Devlin said, ‘What happens now?’
‘Mass at Westminster Cathedral. After lunch, a visit to Her Majesty at Buckingham Palace. Then St George’s Cathedral at Southwark to anoint the sick. It’s going to be all go, I can see that.’ Ferguson was unhappy and it showed. ‘Dammit, Liam, where is he? Where is that sod, Cussane?’
‘Around,’ Devlin said. ‘Closer than we think, probably. The only certainty is that he’ll surface within the next twenty-four hours.’
‘And then we get him,’ Ferguson said as they walked away.
‘If you say so,’ was Liam Devlin’s only comment.
The yard of the warehouse in Hunslet, Leeds, quite close to the motorway, was packed with trucks. Cussane had the sliding panel open and Jackson said, ‘Keep out of sight, man. Passengers are strictlyverboten. I could lose my licence.’
He got out of the truck to see to the disengagement of the trailer, then went into the freight office to get a signature for it.
The clerk looked up from his desk. ‘Hello, Earl, good run?’
‘Not bad.’
T hear they’ve been having fun over there on the M6. One of the lads rang in from outside Manchester. Had a breakdown. Said they’d had a lot of police activity.’
‘I didn’t notice anything,’ Jackson said. ‘What was it about?’
‘Looking for some guy that’s mixed up with the IRA. Has a girl with him.’
Jackson managed to stay calm and signed the sheets. ‘Anything else?’
‘No, that’s fine, Earl. See you next trip.’
Jackson moved outside. He hesitated beside the truck, then followed his original intention and went out of the yard across the road to the transport cafe. He gave the girl behind the counter his thermos to fill, ordered some bacon sandwiches and bought a newspaper which he read slowly on the way back to the truck.
He climbed up behind the wheel and passed the thermos and sandwiches through. ‘Breakfast and something to read while you eat.’
The photos were those which had appeared in the Carlisle paper and the story was roughly the same. The details on the girl were sparse. It simply said she was in his company.
As they entered the slip road leading up to the motorway, Cussane said, ‘Well?’
Jackson concentrated on the road. This is heavy stuff, man. Okay, I owe you, but not that much. If you’re picked up…’
‘It would look bad for you.’
‘I can’t afford that,’ Jackson told him. ‘I’ve got form. Been inside twice. Cars were my game till I got smart. I don’t want trouble and I definitely don’t want to see the inside of Pentonville again.’
‘Then the simplest thing to do is keep driving,’ Cussane told him. ‘Once in London, we drop off and you go on about your business. No one will ever know.’
It was the only solution and Jackson knew it. ‘Okay,’ he sighed. ‘I guess that’s it.’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Jackson,’ Morag told him.
He smiled at her in the mirror. ‘Never mind, kid. I should have known better. Now keep inside and close that panel,’ and he turned the freightliner on to the motorway.
Devlin was on the phone to the hospital in Dumfries when Ferguson came in from the study.
As the Irishman put down the receiver, the Brigadier said, ‘I could do with some good news. Just had advance notice
that z Para under the command of Colonel H. Jones attacked some place called Goose Green in the Falklands. Turned out to be about three times the Argentinian troops there as anticipated.’
‘What happened?’
‘Oh, they won the day, but Jones died, I’m afraid.’
‘The news on Harry Fox is comforting,’ Devlin said. ‘They are flying him down from Glasgow this evening. But he’s in fair shape.’
‘Thank God for that,’ Ferguson said.
‘I spoke to Trent. They can’t get a word out of those tinkers. Nothing helpful anyway. According to the old grandfather, he’s no idea where the girl might go. Her mother’s in Australia.’
‘They’re worse than gypsies, tinkers,’ Ferguson said. ‘I know. I come from Angus, remember. Funny people. Even when they hate each other, they hate the police more. Wouldn’t even tell you the way to the public toilet.’