‘And you intend to provide one?’
‘That’s it. There’s a good place about two miles out of Rigg Station. We’ve checked it half a dozen times. Only the occasional farm truck uses the road. At the right moment, we heave the old van over on its side, spill a little petrol and set it on fire. Even better, one of us lies in the road with blood on his face. They’re bound to stop for that. No man on earth would go driving by.’
‘Which is when the rest move in?’
Morgan nodded. ‘Simple, isn’t it?’
‘Too simple.’
Rogan glanced across at Hannah, who returned his gaze calmly, no expression on her face and Fletcher said, ‘You’ve got something better, I suppose?’
‘Not yet/ Rogan said, ‘but one thing’s certain. It couldn’t be any worse.’ Morgan’s lips tightened in anger, but Rogan carried on, ‘There are two king-size flaws. In – the first place the moment they come across the crash, the van guards will contact County Police Headquarters. They’re bound to do that every time something out of
the ordinary happens. You’d have a car on its way from Kendal within five minutes, and they’d expect another message from the armoured van, the moment the crash had been investigated. If they didn’t get one, they’d turn the county out.’
What he had said was so obviously true that Fletcher and Morgan weie reduced to silence, but Rogan carried relentlessly on. ‘Even if we assume that I’m completely wrong, that the van guards are so upset at the sight of the crash, that they don’t bother contacting police headquarters, you still have the situation at Rigg Station to consider. What happens when the van fails to show? You said yourself that all mail trains carry radio telephones now. The first thing the guard will do will be to contact the proper authorities to notify them that the van hasn’t shown up. Within minutes, the whole county would be buzzing like a hive of bees. They’ll have a master plan ready for this sort of thing-they always do.’
Hannah laughed somewhere deep down in her throat and Fletcher turned angrily. ‘You keep your mouth shut.’
Morgan put a hand on his arm and shook his head. ‘No, he’s right, Jesse. Every damned thing he says makes sense.’ He looked across at Rogan, his eyes dark shadows in the lamplight. ‘You’ve got something better?’
‘There’s always something better if only you can find it,’ Rogan said. ‘I’ll look the situation over in the morning.’
At that moment, an old, high-sided cattle truck turned in through the gate, one battered wing scraping the stone post, and bumped across the cobblestones. It halted a foot from the wall of the house, the door swung open and an old man almostfell out.
He walked past the window, swaying from side to side and Morgan shook his head in disgust. ‘In and out of every boozer in Ambleside shooting off his big mouth and spending money like water.’
‘And no affair of yours if he does,’ Hannah said, an angry red spot in each cheek.
The outer door opened and a rich, fruity voice broke into song:
God save Ireland, cried the heroes,
God save Ireland, cry we all,
Whether on the scaffold high or the battlefield we die,
Sure no matter when for Ireland dear we fall.
He paused in the doorway, a stupid grin on his blotched whisky face. ‘God save all here.’
There was a slight pregnant silence and then Rogan said calmly, ‘God save you kindly.’
The mouth gaped in the old man’s face and he stared fixedly at Rogan. ‘Holy Mother of God,’ he said in a whisper. He staggered across the room and seized Rogan’s hand. ‘The great day this is for me, Mr. Rogan. The great day.”
He blinked his rheumy eyes several times and Rogan wrinkled his nose in disgust at the stale, beery smell that surrounded him.
‘You’ve been into Ambleside?’ he said.
‘I have indeed, Mr. Rogan. A little matter of business connected with the farm.”
‘Did you hear anything about me?’
The old man took a folded evening newspaper from his pocket and passed it across. ‘There’s an item at the bottom of the second page.’