Three minutes after that, he had the information he needed, though he wasn’t certain there was enough time left to do much with it. The records showed that the two fugitives could have been passengers on any one of six aircraft, and they were landing at four different airfields in Britain, probably too many to cover at such short notice.
But as he left the air-conditioned interior of the terminal building, he was already passing the information up the line by text message.
105
‘Thank God for that,’ Angela muttered as Gary Burnside set the parking brake and switched off the engine of the Piper, and they watched the propeller spin somewhat jerkily to a stop.
It had been an uneventful, if bumpy, flight from Le Touquet, and there had been an intermittent crosswind at Redhill, so the landing had also been somewhat bouncy. Angela really hadn’t enjoyed it at all. But now they were down on the ground again, and back in England, and for that Angela was supremely grateful.
The three of them climbed out of the aircraft and walked over to the terminal building, where they were completely ignored by everybody, and Burnside led them through to the main entrance, where two taxis were parked outside.
‘There you go, my friend,’ Burnside said. ‘Not a Customs officer in sight, only a couple of licensed bandits in taxis. England awaits you, as indeed do I, or at least I await a certain amount of folding money, as we agreed.’
Bronson handed over the slim wad of notes that he had prepared.
‘There’s one hundred in sterling and another hundred and fifty euros, which means you’ve made a bit on the deal. Have a drink on us. We really owe you, probably more than you’ll ever know.’
Burnside slid the money smoothly into his trouser pocket and nodded his thanks.
‘I really didn’t believe the inventive story your good lady span for me, but I thought she seemed like a decent person, and you’re not so bad yourself. One word of warning, though. I know the weather’s quite warm at the moment, but if I were you I’d try and make sure that you keep your jacket buttoned up. In that leather shoulder holster under your left armpit is what looks suspiciously like a Glock 17, and carrying one of those around this green and pleasant land is strictly forbidden. As in: “do not collect two hundred pounds and go straight to jail” kind of forbidden. So take care.’
Bronson nodded, smiling ruefully.
‘It’s a long story,’ he said, ‘and you really don’t need to hear it, but thanks again.’
After Burnside had walked away, Bronson paused, looking pensive.
‘What’s wrong?’ Angela asked.
‘We’re here, but I’m not sure we’re going to have it that easy. I don’t want to climb into a taxi out there only to find that the driver is a hitman from P2 waiting for us with a sawn-off shotgun.’
‘You really think they could know we’re here?’
‘I have no idea, but we’ve come so far I really don’t want to take any chances.’
Bronson turned away and strode across to a general noticeboard. Pinned along the edges of the board were a number of business cards from companies offering various services, including taxis. He picked one of the cards at random, took out his mobile, dialled the number and held a short conversation.
‘The car’ll be driving down Kings Mill Lane in about five minutes,’ he said, ending the call. ‘We’ll go out of the other entrance, just in case.’
Moments later, they slipped out of the building, behind the waiting taxis, and made their way through the car park. Nobody appeared to be taking any notice of them, but they still moved cautiously, trying to keep out of sight.
They’d almost reached the road when they heard the sound of a car, accelerating hard, approaching the aerodrome and getting closer by the second.
‘Our taxi?’ Angela suggested.
‘Probably not,’ Bronson replied. ‘This way.’
106
Bronson quickly led her behind a white van which offered a place of concealment and also a vantage point from which they could see the entrance to the terminal, and the two taxis still waiting outside.
A dark-coloured saloon car swept into the aerodrome, tyres chirping as the driver took the corner at speed, and slammed to a halt behind the second taxi. Two men got out and ran inside the building.
‘Walk quickly, but don’t run,’ Bronson said, as he and Angela headed in the opposite direction.
‘Bad guys?’ Angela asked.
‘Definitely.’
They’d barely left the premises when they saw a taxi coming around the bend, heading towards them.
‘That’s our ride, I hope,’ Bronson said, glancing at the business card he was still holding to confirm the name of the firm.
Seconds later, they were sitting in the back seat as the driver headed towards Tunbridge Wells, Bronson checking behind them for any signs of pursuit.
When they reached Bronson’s home town, he directed the driver to drop them near the centre, not beside his house. As soon as the taxi had gone, he and Angela walked a couple of hundred yards to the nearest cab rank, waited until the first two taxis had pulled away, and then sat down in the third vehicle. That, Bronson hoped, would end any possible pursuit.
About half an hour later the second taxi pulled up outside a hotel on the southern outskirts of Sevenoaks and they climbed out. They picked a double on the first floor at the back of the building, near the rear fire escape.
‘We could have gone to your place,’ Angela said, ‘or don’t you think that would have been safe?’
‘I don’t think we can take any chances, not until we’ve published this thing. Look, let’s go down to the restaurant and see what they’ve got on offer, because I’m really quite hungry. Then we can decide our next move — somehow we have to get you and the parchment up to London and into the museum, get the relic authenticated and translated, and go public.’
‘And then we just let the Vatican and the Roman Catholic Church face the consequences,’ Angela finished for him.
107
Antonio Morini’s feelings of desperation and guilt were growing more acute with every passing minute. He had hoped that, with the resources at the disposal of the French P2 organization, the two people he was chasing would finally have been identified and stopped while on French soil, but yet again they had done the unexpected and outsmarted their pursuers. And so, once again, he picked up the phone to dial the British mobile number.
When Morini ended the call, the Englishman put his mobile down on the desk in his study with exaggerated care, a white-hot anger burning inside him. Ever since he’d taken over the leadership of P2 he’d done his best to weed out the dross, to ensure that every member pulled his weight and acted promptly and efficiently in the best interests of the organization. But clearly, given what had happened in both Spain and France, he hadn’t done enough. Heads, he had already decided, would definitely roll because of this shameful failure, and where P2 was concerned that was not a figure of speech.
In the meantime, the ball was now in his court, because the two fugitives were on his home turf and the responsibility for stopping them lay firmly and unequivocally on his shoulders. A fact that pleased him rather more than he’d expected.
Bronson and Lewis now had very little choice about what to do next. Lewis would have to decipher the text, and then they would probably go public with the results. And because of that, he knew exactly where to find them.