The Anvil

FOURTEEN

‘Don’t go?’ exclaimed MacFarlane. Leavey just shrugged his shoulders.

MacLean looked at his watch and said, ‘We’ve still got thirty minutes. I’ll call her.’

MacLean was convinced that something awful must have happened at home for Tansy to send such a message. Something connected with Carrie was his fearful guess. His fingers felt like thumbs as he punched in Tansy’s number and waited. After the fourth ring he hoped that Tansy was in the bathroom, after the seventh, that she had been in the bath, after the tenth he accepted that she wasn’t there. He put down the receiver slowly and turned to face Leavey and MacFarlane. ‘No answer,’ he said.

‘What now?’ asked MacFarlane.

‘We’re going back to Edinburgh.’

They flew back to Edinburgh on a British Airways shuttle, which left forty minutes later. Leavey and MacFarlane were subdued, with a sense of anti-climax about them. MacLean was preoccupied with worry over what might have happened. As soon as they landed MacLean called Tansy again but found that there was still no reply. It did nothing to reassure him.

‘I think we better just go to the flat and wait,’ he said.

It was nearly five in the evening when Tansy arrived home and found the three of them camped on the doorstep. ‘Good,’ she said, ‘I see you got the message.’

MacLean was bemused. ‘Where have you been?’ he exclaimed.

‘I spent the morning in the local public library — I sent you the message from there — and this afternoon I’ve been at the hospital seeing Carrie,’ replied Tansy.

‘What’s wrong? What’s happened?’

‘Nothing’s wrong and nothing has happened,’ said Tansy evenly.

‘But Carrie?’

‘Carrie is fine.’

‘Tansy will you please explain,’ said MacLean, frustration getting the better of him.

‘I’ve just been doing some thinking that’s all. When you said the other night that Jean-Paul Rives had been looking for a place and not a person I got to wondering how he came up with a woman’s name.’

‘May Haas,’ said MacLean.

‘Precisely. It’s been niggling away at me. There was also the fact that Lehman Steiner were adamant that she’d never worked for them. This morning I worked it out. May Haas is not the name of a woman at all, it’s the name of a place.’

‘A place?’ exclaimed MacLean.

‘I was so sure of it that I spent the morning searching for it through the atlas in the library.’

‘And?’

‘For a while I thought I was barking up the wrong tree but then I mentioned to the librarian what I was doing. She’s been doing Spanish classes at night school. She thought the name could be Spanish and suggested a likely spelling. I found it. It’s a small town in southern Spain. It’s spelt, M-I-J-A-S but it’s pronounced, May Haas. ‘

There was silence in the room until Leavey said, ‘That makes a lot of sense.’

‘You’re absolutely right,’ agreed MacLean. ‘Eva told me that Jean-Paul’s search had been successful. She wouldn’t have said that if all he had come up with was a woman’s name. Tansy, that was brilliant.’ He gave her a hug.

Tansy brought out a map of Spain, which she’d gone into town to get after leaving the library. She spread it out on a low coffee table and the others crowded round. She traced her finger along the south coast of Spain, exaggerating the contours as she searched for Mijas. ‘There!’ she announced. ‘A few miles west of Malaga and three or four kilometres up into the mountains.’

‘Is there an airport at Malaga?’ asked Leavey.

‘Yes,’ replied Tansy. ‘I’ve been to the airline office as well.’

‘Well done,’ said MacFarlane.

‘We can’t use it,’ said MacLean.

‘But why not?’ asked MacFarlane.

‘Lehman Steiner would pick us up right away.’

‘But we’ve only just found out about the place!’ said MacFarlane.

‘If X14 is located in Mijas, Lehman Steiner will be watching the local airport.’

‘You’re right,’ said Leavey.

‘Apart from that,’ continued MacLean, ‘Jean-Paul must have confessed that he had found out the location of X14 before they killed him. Lehman Steiner would have to assume that he passed the information on even if he said he hadn’t. They’ve probably been wondering what’s taking us so long! They don’t know we’ve had to wait for Tansy to figure it out for us.’

‘So they’ll be lined up ready for us,’ said Leavey.

‘Geneva is beginning to sound attractive after all,’ said MacFarlane.

‘Our only edge is that they don’t know who we are or what we look like.’

‘And the fact that we haven’t turned up yet,’ said Leavey. ‘Maybe that will work in our favour. They must be starting to think by now that maybe Jean-Paul didn’t pass on the right information after all.’

‘So what do we do?’ asked MacFarlane.

‘We certainly can’t risk flying in to Malaga,’ said MacLean. ‘Three men arriving together…’

‘What about a holiday charter flight?’ suggested Leavey.

‘That’s a possibility. The south coast’s a popular holiday area but it still leaves us with the problem of being three men travelling together. Lehman Steiner might be monitoring charter flights too.’

‘Valencia!’ exclaimed MacFarlane out of the blue.

‘What about it?’ said Leavey.

‘Rangers are playing there on Wednesday night in the European Cup.’

There was a stunned silence before MacLean said what he and Leavey were both thinking. ‘Perfect! Absolutely bloody perfect!’ They rushed back to the map and found Valencia.

Leavey put his finger on it and said, ‘We could rent a car and drive from there down to the south coast.’

MacLean agreed but asked whether or not it would be possible to get on to supporters’ plane at this late stage.

‘Leave it to me,’ said MacFarlane, asking Tansy with exaggerated politeness if he could use the phone.

‘Of course Willie,’ she said with a smile.

The sound coming from the hall suggested that it was not going to be as easy as MacFarlane had thought to get them on the flight. Tansy, Leavey and MacLean had no trouble filling in the missing half of the conversation.

‘Aw c’mon Rab, there must be room… I know it’s a big game and it’s a bit late but… Rab! You owe me a few favours pal… ‘ There was a long silence before MacFarlane spoke again. This time he said, You can? Magic! I won’t forget this Rab. Right, let’s have the details.’

MacFarlane came back into the room to an expectant audience. He smiled and said, ‘We’re going. Wednesday morning at Glasgow Airport; Rab will meet us at the check-in.’

‘Well done Willie,’ said MacLean. Tansy and Leavey echoed their praise.

‘Now we have to get the gear,’ said MacFarlane.

‘The gear?’

‘Aye. Scarves, bunnets, rosettes. You know, the colours…’

Tansy hid a smile behind her hand.

As the three of them stood in the departure lounge at Glasgow Airport, MacLean looked around him and blessed Glasgow Rangers Football Club’s involvement in European competition. The cover of travelling to an away match was perfect: they would be as inconspicuous as grains of sand on the beach. His initial reservations about wearing a scarf and Tammy had worn off and he now saw them as badges of immunity, protection from officials who waved on the many-headed beast, anxious to see the back of football supporters.

There was a carnival atmosphere in the lounge, full of optimism and anticipation, amplified by booze and encouraged by camaraderie. MacFarlane brought over three large brandies from the bar and said, ‘Might as well enter into the spirit of things eh?’

MacLean swallowed a comment about the hour before it reached his lips and chased it down with brandy. Willie was right, he decided. There would be little enough time for relaxation when they arrived in Spain and who was he to lecture men like MacFarlane and Leavey when they were risking their lives for a child they’d never even met.

They were joined by MacFarlane’s contact. He was a big cheerful man with shoulders like an ox and a grinning red face. He shook hands with Leavey and MacLean, asking them how they had managed to get time off work.

‘We’re on the rigs too,’ said Leavey. ‘Like Willie.’

‘Works out handy sometimes,’ said the red-faced man. ‘I’m burying my mother-in-law. Come to think of it, it’s the third time since Rangers got into Europe!’ He pulled out a wad of tickets and documents from an inside pocket and asked MacFarlane, ‘Who am I doing business with?’

MacFarlane nodded towards MacLean who said, ‘How much do we owe you?’

The red-faced man pointed to the slip of paper on top of the wad and held by an elastic band. MacLean paid him in cash and the big man got up, saying, ‘I’d best be getting back to the lads. If I don’t see you guys later, enjoy the game.’ He clapped MacFarlane on the shoulder.

‘Cheers Rab,’ said MacFarlane.

‘Nae problem,’ said the big man.

MacLean detected an air of apprehension behind the company smiles of the stewardesses as they filed past them to board the aircraft. One of them had held her smile too long and the corner of her mouth was starting to twitch in protest. It seemed to MacLean that they had little to worry about because good humour was still the order of the day.

The subdued boarding music of Mozart had little success against sporadic outbreaks of club songs. Several probed the air until one caught the mood of the moment and an impromptu male voice choir filled the plane. MacLean noticed that one of the men across the aisle from him had gone very pale; he recognised the symptoms as fear of flying. Unfortunately for him his companions had caught on too and were making the man’s life a misery. Several cracks on the wing were ‘discovered’ not to mention ‘bits’ on the runway.

The cabin went quiet for take-off but noise and banter resumed as soon as the warning lights were extinguished. Periodic announcements from the Captain regarding speed and current position provided fuel for the wags until, as they crossed the northern coast of Spain, the soothing tones of the captain gave way to an ill-at-ease Glasgow voice. The supporters’ club secretary had an announcement to make. He began by blowing into the microphone. This was rewarded by loud cheers from the cabin. As an encore, counting from one to three proved equally popular.

‘As secretary of this here supporters club…’ Loud boos.

‘I feel it’s incumbent on me…’ Loud cheers.

‘A fiver each way on incumbent!’ yelled a man from the back to loud laughter.

‘… tae warn yoose people aboot behaviour in Spain, or Espana as our Spanish friends call it. In particular, I feel I should reiterate

…’

More loud cheers.

‘I’m goin’ for a double wi’ incumbent and reiterate!’ yelled the man at the back.

‘… the request of our club chairman that the Spanish Police…’

Very loud boos.

‘… should be treated with all due courtesy and consideration. The club will not countenance…’

‘Ah think you’ve got a promisin’ treble there Jimmy!’ called out a man at the front.

‘This guy’s magic!’ replied the voice from the back.

‘… any repeat of last time.’

The aircraft landed at Valencia in brilliant sunshine and the sound of the engines gave way to the banging of overhead lockers and people stretching their limbs as they stood up.

‘I need tae go,’ said a man across the gangway.

‘You’re too late,’ said his companion.’

‘What d’you mean, too late?’ asked the man indignantly.

‘You canny go while the plane’s standin’ still,’ explained his friend. ‘The next wan’ll skid on the runway.’

Everyone laughed except the man with the problem.

MacLean was relieved to find the Spanish officials as reluctant to prolong their acquaintance with football supporters as their Scottish counterparts. He could see that the passport controller was merely waving through the stream of paperwork that was waved at him.

MacLean and Leavey emerged together from the terminal building to find a warm breeze ruffling the fronds of the date palms lining the perimeter road.

‘So far so good,’ said Leavey. ‘What now?’

‘We travel with the rest into the city and then melt away,’ said MacLean. ‘Have you seen Willie?’

Leavey shook his head and said, ‘He’ll be talking to somebody.’

MacFarlane emerged from the building, deep in argument about the relative merits of several football players. He saw Leavey and MacLean waiting for him and broke away to join them. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘I got carried away.’

‘No problem,’ said MacLean. ‘The more we fit in the better. We’d best get on the bus.’

The buses taking them to the centre of Valencia were met by loud cheers from other supporters who were already there and mingling round the main square. It seemed as if the town centre had been taken over entirely by Scots wearing red, white and blue. MacLean, Leavey and MacFarlane joined their compatriots but, while stories of adventures en route were being exchanged, MacLean and Leavey were looking for signs of officialdom.

There was a strong police presence in the vicinity but, for the moment, it was maintaining a low profile. Jeeps and vans were parked up side streets; their sunglassed occupants keeping watch like guards over a chain gang in a spaghetti western. Leavey and MacLean noticed that most of the shops were closed. ‘Siesta time,’ said MacLean.

‘With no hope of being able to hire a car for the next two hours MacLean and the others went to eat. They found a small pavement cafe, which seemed less favoured by their compatriots and sat down under the welcome shade of an umbrella to order tortillas and ice-cold beer. Time passed slowly in the heat of a Spanish afternoon, especially when the initial laboured exchange of views over the outcome of the match with the owner of the cafe petered out through a lack of verbs on both sides. Nouns and hand signals could only take you so far.

After a particularly long silence MacFarlane said, ‘I feel as if I’m waiting for a train.’

‘The one bringing the bad guy back to town,’ smiled MacLean.

‘They’re starting to open,’ said Leavey, nodding across the street to a trader who was removing the shutters from his window.

‘Let’s make a move,’ said MacLean. He settled the bill with the owner who smiled and said that he hoped they would enjoy the match whatever the result.

They started to drift away from the centre with the intention of getting rid of their scarves and paraphernalia. At first they ambled along slowly but as soon as they had turned off into a side street they quickened their pace. They had gone about two kilometres when a police car drew up behind them. Two policemen got out and slammed the doors in unison. Neither looked friendly.

‘Where you go?’ asked one.

Just taking a look around,’ said Leavey evenly.

‘No look around. You go back this way,’ said the policeman, pointing towards the centre.

‘Och, we’re not doing any harm, man,’ said MacFarlane with a smile that wasn’t returned.

‘They want to keep us altogether Willie,’ said Leavey. ‘We’re easier to control that way.’

‘Si,’ said the policeman, smiling for the first time but there was no humour in it. ‘Just like the animals… ‘

‘Now wait a minute!’ said MacFarlane angrily.

‘Cool it Willie,’ said Leavey through his teeth.

Leavey’s intervention wasn’t enough to satisfy the policeman who resented the fact that MacFarlane had started to face up to him. ‘You go back now!’ he hissed, ramming his baton into MacFarlane’s midriff.

MacFarlane doubled over and Leavey put a restraining hand on the policeman’s arm saying, ‘Easy, there’s no need for that. We’re going.’

Leavey and MacLean helped MacFarlane to his feet and they started to move back towards the centre of town. ‘Arsehole!’ gasped MacFarlane as he got back his breath.

‘Wait!’ commanded the policeman. He had heard what MacFarlane had said. His companion said something rapidly in Spanish, which MacLean interpreted as an exhortation to let it go, but the man had other ideas. He poked MacFarlane again with his baton. Again Leavey intervened, holding up his arms in a gesture of conciliation. ‘We’re going, we’re going,’ he crooned.

‘No!’ rasped the policeman. ‘Empty your bags.’

Leavey looked for a moment as if he had run out of patience but MacLean said under his breath, ‘Bite the bullet! Do as he says.’

All three emptied their holdalls on to the pavement while the surly policeman examined their belongings with the toe of his boot, a gesture that added to the intended humiliation. His colleague moved uneasily from foot to foot, unwilling to be a part of it but without any power to stop it.

Leavey tensed when the policeman made a point of grinding the sole of his boot on one of his shirts but did nothing.

‘What’ this?’ asked the policeman, pointing with his toe to one of Leavey’s camera cases.

‘A telephoto lens,’ replied Leavey evenly but he exchanged a glance with MacLean which said that it wasn’t. MacLean prepared himself for the worst.

‘Open it!’ said the policeman.

‘Please Senor,’ said Leavey. ‘We are very sorry for all the trouble we have caused. Please let us rejoin our friends and we’ll be no more bother.’

‘Open it,’ said the policeman, sensing that he was on to something.

Leavey shrugged his shoulders in apparent acquiescence and made as if to bend down for the case. Instead he straightened up and hit the policeman with a short right to the jaw. The man slumped to the pavement. MacLean, who had been expecting it, hit the other policeman almost before the man realised what was happening and he too fell to the ground.

‘That’s torn it,’ said MacFarlane.

‘Let’s get our gear and get out of here!’ said MacLean.

They scrambled up their belongings, stuffing them back into their bags and started running back towards the centre and the safety of the crowds. After a few minutes the sound of a police siren told them that they were not going to make it in time. They stopped at a junction and looked both ways for inspiration. There was a group of twenty or so football supporters quite near. The decision was made for them. They joined the group and got their breath back but they were still vulnerable; the group was too small for anonymity.

The sound of the siren grew louder until they saw a police car cross the junction where they had turned off. Leavey looked anxiously at MacLean as the sound of the siren died in a long slow wail. The car had stopped on the other side of the junction. They waited for the whine of reverse gear and were not disappointed. The police car reversed back to the junction and turned slowly into their street.

Leavey indicated that MacFarlane should stay with the crowd and the little man nodded, pulling his Tammy down a bit further and sinking into his scarf.

‘In here,’ said Leavey to MacLean. It was a leather goods store, which seemed suitably dark inside. They made for the furthest corner and examined whatever they found there. It turned out to be watchstraps.

‘Si?’ said the assistant.

MacLean pointed to his wrist. ‘New strap please,’ he said.

The assistant looked at MacLean’s watch and began pointing out suitable kinds. The police car was drifting past the window.

‘Morocco?’ said the assistant. The police car had passed the window.

‘Alligator?’

Car doors slammed.

‘Plastic?’

MacLean saw peaked caps and sunglasses pass the window. ‘I think I like this one,’ he said.

‘Si Senor.’

‘Would you fit it for me?’

‘Si Senor,’ replied the assistant with less enthusiasm this time.

MacLean, aware of a commotion starting outside, fumbled at his watchstrap in order to delay as much as possible. The noise outside seemed to reach a crescendo and then fade as car doors slammed again and an engine roared into life. A car moved off and MacLean prayed that it was the police car. He paid for the watchstrap to an assistant who was clearly bemused as to why he had just replaced a perfectly good watchstrap but was too polite to question it. ‘Muchas gracias, Senor.’

Leavey and MacLean rejoined the crowd, anxious to find out what had been going on. They saw with relief that MacFarlane was still among them but now he was the centre of attention.

‘You guys missed all the fun,’ said one man.

‘Why? What happened?’ asked Leavey.

Half a dozen voices wanted to relate the story at the same time but eventually MacLean gathered that the police had identified MacFarlane as one of the three they were looking for but the others had prevented the police from taking him away.

‘Two big guys against the wee man here just wasn’t on!’

‘They’ll be back in numbers,’ warned Leavey.

‘Let them come,’ said one hero who looked as if he couldn’t run for a bus.

‘Our best bet is to get back to the square and join the others,’ said Leavey.

‘Aye, safety in numbers,’ agreed one man.

‘Plus the fact that someone in the police with brains might work out that it might be best to let the whole matter drop rather than cause a riot.

A murmur of agreement carried the motion and they all started to move quickly back to the square.

MacLean sat down on a low stone wall that circled a fountain in the square and was joined by Leavey and MacFarlane. The fountain itself was dry and the layer of dust and dirt round the base said that it had been a long time since water flowed in it but the thought was there. The numbers of blue scarves in the vicinity was comfortably back in the hundreds and the police chose not to make their presence felt in the square itself. They remained content to cover all the exits making sure that the foreigners were confined to the one area until match time.

‘What do you think?’ asked Leavey.

‘We’re trapped,’ replied MacLean.

‘Our best chance of breaking away will come later when they start herding us to the stadium,’ said Leavey. ‘They’ll be posted along the route but they’ll assume we’re all going to the match anyway.’

‘The trouble is it’ll be too late to get a car by then,’ said MacLean.

‘We could borrow one,’ suggested MacFarlane.

‘It may come to that,’ conceded MacLean. ‘But we’re in enough trouble with police assault charges if they catch us without stealing a car if we can possibly avoid it. They fell to silence again until MacLean’s gaze fell on the large hotel at the east end of the square. It gave him an idea. ‘We could rent a car through the hotel,’ he said to Leavey.

Leavey looked at the Plaza Hotel with its row of international flags along the front and said, ‘We’d have to be resident.’

‘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.