Ken McClure - The Anvil

‘It looks big enough for most of the residents to be anonymous anyway. We could give it a try?’

They agreed that it was their best chance and made a plan. When the moment seemed right they would get rid of all the accessories that marked them out as football supporters. Leavey would cross to the hotel and take a seat in the lobby. A few minutes later, MacLean and MacFarlane would enter to be greeted by Leavey who would appear to have been waiting for them. All three would then start walking along the lobby to the right. From the location of the front door they knew that there had to be one. They would pretend to be in conversation but actually taking in as much about their surroundings as possible. When they were safely out of sight of Reception they would stop and compare notes.

Leavey removed his hat and scarf and passed them to MacLean who stuffed them down a crack in the wall he was sitting on. He was about to start out for the hotel when MacLean stopped him. ‘Wait!’ A police jeep had appeared at the entrance to a lane running up the side of the hotel. It was too close to the main entrance for comfort. If either of the two policemen in it should turn out to be those of previous acquaintance Leavey would be recognised. Leavey swore under his breath and cursed his luck.

A few minutes later they saw the jeep turn and move off, its occupants bored with sitting. ‘I’m going,’ said Leavey and the others watched him cross to the hotel and disappear through the front doors. Six minutes later MacLean and MacFarlane joined him. The plan worked well and the three of them stopped at the end of the hotel shopping arcade to compare notes. They pretended to be intent on examining the Lladro figures in the last shop window while they spoke.

‘No one gave us a second look,’ said MacFarlane.

‘Good,’ said MacLean. ‘What did we see?’

‘The lifts and a cocktail bar were to the left as we came in,’ said Leavey.

‘Two tour operators’ desks at the start of the arcade and a Herz car rental desk,’ said MacLean.

‘But unmanned,’ added Leavey.

‘One of the tour operators’ desks was manned,’ said MacLean. ‘And it was English.’

‘Sunkist Tours,’ said MacFarlane.

‘Worth a try,’ said Leavey. ‘You or me?’

‘Me,’ said MacLean after a moment’s thought. ‘Follow me back to the desk and chat in the background.’

MacLean took a deep breath and walked purposefully back to the tour operators’ area with the other two in his wake. ‘Ah, there’s our girl,’ he announced in a loud voice as he approached the Sunkist desk.

‘Can I help you sir?’ asked the girl in the company red blazer.

MacLean noticed that she was wearing a lapel badge with her name on it. ‘Yes indeed Vera,’ he said, incorporating familiarity into his act. ‘We thought we might take a trip down to Alicante for a spot of fun at the casino. Trouble is, we need transport and the Herz desk is closed. Any chance of some help with car hire?’

‘No problem,’ replied Vera, accepting them as her own and feeling guilty about having forgotten their names but then she couldn’t remember everyone could she? ‘I can have one here for you in about half an hour.’

‘Splendid,’ said MacLean.

‘Small or large car?’

‘Something in the middle I think,’ laughed MacLean, keeping up his ‘loud businessman on holiday’ act.

‘A Seat Ibiza?’ said Vera.

‘Sounds fine.’

‘You’ll have to remind me of your room number,’ said Vera, giving MacLean a bad moment.

‘We’ll just wait in the bar Vera,’ said MacLean pretending to be preoccupied with something Leavey or MacFarlane had said in the background.

‘I need your room number sir,’ repeated Vera. ‘For the bill.’

MacLean breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Oh, I think I’ll just pay cash,’ he said. He leaned on the desk conspiratorially and stage-whispered, ‘The company’s paying for us chaps to have a bit of a break but I don’t think they’ll run to cars and casinos, eh?’

‘Very good sir,’ said Vera dutifully.

MacLean gulped down a brandy at the bar as Leavey and MacFarlane congratulated him. ‘That deserved an Oscar,’ said MacFarlane.

‘As long as it deserved a car,’ replied MacLean.

At six o’ clock precisely a blue Seat Ibiza was delivered to the front door of the hotel and Vera signed the driver’s docket. She finalised the paperwork with MacLean and ushered the three of them to the door, reminding them that it was the Sunkist barbecue on Saturday.

‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world Vera,’ said MacLean with a big smile as he accepted the keys.

‘Good luck at the casino.’

MacLean waited until another car just passed the hotel entrance before nursing the Seat out behind it to thread through the milling football supporters and out of the square. Leavey and MacFarlane ducked down below window level and MacLean held his breath as they slowly passed the police patrol guarding the bottleneck at the head of the square. The policemen paid them no attention. ‘Okay,’ he whispered as they picked up speed. ‘We’re out.’ A few moments later they picked up their first road sign and started following the route to Motorway 7. Ten more minutes of town traffic and they were heading south on the Mediterranean Highway.

The initial euphoria at being out on the road and back on course gave way to quiet reflection on what might have been. They had come perilously close to falling at the very first hurdle. ‘We were lucky,’ said Leavey and no one disagreed.

It was dark by the time they saw the lights of Alicante twinkling up ahead. MacLean checked the fuel gauge and found no immediate problem. He asked if there was any other reason to stop and took the silence as a negative.

‘We have a decision to make,’ said MacLean. ‘The motorway ends soon. We can either follow the Med Highway right round the coast or we could turn off and head up into the Sierra Nevada; that would be shorter but presumably slower. What d’you think?’

Leavey went for the coastal route and MacFarlane agreed; if they encountered problems it would be easier to deal with them on the busy coast road rather than up in the snowy mountain passes.

‘The Med Highway it is then,’ said MacLean.

They stopped in Murcia to take on fuel and have something to eat at a local cafe. ‘How far have we come?’ asked MacFarlane as he leaned back in his seat to allow the waiter to place a small plate of tapas in front of them. ‘About two hundred miles,’ replied MacLean, helping himself to a black olive. ‘Only three hundred to go.’

Leavey returned from the toilet and they placed their order, all of them going for steak with Rioja red to wash it down. Leavey declined any more wine after one glass, saying he would take over driving when they left. MacLean didn’t argue; the events of the afternoon and the first section of the drive had left him feeling tired. He looked forward to taking a bit of a nap on the next leg.

They stopped again at Almeria on the eastern tip of the Costa del Sol. The highway had taken them well back from the coast since leaving Murcia but now it had returned to court the shores of the Med. The moon was high and they found an all-night bar with a veranda, which permitted them to sit outside and enjoy the moonlight on the water as they sipped cold beer. MacLean watched the water lap therapeutically against the rocks for a while before looking up at the moon and thinking of Tansy. Their mission had got off to a shaky start but things were now running more smoothly. He was beginning to feel less tense. He looked at his watch and suggested they might as well sit where they where a while longer. There was no point in getting to Malaga before breakfast time so they had another beer.