‘Lehman Steiner is a very big organisation,’ said MacLean.
Leavey gave him a look that said, ‘So?’
‘I was thinking it wouldn’t be possible for them to tighten up security everywhere. As they don’t really know where the threat is coming from maybe the wisest thing for them to do would be to tighten up security around the X14 project itself and leave it at that.’
‘Good thinking,’ said Leavey.
‘You mean they won’t be expecting a raid on Personnel?’ said MacFarlane.
‘Unless Rives was already trying that angle when he got caught,’ said Leavey.
‘No,’ said MacLean. ‘Jean-Paul did think of it but he told me that he didn’t know anyone in Personnel. He was trying to find X14 through accounting records.’
‘Does that mean he was looking for a place and not a person?’ asked Tansy, speaking for the first time.
‘Yes,’ agreed MacLean. ‘And he found it. He just didn’t live long enough to tell us.’
‘Only the name of the woman, May Haas,’ said Tansy thoughtfully.
On Sunday, Leavey and MacFarlane diplomatically went off on their own leaving MacLean and Tansy to spend their last day together. MacLean had booked the three of them on to a flight to Geneva on Monday. He and Tansy visited Carrie in the afternoon and then walked by the shores of the Forth in the early evening. They stopped at Cramond, a pretty village, which had seen the legions of Rome come and go, and had a quiet drink at the inn. MacLean didn’t say much and Tansy didn’t prompt him. She knew from earlier experience that tension was building and he would not want to talk but, before they got up to leave, she said, ‘There is one thing I must ask you before you go. How long has Carrie got before a start must be made on surgery?’
‘It would be best if things got under way within four weeks,’ said MacLean.
Tansy wrung her hands uneasily then dropped them below the level of the table to disguise the fact. She began, ‘If… ‘
MacLean interrupted her, saying, ‘If for any reason I should not return, I’ve left a letter for you in the flat with the name and phone number of a Glasgow surgeon you must contact. Ron Myers is one of the best. Give him the sealed letter I’ve included and let him arrange the rest. On no account let Coulson touch her.’
Tansy’s eyes were full of uncertainty. She took MacLean’s hands in hers and whispered, ‘Come back to me… please.’
MacLean did his best to reassure her. He said softly, ‘I intend to. I also intend bringing Cytogerm home with me.’
They left the inn as darkness fell and the moon rose above the treetops. MacLean said, ‘Remember it’s the same moon above us wherever we are. Look at it and wish; I’ll do the same.’
MacLean and his two companions boarded the night train to London. It had been Leavey’s idea to use the train rather than fly to Heathrow on the grounds that it would be one less security check to go through. MacLean knew better to ask why this should be a consideration but he had noticed Leavey taking particular care over what appeared to be a series of metal camera and lens cases when packing his holdall.
Waverley Station was like all stations at midnight, grimy, dark and lonely, a place where no one wanted to be. Embarking passengers were anxious to be on their way, arriving ones wanted to be home and the despair on the faces of the destitute who were planning to spend the night there was plain to see. They didn’t want to be there either but they had nowhere else to go.
An emaciated figure wearing a grubby overall and cap pushed a trolley up and down the platform outside the London train hoping to sell a few last plastic sandwiches. A guard scuffled to and fro, studiously regarding the ground in preference to the passengers who stood by open doors in last minute conversation with friends and relatives.
MacLean watched a soldier say good-bye to his girl friend and a mother and father say farewell to their daughter. In a few more minutes all signs of emotion would be wiped clean from their faces. Impassive neutrality would replace it as sons and lovers became passengers on a train. The station clock said that they were already four minutes late when a whistle blew, doors were slammed and the train slid out into the night.
MacLean knew that his own nerves were being shared by the others. He had not known MacFarlane stay so quiet for so long before and Leavey chose to read rather than chat. He imagined this must be the feeling that troops had before they went into battle, sitting in landing craft as they ploughed through waves towards a hostile beach or waiting in the darkened fuselage of an aircraft for the signal lights to come on and the drop to begin. Leavey would know but now was not the time to ask.
Leavey fell asleep after two hours and MacFarlane shortly afterwards, leaving MacLean awake and resting his head on the corner of the window. There was very little to see out there in the blackness but every now and then he would see a light on in a house and wonder why at that hour. A sick child? Bad news? Insomnia? He would never know and they would never know he’d wondered.
A new day had already been born in London. For most people there was no reason to believe it would be significantly different from any other but they still rushed out to greet it. Kings Cross Station was alive with noise and bustle and people in purposeful motion. MacLean and the other two watched the world pass by from the station buffet where they took breakfast.
MacFarlane looked at the rush-hour crowds and said, ‘There’s something to be said for the rigs after all.’
‘I suppose they get used to it,’ said MacLean.
Leavey just watched.
They put off time until the worst of the rush hour was over before taking the tube to Heathrow Airport. There was still some two hours to flight time so they checked in at the desk which had just opened and waited for a bit before going through passport control. Leavey said he wanted to buy another book for the flight and MacFarlane said that he would have a look at the magazines. MacLean opted for a wash and shave so they agreed to meet up again outside the bookstall.
MacLean had just sluiced warm water up into his face when the public address system crackled into life. ‘Would Mr Keith Nielsen, a passenger on British Airways’ flight to Geneva, please report to the British Airways flight desk… Would Mr Keith Nielsen… ‘
MacLean listened for the second time and no, there was no mistake. The woman repeated what he feared she had said the first time. He dried his face quickly and put his shirt and jacket back on. Leavey and MacFarlane were already waiting outside by the bookstall.
‘Who knows about us?’ asked Leavey whose eyes said that his brain was working overtime on the possibilities.’
‘Maybe some problem with the tickets,’ said MacLean. ‘I’d better go see.’
Leavey put a restraining hand on his arm and said, ‘Maybe someone wants to see what Keith Nielsen looks like; maybe someone carrying a description from Geneva. Maybe even someone who would recognise Sean MacLean.’
The announcement was repeated again.
‘I’ll go,’ said Leavey. ‘My face isn’t in anyone’s scrapbook.’
Before anyone could argue he had walked off.
Leavey approached the British Airways desk and said, ‘You were paging Keith Nielsen?’
‘Yes Mr Nielsen,’ said the peaches and cream complexion with the company smile. ‘We have an urgent telephone message for you.’ She handed Leavey a sealed envelope. Leavey thanked her and returned to the others; he gave the envelope to MacLean who ripped it open.