A Matter of Honour (44 page)

Cyclists began to pass him again as he
jogged slowly towards Boulogne. He kept on moving, and even found enough
strength to cheer the British competitors as they pedalled by. The British team
van followed close behind and Adam gave it the thumbs-up sign. To his surprise
the van came to a halt in front of him.

The driver wound down the window. “Weren’t
you the fellow who stopped me
back
in Abbeville?”

“That’s right,” said Adam. “Has your man
recovered?”

“No, he’s resting in the back – pulled
ligament. What happened to your car?”

“Broke down about a mile back,” said Adam,
shrugging philosophically.

“Bad luck. Can I give you a lift?” the man
asked. “We’re only going as far as Boulogne on this stage, but jump in if it
will help.”

“Thank you,” said Adam, with the relief of a
bearded beatnik who has found the one person willing to stop to pick him up.
The driver leaned across and pushed open the door for him.

Before climbing in, Adam shielded his eyes
and once more looked up into the sky. The helicopter was nowhere to be seen – although
he knew it couldn’t be long before it returned. They would quickly work out
that there was only one place where the switch could possibly have been made.

“My name’s Bob,” said the track-suited
driver, thrusting out his free hand. “I’m the British team manager.”

“Mine’s Adam.” He shook the other’s hand
warmly.

“Where are you heading?”

“Boulogne,” said Adam, “and with luck I
could still make my crossing by three.”

“We should be there about two thirty,” said
Bob. “We have to be: the afternoon stage starts at three.”

“Will your man be able to ride?” asked Adam,
pointing over his shoulder.

“No, he won’t be competing in this race
again,” said the team manager. “He’s pulled a ligament in the back of his leg,
and they always take a couple of weeks to heal properly. I shall have to leave
him in Boulogne and complete the last leg myself. You don’t ride by any chance,
do you?” Bob asked.

“No,” said Adam. “Run a little, but haven’t
done a lot on wheels since my sister crashed the family tricycle.”

“We’re still in with a chance for the
bronze,” Bob said, as they overtook the British riders once more.

Adam gave them the thumbs-up sign and then
looked over his shoulder through the back window. He was thankful to see that
there was still no sign of the helicopter as they drove into the outskirts of
Boulogne. Bob took him all the way up to the dockside. “Hope you get that
bronze medal,” said Adam as he jumped out of the van. “And thanks again. Good
luck with the next stage.”

Adam checked his watch: twenty minutes
before the boat was due to sail. He wondered if it was too much time. He walked
over to the booking office and waited in a short line before buying a passenger
ticket. He kept looking round to check if anyone was watching him, but no one
seemed to be showing the slightest interest. Once he had purchased his ticket
he headed towards the ship and had just begun to start whistling a tuneless
version of ‘Yesterday’ when a black speck appeared in the distance. There was
no mistaking it – the sound was enough.

Adam looked up at the gangway which led to
the deck of the ship now only yards away from him, and then back to the speck
as it grew larger and larger in the sky. He checked his watch: the ship was due
to leave in twelve minutes – still time enough for his pursuers to land the
helicopter and get on board. If he climbed on and the Americans followed, they
were bound to discover him. But if the Americans got on and he stayed off that
would still give him enough time to reach Dieppe before the next sailing...

Adam jogged quickly back towards the large
crowd that was hanging about waiting for the start of the next stage of the
road race. As he did so the helicopter swept overhead and started hovering,
like a kestrel that is looking for a mouse.

“I thought you said you were desperate to be
on that ship.”

Adam swung round, his fist
clenched,
only to face the British team manager now dressed
in riding gear.

“Changed my mind,” said Adam.

“Wouldn’t care to drive the van for us on
the next stage?” said Bob hopefully.

“Where does the next stage go?” Adam asked.

“Dunkerque,” said the team manager.

Adam tried to remember what time Robin had
said her boat left from Dunkerque.

“Six
minutes,”
a voice said over
the loudspeaker.

“Okay,” said Adam.

“Good,” said the team manager. “Then follow
me.”

Adam ran behind the team manager as he headed
towards the van.

“Quatre
minutes,”
Adam heard
clearly as Bob unlocked the van and handed him the keys. He stared towards the
ship. The two Americans were emerging from the ticket office.

“
Deux minutes
.”

Adam jumped up into the driver’s seat, looked
over towards the boat and watched Marvin and his
colleague
stride
up the gangplank.

“
Une minute
.”

“Just get the van to Dunkerque and leave the
keys at the British checkpoint. We’ll see you when we get there.”

“Good luck,” said Adam.

“Thank you,” said Bob, and ran to the
starting line to join his team mates who were anxiously holding his bike.

“
Trente secondes.
”

Adam watched the gangplank being hoisted up
as the starter raised his gun.

“On your marks, set...”

The ship’s fog horn belched out a droning
note and the two Americans started their journey to Dover. A second later, the
gun went off as Adam put the van into second gear and headed towards Dunkerque.

Adam sat in the little dockside cafe waiting
for the coach to appear. The team van had been left at the checkpoint and he
was now ready to board the ship but he still needed to be sure Robin was on it.
The coach trundled in with only ten minutes to spare and Adam greeted her as she
stepped off.

“Just couldn’t keep away from me, could you?”
said Robin.

Adam burst out laughing and threw his arms
almost round her.

“It’s good to see you,” he said.

“I thought you were going back to England by
some mysterious route, you know, spy rocket or something even more exotic.”

“I wanted to,” said Adam, “but the Americans
were sitting at the controls just as I decided to climb aboard.”

“The Americans?” she said.

“I’ll explain everything once we’re on
board,” said Adam. Neither of them noticed the young agent who had trailed
Robin from Berlin. He sat in a phone booth on the far side of the dock and
dialled an overseas number.

“I wouldn’t have believed a word of it a
week ago,” she said, “but for two things.”

“Namely?”

“First, a senior official of the Foreign
Office returned Dudley Hulme’s passport to him in Amsterdam. Which reminds me
to give you yours back.” She rummaged around in her bag for a few moments
before taking out a dark blue passport and handing it to him.

“And what’s the second thing?” said Adam,
taking the passport gratefully.

“I had the doubtful pleasure of coming face
to face with Comrade Romanov, and I have no desire to do so again.”

“I intend to meet him again,” said Adam.

“Why?” asked Robin.

“Because I’m going to kill
him.”

Romanov and Pollard arrived in Dover a few
minutes before the ferry was due to dock. They waited expectantly. Romanov
stationed himself so that he could look through the customs hall window and
watch the ferry as it sailed into Dover harbour. He had found the perfect spot
behind a coffee-vending machine from which he could observe everyone who
entered or left the customs hall, while at the same time remaining hidden from
view.

“Just in case he should act out of character
for a change,” said Romanov, “and fails to go in a straight line, you will
cover the car exit and report back to me if you notice anything unusual.”

The colonel left Romanov secreted behind the
coffee machine while he selected a place for himself on the dockside where he
could watch the cars as they entered the customs area some fifty yards from the
exit gate. If Scott did leave the ferry in a car Pollard would easily have
enough time to run back and warn Romanov before Scott could hope to clear
customs and reach the main gate. At least this would be the one place Scott
couldn’t risk hiding in the trunk. Both men waited.

The captain switched on his ship-to-shore
radio to channel nine and spoke clearly into the small microphone. “This is the
MV
Chantilly
calling the Dover
Harbour Master. Are you receiving me?” He waited for a moment, flicked up the
switch in front of him and then heard: “Harbour Master to MV
Chantilly.
Receiving
you loud and clear, over.”

“This is the captain speaking. We have an
emergency. A male passenger has fallen out of a lifeboat on to the deck and
contracted multiple injuries to his arms and legs.” Adam groaned as the captain
continued. “I shall need an ambulance to be standing by at the quayside to take
him to the nearest hospital once we have docked.
Over.”

“Message received and understood, Captain.
An ambulance will be waiting for you when the ship docks.
Over
and out.”

“Everything will be all right, my dear,”
said Robin in a gentle voice that Adam had not heard before. “As soon as we arrive,
they are going to see you are taken straight to a hospital.”

“I must get back to the bridge,” said the
captain gruffly. “I shall instruct two stewards to bring a stretcher down for
your brother.”

“Thank you, Captain,” said Robin. “You have
been most helpful.”

“It’s quite all right,
miss
.
You did say your brother?”

“Yes, Captain,” said Robin.

“Well, you might advise him in future that
it’s in his best interests to drink less before he comes on board.”

“I’ve tried,” said Robin, sighing. “You
couldn’t believe how many times I’ve tried, Captain, but I’m afraid he takes
after my father.” Adam held on to his leg and groaned again.

“Um,” said the captain, looking down at the
gash across Adam’s shoulder. “Let’s hope it turns out not to be serious. Good
luck,” he added.

“Thank you again, Captain,” said Robin as
she watched the cabin door close behind them.

“So far, so good,” said Robin. “Now let’s
hope the second part of the plan works. By the way, your breath smells foul.”

“What do you expect after making me swirl
whisky round in my mouth for twenty minutes and then forcing me to spit it out
all over my own clothes?”

Adam was lifted carefully on to the
stretcher,
then
carried out on to the deck by two
stewards. They waited at the head of the gangplank and placed Adam gently on
the deck while a customs officer, accompanied by an immigration officer, ran up
to join them. Robin handed over his passport. The immigration officer flicked
through the pages and checked the photograph.

“Quite a good likeness for a change,” said
Robin, “but I’m afraid they may have to include this under ‘unusual scars’ in
the next edition.” She threw back the blanket dramatically and revealed the
deep gash on Adam’s shoulder. Adam looked suitably crestfallen.

“Is he bringing anything in with him that
needs to be declared?” asked the customs official. Adam couldn’t stop himself
from touching the icon.

“No, I wouldn’t let him buy any more booze
on this trip. And I’ll be responsible for checking his personal belongings
through with mine when I leave the ship.”

“Right.
Thank you, miss. Better see he gets off to
the hospital then,” said the officer, suddenly aware that a restless mob of
people were waiting at the top of the gangplank to disembark.

The two stewards carried Adam down the
gangplank. An attendant was on hand to check his wound. Adam waved gamely at
Robin as they placed him in the ambulance.

Romanov spotted her as she came through
customs. “Now I know exactly how Captain Scott hopes to get off the ship, and
we will be waiting for him when he least expects it. Go and hire a car to take
us to London,” he barked at the colonel.

The ambulance shot out through the customs
gates with its lights full on and bells ringing. By the time they had arrived
at The Royal Victoria Hospital the attendant had watched his patient’s
remarkable recovery en route with disbelief. He was beginning to feel that the
captain might have exaggerated the scale of the emergency.

Romanov stood by the gate and smiled as he
watched the coach carrying the musicians emerge from the deep black hole of the
ship and take its turn in the queue for customs.