Джеффри Арчер - And Thereby Hangs a Tale

Arnold walked out of the building and made his way down Whitehall. He held his head high as he strolled past Downing Street, wondering how much he could tell his sister about the meeting that had just taken place. He checked his watch and decided to hail another taxi. After all, it was a special day.

‘Where to, guv?’ asked the taxi driver.

‘The Palladium,’ said Arnold as he climbed into the back seat.

Arnold thought about his meeting with the commander as the taxi made its slow progress into the West End. He played the conversation over and over again in his mind as if he was pressing the repeat button on a tape recorder. The cab came to a halt on Great Marlborough Street, a police cordon preventing them from going any further.

‘What’s the problem?’ Arnold asked the driver.

‘There must be a member of the royal family or some foreign head of state going to the show tonight. I’m afraid you’ll have to walk the last hundred yards.’

‘Not a problem,’ said Arnold, handing over a ten-pound note and not waiting for any change.

He made his way past the large crowd of people pressing against the safety barriers hoping to discover who was causing so much interest. When he reached the theatre entrance, his ticket was carefully checked before he was allowed to enter the foyer. He walked up the wide red-carpeted steps and looked around for his sister. A few moments later he spotted a programme being waved energetically. Janet was never late for anything.

Arnold gave his sister a kiss on both cheeks, wished her a happy birthday and asked her if she’d like a glass of champagne before the curtain went up.

‘Certainly not,’ said Janet. ‘Let’s go and find our seats. A member of the royal family is expected in tonight, and I want to see who it is.’

‘Please take your seats,’ said a voice over the tannoy. ‘The performance will begin in five minutes.’

‘I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks,’ said Janet as an usher tore their tickets in half and said, ‘Halfway down on the left-hand side.’

‘What wonderful seats, Arnold,’ said Janet when they reached row G.

‘Well, you’re not forty every day,’ said Arnold, giving her arm a squeeze.

‘I wish,’ she said as they made their way to the centre of the row, trying not to tread on anyone’s toes but causing several people to have to stand.

‘I thought we’d go to Cipriani afterwards,’ said Arnold once they’d settled down.

‘Isn’t that a bit extravagant?’ said Janet.

‘Not on my sister’s birthday, it isn’t. In any case, it’s turned out to be a rather special day for me as well.’

‘And why’s that?’ asked Janet as she handed him a programme. ‘Not another promotion?’

‘No, more important than that—’ began Arnold as people around him began to rise and start clapping as the Princess Royal entered the royal box. She gave the audience a wave before taking her seat. Janet waved back.

‘She’s always been one of my favourites,’ Janet said as the audience sat back down. ‘But do tell me, Arnold, why it’s such a special day for you?’

‘Well, it all began when he moved into our block—’

‘Who are you talking about?’ interrupted Janet as the lights went down.

‘I must confess, I had my doubts about him from the start...’ Arnold whispered as the conductor raised his baton. ‘I’ll tell you all about it over dinner,’ he added as the orchestra began to play a melody most of the audience knew off by heart.

Arnold enjoyed the first half of the musical, and when the curtain fell for the interval, it was clear from the rapturous applause that he was not alone.

Several members of the audience rose and peered up at the royal box, where Princess Anne was chatting to her husband. Suddenly the door at the back of the box opened, and a man whose face Arnold could never forget walked in, dressed in a scruffy dinner jacket, one hand in his pocket.

‘Oh my God,’ said Arnold, ‘it’s him!’

‘It’s who?’ said Janet, her eyes not straying from the royal box.

‘The man I was telling you about,’ said Arnold. ‘He’s a terrorist, and somehow he’s managed to escape and get into the royal box.’ Arnold didn’t wait to hear his sister’s next question. He knew his duty, and quickly squeezed past the people in his row, not caring whose toes he trod on while ignoring a barrage of angry protests. When he reached the aisle he began to run towards the exit, pushing aside anyone who got in his way. Once he was in the foyer he quickly looked around then charged up the sweeping staircase that led to the dress circle, while the majority of theatregoers were making their way slowly down to the crush bar on the ground floor. Several people stopped and stared at the ill-mannered man going so rudely against the tide. Arnold ignored them, as well as several caustic comments addressed directly at him. At the top of the stairs he set off in the direction of the royal box, but when he came to a red rope barrier, two burly police officers stepped forward and blocked his path.

‘Can I help you, sir?’ one of them asked politely.

‘There’s a dangerous terrorist in the royal box,’ shouted Arnold. ‘The princess’s life is in danger.’

‘Please calm down, sir,’ said the officer. ‘The only guest in the royal box this evening is Professor Naresh Khan, the distinguished American orthopaedic surgeon who is over here to give a series of lectures on the problems he encountered following 9/11.’

‘Yes, that’s him,’ said Arnold. ‘He may be posing as a famous surgeon, but I assure you, he’s an escaped terrorist.’

‘Why don’t you show this gentleman back to his seat,’ said the officer, turning to his colleague.

‘And why don’t you call Commander Harrison at Scotland Yard,’ said Arnold. ‘He’ll confirm my story. My name is Arnold Pennyworthy.’

The two officers looked at each other for a moment, and then more closely at Arnold. The senior officer dialled a number on his mobile phone.

‘Put me through to the Yard.’ A few moments passed, too long for Arnold, who was becoming more frantic by the second.

‘I need to speak to Commander Harrison, urgently,’ the officer said.

After what seemed an eternity to Arnold, the commander came on the line.

‘Good evening, sir, my name is Bolton, Royal Protection team, currently on duty at the London Palladium. A member of the public — a Mr Pennyworthy — is convinced there’s a terrorist in the royal box, and he says you’ll confirm his story.’ Arnold hoped they would still be in time to save her life. ‘I’ll put him on, sir.’ The officer handed the phone to Arnold, who tried to remain calm.

‘That man we discussed this afternoon, Commander, he must have escaped, because I’ve just seen him in the royal box.’

‘I can assure you, Mr Pennyworthy,’ said the commander calmly, ‘that’s not possible. The man we spoke about this afternoon is locked up in a high-security prison from which he’s unlikely to be released in your lifetime.’

‘But I’ve just seen him in the royal box!’ shouted Arnold desperately. ‘You must tell your men to arrest him before it’s too late.’

‘I don’t know whom you’ve just seen in the royal box, sir,’ said the commander, ‘but I can assure you that it isn’t Mr Zebari.’

The chairman climbed out of the back of his car and strode into the bank.

‘Good morning, Chairman,’ said Rod, the young man standing behind the reception desk.

The chairman walked straight past without acknowledging him and headed towards a lift that had just opened. A group of people who’d been expecting to take it stood aside. None of them would have considered sharing a lift with the chairman, not if they wanted to keep their jobs.