Page 108 of Traitors Gate

‘“Throw away the key”. Hold the front page until the last possible moment but tell the print room that if Faulkner hasgot his hands on the real crown, we’ll be printing an extra million copies.’

‘And if it’s the replica?’

‘Half a million. Either way, it will increase our circulation and keep us ahead of our rivals,’ said Dacre. ‘Although I know which one I’d prefer.’

• • •

Rebecca took a pace back and let out a piercing scream. Everyone in the Royal Gallery except Ross and a young boy immediately swung round to see Princess Diana lying on the ground, decapitated. A young woman was kneeling by her side, crying.

Ross stepped over the rope, setting off the alarm, but he’d completed his task by the time the first security guard came rushing into the gallery thirty seconds later.

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Rebecca, still in tears, with Jackie kneeling by her side trying to console her.

‘I know you’re not going to believe this, miss,’ said the guard, ‘but it’s the second time it’s happened this week. In fact, they’re still patching up Prince Charles.’

The three police officers did believe him but pretended to look surprised.

‘Mum!’ shouted the young boy at the top of his voice. ‘That man has just pinched the crown,’ he said, pointing at Ross’s back as he disappeared out of the Royal Gallery.

A security guard ran across to check, but the crown was still in place. He frowned at the young lad and returned to what was left of Princess Diana.

Paul was helping Rebecca to her feet by the time Ross had reached the Presidential Gallery. He ran past Washington,Jefferson, Lincoln and Kennedy without giving them a second look. The first thing he saw as he rushed out of the front door was a police car with three elite outriders in front and another two behind. As a back door was open, they were clearly expecting him.

Ross flung himself onto the back seat and hadn’t even closed the door before the escort party set off at a speed unknown in London unless you were a member of the Royal Family or a criminal on the run. Ross wasn’t sure which he was.

He grabbed the phone in the armrest and immediately contacted the commander to tell him he was in possession of the Imperial State Crown and had left the replica on a waxwork model of the Queen, where it belonged.

‘And the rest of the team?’ the Hawk asked.

‘Trying to put Humpty Dumpty back together again.’

The Hawk laughed for the first time in days, but quickly moved on to his next problem.

‘The royal correspondent of theDaily Mailand a photographer are already on their way to the Tower and, as they’re only coming from Blackfriars Road, they’re likely to get there long before you. However, the Governor assures me that he can hold them up until you arrive. Unfortunately, that doesn’t apply to the Crown Jeweller, a Mr Thomas from Garrard, who has the right to enter the Jewel House at any time of the night or day and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop him.’

‘Where’s he now?’ asked Ross.

‘He’s already on his way, but he’s about to find out every traffic light on the journey will be red, whatever route he takes, while yours will always be green. Despite that, it will still be difficult for you to reach the Tower ahead of him. The press are certain to be there first, but the Governor will holdthem up until Thomas arrives. Though if the Crown Jeweller turns up before you …’

‘Faulkner wins,’ said Ross as they sped past Marble Arch and on down Park Lane towards Hyde Park Corner.

The Hawk didn’t comment other than to say, ‘Keep this line open so I always know where you are and can update you.’

‘Will do,’ said Ross as he looked out of the front window to admire the polished drill of his colleagues from the Special Escort Group who ensured their progress was unimpeded. Despite their expertise, he still wasn’t confident he would make it to the Tower in time.

• • •

The Resident Governor and the Chief Exhibitor were standing beside a large empty display case, that for three hundred and sixty-three days a year was occupied by the Imperial State Crown. They had run out of small talk. The phone rang.

‘The two gentlemen from the press have arrived, sir,’ said the Chief Yeoman. ‘I’ve explained that they can’t enter the Jewel House until Mr Thomas turns up.’

‘And even then, try to hold them up for as long as you can,’ whispered the Governor. ‘Minutes could make all the difference.’ He should have said seconds.

• • •

‘I’m just circling Hyde Park Corner,’ said Ross. ‘So far we haven’t been held up once. Where’s the Crown Jeweller?’

‘Mr Thomas is just entering Parliament Square. So he’s about eight minutes ahead of you. But there are still eleven sets of traffic lights for him to negotiate, and they will all turnred just before he reaches them and will continue to do so all the way along the Embankment. Once he enters the City, the lights are no longer under my control. But keep going. You’re gaining on him with every mile.’

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