Page 91 of Traitors Gate

42 MINUTES

The taxi driver dropped his passenger outside City airport. Harris paid in cash, giving the cabbie a decent enough tip but not one that would be remembered.

The first thing the ticketless passenger did on entering the terminal was to check the departure board. Brussels was his best chance of a quick escape, but he’d have to move quickly. He headed for the BA desk to be told by the woman behind the counter that the gate for that flight was about to close. Mr Robinson explained that he didn’t have any luggage, not even a cabin bag. What he didn’t tell her was that he’d left everything behind, even his name. What’s in a name when you have a million pounds deposited in a bank just a few hours away. She issued him with a business-class ticket but told him he’d have to hurry.

The last thing he’d done before he went to bed was to check the money had been deposited in Mr Robinson’saccount at the National Bank of Mexico. If it hadn’t, he wouldn’t have turned up at the Tower Hotel that morning, which would have left Faulkner and the rest of the team sitting in a basement car park with no choice but to abort the whole operation, aware that no one could take his place.

He checked once again to make sure his passport and business-class ticket were in the inside pocket of his jacket as he’d done countless times during the past few minutes. He waited for his flight to be called, unaware that no announcements are made at City airport, unless it’s an emergency. Only for those looking for him was it an emergency. He glanced at his watch once again. Eighteen minutes of the golden hour had gone. But how long before …

41 MINUTES

The commander grabbed a phone that wouldn’t stop ringing. ‘Hawksby.’

‘I’ve found the two cars,’ Paul said. ‘You were right, sir. They dumped them in a local churchyard only a couple of hundred yards from the Tower. But more important, they left the Sword of State in the boot of the Jag.’

‘And the crown?’

‘Just an empty box, sir.’

‘Any clues?’

‘Someone discarded an Old Harrovian tie on the front seat of the Jag.’

‘It wasn’t discarded,’ said the Hawk. ‘Someone we both know was presenting his calling card.’

‘You can’t be serious?’ said Paul.

‘Who’s the one Old Harrovian who would do anything to humiliate your boss?’

‘Miles Faulkner,’ said Paul without hesitation.

‘In one,’ said the Hawk. ‘But for now, stay put and I’ll send a couple of squad cars over to pick up the Sword of State and take it to the palace. By the way, Paul, well done. But we still need to find the crown if your promotion isn’t going to be temporary.’

‘Track down Faulkner, sir,’ said Paul, ‘and I’ve no doubt we’ll find the crown.’

40 MINUTES

Miles stepped back onto the pavement to allow a police car to fly by. As he crossed the road, a couple of policemen came rushing towards him, but quickly shot past without giving him a second look. He continued down Whitehall, Big Ben looming up in front of him; his final destination in sight.

39 MINUTES

Three police motorcycles were returned to a pound in Wandsworth long before the golden hour had passed. Six hundred pounds changed hands.

38 MINUTES

Harris was at the check-in desk by the time Miles was walking down Whitehall, and Lamont had set the museum’s alarm off. Harris moved quickly through security, only stopping to check the gate number on the departure board. Brussels. Gate number 12.

36 MINUTES

Collins and Lamont emerged from the gallery shop at the rear of the museum, job done. Lamont jumped in an unlicensed minicab, not risking a black cab. He kept his head down as they headed for Hammersmith, where he would join his wife. They could now afford the postponed holiday he’d promised her.

Collins returned to Baker Street tube station – his turn to touch Holmes’s foot – before disappearing underground. This time he headed for the Jubilee line, aware that if all had gone to plan, Mr Faulkner would be waiting for him when he arrived at Westminster. If he wasn’t, the boss would already have been arrested, which wasn’t part of the plan.

33 MINUTES

A grey Audi drew up outside the rear entrance of the Tower and a Yeoman Warder approached the car as the Governor’s wife wound down her window and said, ‘Colonel Blood.’

‘I’m sorry, ma’am,’ said the Yeoman looking embarrassed. ‘No one’s allowed to enter or leave the Tower without the Governor’s permission.’

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