to get out of here,’ Rosie suggested.
‘Exactly,’ Marc agreed.
But as PT wheeled the trolley through the station’s side entrance they saw a police car parked at an angle directly in front of the Post Office van. Despite his broken ankle, Joel was being held against the van by a burly officer while his colleague threatened him with a bunched fist.
Rosie’s mouth dropped open. ‘They’re making him stand on that ankle. He must be in agony.’
PT felt just as bad, but his attention was turned by a woman in a fur coat getting out of an aged London-style taxi thirty metres in the other direction. He couldn’t move fast with the trolley, so he gave Marc a shove.
‘Go get that cab.’
Marc raced off, then waited anxiously while the posh lady paid her fare.
‘Sorry, son,’ the driver said, as he pointed around to the front of the train station. ‘We can’t pick up here. Station passengers have to queue at the rank around the front.’
By this time Rosie had arrived. ‘We need to get to Stockport station urgently,’ she said, remembering the next stop on the route to London from the timetable she’d looked at a few minutes earlier and waving a pound note. ‘This is your tip if you get us there fast.’
The driver looked warily towards the police car parked a couple of hundred metres away before responding with a reluctant, ‘Get yourselves in, then.’
Rosie opened the door of the open-air rear compartment. PT and Marc laid the trolley sideways across the rear seats, and then all three kids squeezed on to a wooden bench which faced the other way.
Joel was being dragged towards the police car as the taxi swung around and drove past. He recognised the distinctive shape of the gun and trolley, but was mystified as to why they hadn’t made it on to the train.
Neither of the police officers saw a thing.
*
Like all the trainees Lieutenant Tomaszewski had missed a night’s sleep and settled in the bus’s third row of seats. As Wozniak drove through the heavy dockyard traffic and broke out on to the main road towards London, Tomaszewski took off his damp shirt, spread himself over the seats and drifted off to sleep.
He woke up after twenty minutes, feeling that something was wrong but not knowing what.
‘Hello, sleepyhead,’ Luc said in his most cheerful French as he leaned over from the row behind.
As Tomaszewski sat up he heard the clank of metal chain and saw that his wrist had been cuffed to the metal handrail across the back of his seat. Luc stood up, grabbed a can off the seat beside him and sploshed diesel fuel over the Pole’s hair and chest.
‘I’ve got matches,’ Luc announced, as Wozniak glanced backwards. ‘Keep driving, or your lieutenant burns.’
‘Do what he says,’ Tomaszewski said anxiously.
Wozniak looked back again. ‘Are you OK, Lieutenant?’ he asked in Polish.
‘And none of that Polish jibber-jabber,’ Luc ordered. ‘Speak in French, or better still, keep your traps shut.’
Tomaszewski sat up slightly and tried to sound authoritative. ‘Let’s all keep our heads,’ he said. ‘Your name’s Luc, isn’t it?’
Luc mocked the Pole’s gentle tone. ‘What are you gonna do, try talking me around?’
Tomaszewski smiled awkwardly. ‘Did you attack the other two?’
‘I might have done,’ Luc said, with a wouldn’t-you-like-to-know shrug. ‘I must say I’m proud of the job I did by the pylon. Those teeth went a-flying!’
Tomaszewski was determined not to show his anger. ‘Maybe we could work together,’ he suggested.
‘There’s only one gun on this bus and Walker won’t let us share it,’ Luc sneered, as Wozniak looked back again. ‘Keep your eyes on the road,’ Luc ordered.
‘Even if we get to the station, you can’t carry that gun alone,’ Tomaszewski said. ‘Have you thought about that, Luc?’
Luc twirled a book of matches between his fingertips. ‘I’ll work something out,’ he replied. ‘Punch some woman in the face, throw her baby in the gutter and steal her pram. I got this far by thinking on my feet, so I’m sure I’ll manage.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
‘Pull up here, please,’ Rosie said, as the cab turned into a side street with the ticket office of Stockport station a few hundred metres ahead.
‘You’re the boss,’ the cab driver said, looking baffled as he pulled up at the kerb well short of the station.
They’d decided to stop short in case they arrived to find platforms crawling with policemen. As PT and Rosie paid the fare and unloaded the cab, Marc hurried off to check out the station.
He found