didn’t do it for Uncle’s approval. In fact I didn’t want to do it at all.’
‘Oh no, of course not. I forgot. You’re the ex-army officer. Death before dishonour, and all that. I’m sorry.’ He sat back with a derisory laugh. ‘You’re full of shit.’
Ceda gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to go for the gun in his belt. The driver glanced nervously across at him and he relaxed. He was responsible for the whole team, not just for himself. He couldn’t afford to lose his temper, and certainly not over a dick-head like Ali.
‘Where’s the next switch?’ the driver asked, keen to divert the conversation away from the rivalry between the two men. It had been evident to most of the team members from the outset but they all knew and trusted Ceda, and were confident that he would see them safely through.
‘Not the next service station but the one after that. The cars have been left in the car park. I’ve got the registration numbers here.’ He patted his breast pocket.
‘It seems such a waste just to ditch the car,’ the driver added, stroking the dashboard lovingly. ‘She’s a beauty.’
Ceda smiled. ‘That’s business. Just be thankful you’re not footing the bill.’
Ali perked up from the rear. ‘Talking of beauties, how do you intend to transfer the cargo?’ He jabbed a thumb at the boot. ‘You can’t just lift her out in full view of everyone.’
‘Don’t worry. That’s been seen to. The car’ll be parked in a nice private spot. No one will see.’
He turned on the radio to cut short any further talk with Ali, pressing the automatic tuning button and watching the digital display purr rapidly through the frequencies. There was some traffic news warning of jams on the M4, and he checked the map to see if it would interfere with their escape.
‘Problem?’ the driver asked.
‘Could be. It’s after the next switch. It could have cleared by the time we get there, but it might be wise to make a detour.’
‘Won’t that confuse the others?’
‘It might, but it’ll be better than getting stuck in a tailback and waiting for the police to catch up with us. Every extra hour we spend in this miserable country increases the chance that they’ll be on to us.’
There was a metallic click from the back of the car and Ceda glanced around to see Ali playing with his pistol.
‘Personally I don’t care if they do catch up with us,’ Ali said. He aimed down the barrel of his gun. ‘Just let them try and take me.’ He squeezed the trigger and the hammer clicked shut on an empty chamber.
‘Keep that bloody thing out of sight,’ Ceda snapped. The traffic was light on the present stretch of road but there was always the chance of another motorist seeing the gun and reporting it to the police.
It was another half an hour before they saw the sign advertising the service station. The driver waited for Ceda’s confirmatory signal before indicating and pulling over into the slow lane. Ceda adjusted the wing mirror beside him and checked that they were not being followed. The lane behind was clear. No other car appeared to be coming after them.
The car slowed as the driver worked down through the gears, tracing the white arrows marking the route for cars wanting the main car park. It was moderately busy. Rows of large lorries were drawn up in line and in the other section the only available spaces were the ones farthest from the restaurant and shops. They cruised up and down until Ceda said, ‘There it is. The grey Ford.’
‘That’s a bit of a come-down,’ Ali drawled from the back.
Ceda ignored him. ‘Park next to it.’
Two orange plastic cones had kept the adjacent space free of cars and as the car slowed, Ceda darted out and moved them, waving the BMW forward until it was close alongside and the driver cut the engine. The boots of the two cars were angled away from the main public areas and were shielded from view by a screen of trees.
Ceda cursed.
‘What’s the matter?’ the driver asked as he got out and stretched, his muscles cramped after the long drive.
‘Those idiots who did the recce. They must have come here in the summer. The trees would have been covered in leaves then. Now look at them.’
He was right. The leaves had long since fallen, washed into a brown pulp by prolonged heavy rain, and it was possible to see the shopping area through the bare branches.
‘Well, it can’t be helped.’
‘Do you want us to transfer the girl now?’ the driver asked nervously.
‘No. We’ll wait until the others get here and then do it. I want to have a look around in any case.’
‘Good, I’ll come with you,’ Ali said brightly.
Ceda considered telling him to forget it, but decided not to.
‘You stay here,’ he ordered the driver. ‘If you see any of the others don’t make it obvious that we’re together.’
‘Got it.’
Trying to forget that Ali was beside him, Ceda walked briskly towards the main building. His familiarity with Britain was one of the reasons he had been selected for the mission. In his army days he had been sent for training to Sandhurst and since then he had been back to attend further courses in the country. During those times he had used the opportunity to travel widely. Later, after his resignation, he had worked briefly in Britain, staying with relatives in London and Birmingham. He felt comfortable moving through the rail and road networks, while still maintaining the psychological distance of the visitor. On the present mission that distance was a vital safeguard against carelessness. Familiarity might well breed contempt, but complacency was a far more dangerous by-product.
After a trip to the toilets they went into the concourse and stood for a moment surveying the array of shops and eating places. There was the choice between a sit-down restaurant, a hamburger takeaway bar and a cafeteria. Without asking Ali which one he preferred, Ceda pointed towards the cafeteria and grunted.
They each took a tray and tagged on to the short queue. Plastic-wrapped sandwiches and salads were stacked behind a glass-fronted cabinet, and at the next counter a selection of hot dishes steamed under heat lamps.
‘What’ll it be, love?’ the waitress asked when their turn came.
Ali flashed her a disarming smile. ‘The All Day Breakfast looks impossible to resist…’
The waitress reached for a plate and started to shovel on bacon and eggs.
‘…but I’ll go for the cottage pie.’
She glared at him and with a heavy sigh tipped the bacon and eggs back in their containers. ‘Cottage pie? Are you sure?’ she asked, taking a clean plate.
Ali hummed. ‘Yeees,’ he said slowly. ‘I think so.’
He felt a sharp dig in his ribs and looked round to find Ceda staring hard at him.
‘Yes, cottage pie,’ he said with an air of finality.
In an attempt to placate the waitress Ceda helped himself, bustling Ali along to the till, picking up two coffees on the way. When they had paid and were sitting at a table he leaned across and said threateningly, ‘Try that again and I’ll shoot you, in public or not.’
‘What have I done?’ Ali said innocently.
‘Drawn attention to yourself, that’s what. She’ll remember you now, you idiot. If you’d kept your stupid mouth shut you’d be just another customer. But oh no, not you. When the police start asking questions she’ll be able to give them a full description of the two of us. Are you satisfied?’
‘Don’t worry about it. We’ll be long gone by then.’