Page 82 of Traitors Gate

William didn’t need to be told which route they would be taking to the Tower that morning or the password that would guarantee the East Gate would be opened so they could once again collect the Sword of State and the Imperial State Crown before delivering them to Buckingham Palace.

‘Try not to let it go to your head,’ said the commander, but neither officer laughed at the Hawk’s annual joke.

‘We’d better get going, sir,’ said William as he turned to leave. ‘Can’t afford to keep the Lord Chamberlain waiting.’

The Hawk nodded as William left the room, joined Paul, and jogged down the stairs and across the foyer to find Danny waiting behind the wheel of a grey Land Rover that was brought out only for special occasions. The Hawk had decided not to replace Paul at the last moment, as Ross hadn’t beeninvolved in the preparation work, and the trial had ended sooner than he’d anticipated.

‘Good morning, sir,’ said Danny, looking in the rear-view mirror when he heard the back door slam. He drove out of the Yard, swung left and headed in the direction of the palace.

A lone figure tucked behind a pillar inside St James’s Park tube station wrote down the number plate of the Land Rover. He waited until the car was out of sight before he touched the green button on his mobile. It was answered after one ring.

‘Papa seven one, whisky tango delta,’ he pronounced slowly.

The voice repeated the sequence and rang off after he said, ‘Got it.’

The second call the St James’s plant made was to the team leader to confirm the Land Rover had left Scotland Yard, was on its way to the palace and Inspector Hogan had been replaced by Inspector Adaja.

‘Did anyone spot you?’ asked Lamont anxiously.

‘Not even an old classmate from Peel House days,’ came back the reply.

‘And the number plates?’

‘I passed on the details to the mechanic immediately.’

Lamont cut him off without another word, aware there were no seconds to be wasted. The man had served his purpose. In a few minutes’ time, the number plates on his Land Rover would be the same as those on the police car that had just left Scotland Yard. Another phone began to ring.

Danny drove under Admiralty Arch and along the Mall to see a group of tourists taking photos of the palace. One of them was an ex-copper he recognized from his days on the beat. He assumed he must have taken a job as a tour guide after leaving the force. Then he remembered he’d had to takeearly retirement. He would have briefed the Super, but his thoughts were interrupted when he came to a halt outside the palace gates.

‘Warrant card, please,’ insisted a sentry.

Danny handed his over and was ticked off and waved through. He couldn’t miss the familiar grey Jaguar parked on the far side of the courtyard.

Danny jumped out and introduced himself to Richard Mason, the Lord Chamberlain’s new driver. He would miss catching up with Phil Harris, who Mason confirmed had recently retired.

‘I was surprised not to see you at Phil’s farewell party,’ remarked Mason. ‘Quite a bash. Held at the palace, and even Princess Anne dropped in. I spoke to her!’

Danny didn’t admit he hadn’t been invited and was disappointed not to have been, as he’d thought he and Phil were mates.

‘So which route are we taking?’ asked Mason as he opened the back door of the Jaguar and waited for his boss to appear.

‘Number one,’ said Danny.

‘And the password?’

‘Also number one.’

Mason checked both numbers in his notebook. Not something Phil would have had to do. When the Lord Chamberlain appeared, Danny nipped back to the Land Rover, jumped behind the wheel and waited as the Queen’s Chief of Staff marched across the parade ground and gave William a warm smile and a wave, before getting into the back of his car. A man William considered wouldn’t have displayed any nerves if the enemy had been marching up Whitehall, bayonets fixed.

• • •

It had been several years since Miles Faulkner had visited the Old Bailey, but he accepted Booth Watson’s judgement that it was necessary if his alibi was to be believed without question.

Miles pitched up outside the Bailey in a taxi, but then his driver was occupied elsewhere. Booth Watson, dressed in his court garb, was standing on the pavement waiting for him, although he was not due to appear in any of the eighteen courts that morning.

Booth Watson accompanied his client up the sweeping marble staircase to the second floor, where they perched on a bench outside court number 8.

‘He’s due to appear in a GBH case first thing this morning,’ said Booth Watson, ‘so it would be difficult for him to miss us.’

---