Present Danger

8

‘They could easily stop it doing that,’ said Technical Ted Poyser to his two companions, as the gate closed behind them with a long drawn-out squeal, then crashed shut.

‘Good job they didn’t. Or we wouldn’t know there was anything going on.’

‘If there is,’ said Ted sardonically.

Ted had decided they would go into the gatehouse in daylight, dressed to look like National Trust visitors, letting themselves in with the key Robinson had provided. So Maureen Hayes had dropped them off in the village and they had walked the mile or so to the house, carrying their equipment in large rucksacks.

In the office, Ted, the service’s master of all things electronic, didn’t look remotely like an average National Trust member. But now his long black dyed hair was tucked inside a woolly hat with a pom-pom on top, which also hid his gold earring; he had discarded his black leather jacket and biker’s boots in favour of a green anorak; and his costume of walking trousers and knee socks was finished off with brown walking shoes. The whole ensemble looked OK at a distance.

‘I wouldn’t mind a few days here,’ said John Forrest as he finished unpacking his drills and looked out of the dining room window at the wide bay. The tide was in now, and the little football-like heads of seals were popping up inquisitively from the ripples.

‘Well we haven’t got a few days,’ replied Ted, ‘so let’s get on with it.’

A couple of hours later, after some muted drilling and hammering, Ted was on the phone to the office at Palace Barracks. ‘There’s a woman with a dog just coming up to the gate now. How’s the focus?’

‘Clear as a bell,’ came back the answer. ‘But hang on there till a car comes past – we need to check the angle.’

A minute or two later a small hatchback came out, driven by a woman with a small child in a car seat at the back. ‘You need to adjust the angle. The number plates are out of the frame. Just a few degrees down and to the left.’ Ted relayed the instruction to John Forrest in the loft, the adjustment was made and the OK given.

As the team started to pack up they heard the engine of another car coming down the track. Ted stood at the side of the dining room window, half-concealed by the curtain, and watched as a red Vauxhall Vectra with racing tyres slowed as it reached the gate. There were two men sitting in front, and another in the back seat, but from the house he couldn’t see their faces. As the gate clanged shut and the car drove away he thumbed in a number on his phone. ‘Did you get that?’

‘Brilliant,’ said the voice at the other end. ‘Front seat, clear enough for Hello magazine. But we’re not going to be able to get the rear seat passengers, I’m afraid.’