‘I don’t know.’ She hesitated.
‘Bus won’t be through here for another five hours, so what have you got to lose? If it helps, I’ve got three girls of my own, all older than you, and my name is Earl Jackson.’
‘All right,’ she.said, making her decision, and went out at his side.
They walked down the ramp and started across the carpark. The freightliner also towed a huge trailer. ‘Here we are,’ he said. ‘All the comforts of home.’
There was a footstep and as they turned, the blond biker from the cafe moved round from behind another truck. He came forward and stood there, hands on hips. ‘Naughty girl,’ he said. ‘I told you you’d be better off on the back seat of my bike and what do I find? You’re flying off into the night with Rastus here. Now that’s definitely out of order.’
‘Oh, dear,’ Earl Jackson said. ‘It talks and everything. Probably wets if you give it water.’
He leaned down to put his sandwich box and thermos on the ground and the other biker ducked from under the truck and booted him so that he staggered forward losing his balance. The blond one lifted a knee in his face. The one behind pulled Jackson to his feet, an arm round his throat and the other flexed his hands, tightening his gloves.
‘Hold him, Sammy. He’s my meat now.’
Sammy screamed as a fist swung into his kidneys. He jerked in agony, releasing his grip on Jackson and Cussane hit him again, sending him to his knees.
He slipped past Jackson to confront the other biker. ‘You really should have stayed under your stone.’
The youth’s hand came out of his pocket and, as Morag cried a warning, there was a click as a blade sprang into view, flashing in the pale light. Cussane dropped his bag, swayed to one side, grabbed for the wrist with both hands, twisted it
round and up, locking the arm, and ran the blond headfirst into the side of the truck. The youth dropped to his knees, blood on his face, and Cussane pulled him up and reached for the other, who was now standing. He pulled them close.
‘I could put you on sticks for a year, but perhaps you’d just rather go?’
They backed off in horror, turned and stumbled away. Cussane was aware of the pain then, so bad that it made him feel sick. He turned, clutching at the canvas side of the trailer, and Morag ran forward and put an arm around him.
‘Harry, are you all right?’
‘Sure, don’t worry.’
Earl Jackson said, ‘You saved my hide, man. I owe you.’ He turned to Morag. ‘I don’t think I got the whole story.’
‘We were together, then we got separated.’ She glanced at Cussane. ‘Now we’re together again.’
Jackson said, ‘Is his destination London, too?’
She nodded. ‘Does the offer still hold good?’
He smiled. ‘Why not. Climb up in the cab. You’ll find a sliding panel behind the passenger seat. An improvement of mine. There’s a bunk in there, blankets and so on. It means I can sleep in the carpark and save on hotel bills.’
Morag climbed up. As Cussane made to follow her, Jackson caught his sleeve. ‘Look, I don’t know what gives here, but she’s a nice kid.’
‘You don’t need to worry,’ Cussane told him. ‘I think so too.’ And he climbed up into the cab.
It was just after 8 a.m. on a fine, bright morning when the Alitalia jet which had brought Pope John Paul from Rome landed at Gatwick Airport. The Pontiff came down the ladder, waving to the enthusiastic crowd. His first act was to kneel and kiss English soil.
Devlin and Ferguson stood on the balcony looking down. The Brigadier said, ‘It’s at moments like this that I’d welcome my pension.’
‘Face facts,’ Devlin said. ‘If a really determined assassin,
the kind who doesn’t mind committing suicide, sets his sights on getting the Pope or the Queen of England or whoever, the odds are heavily in his favour.’
Below, the Pope was welcomed by Cardinal Basil Hume and the D.uke of Norfolk on behalf of the Queen. The Cardinal made a speech of welcome and the Pope replied. Then they moved to the waiting cars.