Chapter 25

Peters had no Tube ticket and I'd lost mine somewhere. Can you imagine it? The end of the world, the deluge, and a poxy little ticket taker stops us from climbing over the Underground turnstiles to safety? Well, I was over them and would have made clean away if it hadn't been for that bloody Peters. The scrawny little old bugger tackled him and absolutely hung on for dear life.

'Sir,' the collector called after me, 'Come back! This is a serious offense, sir! You're only making things worse for yourself and your friend! Come back, sir!'

In spite of Peters having been referred to as my friend, I returned reluctantly. Unfortunately, I still needed Peters. I stood impatiently across the hurdles from Peters and his aged captor. The ticket taker's black plastic glasses had been knocked askew in the struggle. He pushed them back up and brushed off his blue jacket irritably. 'Here,' I growled to Peters, 'Let me just show him your warrant card. Where is it?'

'Shirt pocket,' rumbled Peters, leaning forward.

I reached across and slipped the plastic-laminated card out, carefully avoiding contact, even through cloth, with Peters' doubtlessly rubbery flesh. 'Police,' I said and handed it over to the ticket collector.

The collector studied the card slowly and carefully. 'Now, young fellow, I've never seen one of these cards before and there's no picture on it, neither,' he mused dubiously. He stared frostily at Peters. 'And anyway, if this here bloke's a policeman, then what's he doing locked up in cuffs like that?' He handed the card back to me.

'Well, that's a very long and complicated story,' I said pleasantly. I showed the man my Cabinet Office pass. 'We're on official business, you see,' I whispered confidentially, 'It's very hush-hush.'

He still wasn't impressed in the slightest. 'Did you have tickets when you entered the Underground, sir?' he demanded sternly.

'I did, yes, but I lost it,' I replied testily. 'I don't really know about him,' I said, indicating Peters.

'I came in with uniformed police on a raid into the Underground,' snapped Peters indignantly. 'Of course we didn't have tickets. Do you think we'd stop to buy tickets in the middle of an operation?'

The collector clucked loudly, made a sceptical moue and handed me back Peter's warrant card. 'Well, sir, that'll be £2 for the two of you, please,' he said.

'Look, we haven't actually got any cash on us at the moment,' I apologised. 'Couldn't we just give you an IOU or something like that?'

The ticket taker regarded us sceptically. 'I suppose I could do a 1014 for you, sir,' he sighed. 'That's a voucher for lost tickets. But the real problem is that this gentleman here openly admits that he never had a ticket. I can't issue him a 1014 because of that. It just wouldn't be worth my job, see.'

I hadn't heard that old chestnut for ages. 'Oh, good grief,' I sighed impatiently. 'Do you take credit cards?'

The guard's thin face brightened and then eclipsed with worry. 'Yes, but only major ones, sir,' he warned.

I pulled out my Visa, American Express and Access cards. 'Pick a card,' I said eagerly, 'Any card, please.'

The man pointed humourlessly toward the ticket counter across the hall. 'I'm afraid you'll have to pay over there, sir,' he said.

'Oh, sure, all right, thanks,' I said. Officious little tick, I thought, hanging on down here wouldn't be worth his life, either. Damned if I'd say anything to him, after this, even if I thought he'd believe it.

Peters sighed heavily, rolled his eyes and stamped across the floor to the counter. I met him at the other side. The window was smashed in and the gate hung drunkenly open, derelict. We looked back. The game little ticket man had disappeared; probably official tea time. Peters shrugged and walked right through. We hurried up the stalled escalators. Euston station was full of prowling police. Huge queues of despondent-looking travellers snaked out of the doors of the station and out of sight. A pair of policemen, fifty feet away, regarded us suspiciously and whispered furtively into their radios.

'Well, that was a pretty close call back there, hey, Peters?' I joked. 'I mean, you could've ended up with a criminal record for fare jumping. You could lose your eyes only clearance for something like that, you know.'

Peters smiled wanly. 'Could I have it back, please?' he asked.

I regarded him quizzically, taking good care to move well out of striking distance from him. 'I beg your pardon?' I replied.

'My warrant card,' grunted Peters nervously. I guess he suddenly realised how extremely foolish he'd been to let me have it. I'd been wondering for hours how I was going to get it away from him without getting killed in the process. It had been unbelievably easy. Peters seemed to have been losing his edge as the fatigue built up.

'My dear chap,' I burbled calmly, in the best late Sir Antony style, 'Whatever can you be talking about?' I took out my Cabinet Office card and deliberately tore it across the photograph. I dropped the photograph portion down a crack in the escalator.

I stepped away from Peters and staggered dramatically towards the two coppers, clawing at my abdomen. 'Help! Help me!' I shouted. 'It's Turner! Get him! Help!' I cried. The two policemen rushed towards us. Peters sized up the situation and bolted down the stairs. A serious mistake, really, he should have stood his ground and talked them around. Maybe it was that fatigue. Hardly surprising, really, under the circumstances and with his arms pinned back like that, too.

I waved the warrant card at the policemen and pointed down the staircase. 'It's Turner, lads, get him!' Get him!' I don't really think they were that primed up about me at all. They probably just reacted to the situation of someone running from them in the way they'd been trained to react. They rushed down the escalator after Peters, whistles shrilling.

I turned and marched briskly towards the other police converging on the stairs. I stepped up to a beefy uniformed sergeant and displayed the warrant card boldly. He goggled at it with amazement and snapped to attention. That card must have been pretty hot stuff. 'Don't worry, sergeant,' I stated confidently. 'They'll get him. He won't get far. He's in cuffs.'

The sergeant nodded confidently. 'Oh they'll nab him, sir, all right. They're good lads, they are.'

I handed the sergeant the torn Cabinet Office card. 'It's Turner of the Cabinet Office down there, Sergeant. Official Secrets Act, terrorism and other very serious offences against the Crown. You must have had the squeal.' Not bad for spur of the moment stuff.

The Sergeant must've watched the same sort of TV stuff I had. He swallowed it down whole. 'Oh, yes, sir,' he replied stoutly. 'It's been up on the board for almost a week now, I think. We've been keeping a sharp eye our for Turner, sir.'

I drew the sergeant close to me. 'Turner's accomplices are on the next train out of London, sergeant,' I explained urgently. 'We're in hot pursuit. They must be followed. When is the next train and what platform is it leaving from, sergeant?'

The sergeant's face contorted. 'Train to Manchester, sir! Oh, crumbs, sir! It's just leaving now!' he cried. 'Platform 5, sir!'

I sprang back dramatically. 'Quick, sergeant, you and your men, follow me!' I shouted, best Boy's Own style. I bolted for the platform, shoving heavily laden people out of my way as I ran. The sergeant whistled, windmilled his arms at his men and pounded along behind me. The queues parted obediently to let us pass. Half a dozen whistling policemen followed after us. We raced down the deserted ramp to the train. The red clamshell steel platform gates were shut and locked. I could hear the train beginning to squeal its way out of the station. There was only one way possible in time left. 'Sergeant! Boost me over that wall!'

'Right-oh, sir!' he cried. The burly sergeant obediently laced his fingers together and braced his back against the high wall. I stepped my foot into his hands and he boosted me right up and over the wall. I dropped heavily down on the other side, recovered my balance and then pounded down the platform, waving wildly at the slowly moving train. It didn't slow.

I ran to an electric baggage cart and jumped up on it. I jammed my foot down on the pedal and jerked down the platform after the train, carts slamming and jerking wildly behind. Well, I'd like to say that I John Wayned myself from the moving cart to the train, but I didn't have to do that. The drivers just stopped the train for me. They were probably laughing so hard they couldn't keep their feet on the pedals, or whatever they used to make trains go. Anyway, they stopped and let me get on board. This time I did get to use my credit cards and for the last time, too. First class, don't you know? That will do nicely, sir, as they used to say. Especially with the warrant card. Anyway, you should have seen the state of second class. It was like the commute at rush hour in Calcutta. Even in first, it was standing room only. At least there was a better class of standee in First, even if everyone on the train was probably a VIP of some description or another.

* * *

Pretty clever, wasn't it, Lizzie, getting away like that? What's that, dear? Speak up, lovey, I can't hear you. Lizzie? Lizzie, where the devil are you? Lizzie? Blasted woman, always going off without saying a word to me! Lizzie, where the hell are you? Oh, there you are, my dear! I was looking for you. Yes, that's very true, love, everyone has to, once in a while, even without a lot of water to drink. Well, I do wish you wouldn't go off like that though, love, without telling me. It really does upset me, Lizzie. You gave me such a turn there for a minute, dear heart, such a turn.