Part of Rhyllann marvelled how Crombie remain so calm over the important things and get so sweaty with the small stuff. Another registered Holden’s rapt face. But then he concentrated on being Wren. Being smaller and weaker. Being picked on by everyone. He imagined his foot hurting, his stomach raw, laying in hospital… and then – and then … Rhyllann froze with horror as he remembered WPC Hewes making certain Rhyllann was still at Bodmin Police station with Crombie.
‘Hewes! Sergeant Holden said a woman – and she called from the hospital!’ This made no sense.
‘Why would she wanna drag your cousin out of hospital?’ Crombie’s brow wrinkled, above eyes that were granite. ‘She told Bates to go on without us … then called to wish you a good trip … knowing damn well you’d missed the train. What the hell’s she playing at?’
‘She’s got Wren. She’s got the box. Wren wouldn’t go with her. Wren always knew. He knew one of your lot was a traitor. Why would he go with her? She’s working with those madmen. And Stern. He hates him.’ Rhyllann heard his own voice getting louder and louder and shut his mouth firmly, his eyes mutely begging Crombie for an explanation.
‘Wren wouldn’t go with her until she called you.’ He nudged Holden. ‘Think man. Anything unusual?’
‘Well … the kid was wearing a dressing gown – but.’ He shrugged thinking back. Suddenly he sat up straight, his face draining of colour.
‘There was something. Something very strange. The kid looked at the woman and said “That man’s wife is on the train.” But she just shrugged and hustled him away.’ He stared at Crombie then Rhyllann. In a tone of bewilderment he asked.
‘How did he know that?’ Holden spread his hands uncertainly. ‘How could he possibly know?’
Because Wren had a wild imagination and probably made up a whole background story for Holden just to amuse himself. Crombie tapped the note Rhyllann still clutched.
‘Read it again son. It’s all we’ve got. What’s he trying to tell you?’
Dipping his head, Rhyllann read it again, one line at a time. Trying to think like Wren.
I cannot right in Welsh. But he could. Wren meant he wasn’t allowed.
The Police guard. Watched while he wrote?
Have promised you will get this. And I’m not moving until they do.
They have promised you will not board that train. Why was that important? Rhyllann couldn’t think. He’d come back to that. He read on.
You were write not to trust xxxxxx Crombie. Wrong spelling, and they agreed Crombie could be trusted. Making two wrongs. Or two negatives.
The LIAR. Why the capitals? Wren didn’t think Crombie was a liar. Why emphasise that word?
You were right. Right about what?
I shouldn’t trust everybody. Wren trusted no-one. Apart from him and Crombie.
Rhyllann realised he’d been writing in thin air while thinking and Crombie watched him like a hawk. Probably worried he was about to start fitting.
‘Code! He’s writing in code! – Don’t you see – You were there – When he showed us the box – you remember – no you wouldn’t… he spoke in Welsh.’
‘Whoa – slow down son. He’s sent you a message – a coded message?’ Rhyllann shook Crombie’s shoulders.
‘Yes! That’s exactly it! All this chat about trust. One time I asked him if he trusted anyone. Wren said only me. Then this morning – Wren asked if I trusted you. I said yes – that’s when he showed us that box thing!’
‘So he’s trying to get you to read between the lines?’ Crombie asked.
‘Or think outside the box!’ Rhyllann shouted. ‘Where’s that envelope?’ Grabbing it he peeled it open, smoothing over the creases to flatten it.
‘Crombie – look – where he’s crossed out your name.’
Wren had written with the envelope under the paper. On paper, he had written the word Crombie heavily, but scored through with a pen lightly. And the first “Crombie” the one he had crossed out – wasn’t “Crombie” at all. There embedded on the envelope was the original word. “Bomb.” Rhyllann tilted the envelope this way and that, trying to see if any other word had been similarly transferred. The word “LIAR” had been scrawled large, with a transposed “R”, a mistake a child might make, but apart from that nothing. Nothing until Rhyllann tried to read the word upside down, then from right to left. He began sucking at air.
‘Bomb. Rail. There’s a bomb on the rail. Wren wouldn’t leave with her. So she blackmailed him. Told him about the bomb. But he wasn't allowed to tell me that, because she knew I'd warn you. That’s why we had to miss the train.’ He faced Crombie. ‘They’re gonna blow it up!’ He shouted. Crombie stared at him. ‘Don’t you see – he’s trying to tell us!’
Crombie exchanged a glance with Sergeant Holden.
‘Son – slow down – are you sure – why? I mean why would anyone want to blow up the train in the first place – then allow your cousin to warn you?’
Rhyllann wanted to believe Crombie. A bright yellow fluorescent triangle flashed into his mind as he traced round a cluster of words:
Train. Crombie. The LIAR. Pointing to each he said.
‘Train. Bomb. The rail.’ Rhyllann glared at Crombie, daring him to contradict.
‘Rodgers. PC Rodgers. He bragged how the men you captured were ready to talk. Give evidence.’ Rhyllann understood exactly what had happened. ‘They plan to stop that train. They’ve got two massive trunks full of explosives! I saw them! Then Hewes, I told her – I told her Wren had the key. Getting to him became priority.’
Rhyllann had stepped into the mind of a madman and it made perfect sense.
‘They’ve shown proof to Wren – convinced him to co-operate – provided he was allowed to warn me not to board the train. Someone watched while he wrote this. He couldn’t warn about the bomb.’
Crombie stared at Rhyllann as though he’d grown two heads. ‘But that’s absurd – it’s just …only a madman would …’ his voice trailed off.
‘Sir. Sir. My wife is on that train.’ Holden’s ruddy face looked stricken.
Crombie flew out the jeep, Holden at his heels. Rhyllann waited for the trembling to stop before following.
They were all in the station master’s office again. They’d interrupted lunch.
‘Sir for the last time, I’m telling you – I cannot stop the train.’
Crombie racked his fingers through his hair; casting a despairing glance at Holden.
‘Detective Inspector Crombie has received information that the train or the tracks may have been sabotaged.’ Holden’s voice revealed none of his personal torment.
‘Very convenient.’ The guard sneered, from his chair in the corner.
Crombie pounded the table. ‘I’m not playing games! We’ve had a coded message. We can’t be sure of the details. For god sake’s man – believe me.’
‘No need to blaspheme.’ Crombie’s béte noire warned, biting off another mouthful of sandwich.
‘Get a map. Quickly. You shut up. You’re not helping.’
The station master scurried to obey Crombie. With a map spread over the table he silently traced the train’s route for them.
‘Think man think! Is there anyway of stopping that train?’
The station master’s frightened face confirmed that he believed now. ‘I’m sorry Sir.’
‘Not unless you grow wings!’ The guard jeered through a mouthful of bread.
He cringed as Crombie covered the space between them in three paces and yanked him to his feet. ‘What did you say? What did you say?’
‘Not unless you grow wings and fly!’
Letting go abruptly, Crombie lunged back towards Rhyllann, grabbing his upper arm. ‘Come on!’ Catching Crombie’s urgency, they pounded back to the land rover, Holden puffing alongside them, vaulting over the jeep's bonnet and starting the engine as Crombie and Rhyllann flung themselves into the bench seat.
?
??Where to Sir?’
With a glance at Rhyllann Crombie asked ‘Is there a flying school or airport round here?’
‘Only RAF Mawgan, then Newquay airport.’
Crombie closed his eyes tightly. ‘Damn. Can you contact them …’ his voice trailed away as Holden shook his head.
‘It’s gonna take at least an hour to get there Sir.’
Rhyllann realised both he and Holden were staring at Crombie, waiting for him to pull something from the hat. Somehow he’d begun to rely on Crombie for answers. As if rewarding his faith, Crombie said.
‘What about light aircraft? Does anyone have a private plane?’
Holden thought for a moment, mentally running through his contacts. A ghost of smile appeared.
‘Funny you should ask that Sir. Willy Treraven’s just acquired a plane.’ Holden gunned the engine as he spoke, pulling out the carpark in the opposite direction of town. ‘’Bout five minutes away.’ As Holden expertly negotiated rain soaked lanes which seemed suited only for one way traffic, Crombie questioned Rhyllann closely about the trunks and more importantly the warning stickers on the trunk’s sides. Rhyllann described them as fully as he could, Crombie smiled grimly.
'Sounds like the new generation of explosives. One consolation, they’re pretty stable, not like some of those home made devices.’
They were hammering up a lane leading to a muddy farmyard. Holden let out a whoop of joy and pounded the jeep’s horn long and hard.
‘Landed in one of Willy's fields it did. Scattered his herd of prize cattle. Reckons the buggers have got to come back for it, and when they do – he’ll be waiting!’ He pointed to an Apache light plane nestled beside a row of tractors and farm implements. Rhyllann slunk deeper into his seat, feeling eyes on him.
‘Please no. Tell me it wasn’t you. Or rather don’t tell me anything.’ Crombie muttered.
Rhyllann couldn’t help himself. ‘Prize herd my arse! Some of them had three legs.’
Keeping his head well down, Rhyllann scuttled from the jeep into the plane, leaving Crombie and Holden to do the explaining. Running his hands over the controls, flicking fuel pumps on, Rhyllann cast around for his headings while priming the engine. Leaving Holden arguing with a vaguely familiar shape, Crombie strode towards the plane, calling back over his shoulder.
‘Look – any complaints take them up with Superintendent Bates.’ He nodded at Rhyllann. ‘Off we go son.’
It felt surreal. Two hefty policemen encouraging him to hi-jack a plane. Once again Rhyllann pushed all qualms to one side and taxi-ed the plane round the yard into a newly shorn field, the wings whispering over hedge tops, grinning at Holden who'd rushed to open the gate. Crombie leaned out to issue last minute instructions.
Circling round the newly cropped field to begin takeoff, checking headings, taking wind direction from the black and white Kernow flag flying from the farm house Rhyllann increased speed, praying.
Beside him Crombie clicked the radio back and forth – ‘Mayday Mayday Mayday. This is Detective Inspector Crombie of the Met Police – can anyone hear me? Come in please.’ Then being Crombie he tried again on a different frequency; only the vibrating rumble of the Apache’s engines answered. Rhyllann’s stomach muscles tightened. The fate of unknown souls rested on him and Crombie. He pushed that thought away. Thinking got you into trouble. Straightening his back, squaring his shoulders he focused entirely on defying gravity. With all the confidence of a seasoned pilot, he reassured Crombie.
‘Crombie it's you and me. Trust! I’m gonna get us in front of that train.’ The plane bucked and skipped, then he felt Crombie’s bulk relax as they were airborne. An ominous sound clanked from the undercarriage. Crombie peered over.
‘What … Hell – there’s a bloody great chain down there.’ That explained how Willy had got the plane back to his farm. Rhyllann grinned thinking lucky the tractor wasn’t still attached.
‘Where is it? In front or behind?’ Rhyllann wanted to know, hoping it wouldn’t interfere with his landing.
‘Streaming behind son. Kind of a loop about – oh I dunno at least eight feet.’ Rhyllann mentally envisaged it.
‘Shouldn’t be a problem.’ He said thinking all the problems in the world could be solved by soaring above them like this.
Engaging the throttle fully, dipping wildly to one side, Rhyllann watched trees blot out the farmhouse beneath them, to be replaced by a scrubby tail end of moor land and fields, then the town of Bodmin: houses clustered around a main road, the ruins of the old jail marking the outskirts. Rhyllann adjusted slightly to the right and tracks appeared beneath them. They were over Bodmin Moor now, flying for five minutes, noting Roughtor and Brown Willy to his left, feeling Crombie clutch at him, hearing him shout through the headphones.
‘Son – down there – I see it.’
Like a model train travelling below them billowing little puffs of steam, pulling two dinky carriages behind, for all the world like Thomas the Tank engine, and that fitted. Rhyllann could almost pretend he was having a vivid nightmare, except inside the borrowed trainers, his feet felt cold, so very cold, cold enough to have woken him from dreams by now.
‘Jesus, we might be in with a chance after all.’ Crombie breathed. ‘Can you fly any lower?’
‘Not with those pylon lines there. Sorry.’
‘’kay – kay – get some speed up – we need to get in front – then start looking for a landing spot.’ Rhyllann gave him a sharp look. He didn’t need instructions from him. Then he remembered Crombie’s brother. Rhyllann wondered if Crombie had acted as co-pilot or even flown himself before but didn’t like to ask.
Within minutes the track curled to the left – the pylons continued marching straight. Rhyllann breathed a sigh of relief. Crombie clutched him again pointing:
‘There – look – up ahead.’
They’d passed the moors surrounding Bodmin town, and were above the wilder highland moors. He could fly lower now. They’d been flying for around twenty minutes, through the headphones Rhyllann could hear Crombie huffing and began wondering if he’d read too much into Wren’s note, when the track looped to the left. The glistening rails curved a semi-circle through the moors, reducing the steep incline of the gorge forged by the river Camel, which was straddled by a magnificent Victorian viaduct. Where the embankment began again there was an army land rover on the tracks – but no sign of any sabotage.
‘Jesus. No.’ Crombie wailed. ‘Get as low as you can over that jeep.’
‘What – it’s the army – they won’t shot at us will they?’ Everyone in this county seemed trigger happy.
‘It’s on the tracks son. Any money you like they’ve filled it with explosives.’ Rhyllann suddenly understood what Crombie meant, and his mouth dried up.
In that moment he realised what Crombie guessed and Wren knew. The gang’s own members were expendable. The little steam train would act as a detonator.
‘Jesus no. We’ve got no time! Get as low as you can over that jeep without landing. As slowly as you can. Circle, and then come back. Do you understand?’ Rhyllann heard Crombie’s voice, but his brain wouldn’t decipher the words.
Crombie shook him. ‘Rhyllann. Listen to me. It's important you do exactly as I say. Rhyllann – listen, listen now.’ He shook him again more violently. Rhyllann nodded, unable to speak.
‘I need you to be very brave. You have to fly over that jeep as slowly as possible okay? Do you hear me?’ Rhyllann nodded again.
‘Then, this is the really important part. You have to fly on to RAF Mawgan. Head over in that direction.’ Crombie pointed. ‘And it's about fifteen miles between Padstow and Newquay. Okay? Tell them what’s happened.’ He was rummaging through his pockets now. ‘Take my warrant card. Explain everything. Okay?’ Slapping a plastic wallet down, Crombie struggled with the door.
‘Promise me now. Don’t look back.’ Wind gushed into the
cockpit with a deafening roar. Rhyllann stared open mouthed as Crombie positioned himself at the door frame, crouching.
‘What the hell are you on about? What are you doing?’ His throat closed up, and unexpectedly tears sprung to his eyes. Swallowing hard, he managed to whisper. ‘Don’t do this Crombie. Please don’t do this.’ Crombie probably didn’t hear him, but looked over his shoulder to give a self conscious grin.
‘Yeah I know. At my age. As slow as you can son.’
The plane’s wing flaps were already open to their fullest angle, Rhyllann’s hand trembled on the throttle, unwilling to do as Crombie asked but unable to think for himself. The plane slowed almost to a stall, helped by a headwind which seemed to come from nowhere. Even so, they were travelling at twenty miles an hour. In spite of the padded headphones Rhyllann could hear an unbearable roaring noise as the plane lumbered just above stall speed.
‘Please no. Don’t do this.’ He begged again, just as Crombie dropped like a sack of cement, landing yards from the stranded jeep. Rhyllann caught a glimpse of Crombie performing a clumsy forward roll before picking himself up and racing to the jeep. Then Rhyllann slanted to the right causing the door to slam.
Without the mind numbing howling wind, he could at last think straight. Manoeuvring the joy stick, he spiralled upward, the engine noise decreasing as the plane obtained cruise mode. Rhyllann now had an eagle’s eye view, for the first time ever taking no pleasure in the scene. In the distance, small puffs of steam rose. Rhyllann circled the jeep again; he couldn’t spot Crombie, and knew he was inside: Inside the jeep packed with explosives. Just above the embankment was a levelled area, it seemed at one time there had been a station or halt here. Rhyllann felt his backbone stiffen and sucked in his stomach as he prepared to circle the area for the second time, and deliberately disobey Crombie.
He placed the plane perfectly, almost on auto-pilot. Crombie must have heard his approach; only sixty yards or so from the jeep. As Rhyllann jumped down and began running towards the embankment a feeble whine reached him, as Crombie tried vainly to fire the engine.
‘Crombie – no! No!’ Rhyllann shouted, terrified the ignition would accidentally trigger the explosives. He thought he had faced Crombie’s anger before. But the man jumping from the jeep, hastening towards him seemed ready to kill. Rhyllann took an involuntary step back.
‘You bloody fool! Don’t you ever do what you’re told? Get away! Get away from here!’ Clutching Rhyllann's shoulders, Crombie shook him till his teeth rattled then shoved him roughly away from the tracks, slapping his back so hard it stung.
‘Go!’ Crombie bellowed. Without a second glance he strode back to the jeep, his distressed leather jacket flapping round his thighs. Rhyllann sobbed on his hands and knees, then certain Crombie would kill them both, began crawling back to the plane. A metallic sheen caught his eye. For a moment Rhyllann stared blankly at Willy Treraven’s chain, aware of the wretched spluttering of an engine repeatedly refusing to fire, and Crombie’s shouts of exasperation.
’Start damn you start! Come on! Come on!’ There was panic and fear in his voice; again and again the engine merely whined pathetically with the occasional cough. Rhyllann couldn’t leave him. Any moment now that train would come steaming round the corner, and onto the bridge. And stupid stubborn Crombie would be blown to smithereens along with the train, the two carriages and everyone on board. Because the train would never be able to stop in time. And there was nothing Rhyllann could do but watch.
”The chain. You could use the chain.” What? Rhyllann shivered, then elation rushed through him. The voice was right. The chain! If only … Ducking his head under his arm to peer backwards, Rhyllann saw the most beautiful sight in the world. The old school army jeep had a brand new shiny winch fitted to the front. And Rhyllann was willing to bet his life that it worked independently of the engine. Scrabbling back to the jeep, tugging open the driver's door he pulled at Crombie’s arm, screaming into his face.
‘The winch! Crombie the winch!’ For a moment he thought Crombie was going to strike him again. Then pushing Rhyllann to one side he jumped from the jeep to look for himself. In the distance, a train whistled, a happy sound, unaware of the horror awaiting it. Crombie crouched at the mechanism, muttering to himself.
‘Please god, give me this, please god, let something go right.’ His fingers were running along the thick electrical wire connected to the winch, feeling for an independent switch. His features relaxed, for a second, Rhyllann saw the merest hint of the old crocodile grin. Then Crombie remembered Rhyllann and scowled up at him.
‘I am going to play this hook out. Okay? You can help me attach it to that chain.’ Crombie nodded back to the plane. ‘Then you are going to run like the devil is behind you. Do you understand?’ Rhyllann nodded acknowledgement, but Crombie hadn’t finished.
‘If I so much as get a sniff of you hanging around. I swear to god Rhyllann Jones I will stop what I’m doing, and handcuff you to that bloody plane. And if I survive this, I swear to god, I will make your life one long misery. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?’
Rhyllann hopped from one foot to the other. ‘Yes I understand. Now get a bloody move on!’ As if to emphasise his words, the train whistle sounded again. Louder, more distinctively. But Crombie had already started up the winch mechanism, and was playing out the metal coiled rope. Rhyllann ran up the embankment, pulling back on the plane’s metal chain till it was almost taunt, willing Crombie to hurry … hurry.
The next few minutes were the longest of Rhyllann’s life, he jiggled from foot to foot, trying not to look down the railway track as the winch unwound with agonising slowness. Then Crombie was pacing only a few yards away from him, guiding the winch rope as he walked backwards, now only feet away; for one heart stopping moment it seemed the rope couldn’t possibly reach, and they’d wasted precious minutes. Suddenly Crombie was puffing beside him, and with aching arms Rhyllann held Willy’s chain steady for Crombie. He noticed Crombie’s hands shaking as he secured the thick solid lip of the hook through a chain link, tightening down the securing bolt over the hinge. They exchanged glances. It would have to hold.
‘Mind me now son, you start running.’ Crombie cautioned.
But Rhyllann could only walk backwards, his eyes fixed on the bridge. He realised suddenly that there would be no warning singing from the tracks, this wasn’t an electric train. In any case, his blood pumped so loudly, he doubted he could hear anything too subtle. In front of him, the metal chain twitched, then stretched as the winch reversed, winding back. Any second now, the jeep should start moving. He watched Crombie straighten up, then remembering his promise, finally turned to run.
At the third whistle, Rhyllann turned back panting. The train was starting over the bridge. Clouds of steam and smoke obscured it, the driver must have spotted the jeep, and was trying desperately to slow down, but still the massive bulk of iron thundered on. Dragging his eyes back to the jeep, Rhyllann saw its painfully slow progress judder, then come to a halt. Again the jeep hiccupped, and with a feeling of dread, he realised that the rear wheels had jammed against the tracks. Rhyllann began racing back towards Crombie, running helter skelter, his knees jarring, arms flailing and twice almost falling face first but somehow recovering. Any moment he expected to hear Crombie’s bellow, and he was determined to ignore him. But Crombie had vanished. Then suddenly the jeep jerked forward, Willy’s chain, now feet away from Rhyllann went slack, then tightened again. Looking back along its length, Rhyllann saw the jeep rolling free of the tracks, and knew exactly where Crombie was. From somewhere he found more speed, and sprinted forward, waving wildly, his voice one long scream. The thundering steam engine filled his vision; no longer a toy train but a wall of iron increasing in size every second. Unstoppable and within spitting distance. Rhyllann winced as an earsplitting shriek of steam filled every molecule of air. Flinging himself to the ground, Rhyllann covered his head, and w
aited for the world to explode. Then above everything else, all the noise and confusion and loudest of all his own heartbeat, he heard Crombie’s triumphant shout and knew they’d done it. They’d done it! Rhyllann opened his eyes to see, but sudden tears blinded him. He sensed air swelling; filling with sound and steam as the iron behemoth roared past, still screeching horribly, as the driver struggled to stop.
Forcing himself to his feet, Rhyllann stood, tensing jelly like muscles against buckling. Looking along the track he watched a massive cloud of steam billowing; thinning to reveal the gleaming flanks of an engine; shimmering on the moors like a ghost train.
Hey Crombie – they’ve stopped the train for you! Rhyllann thought hysterically. Where was Crombie? Rhyllann scanned the area casually at first, then with increasing urgency. Deep ruts stretched from the track to the jeep, where it had been dragged. Dear God no. Crombie had been sucked from the jeep into the path of the train – Rhyllann imagined him spread eagled across the cow catcher like a cartoon travesty. Spitting out the bile swarming into his mouth, Rhyllann began trudging towards the train, then turned to disconnect the winch from his plane. He couldn’t face that horror show yet. He concentrated on prising the metal catch of the hook back. It took all his strength to wrench it open. When he rattled the metal coil clear the plane’s undercarriage wobbled like a loose tooth. Touch and go. They had been so lucky. Rhyllann swiped at his eyes thinking Crombie would probably get the George Cross for this. Posthumously. Behind him, he heard a rifle like retort; Spinning round he saw Crombie emerge from the jeep, slivers of glass cascading around him creating miniature rainbows. At the last moment, with seconds to spare, Crombie must have hurled himself into the jeep, out of the train’s path.
‘Crombie!’ Rhyllann sprinted across to mug him. Crombie hugged him back briefly.
‘Son.’ He swallowed hard. ‘I’ve never been so scared in my life. Never.’ His voice came out in a whisper. The rear windscreen had shattered – Crombie who seemed to have lost volume control shouted at him now:
‘The bloody wheels jammed! God only knows how I managed to get them free. And Christ knows how I got clear in time! And you! How many bloody times do you need to be told?’ He shook Rhyllann again, throwing in a few slaps across his shoulders. Rhyllann had to sit down because his legs wouldn’t support him. He faced away from the jeep, determined to stop his mind from repeatedly measuring the gap between its back wheels and the tracks. Neither he nor Crombie had turned the winch mechanism off, yet it had stopped winding. The very last dregs of the battery must have finally drained. Inches had separated the train, jeep, Crombie and him from an inferno. As Crombie’s anger sapped, he dropped to his hands and knees to retch. Rhyllann crawled over to pat at his back.
Indicating the train Crombie said ‘I’ve gotta get up there – let them know what’s going on.’ But he was too late. The driver obviously decided they were a pair of nutters playing games. With creaking wheels and an eruption of steam the train got back into motion.
Pushing down hysteria, Rhyllann spluttered:
‘You’ve missed your train Crombie!’