Powerstone (30 page)

‘You’re American, aren’t you? Then
you prefer coffee to tea. I’ve seen the films.’

They laughed together.

‘Coffee’s good,’ Irene approved.

They sat in companionable silence
for a few minutes, until Drew asked Irene to tell her story. He listened as she
related how she had been waiting for the Queen, and then had been caught up in
the panic after the bombs had gone off.

‘They were only smoke canisters
and thunder-flashes, apparently,’ Drew told her, ‘mingled with CS gas to cause
the maximum panic. Most of the security was drawn to the Queen and other heads
of state while the terrorists hit the crown jewels.’

‘Was it terrorists?’

Drew shrugged. ‘So they say on the
News. They have identified one of them as an American IRA man, and they’ve
published pictures of some woman that they think was involved. The BBC seems to
think that she financed the operation.’

‘Oh?’ Irene felt the sudden
hammering of her heart. She measured the distance to the door, wondering if she
could make it out before Drew caught her. ‘A woman? What’s she like?’

‘No idea.’ Drew shook his head.
‘The picture on my telly went days ago and I haven’t got round to getting it
repaired, so I can only listen to the news.’

Irene grinned as relief replaced
the tension. It may be only a temporary reprieve, but she would take the
opportunity to recover her strength. ‘God, but I’m tired.’

‘You will be,’ Drew looked over to
her. ‘How’s your hand?’

‘Much better,’ Irene stifled a
yawn.

‘OK. You get some sleep now,
Amanda, and we’ll see how it looks later.’

She hesitated for only a minute.
‘Irene. My name’s Irene. I wasn’t sure of you then, so I used a false name.’
She waited, bracing herself for his anger.

‘Irene?’ He surveyed her again,
head to one side. ‘Aye, it suits you better. Amanda is for dark haired women,
Irene’s right for a red head. My name’s still Drew, though.’ He nodded to a
door across the tiny corridor. ‘The bedroom’s through there. Off you go.’

Irene rose obediently. She
hesitated. If she fell asleep and Drew saw the news or read a newspaper, she
would be trapped. She might waken to a room full of police.

‘It’s all right,’ Drew mistook her
indecision. ‘I won’t jump in beside you. You’re perfectly safe here.’

‘No, I didn’t think you would.’
Irene shook her head. ‘I just don’t like to abuse your hospitality. I can’t pay
you back or anything.’

Drew shrugged again. ‘Pay me back
for what? What man would not like a beautiful redhead to descend upon their
house on a Sunday morning?’ He grinned. ‘This is all like a fairy story for me.
And you haven’t slapped my face yet.’

‘Nor will I,’ Irene promised.
Extending a hand, she touched his shoulder. ‘Thank you, Drew.’

The bedroom was as Spartan as the
rest of the house, with a simple bed that could either have been a small double
or a wide single. The sheets were crisp and white, with a plain blue coverlet.
A single blue runner adorned the varnished floorboards and the only piece of
furniture was a plain pine wardrobe. With no mirror, Irene could not even
inspect her appearance, but despite Drew’s words, she still closed the door
tightly before sliding into bed. The last thing she heard was the drumbeat of
rain on the window.

* * *

The outpatients department of the
Western General was busy with a host of minor casualties, from an elderly woman
who had burned her hand to a boy who had fallen from his bike. Drew remained at
Irene’s side, flicking through the pile of magazines that the management
provided. Irene stepped forward when she heard her name called, explained that
she had lost her passport and was surprised when the young Asian doctor waved
away her excuses.

‘I’m a doctor, not a bureaucrat,’
he said. ‘We don’t care about that sort of thing in
Scotland
.’

He examined her fingers with
gentle care, pressed into the knuckle and nodded. ‘Not broken, but badly
bruised. Don’t use them for a few weeks and they’ll be fine, but I would
certainly see your own doctor when you get back home.’ He looked at her through
tired eyes. ‘Is there anything else?’

‘No,’ the bath and sleep had eased
away Irene’s other injuries. ‘But thank you,’ she felt relief that there would
be no more official probing. When she stepped out of the consultancy room, Drew
was waiting for her.

‘There’s the News,’ Drew said,
when she had relayed the doctor’s advice. ‘We’ll see what’s happened with the
Crown jewels robbery.’

Irene felt a sickening slide of
despair. She thought quickly. ‘Oh, I don’t really care,’ she said, and began to
pull him toward the exit. ‘Come on, it’s not fair expecting you to spend your
Sunday in a hospital.’

Where Patrick would have done exactly
as she ordered, Drew proved more stubborn. ‘Just a minute,’ he said. ‘I’m
interested in this.’ He remained behind as Irene hovered at the door. She
prepared to run the second her face flashed onto the screen.

The first image was on the
procession, with the Queen waving to the crowd. Then the camera panned onto the
glass-topped Rolls Royce, concentrating on the glittering jewellery of the
Honours. The voice-over mentioned the great age of the jewels and their long
previous history, before focussing on the sudden jets of smoke and ensuing
panic.

‘It is believed that a hitherto
unknown splinter group of Irish terrorists are behind the attack. Security
forces recovered the Sword of State, while one of the terrorists was killed at
the scene. Police have identified the body as Desmond Nolan, who was known to
have been active in
Northern
Ireland
.’

Irene shuddered as a picture of a
younger-looking Desmond flicked onto the screen.

‘A second man died when the attackers
apparently fought before boarding a helicopter.’ The newsreader’s urbane tones
altered as he put a hand to his ear. ‘We have breaking news on this report. The
police have lifted a news blanket on various aspects of the story, but we can
now send you live to the
island
of
Islay
, off the west coast of
Scotland
, where significant events have
occurred.’

Irene watched with sick
fascination as a picture of a ragged bay with smooth sand appeared. There was a
grey-painted naval vessel offshore, beside a long white yacht, from which smoke
drifted.

‘We are now in a position to
inform you that in a joint operation between the army, Royal Navy and various
Scottish police forces, the Scottish Crown has been recovered. Security reasons
have not allowed us to show this footage until now.’

The picture changed again, showing
a small helicopter hovering above
Edinburgh
, before it disappeared into the distance. A detached
voice gave a running commentary, explaining how radar and a police helicopter
tailed the machine right across
Scotland
, but could not intercept for fear of risking damage to the crown, or
causing casualties among people living below.

‘The helicopter descended on the
west coast of
Islay
and two men and one woman ran
into this boat.’ The picture showed the yacht that Irene had chartered. ‘The
Royal Navy patrol boat,
Somerled,
intercepted the yacht before it left
Scottish waters.’

There was a picture of a confused
chase, white water around the bows of
Somerled
and the sharp crack of
gunfire.

‘When the yacht refused to heave
to when ordered,
Somerled
fired a warning shot across her bows and sent
a boarding party of Royal Marines.’

The picture snapped to a library
shot of a group of tough looking men speeding across a stretch of water that
certainly was not off
Scotland
, and then changed back to the
yacht. ‘Unfortunately there was resistance and one of the Royal Marines was
slightly wounded. Three people on board the yacht were killed, and one
wounded.’

Irene closed her eyes, unsure what
to think. After all her planning, the British authorities had ended her robbery
attempt within a day. Was Patrick one of the three dead? And
Bryan
? Or had the Royal Marines killed
three members of the yacht’s crew? She staggered as she realised that only
Patrick’s betrayal had saved her from death or capture, but Drew was there to
support her.

‘Easy now Irene. That’s reaction
to the doctor.’ His voice was calm and gentle as he lowered her gently onto a
seat. Nobody in the waiting room looked at her, for every eye was on the
television.

‘Police have not yet released
pictures of those killed in the yacht, but say there were two men and one
woman. As yet, the police do not know the names of the deceased. One of the
bodies was badly burned when an explosion set fire to the yacht, but police
have stated that he had a tattoo with the name ‘Linda.’ However, the woman the
police believe masterminded the operation is still loose. They have released a
picture of this woman, and ask anybody who may recognise her to contact them as
soon as possible. They also stress that she may be highly dangerous and advise
that nobody approaches her.’

Irene looked toward the door.
Somebody was bound to recognize her now. Her dreams would end here, in this
crowded out-patients department of the British National Health Service.

‘Now there’s a tough looking
girl.’ Drew commented quietly. ‘Did you see her yesterday?’

Irene looked up, fighting the fear
that drained the strength from her legs. The woman stared out from the
television screen, her face slightly blurred and her mouth open as she spoke to
Desmond. She was blonde and fairly attractive, but the television definition
had imposed a hard line along her jaw. Irene recognized her at once. She had
been with the protesters calling for a
Scottish
Republic
.

‘Oh sweet Jesus Lord,’ Irene could
not prevent the tears. ‘She stood right beside me.’ Hysteria returned with the
sudden release of tension and she leaned her face against Drew’s arm, sobbing.
She was safe; Patrick was dead and the police did not have her picture.

Edinburgh
, July

The relief was so strong that
Irene had to prevent herself from giggling. She was in the clear. She had a
forged passport and had given a false name at the hotel. She had given a
different name again when she chartered the yacht, and with Patrick and the
others dead, there was nobody who could recognize her.

‘Suck an elf,’ she breathed out
loud as the strain of the last few days evaporated. A few seconds ago she had
looked failure in the face, but now she contemplated success. She had done it.
The police would search for this Scottish Republican woman, no doubt question
her for days and either frame her, or release her, but every hour now was
valuable. All she had to do was remain calm, retrieve the sceptre and get it
back home. After that, her future was secure. Once again Irene visualised the
immense riches of the Manning Corporation, the power to hire and fire and
build, and all the prestige that she had never known.

‘Are you all right?’ Drew was at
her side, immediately solicitous as he knelt down.

‘Oh yes. Oh yes, I am.’ Irene
stalled her smile in time. ‘I just realized how close I came to being killed.’

‘It was that bad, eh?’ Drew nodded
his sympathy. ‘Well, you’re safe enough now.’ When he held out his hand it
seemed only natural that she should take it. ‘Where to? My place, or back to
your hotel.’

The implications were so obvious
that Irene smiled. ‘You’re not the most subtle of men, are you?’

‘That’s not one of my faults,’ he
agreed.

‘So what exactly are you
offering?’ Irene knew that she should feel grief, or at least remorse, for the
death of Patrick and the others, but compared to the fact that she was alive,
safe and on course for success, they just did not matter.

‘My flat and my company,’ Drew
said bluntly.

‘In return for what?’

‘Your company and conversation.’

‘Nothing else?’ Irene enjoyed this
flirting game, when she could tease a man to test his limits, but Drew seemed
immune.

‘What else could I possibly want?’

Irene was unsure whether to slap him,
laugh or feel grateful. ‘A patient to nurse?’ she suggested, and patted his
arm, smiling. ‘Honestly, Drew, I don’t know what I would have done without
you.’ She thought quickly. She had arrived under an assumed name, and if she checked
out of her room, there would be no record of her at all. About to ask him for a
lift to her hotel, Irene quickly changed her mind. Perhaps it would be better
if he did not know from where she had come.

‘Could you take me to the railroad
station?’ She felt satisfaction as disappointment flickered in Drew’s face.