Brute Force

42

0524 hrs

My feet were blocks of ice. I was desperate for a brew.

'OK, remember. Talk to no one. Just buy your ticket, and keep your head down.'

I gave him five minutes and then followed.

The station was an old Victorian building with a new car park and taxi rank. There were already quite a few cars parking up, pumping out clouds of cold CO2. They couldn't have come far. The taxis' engines were hot and so their exhausts were clear.

I kept my head down but kept a lookout as best I could as Lynn disappeared into the building.

I concentrated on vehicles that weren't belching. Maybe the car we'd lifted had a tracking device too. Maybe they had driven like madmen from the coast, following its signal. Then put two and two together and realized that unless we were going to hide here, there were only three ways out: plane, bus or train.

I checked the board. The next train out was 05.40. I bought myself a paper and fell in behind a couple of guys with briefcases, long overcoats and scarves up to their ears, who were moaning about some injustice or other at the office as they shoved their cards into the ticket machine. I was tempted to suggest they try my life for a day.

I headed for the café with my second-class single safely in my pocket and saw Lynn sitting in the corner, warming his hands on a steaming paper cup.

'Coffee – large, please, to take away. And a couple of those.'

The girl, whose name tag said she was called Giertruda and wished me a safe journey, shoved the two Danishes in a bag as the machine behind her gargled away.

I was soon back in the cold concourse, pissed off that Lynn was still in the warm. But so what? So far, so good.

I watched him come and join the throng of commuters heading for the waiting train. He got into the next carriage up from mine.

I still couldn't be absolutely sure about Lynn. He might have saved my arse with the gardening fork, but he might now want to save his own by giving me up to the Firm. But for now, I just had to keep both of us from being lifted. Especially me.

I settled into my seat and the first notice I read warned me that assaults on staff were taken seriously and would result in prosecution. Onboard cameras would be collecting evidence all the way.

No doubt about it, the UK had become a surveillance society. We have 1 per cent of the world's population, but 20 per cent of its CCTV cameras. The Holloway Road in North London has 102 in two miles. One 650-yard stretch has twenty-nine of the fuckers – one every twenty-odd yards.

All good news for people like the Firm, who needed to know things, but a nightmare when it's being used against you. And that was why it was imperative we got out of the UK, soon as.