Secret Army - Robert Muchamore Page 0,84

Marc thought about chasing the train, but the gun was what mattered and PT had dealt with that. He considered turning and running away, but his legs ached and he’d bashed his knee as he jumped on to the platform.

The stationmaster blew his whistle and, as the London Express clanked away from the platform, the young station porter grabbed hold of Marc, swung him around and shoved him against a station sign.

‘You’re for it now, lad,’ he warned, as he twisted Marc’s ear. ‘If you haven’t got a ticket you’re trespassing on the property of London Midland and Scottish railway.’

Marc considered surrender, but Rosie had the satchel with his surrender letter inside. However, he did have the ticket that she’d bought for him in Manchester.

‘My ma’s sick in the ’ospital in London,’ Marc said, making his best attempt at a cockney accent. ‘I’ve got me ticket. I just got stuck in the bleedin’ traffic coming down here and missed the train, innit?’

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

The train ride from Stockport to London took under three hours, but felt longer. PT wanted to sleep. He found a quiet carriage and spread his long legs, but his damp clothes stuck to his skin and itched like crazy. At every station, he looked anxiously along the platform for any sign of the police.

If anyone suspected that they were on the train it would only take a phone call to alert the transport police and have the train searched at the next station. PT considered finding Rosie and suggesting that they get off after a couple of stops and switch to a train that hadn’t started in Manchester.

But exhaustion fogged his mind. Even getting up to use the toilet was a struggle and as much as PT wanted the mission to succeed, he was so tired that part of him was more willing to surrender than to engage his brain in more plots and deception.

Rosie joined PT as the train slowed for the final stretch into Euston station. She’d done what she could to clean up in the ladies’ toilet but was still quite a sight, with muddy trousers and scarecrow hair. PT was delighted to see her and gave her a long kiss that drew a grunt of disapproval from a chunky woman who’d snored most of the way from Stoke-on-Trent.

‘How’s my Rosie doing?’ PT asked softly.

‘Tired,’ she yawned. ‘My back’s hurting where that pellet hit me. I couldn’t sit still.’

‘So now we just have to find King’s Cross.’

‘I asked the ticket inspector,’ Rosie said. ‘It’s not far. A five-minute walk along Euston Road. Apparently there are even porters who’ll carry bags from one station to the other.’

As the train cruised in to the platform, PT dived across to check that there were no police waiting for them, but all he saw was a boy who looked a lot like Marc.

‘Can’t be,’ he muttered.

‘Can’t be what?’ Rosie asked.

‘I’m having hallucinations,’ PT smiled, as he caught Rosie’s yawn. ‘I’m so tired.’

But he wasn’t seeing things. They hopped off the train and Marc was standing by the guard’s van waiting to help with the trolley.

‘Took you long enough,’ Marc said cheerfully.

Rosie gave him a quick hug. ‘I’m slightly baffled,’ she admitted.

‘I got dragged to the stationmaster’s office at Stockport, so I turned on the waterworks and started bawling about my mum being in hospital in London and that my granddad was waiting for me. He took pity and put me on a train back to Manchester. I picked up the Glasgow Flyer and went Manchester to London non-stop.’

‘It’s good to have you back,’ PT smiled. ‘How long have you been here?’

‘Just long enough to get off the train, buy a platform ticket and come to meet you two. There’s no sign of any cops or anything.’

The guard helped PT to unload the trolley and they began walking across the station. All the signs had been removed or painted over, so Rosie had to ask a newspaper seller for directions. After a week in the Highlands London looked drab and smelled stale. The sun was mired behind a grey blanket and the wind was perishing, but Rosie, Marc and PT were starting to believe that they’d done it.

‘I’m more nervous now than ever,’ Marc said, as they moved briskly along Euston Road with the bags and trolley. ‘Imagining what can go wrong.’

PT smiled. ‘And if it did, we’d always know how close we got.’

‘Shut up, you fools,’ Rosie said. ‘You’ll jinx it.’

And then they heard a huge booming crash