Next in Line (William Warwick, #5)(38)

Ross sat silently in the front, thinking about the crowd that would be waiting to greet the Princess. It wouldn’t be large when they arrived, as the guest of honour’s name had been left off the invitation card for security reasons. But the red carpet and the smartly dressed guests all heading in one direction would inevitably attract a group of curious onlookers. By the time they left, there would be people hanging out of windows, clinging onto lampposts, and spilling onto the road just to get a glimpse of her. That was when he would need three pairs of eyes.

HRH interrupted his thoughts. ‘Are you expecting any problems, Ross?’

‘We’ve got a nutter who’s turned up for the last three of your events, and claims he’s married to you.’

‘Is that a crime?’ asked Diana.

‘It is while you’re still married to the Prince of Wales,’ said Ross, immediately regretting his words.

‘What about the guest list?’ said Victoria, trying to get him off the hook.

‘Mainly the great and the good, with one or two exceptions.’

‘Even more nutters?’ asked Diana.

‘No, ma’am, but two of the guests do have criminal records.’

‘Tell all,’ said Victoria.

‘Burglary and fraud. I’m going to have to make sure, ma’am, that you’re not photographed with either of them, because you can be sure that would be the one picture on all of tomorrow’s front pages.’

As the car swung into Bond Street, a dozen photographers leapt out into the middle of the road, while someone in the crowd shouted, ‘It’s Diana!’

? ? ?

‘Mansour Khalifah,’ said William, ‘is, without question, among the most wanted terrorists on earth. We don’t even know how many people he’s killed, or been responsible for killing. If he is on that plane, and we let him get away, the Americans, not to mention the Israelis, might have a word or two to say on the subject. However, as we’re still not certain it’s him on board, we’ll have to tread carefully.’ He passed Jackie another photograph of Khalifah, which she studied carefully as their unmarked car, a single blue light flashing, touched 100 mph as it sped down the motorway.

‘Does he have any distinguishing marks?’ Jackie asked.

‘A birthmark on the side of his neck, just below his left ear. He claims, and his followers believe, it’s a scar inflicted by an American sniper. But it will be well hidden if he’s wearing a traditional robe and headdress.’

‘How am I going to get on the plane?’ asked Jackie as she studied the front cover of an old Newsweek showing Mansour Khalifah was holding a scimitar high in the air, moments before he beheaded a captured American soldier.

‘You’ll be joining a group from the anti-terrorist squad who will be replacing the crew that was meant to be flying him to Moscow. As the stewardess, you’ll have the best chance of identifying him. But leave SO19 to take him out, because this man,’ said William, tapping the cover of the magazine, ‘would kill his mother without a second thought.’

Danny slowed down as they came off the motorway and headed for an unmarked gate that would take them directly onto the main runway.

The officer on the gate was clearly expecting them, because he spent only a moment checking William’s warrant card before pointing him in the direction of an isolated building on the far side of the runway. Danny didn’t slow down again until he spotted Superintendent Duffield standing alone. Not a uniformed officer in sight.

? ? ?

Ross hovered a few paces behind the Princess, who was chatting to the chairman of Asprey as the guests were served their first course. His eyes swept the room once again. That was when he saw her.

She was seated near the back of the room, sprinkling a little too much salt on her food. Then she glanced around furtively before dropping a silver salt cellar into the open handbag on her lap. She clicked the bag shut and went on eating. In normal circumstances Ross would have approached her discreetly and suggested she put the salt cellar back on the table, to avoid any further embarrassment. But these were not normal circumstances, and his instructions were set in stone. Never allow anything to distract you from the primary responsibility of protecting your principal. But he did find himself becoming distracted a second time, when he spotted a man on the centre table slipping a silver napkin ring into his handkerchief while pretending to blow his nose. It then disappeared into a trouser pocket.

By the time HRH rose to make her speech at the end of the meal, six salt cellars, four pepper pots, three napkin rings and a mustard pot – full of mustard – had gone AWOL, and there was nothing Ross could do about it. Among a hundred of the wealthiest people in the land were at least a dozen petty thieves Fagin would have been happy to employ.

The chairman of Asprey listened to the Princess’s speech, a smile of satisfaction never leaving his face. Ross wasn’t going to be the person to tell him his unique Asprey silver collection would be missing several pieces by the time it was returned to the vaults.

The standing ovation that followed the Princess’s speech allowed two or three more guests a chance to take their pick: a silver teaspoon and another pepper pot were among the spoils. Easy for Ross to spot the thieves – they were the ones who weren’t clapping.

After the Princess had signed several menu cards, the chairman accompanied his guest of honour back to her car. On the way she stopped to chat to a few members of the waiting crowd, including an old woman in a wheelchair who told her she had once shaken hands with the Queen Mother. Diana gave her a hug and she burst into tears.