Confessional - Jack Higgins [79]
'You are the policeman, not me,' Cussane said.
Brodie cuffed him on the side of the head. 'Manners, my little man. I can see I'm going to have to chastise you.'
Watching from the door, Moira McGregor said, 'Don't do that.'
Brodie smiled contemptuously. 'Women - all the same. Fancy him, do you, just because he played the hero?'
He went out. She said to Cussane desperately, 'Who are you?'
He smiled. 'I wouldn't bother your head about that. I could manage a cigarette, though, before bully-boy gets back.'
Brodie had been a policeman for twenty years after five years in the military police. Twenty undistinguished years. He was a sour and cruel man whose only real authority was the uniform, and his religion had the same purpose as the uniform, to give him a spurious authority. He could have rung headquarters in Dumfries, but there was something special about this, he felt it in his bones, so instead, he rang police headquarters in Glasgow.
Glasgow had received photo and full details on Harry Cussane only one hour previously. The case was marked Priority One with immediate referal to Group Four in London. Brodie's telephone call was transferred at once to Special Branch. Within two minutes he found himself talking to a Chief Inspector Trent.
'Tell me all about it again,' Trent told him. Brodie did so. When he was finished, Trent said, 'I don't know how much time you've got in, but you've just made the biggest collar of your career. This man's called Cussane. A real IRA heavy. You say the passengers on the bus he was on are being transferred to the train?'
'That's right, sir. Flooding on the road. This is only a milk stop, but they're going to stop the Glasgow express.'
'When is it due?'
'About ten minutes, sir.'
'Get on it, Brodie, and bring Chummy with you. We'll meet you in Glasgow.'
Brodie put down the phone, choking with excitement, then he went into the sitting room.
Brodie walked Cussane along the platform, one hand on his arm, the other clutching Cussane's bag. People turned to watch curiously as the priest passed, wrists handcuffed in front of him. They reached the guards van at the rear of the train, the guard standing on the platform beside the open door.
'What's this?'
'Special prisoner for Glasgow.' Brodie pushed Cussane inside. There were some mailbags in the corner and he shoved him down on to them. 'Now you stay quiet like a good boy.'
There was a commotion and Hardy appeared at the door, Moira McGregor behind him. 'I came as soon as I could,' the foreman said. 'I just heard.'
'You can't come in here,' Brodie told him.
Hardy ignored him. 'Look, I don't know what this is about, but if there's anything I can do.'
On the platform, the guard blew his whistle. Cussane said, 'Nothing anyone can do. How is Tisini?'
'Looks like a broken leg.'
'Tell him his luck is good.'
There was a lurch as the train started. 'It suddenly occurs to me that if I hadn't drawn you in to help, you wouldn't be here now,' Hardy said.
He moved out to join Moira on the platform as the guard jumped inside. 'Luck of the draw,' Cussane called. 'Don't worry about it.'
And then Hardy and the woman were swept away into the past as the guard pulled the sliding door shut and the train surged forward.
Trent couldn't resist phoning Ferguson in London and the Directorate-General patched him in to the Cavendish Square phone. Fox and Devlin were out and Ferguson answered himself.
'Trent here, sir, Chief-Inspector, Special Branch, Glasgow. We think we've got your man, Cussane.'
'Have you, by God?' Ferguson said. 'What shape is he in?'
'Well, I haven't actually seen him, sir. He's been apprehended in a village some miles south of here. He's arriving by train in Glasgow within the hour. I'll pick him up myself.'
'Pity the bugger didn't turn up dead,' Ferguson said. 'Still, one can't have everything. I want him down here on the first available plane in the morning, Chief-Inspector. Bring him yourself. This one's too important for any slip-ups.'
'Will do, sir,' said Trent eagerly.
Ferguson put down