To The Stars

Impossible. Everyone thinks that you are in Scotland. We have even had your car driven up there to cover your movements here.”

“So that’s where it went.”

“We can have it left wherever you want in Scotland. Will that help?”

“Tremendously. How do I get there?”

“By train. There’s one leaving for Edinburgh in two hours and we can get you on it. You’ll go as you are, you won’t be noticed that way, and you can bring your other clothes in a bag. Fryer will go with you.”

Jan thought swiftly, frowning into the darkness. “Arrange it then. Also arrange to meet me yourself in Edinburgh in the morning, in your Cynthia Barton role, and bring some money. At least five hundred pounds in cash. Old notes. Can that be done?”

“Of course. I’ll take care of it now. Fryer will be informed of everything. Call to him now, tell him the man with him is to leave with me.”

It seemed foolish, that people risking their lives together could not even see each other’s faces. But it was simple insurance that if one of them were captured he could not identify the others. They stayed in darkness until Fryer and the unknown man returned, then he and Sara left in silence after a quick muttered conversation with Fryer. Fryer waited until they left before he turned the light on.

“Going for a mystery tour are we,” he said. “Nice time of year for a trip.” He rooted in the boxes at the end of the garage and produced an ancient army duffle bag. “This will do fine. Just put your clothes in here and we’ll be off. A brisk walk should get us to King’s Cross just on time.

Once more Fryer showed his superior knowledge of the back streets of London. Only twice were they forced to cross any of the brilliantly lit avenues. Each time Fryer scouted ahead first to make sure they would not be observed, before he led Jan to the security of the darkness on the other side. They reached King’s Cross station with forty-five minutes to spare. The funny thing was that Jan, who had been here countless times before on the way to Scotland, did not recognize it.

They turned off the street into a long tunnel. Despite the fact that it was well illuminated it still had been used as a latrine and the smell of urine was sharp in the air. Their footsteps echoed as they went through it and up the stairs at the other end, into a large waiting room filled with scuffed benches. Most of the occupants seemed to be stretched out and sound asleep, although there were a few sitting up, waiting for their trains. Fryer went to the battered cigarette machine and dug a metal box from his pocket which he put under the dispenser. When the machine was satisfied that he had inserted enough small change, it rattled briefly and disgorged some cigarettes into the box. He handed it to Jan, along with a glow lighter.

“Here. Smoke a bit. Try to look natural. Don’t talk to anyone no matter what they say. I’ll get the tickets.”

The cigarettes were a brand Jan had never heard of before; WOODBINE was printed in blue letters the length of each of them, and they crackled like smoldering straw when lit, and burned his mouth.

There was a slow movement of people in and out of the waiting room, but no one as much as bothered to glance his way. Every few minutes the tannoy speakers would garble out an incomprehensible announcement. Jan grubbed his third cigarette out, feeling slightly bilious, when Fryer came back.

“Right as rain, gov. Off to the land of the Scots, but let’s go to the bog first. Do you have a bandana with you?”

“In my pocket, here in the bag.”

“Well dig it out now, we’re going to need it. People sit close in these trains, nosy parkers, talk like old women. And we don’t want you doing any talking.”

In the washroom Jan recoiled as Fryer snicked out an immense blade from his pocket knife. “Minor surgery, gov, for your own good. Keep you alive it will. Now if you’ll just peel your lip back I’m going to make a little nick in your gum. You won’t feel a thing.”

“It hurts like hell,” Jan said thickly through the white kerchief he pressed to his mouth. He took it away and saw it stained with blood.

“That’s the way. Good and red. If it starts to heal up just open it again with your tongue. And spit a bit of blood once in a while. Be convincing. Now here we go. I’ll bring the bag, you keep that kerchief in front of your mouth.”

There was a separate entrance to the Flying Scotsman platform that Jan had never known existed, admitting them to the rear of the train. Far ahead Jan could see the lights and scurrying porters at the first-class section behind the engine, where he always traveled. A private compartment, a drink from the recessed bar if he wanted it, then a good night’s sleep to wake up in Glasgow. He knew that there was a second-class section because he had seen them boarding, crowding into their multi-tiered sleeping coaches, waiting patiently in the station in Scotland until the first-class passengers had disembarked. He had never even suspected that there was a third-class section.