Майкл Ридпат - Launch Code

Toby sprinted for the car, yelling and waving, but the woman had climbed inside and didn’t hear him.

He listened out for the sound of another rifle shot, but all he could hear was Rickover yelping somewhere behind him.

He threw himself at the car door on the passenger side, yanked it open and jumped in. ‘Drive!’ he said.

The woman was about forty, with well-groomed blonde hair. She was wearing a Barbour. ‘I beg your pardon?’ she said, her voice cut glass. ‘Will you please get out of my car?’

‘There’s a man with a gun,’ Toby said. ‘Just drive.’

‘Get out of my car, or I will call the police.’

‘I’ll call the police,’ said Toby. ‘You drive, for God’s sake! Didn’t you hear the shots?’

The woman looked at him. Rickover was barking furiously outside the passenger door. The retriever licked Toby’s ear.

‘OK,’ said the woman. ‘Let your dog in.’

Toby opened his door and Rickover jumped up on to his lap. The woman put the Range Rover into reverse and the vehicle leaped backwards. She slammed the gear into first, and the car surged forward.

‘Where to?’ said the woman.

‘Anywhere,’ said Toby, reaching for his phone. ‘Just drive fast.’ He punched out 999, while the woman did as he had told her, the car reaching fifty over the bumpy track, flinging Toby and the two dogs off their seats.

The track from the car park led away from Barnholt through the pine trees. Within two minutes they had reached the main road.

‘Which way?’ the woman asked.

‘King’s Lynn,’ said Toby to her, and ‘Police,’ to his phone.

Toby sat in the interview room sipping a cup of tea. It had sugar in it: at least three spoonfuls. He didn’t take sugar, but it tasted good. Some cop technique for dealing with shock, maybe.

He and his volunteer getaway driver, whose name was Caroline, had remained remarkably cool as they had sped to King’s Lynn. A series of police cars hurtled past them towards the coast, until one peeled off and escorted them to the police station.

The police had told Toby they wanted to interview him right away, but he had been waiting fifteen minutes, time to let the jumble of thoughts and emotions begin to settle.

His heart was still beating rapidly from adrenaline or shock or both. Toby had never seen a dead body before. Lars’s surprised expression was seared into his brain, as were the two red holes opening up in his chest. Toby knew he would never forget them.

He wasn’t just shocked, he was sorry. He’d realized that, despite Lars’s dodgy background, he liked him. In fact, he admired him. It was Lars who had decided to risk everything to stop the launch. Lars had been willing to own up falsely to killing Craig, out of loyalty to Bill.

Shocked, sorry and scared. Someone had nearly killed him less than an hour before. The shot had hit the sand only inches away from his nose. He was lucky to be alive. And unless the police caught the shooter right away, he might have another go at Toby.

Toby wanted to help the police find the man, whoever he was. He strongly suspected the shooting had something to do with the near-launch on the Hamilton , although he had no idea what. He regretted signing the damned Official Secrets Act. Should he just ignore it?

And then there was Alice. She was off the hook now. Wasn’t she?

He had to find a way to tell the police what he knew.

The door opened and DC Atkinson came in, together with his boss, DI Creswell. They both smiled at him as they took their seats on the other side of the interview table.

Atkinson started. ‘How are you feeling, Toby? That must have been quite a shock.’

‘It was. But I’m OK. Did you catch him?’

‘Not yet,’ said Creswell. ‘But we’re looking for him. We’re fortunate: because we are so close to the royal residence at Sandringham we are well prepared for this kind of thing.’

‘Anything you can tell us would be useful,’ Atkinson said. ‘While it’s fresh in your mind.’

So Toby told them what had happened in as much detail as he could from when he and Lars had left the house. He described what little he had seen of the shooter, and gave them the casing he had found by the green boat. He mentioned the other two cars in the car park and the couple walking down by the sea. Atkinson told him one of the cars, the blue one, belonged to the couple, and they were unlikely suspects: retired, living in a nearby village, originally from Cheshire. Toby was unable to describe the silver hatchback in any detail.

‘And what were you and Lars talking about on your walk?’

Here we go, thought Toby. ‘The murder of Sam Bowen. And what happened on the Alexander Hamilton in 1983.’

‘And what was that?’ asked Atkinson.

‘I can’t tell you.’

Atkinson glanced at his boss, who leaned forward. ‘Toby,’ she said in a quiet, reasonable voice. ‘A man has just been murdered. You were nearly shot as well. We need you to help us.’

‘You are quite right,’ said Toby. ‘I really want to help you, but I did sign that piece of paper. I want to talk to that guy from MI5 who came up here yesterday — Prestwitch his name was. You probably spoke to him?’

‘We did,’ said Creswell.

‘Well get him up here,’ said Toby. ‘I’ll tell him what I know, and he should tell you. I certainly hope he will.’

‘That’ll be the day,’ muttered Atkinson. Creswell looked at him sharply.

‘OK. We will arrange that. Was their anything in your conversation that you think wasn’t an official secret?’

Toby thought back to the discussion. It had pretty much all been related to the Alexander Hamilton . He told them what Lars had said about going for a drive along the coast earlier that day.

‘I asked him directly whether he had killed Sam Bowen himself.’

‘And what did Lars say?’

‘He said he hadn’t. And, for what it’s worth, I believe him. Especially since he is dead now himself.’

‘All right,’ said Creswell. ‘Can you tell me why you thought he might have killed Sam Bowen?’

‘I had a strong feeling that there was something Lars wasn’t telling me,’ said Toby. ‘I thought it was maybe that. But it wasn’t. It must have been something else. So I asked him whether he knew who had killed Sam.’

‘Did he?’

‘That’s when he was shot.’

Creswell stared at Toby hard, assessing whether to believe him. He genuinely wanted to help her.

He had an idea.

‘There is one thing I can tell you,’ he said. ‘Lars told Justin that it was him who killed Craig on the submarine.’

Creswell raised her eyebrows. ‘Really?’

‘You’re probably wondering why I can tell you that when I said I wouldn’t divulge any secrets about what happened on the Hamilton ?’

Creswell nodded slowly. ‘But don’t let us stop you.’

Toby considered his next statement carefully before he spoke. ‘Lars’s claim doesn’t fall under that.’

‘How can that be?’ said Atkinson.

Inspector Creswell gave Toby a small smile of understanding. ‘Because it didn’t happen. Lars didn’t actually kill Lieutenant Naylor, so it’s not Classified information.’

Toby kept his face expressionless. She was on the right track.

‘Sorry I can’t say more,’ he said. ‘But I would like to help. Once I can talk to MI5.’

‘OK,’ said Creswell. She terminated the interview. ‘We’ll get you back to Barnholt now. We’ll leave an armed police guard there overnight, but I hope we’ll catch this guy before too long. I’m sure we will want to speak to you again tomorrow, and we will get Mr Prestwitch or one of his colleagues here as soon as possible.’