’d send Expo in after us as soon as you can. Understood?’
Instruction acknowledged, he stood away from her. The remainder of the crowd watched in silence as Emily fought her demons, forcing her brain to relax her body. Then, with calm resolve, she walked ahead of Meredith through the door leading to the toilets.
Further along the platform behind the police barrier Billie watched with Ed, Robin and Helen. The door of the carriage nearest them finally opened, and
the bulky figure of the Prime Minister alighted onto the platform. As he stepped forward to shake a hand, the ground shook and shattered glass blew out over the space occupied minutes before by dozens of onlookers.
Fifty-Two
A small convoy of vehicles approached the Vinke house. Leading the way was Commander O’Brien with Helen at his side; Billie and Chrissie sat behind. Robin and Ed followed in their own car, with Chief Superintendent Tanner and an unmarked police van at the rear. The rain had passed, but the gravel driveway was pitted with water-filled potholes, prompting a cautious approach.
Billie stared at the Victorian façade and shuddered. Had it really been less than six hours since they left? He felt Chrissie squeeze his hand. ‘Thanks for this,’ he said. ‘It means a lot.’
She looked at his face, dark with emotions, and nodded encouragement as O’Brien opened her door. Once they were all gathered outside, the commander addressed Billie. ‘You sure you want to do this?’
‘I am,’ said Billie firmly. ‘It’s something I need to do. Besides, it’s only fair to her.’
O’Brien nodded once more, then offered his arm to Helen before they followed Tanner and another officer to the door. Inside, they found Sir Antony Jaeger in the kitchen. He showed no surprise at their entry, merely removing his glasses with a sigh of resignation.
‘Come in. Make yourselves at home. After all, I did.’
‘You did indeed,’ said O’Brien. ‘Perhaps Helen would have done better to have told you she was not her brother’s keeper.’
Jaeger appeared to wince. ‘Very good, Commander. I do enjoy a good allegory. But we’re a very close-knit family, aren’t we sister, dear?’
‘I didn’t invite you.’ Her words carried conviction, but the eyes were moist. Her emotions fought for priority. ‘You… he… GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!’
Jaeger blinked, her anger bouncing off his defences. Chrissie went to Helen’s side, offering support. ‘Perhaps we should let the police do the eviction thing for you, Helen? Come on. Show me where the little girl’s room is, huh?’ She took her hand and led her back to the older part of the house.
Tanner seized the opportunity. ‘Sir Antony, you should know that Lee Meredith is now deceased, together with Emily Blake. Both were pronounced dead after an explosion at Preston Railway Station at around 1 p.m. today. You should also be aware that your driver was picked up shortly afterwards and taken in for questioning. I can tell you Lancashire Police will be handing him over to GMP for further intelligence once they’ve processed him for possessing several hundred grams of amphetamines.’
Jaeger closed his eyes in resignation. ‘Stupid, stupid, stupid. My condolences to any next of kin, but as to anything more, what can I say?’
‘A lot.’
It was Billie who had spoken. He pushed himself forward, determined to speak his mind. ‘You caused those deaths. Everything comes back to you. Orders you gave on a pretext of national security. You had me kidnapped, held against my will and tried to persuade me to help retrieve some pathetic little documents, all in the name of patriotic duty. Well, sod that! You lose. But there had to be more deaths, didn’t there? Between you and Peter Gris you’ve wiped out practically a whole family. And for what? Your own precious little—’
‘Billie!’ O’Brien held up a warning hand. ‘Enough, now. I promised you could have your say, but now it’s my turn. Please? You and your friends can wait over there.’
Billie gave Jaeger one more hard stare before joining Ed and Robin on a nearby settee.
‘I’ll dispense with the Sir,’ resumed the commander. ‘It may be a little pre-emptive, but I’m confident Her Majesty will be rescinding that title at a later date. Antony Jaeger, I’ll be questioning you formally about the disappearance of Eric Vinke, among others, when we return to Manchester. But first, I’m arresting you in connection with the murder of Peter Gris at his apartment in Westminster on Tuesday 5th July, 2016.’
Jaeger’s head slumped, his face finally betraying some emotion. ‘Oh, bugger.’
O’Brien continued. ‘I’m aware of the story you provided my friend here, incriminating Andrew Leonard, but while he has an excellent alibi for the night in question, you don’t. Care to make an observation now? Or do you want to wait for your solicitor? And, by the way, if you were thinking of claiming diplomatic immunity, remember you’ll have to submit it through the Prime Minister.’
Jaeger pondered his position. ‘I suppose it all comes back to bite us in the end. No pun intended… I once told someone—was it you?—that all politicians are adept at dishonesty. Having worked intimately with several over the years, I suppose I must have picked up some bad habits. Shame about those documents though. And the letter?’
He looked at Billie, who shook his head. ‘No trace.’
‘In which case, Mr Vane, I didn’t lose. Not entirely. Retrieval was never my objective, although I cannot claim the same on Grizzly’s behalf, but like him, I would sleep more soundly in my bed if I knew the whole bloody lot had disappeared forever.’
*
‘What a bastard!’ said Ed, as the four of them drove back together to Manchester. ‘Never showed an ounce of remorse, did he? Fucking politician.’
‘He wasn’t a politician,’ Robin corrected. ‘He was only a civil servant.’
‘Yes, but he had the power, didn’t he? Advising ministers or state secretaries, or whatever. Sitting in his bloody offices in London, toadying up to people like Thatcher and their buddies.’
‘Actually, it’s often the other way round,’ said Billie. ‘Ministers take advice from senior civil servants, so they’re all bastards in my book. But he was one of the biggest frauds of the lot. He wasn’t even that crippled! Did you see the way he got up off that wheelchair and walked out the door? I’d have loved to kick him through it.’
‘Can I change the subject?’ Chrissie interrupted as Ed started to speak again. ‘What was all that about a letter? Everyone keeps going on about a letter with the document, but which one do they mean?’
Billie pulled a face. ‘I don’t know how much faith to put in it now, as it was Jaeger who told me. He was arguing the letter was a threat to national security. But that’s bullshit. He claimed it turned up with the T Doc in 1985 on Maggie Thatcher’s desk. It was written by Patrick Faulkner, who was Emma’s and Emily’s dad. Poor sod tried to use the stuff their ancestor had on government figures from 1912 to threaten the peace process in Northern Ireland. And to emphasise the point he also personally targeted Gris and Jaeger—and a few other well-known names—over their little sexual perversions. Something he must have learned through the family connection. Jaeger never saw the letter, but he knew what was in it, and he knew if it went public today it had the potential to be far worse than the Jimmy Savile scandal. Gris obviously told him and destroyed the original. He then sent Meredith to kill Faulkner before he found a sheet of carbon for the typed letter in his bin at home. They seemed positive there was a copy somewhere.’
‘It’s never been found?’
‘No. I’d have loved to ask Emily about it, but…’ He trailed off. ‘What a horrible way to go.’
They sat in silence for a moment, each with their own memories of the blast, or—in Chrissie’s case—the scene she met once her train had finally been allowed into the station.
‘It could have been you,’ she said.
‘It wasn’t though. Meredith let me think…’ Billie felt nauseous as he relived the moment he had been told there was nothing planted in his jacket. There had only been one bomb, and he wondered at what point Emily became aware of her fate.
*
It felt good to walk through the staff entrance at the Mitchell once more, even if he had other things on his mind. On his return home he had found an email from his boss confirming the allegations of sexual misconduct had been withdrawn. A relief, yes, but at what price?
He always kept his desk neat and tidy at work, in contrast to his habits at home. But today he found a pile of untouch
ed paperwork awaiting attention. He groaned at the thought of having to plough through a week and a half’s worth of material that no one had thought to look at in his absence. One paper item stood out: an envelope.
It bore a Manchester postmark, addressed to Mr W Vane, care of the Mitchell. He felt he knew the sender before he checked the contents. Inside was a sheaf of photocopies, and a single page in a hand he recognised.
Dear Billie, I know you will be glad to be rid of me by now, but I promise this is the last time I will ask anything of you. One way or another I’m going to close this chapter for my family in the next 24 hours, but I don’t know if I’ll get the chance to thank you in person for all that you did on my behalf. You were my knight in shining armour after all, Billie—and I can’t think of a better person to look after the enclosed. Will you do that? I’m walking away from all this and handing over the baton to you. Maybe you could write a book now? (Fiction of course!) Use this gift with wisdom. And if we do get to meet again, I owe you a pint. Until then—Em.
He blinked away a tear, knowing another was waiting to take its place. What kind of knight had he turned out to be? This was hardly the kind of result she would have wanted, but there was no way he’d let her down again. That book would have to be written. He put the letter aside and looked again at the papers he had come to know as the Titanic Document. There was something there he had not seen before: a single sheet covered in blurry blue print in an old-fashioned typeface. Names he knew well. The date was 1985.
But Billie felt that now was not the time. It would keep for another day.