‘The priority right now is Tally,’ insisted Steven.
‘I absolutely agree,’ said Macmillan, ‘but the longer he keeps you dangling the more it works in our favour. It will take a while to get an SAS troop there from Credenhill assuming permission is given.’
‘I want to be near Moorlock Hall,’ said Steven.
‘Not a good idea,’ said Macmillan. ‘Barrowman will assume you are waiting for instructions at home. You don’t want to be a two-hour drive away when he gives you details of the exchange.’
‘You’re right. God, I just need to be doing something.’
‘I know, but sit tight and I’ll get on with the organising things. Let me know as soon as you get the phone call and I’ll freeze everything until Dr Simmons is safe.’
‘If Barrowman suspects for a moment that we know he’s at Moorlock Hall...’
‘I’ll make it crystal clear that that mustn’t happen.’
Steven called Sci-Med support and requested an old car be made available. ‘Anything as long as it goes.’ He didn’t want to use a high-profile car like his Porsche. If there were to be a rendezvous, he would rather he spotted what the opposition was driving rather than the other way around. The old car was to be left in Maple Street, neighbouring Marlborough Court: the keys should be left under the passenger seat.
‘Understood.’
The hours continued to pass but, at least, Steven’s anguish was now mitigated by the knowledge that Barrowman’s tactic might be working against him. At a quarter to four the phone rang but it was his new mobile. Macmillan reported that permission had been given for members of 22 SAS regiment to be deployed from their base at Credenhill in Herefordshire. An initial team of six were already on their way to appraise the situation, Police Specialist Firearms Officers were already in position at a discreet distance. No one had left Moorlock Hall.
Steven drifted off into an uneasy sleep in his chair around five thirty but woke with a start an hour later. The dawn of a new day demanded that he get himself into gear. He still had some Benzedrine tablets in the bathroom cabinet from an occasion in the past when it had been essential that he keep awake and alert for long periods. He took two, put on some coffee and made himself two slices of toast to give an impression of breakfast.
Macmillan called at seven. ‘No phone call?’
‘No,’ Steven replied, irritated that he’d been asked.
‘Strange.’
Steven had to edit his reply. He knew he was incredibly on edge. ‘Yes.’
‘No one has left Moorlock. Any thoughts?’
‘I’ll get back to you, John.’
Steven needed to end the call because the stimulant he’d taken was allowing a succession of nightmare thoughts to enter his head. One emerged as a clear favourite. Barrowman hadn’t called because... Barrowman wasn’t going to call... Barrowman had never intended to call. He just wanted to torture him for as long as possible... maybe until he had worked this out for himself and... now that he had... there was worse to come. Barrowman didn’t want his data back because he didn’t need it. The proposed exchange for Tally had been an elaborate hoax. There never was going to be an exchange... Tally could be dead.
Steven struggled to face the big question. Was he going to gamble everything on what he’d just imagined to be the case and give up on waiting for a phone call that he now believed wasn’t coming... or should he concede that he could be wrong and wait for the call, leaving the others to mount an inevitable assault on Moorlock Hall when time and their patience ran out?
Steven called Macmillan to say he was on his way to Moorlock. He cut off any argument by asking where Macmillan actually was.
‘We’ve set up headquarters about two miles past the entrance to the lane leading to Moorlock. There’s an old abandoned farm building off the main road to the left. You’ll find a police mobile unit round the back.’
Steven grabbed the keys for the Porsche then thought better of it. He didn’t want a Porsche being seen anywhere near Moorlock in case it aroused suspicion — unlikely, but he would take no chances. He ran round to where he’d asked for an old car to be left and saw the Land Rover Defender. It was old, filthy and ideal. Defenders were as anonymous as grass in the countryside. Every farmer and his dog had one. Steven smiled at the noise of the engine — no sound-proofing, no concession to comfort, the only thing Defenders had going for them was that they could go absolutely anywhere and keep going. Steven permitted himself a small smile before turning his attention to just how they were going to break in to a maximum-security prison. By the time he’d found what looked like a large black horsebox at the back of the farm building and noted that there was another Land Rover parked beside it, he’d had an idea.
Twenty-Seven
‘What possessed you, man?’ asked Macmillan as Steven entered the mobile command centre and was stopped by a gun in his face. ‘This is Dr Steven Dunbar,’ said Macmillan.
‘Hello,’ said the man lowering the gun.
Eight other men were there, two were in black, police Special Firearms Officer gear, the other six were dressed in variations on a camouflage theme and appeared more relaxed.
In answer to Macmillan’s question, Steven told him how he’d come to his conclusions and of the gamble he’d just taken.
‘Then we should all pray your phone doesn’t ring,’ said Macmillan.
Macmillan did the introductions to two police commanders and six SAS soldiers who had travelled as an advance party from their Credenhill base. Steven nodded and said hello.
Macmillan said to one of them, ‘Dr Dunbar was with your lot.’
‘We heard,’ said the soldier, introduced simply as Andy. ‘Mark Leyden said to say hello.’
Steven felt embarrassed at not recognising the name.
‘He says you saved his life.’
‘He’s probably exaggerating,’ said Steven.
Smiles all round told him it was the right thing to say.
‘I think we’re all agreed this isn’t going to be easy,’ said Macmillan. ‘Nobody breaks into a high security prison. We’ve been trying to scale down our thoughts from rocket-launchers and bulldozers.’
‘I had an idea on the way down,’ said Steven.
All eyes turned to him.
‘Moorlock is a high security unit but it was built as a self-contained module inside the ground floor of an old, derelict hospital. It is very secure, but I’ve been in there and I think there may be an Achilles heel.’
‘Give that man a bow and arrow,’ said one of the policemen.
Steven continued, ‘The medical director’s office is attached to the secure unit but it’s not actually inside it and not that far from the prison entrance although that certainly is secure.’
‘How does that help?’
‘The ceiling,’ said Steven. ‘When I was sitting in the director’s office I noticed that the ceiling was very high, very dirty and cracked in places. That suggests it’s the original hospital ceiling in that room.’
‘Got you,’ said one of the soldiers. ‘If we could get access to it from the floor above, we could get down into the office.’
‘Okay, that gets us past the front entrance, but we’ll still be outside the main unit,’ another of the soldiers pointed out.
‘It’s the unit director’s office,’ Steven emphasised, ‘there’s a chance we’ll be able to lay our hands on the codes for the alarms and doors. It’s just possible we might be able to get into the secure unit without a shot being fired.’
‘Brilliant.’
Questions followed thick and fast.