Page 99 of Next in Line

‘So the morning papers might already have the story on their front pages.’

‘Not if he’s dead. I heard a single shot fired last night from a high-powered rifle, not from the gun that killed the other five,’ said Ross as he peered up at the sky through the porthole.

‘What are you looking for?’ asked Victoria.

‘I’m not looking, I’m listening. Once they realize back in London that the Princess has been kidnapped, there’ll be a Nimrod somewhere up there trying to locate exactly where we are.’

‘But won’t the terrorists see it, and be alerted?’

‘The pilot will make sure he stays high enough to be out of sight. And believe me, they’re well capable of pinpointing a dolphin from twenty miles away, let alone a seventy-metre yacht.’

‘Even if they do find us, what can they hope to do?’

‘Every government agency will move into top gear, but it’ll be the SBS who mount the rescue operation. Their biggest problem will be that they’ll only have a limited window before we reach Libyan territorial waters.’

‘Not exactly where the Princess had in mind to spend her summer holiday.’

‘I’m bound to say, Victoria, you seem remarkably calm, given the circumstances,’ though Ross noted a slight biting of the lip that rather expressed her true feelings.

‘My family have faced worst in the past. My great-great grandfather lost a leg at the siege of Mafeking,’ she said. ‘My grandfather was killed on the beaches of Dunkirk, while my father foolishly invested the family fortune in Lloyd’s of London and is now on what they describe as their “hardship list”, so I expect my inheritance has gone down the drain and I’ll end up having to do what the females of my clan have done so often inthe past – marry for money. If you want to know the truth, I’m absolutely terrified. But as my grandmother used to tell my mother when the bombs were dropping on London, “Keep calm. Carry on, and always remember to put your knife and fork down between mouthfuls.”’

Ross could only admire the way this woman reacted under pressure, but didn’t tell her they had only experienced the first skirmish. Victoria went across to the desk in the corner of her cabin, on which there was a large pile of unopened letters addressed to the Princess. She picked up the top envelope and, using a silver letter opener, slit it open with practised efficiency.

‘From one of her many admirers?’ asked Ross.

‘Yes, but this is just a small sample of what HRH gets every day. One of my tasks is to see they’re all answered, even the ones that aren’t too flattering. I brought a batch of them with me, so I could answer them when I’ve got nothing better to do.’

‘How does she react to the unflattering ones?’

‘She never sees them,’ confessed Victoria. ‘I always pick a few from devoted fans for her to read over breakfast, although I don’t suppose I’ll get the chance today.’

‘Do you think the public would go on supporting her if it became known that she’d been on holiday with her lover and not the Prince?’

‘Most of them, yes,’ said Victoria. ‘For the worshippers, she can do no wrong.’

Ross swung around when the door burst open and two of Chalabi’s thugs charged into the room. They grabbed Ross by his arms, dragged him out into the corridor, and locked the door behind them. Alone in the cabin, Victoria burst into tears; her stiff upper lip having finally wobbled.

Ross was frogmarched up the stairs with the barrel of a riflejabbed painfully in his back, before being shoved out onto the top deck, where Chalabi and Hassan were waiting for him. The morning sun blazed down on them, unaware they were no longer on holiday.

‘The time has come, Inspector Hogan, for us to move on to phase two of my plan.’

Ross suddenly realized why they hadn’t killed him.

‘Every telephone call you’ve made from your cabin during this voyage has been monitored, Inspector. So, for the moment, and I stress for the moment, you’re more use to me alive than dead. I want you to get in touch with Superintendent Warwick, as he appears to be the officer in charge of Royalty Protection.’ Ross said nothing. ‘You’re going to get him on the line right now, so I can spell out in detail what I expect in return for not killing the next Queen of England.’

•••

Once again, they all stood when Mrs Thatcher entered the room.

‘Brigadier,’ said the Prime Minister, before she’d sat down.

‘An SBS team of highly trained operatives have been fully briefed on their mission, which has been given the operational code name “Overboard”, and are already on their way to the Mediterranean,’ said the Director of Special Forces. ‘I flew down to Poole following yesterday’s meeting and briefed the SBS with our latest information. We had an outline plan in place by the time I boarded the plane back to RAF Northolt just after midnight.’

‘But won’t it take days for even the most experienced operatives to be able to mount such a demanding operation?’ asked the Cabinet Secretary.

‘Not in fact, Sir Robin,’ said the brigadier. ‘The SBSspendevery waking hour preparing for such a possibility, and can’t wait to be tested by real terrorists, rather than volunteers acting the part.’

‘But how can they possibly hope to board a fast-moving vessel, in the middle of an ocean, whose crew will be looking out for any sign of danger?’ asked the Prime Minister.

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