Jake took the crash helmet from her. She gestured towards the hotel entrance. ‘Come on, time to go. Look sharp.’
‘Where’s Jez?’ asked Jake.
Ronnie held up a mobile phone.
‘He’s just a call away,’ she said.
Jake wasn’t reassured.
‘No offence, Ronnie, but these are tough people we’re dealing with.’
‘You sayin’ I ain’t tough?’ demanded Ronnie, put out.
‘No, no,’ Jake assured her. ‘You’re one of the toughest people I’ve met, but these guys — or, at least, the ones I’ve met so far — are tough and nasty. They could be armed.’
Ronnie shrugged.
‘We’ll cross that road when we come to it,’ she said.
‘Bridge,’ said Jake automatically.
Ronnie frowned.
‘What?’ she asked.
‘The phrase is “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it” . . .’
Ronnie stared at him, incredulous.
‘People are out there lookin’ to kill you and torture you, and you hung up on the right and wrong word?’ She shook her head. ‘No wonder you always in so much trouble, you worry too much about the wrong things.’
She headed out of the Ibis, with Jake following her. At the kerb, she stopped and looked pointedly at Jake.
‘We’ve come to a road. We’re gonna cross it. That all right with you?’
‘Fine.’ Jake nodded, feeling sheepish.
They crossed the road and went into the side entrance of the station. All the time, Jake’s eyes were darting left and right, scanning the crowds, trying to identify would-be attackers. But it was impossible to spot if anyone was watching for him, or paying particular attention to the Left Luggage office; the concourse was crowded with people waiting for trains; and the shops around the main concourse, and right up to the Left Luggage office, were filled with a constant traffic of people getting supplies for their journeys: newspapers, sandwiches, drinks.
As they neared the Left Luggage office, with its open counter and hundreds of items of luggage stacked on shelves behind, Ronnie ordered him, ‘OK, put the helmet on.’
‘What?’ asked Jake, puzzled. ‘Why?’
In answer, Ronnie held up her mobile phone. ‘Because Jez says so,’ she told him.
Jake frowned. He could only think that Jez wanted to protect him in case anyone attacked him and tried hitting him over the head. He thought wearing a crash helmet was a bit extreme, but then he remembered Robert’s fractured skull.
‘OK,’ he said, and he pulled on the helmet.
‘Good,’ said Ronnie. ‘Let’s go get the thing.’
They arrived at the large open counter of the Left Luggage office and Jake pulled out his ticket and handed it over. The clerk examined it, then told him how much was due. Jake paid, and the clerk went to the rows of shelves, rummaged through them, and reappeared with the rucksack. As Jake took hold of it, he felt sick with apprehension. He had the book, but who was watching and waiting for him? There had to be someone, he was sure. Were they armed? Would they gun him down, here, in public? Yes, he had no doubt they would, if it meant them getting their hands on the book.
As Jake and Ronnie turned away from the counter, they came face to face with a man and a woman, both dressed in plain smart clothes. MI5? Special Branch? They had that air about them, hard, ruthless, determined.
‘Police. We’ll take that bag, please,’ said the man.
‘Oh no you don’t!’ screeched Ronnie. Suddenly she yelled out, ‘Help! Kidnappers!’
At Ronnie’s ear-splitting shout, the man and the woman looked bewildered and glanced around, as passengers stopped and looked towards them.
Ronnie swung her foot back and kicked the man hard on the shin, and he yelled out in pain and hopped backwards. The woman had recovered and was reaching for the rucksack held in Jake’s hand, but Ronnie grabbed her arm and sank her teeth into the woman’s wrist. The woman yelled and hit out at Ronnie, but Ronnie ducked.
There was a loud roar of a motorbike engine right by them, and Jake suddenly saw a small trials motorbike had screeched past them and skidded to a halt.
‘Jump on!’ yelled the rider.
It was Jez.
Suddenly, he realised why Ronnie had given him the crash helmet. He saw the woman throw Ronnie to the ground and leap at him, her fingers outstretched again for the rucksack. Jake dodged to one side, and then jumped on the back of the bike. Jez stood up on the footrests, allowing Jake to plonk himself down on the seat. Jake barely had time to get a grip on the back of the bike, when Jez slammed it into gear and it tore away, heading for the main concourse.
By now, uniformed police officers and Transport Police, alerted by the sound of the motorbike, had appeared and were giving chase, spreading out across the concourse to intercept the bike. Their attempts were made harder by the mass of passengers, most with piles of luggage around them, but they also presented Jez and the bike with obstacles. Not that Jez seemed bothered, he revved and raced the machine, weaving in and out of the people, skidding as they leapt towards him, and then righting it again. Jake clung on grimly as they jumped and skidded left and right. Jez was making for the open double doors of the station that led to the outside piazza, and the flight of steps down to the main road.