‘Yes, ma’am, exactly. My Uncle Jock’s a member.’
‘Then you and Montell get along there, now.’
‘How many at the scene?’
‘Us or them?’
‘Them.’
‘One vehicle, we believe. Now stop asking questions and listen. We could apprehend these people there, but we’re not going to. If they leave before you arrive, our car will follow discreetly and guide you to a rendezvous. You will take over pursuit, at a safe distance, and you’ll follow. The game is to have these people lead us to where they live. Understood?’
‘Yes, ma’am; we’re on our way now. We’ll check in with the comms centre as soon as we’re on the move.’ She put the phone down, picked her jacket from the back of her chair, and snatched a key from Montell’s desk. ‘Forget the tea, Griff,’ she said. ‘Arse in gear; this is our lucky night.’
They ran downstairs and out through the back door of the old police station, into the yard. Their car was a black Mondeo Cosworth, innocuous to anyone other than an expert, but capable of keeping pace with any other saloon on the road and with all but the most exotic sports models. ‘Gimme the key,’ Montell demanded, as they reached it.
‘In your dreams,’ Cowan replied, as she opened the driver’s door.
‘One, I know where we’re going, two, I know what the orders are and three, I’ve done an advanced driving course. Do you tick any of those boxes, big boy?’
He smiled and slid into the passenger seat. ‘I like it when you call me big boy,’ he murmured as she started the engine.
‘All boys do,’ she replied, enigmatically, ‘regardless.’
She pulled out of the car park and headed for Salamander Street, then on to Seafield Road. As she drove, Montell took the radio microphone and called the communications centre to report their position and to be patched through to the patrol car in position at the golf club entrance.
‘Anything happening?’ he asked his nameless colleague, once contact had been made.
‘No,’ came the reply through the speaker, ‘but they’re still in there. Where we are we can see the top of their vehicle. It’s one of these pick-up things, four seats in front and platform behind with a hard top over it.’
‘Any chance they can see you?’
‘Nane. We’re tucked up a wee side street wi’ no lighting. How far away are you?’
‘Less than a minute,’ Cowan shouted for the mike to pick up. ‘We’re crossing the bridge in Seafield Road.’
‘Roger,’ said the patrolman. ‘Here, they’re moving. They’ll be coming out into Craigenside Drive. If they go left, they’re heading for you. If they go right, you’ll need to catch them up. We won’t show ourselves. Hold on, here they come. It’s a white vehicle, registration Sierra Lima zero six X-ray Charlie Oscar, and it’s turned. . left, heading your way.’
‘Copy that,’ said Montell.
‘Shit,’ Cowan hissed. They were almost upon the junction of Craigenside Drive and Seafield Road. ‘Choice to make.’ She drove straight on, and as they passed the junction, they saw a white extended pick-up approaching the turn, indicating left. ‘Sorted,’ she murmured. ‘Keep an eye on them, Griff, let me know when they’re out of sight.’ She slowed her speed, checking in her rear-view that they were clear behind.
‘OK. They’re gone.’
She swung the car in a violent u-turn then tramped on the accelerator, retracing their steps.
‘Heading west,’ Montell told the communications centre, as they cleared the bridge and the target vehicle came into view once more, ‘and in pursuit.’
‘What’s your bet, Alice?’ he asked as they cleared a green light, and as Seafield Road became Salamander Street.
‘I don’t have one yet. They could be local; we’ll have a better idea soon. Look,’ she said, glancing at a woman standing on the pavement as they passed, ‘the massage parlours are shut, so the hookers are back on the street.’
‘Ladies of negotiable affection,’ he corrected her. ‘Sounds more refined.’
They drove on, up Constitution Street and along Great Junction Street, lucky with the lights until the pick-up was stopped by a red at its end. ‘Bugger!’ Cowan cursed. ‘I’d rather not be directly behind them.’
‘It’s OK,’ Montell reassured her. ‘They can’t see us for the top on the load platform. They don’t even know we’re here.’
As the signal changed to red and amber, the vehicle’s left indicator came on and it turned into Ferry Road. ‘I’ll place that bet now,’ she declared. ‘They’re not from Edinburgh. If they were heading for Glasgow they’d have gone right at Seafield. Assuming that the driver knows where he’s going, I reckon he’s taking us across the Forth Road Bridge.’
‘To infinity and beyond,’ Montell drawled.
‘Wherever, Griff,’ said Alice. ‘When he gets there I’ll still have him in my sights.’
Seventy-seven
‘There’s no response from inside the barn, sir. You probably heard us giving him the megaphone warning to come out. There’s been not a whisper.’
Skinner and Martin could hear Sergeant Doreen McSeveney’s report on the radio that Greatorix held.
‘Is the rear secure?’ he asked.
‘There’s only one entrance; the big sliding door at the front. It’s open wide enough to admit one person.’
‘So Henry could be in there, waiting?’
‘If he’s gone, it wasn’t in his car,’ she pointed out. ‘Anyway, I’m not going to get any older wondering. We’re going in.’
‘Take no unnecessary risks, Doreen,’ Greatorix warned.
‘We won’t. We’ve got a high intensity light with us. The plan is we shine it through the opening. It’ll blind anyone who’s looking into it for long enough to let three of us roll inside.’
‘How about stun grenades?’
‘We’re not the SAS, sir. Besides, it’s a big space in there; they’d be less effective.’
‘OK, go for it.’
Skinner and Martin could see little or nothing in the moonless night, only the dim outline of the barn and the shape of Brown’s car in front of it. They watched nonetheless, waiting, in silence. Then suddenly they saw a burst of bright light, and heard the sergeant’s sharp command, ‘Go!’ though the radio.
They tensed, ready for the sound of shots, but none came: only the sergeant’s voice once more, but different, much less in control. ‘Oh fuck, oh shit, oh fuck! Get up here, sir. Henry’s here all right. . at least I think it’s him.’
Seventy-eight
‘I win,’ said Cowan, as they cruised round the long curving bend and on to the slope that led down to the mighty, but decaying, Forth Road Bridge, the only direct road connection between Fife and the Lothians. She had followed the white truck carefully on the way out of Edinburgh, varying the distance between the two vehicles, even letting her quarry out of sight on occasion on stretches where she knew there was no turn-off available.
‘Too bad for you we didn’t have money on it,’ Montell pointed out.
She ignored his reply. ‘He’s watching himself,’ she murmured. ‘He hasn’t been over the speed limit at all, but he’s never far short of it either. This is a guy who doesn’t want to take any chance of being pulled over. Once he’s over the bridge, he’ll probably think he’s free and clear. Out of our area.’
Her companion picked up the radio mike. ‘Control, we’re on the point of crossing into Fife,’ he said. ‘What’s our status? Do we hand over to them?’
‘ACC Steele again, Griff,’ a voice crackled through the speaker. ‘Maintain pursuit; repeat, maintain pursuit. This is a joint force operation; Fife are aware of your presence and of the orders in relation to the target. They won’t interfere, or attempt to stop it under any circumstances, but they’ll be available to assist if you request it.’
‘Understood, ma’am. Just as well you said that, for we’re in Fife now.’
‘And the pick-up is speeding up,’ Cowan added. ‘Doing eighty as we join the motorway.’
‘We’ve done a check on the number. No help there; it belongs on a red Dodge Caliber; the owner lives in South Shields. Don’t let him lose you, Alice,’ Steele cautioned. ‘We’ve no way of tracing him if you do.’