Snape had seen enough. “So they took you into a broom cupboard, did they?” he snarled. He caught one of the brooms. “I suppose this was your brush with MI6?”
“Chief Inspector! Listen…”
It was too late for that. Snape dropped the broom and grabbed hold of Tim, and, at the same time, I winced as Boyle’s hand clamped itself onto my shoulder. A moment later my feet had left the floor. All around me, the birds were screeching and whistling and fluttering. It was as if they were laughing at us. But then maybe they knew. They weren’t the only ones who were going to be spending the night behind bars.
HIGH SECURITY
This time Snape locked us up for two days. Boyle wanted to throw the book at us but fortunately he didn’t have a book. I’m not even sure Boyle knew how to read.
As soon as we were released, we headed back to the office. Tim wasn’t talking very much. He didn’t say anything on the bus, not even when I took the window seat. And he only muttered a few words of surprise when he found a letter waiting for him on our doormat. Not many people ever wrote to Tim. There were the electricity and the gas bills, of course, but they weren’t exactly chatty. Mum and Dad sometimes dropped us cards: Australia’s hot, England’s not, we love you a lot… that sort of thing. But usually the only letters on the doormat read: Please wipe your feet.
This letter came in a smart white envelope, postmarked London. Tim finally opened it in the office while I poured the tea. To celebrate our release, I’d used new teabags. It was a short letter but he took a long time to read it. Maybe it was good news.
“So what is it?” I asked at last.
“It’s a job.” Tim smiled for the first time since we’d been locked up and passed the letter across to me. It came from the Canadian Bank in Pall Mall and was signed by a woman called Louise Meyer. Briefly, it invited Tim to an interview to discuss the position of Head of Security.
“What is this…?” I began.
“Don’t you remember?” Tim said. “I told you. I applied for the job a couple of months ago.” He snatched the letter back. “They need a new Head of Security.”
“But you don’t know anything about security,” I said.
“Yes I do!” Tim looked at me indignantly. “I put burglar alarms in the office,” he reminded me.
“And burglars stole them,” I reminded him.
Tim ignored me.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” I went on. “What about Charon? What about MI6?”
“What about them?”
“You can’t just ignore them! You heard what McGuffin said. And you still don’t know what south by south east means…”
“I don’t think it means anything.” Tim sniffed. “Anyway, it’s none of my business. Banking is my business.”
I gave up. “When’s the interview?” I asked.
Tim quickly re-read the letter. “This Meyer woman wants to see me at two o’clock this afternoon,” he said. He sprang out of his chair. “This afternoon! That’s today!”
It was already half past twelve. The next twenty minutes were spent in a frantic attempt to prepare himself. He put on a suit, a tie and a shirt while I polished his shoes. I didn’t do a great job but then I was using furniture polish. Finally he dragged a leather attache case out of a cupboard. Actually, it wasn’t leather — it was kangaroo skin; an unwanted Christmas present. Mum had given it to Tim. Tim had given it to me. I’d given it to Oxfam. They’d given it back. You can’t get much more unwanted than that. But now he took it because he thought it made him look good. The clock struck one. He was ready.
“I’ll come with you,” I said.
“Sure.” Tim nodded. “You can wait outside.”
We got another bus back into town and this time Tim was in a better mood. He was rehearsing his answers all the way there, whispering to himself and nodding. The other passengers must have thought he was mad. I wasn’t even sure myself. But he’d completely forgotten about McGuffin and Charon. That much was obvious. And that was his big mistake.
It happened just as we got off at Pall Mall. There had been about a dozen people on the top deck with us and I hadn’t really noticed any of them. But one of them had followed us down and just as we stepped off the bus, he reached out and tapped Tim on the shoulder.
“Excuse me,” he said. “You’ve forgotten this.” And he gave Tim back his kangaroo-skin attache case. That was all there was to it. I got a flash of a dark face and a beard. Then the bus had moved off and we were standing on the pavement. That was all there was to it. But I was uneasy. I didn’t know why.
“Tim…” I called out.
But Tim had already arrived outside the Canadian bank. I could tell it was Canadian because of the flag on the roof and the bronze moose on the door. It was a small, square building, one floor only. In fact it looked more like a high-class jeweller’s than a High Street bank. Everything about it was quiet and discreet. Even the alarms were muffled so they wouldn’t disturb the neighbours. I caught up with Tim just before he went in.
“I think we ought to talk,” I said.
“I know what to say,” he replied. “You wait here.”
He went in. I looked at the clock above the door. There wasn’t one. And that was strange because when I’d been standing next to Tim, I’d definitely heard the sound of ticking. I thought about the attache case again. And suddenly the skin on my neck was prickling and my mouth had gone dry. Either Tim was in serious trouble or I was going down with the flu.
It wasn’t the flu. I’d never felt better in my life. And now I had to act quickly. I’d hardly glimpsed the man on the bus but I knew now why he had taken the case and what he had put inside it.
I also knew that if I’d stopped to count his fingers, I wouldn’t have reached ten.
Tim had disappeared into the bank. I plunged in after him, off the street and into the white marble banking hall. It was cool inside, out of the summer heat. The marble was like ice and even the potted plants seemed to be shivering in the air-conditioning. My eyes swept past the cashiers, the plush leather furniture, the tinkling chandeliers. I saw Tim just as he walked through a door at the far left corner. That had to be Mrs Meyer’s office. Gritting my teeth, I prepared to follow him. Somehow I had to get him out of there. Already it might be too late.
I’d taken just one step before a hand clamped down on my shoulder and I was twisted round to face the biggest security guard I’d ever seen.
“What do you want then?” he demanded.
“I want to open an account,” I said. It was the first thing to come into my head. He smiled mirthlessly. “Oh yes? I suppose you think this is some sort of piggy-bank?”
“Well they certainly seem to employ a few piggies.”
Five seconds later I found myself back out on the street with a neck that felt as though it had been through a mangle. I wondered if the Canadian security guard had ever worked as a lumberjack. He would have only had to smile at a tree to knock it down.
Maybe it was the sun, but the sweat was beginning to trickle down my neck as I walked round behind the bank. It was on a corner, separated from the pavement by a narrow line of flower-beds. Slowly, I tiptoed through the tulips peering in through the ground floor windows. Fortunately, they were fairly low down and because of the hot weather some of them were partly open. I heard snippets of conversation, the jangle of coins, telephones ringing. At the sixth window I heard Tim’s voice. He was already being interviewed by Louise Meyer.
“Tell me, Mr Diamond,” the manager asked. “Do you have any experience of security?”
“Not exactly security, Lucy,” Tim replied. He paused. “Do you mind if I call you Lucy?”
“I prefer to be more formal.”
“That’s OK, Lucy. You can call me Mr Diamond.”
Another tulip snapped underneath my feet as I shifted closer to the window. I reached up to the window-sill, then pulled myself up and looked through the glass.
I could see Tim sitting right in front of me, facing the window. Louise Meyer was opposite him, behind her desk. She was a tough, no-nonsense businesswoman. She was wearing a dark blue suit cut so sharply she could have opened a letter with her sleeve.