Skinner's festival

92

'Remember, pilot, let it get more than two miles away, and we've fookin' lost it.'

'But it is working?'

'Sure, Bob. It's working like a fookin' dream. There's enough irradiated iodine in that paint-splash to give us a good strong signal. Cracking shot by Brian, that were.'

Arrow held a small box on his knee. It was wired into the helicopter's electrical system. A green glow from its screen reflected on his face.

'We can follow them forever with this, as long as we stay within two miles, and as long as the paint doesn't get washed off.'

'Can we make visual contact?' Skinner asked the pilot.

'Yes. But do you want to take the chance, sir? A mile is as close as I'd come, to be sure they won't see us.'

'No,' Arrow answered for him. 'Trust our little box, Bob. I'll wager that's the only car on the road with a big patch of radioactive bird-shit on its tail!'

'Ok, Adam.' Skinner's voice could only just be heard above the noise of the helicopter's engine. 'Let's go with it. What does it tell us?'

'Well, you were right. They've by-passed Edinburgh Airport.

That were a con all along. I reckon they've just gone past the Norton House.'

'Unless they turn off for Ratho, it's Newbridge roundabout next,' said Skinner. 'From there they can go anywhere. North over the Forth Bridge, although I don't think they'll fancy stopping to pay the tolls; Falkirk and Stirling up the M9; or due West to Glasgow on the M8, and then, as far south as the road goes.'

'How far can they get on a tank of fuel in that thing?' asked Arrow.

'Hard to say, but the bigger the engine, the bigger the tank.

Even though that's a three-litre, he should get to Birmingham easy, maybe London at a pinch, without stopping. If he goes south and gets into heavy traffic we've got a problem.'

'As long as he's got that paint on his arse, he's the one with the problem.' •Let's hope so,' said Skinner. 'Watch that tracker. He should be at Newbridge any second now.' "

Arrow bent close to the little screen. The reflected glow turned his face green in the darkness of the cabin. -•Here we go. He's swinging. He's going left. Yes, he's off. l's the MS, Bob. He's off to Glasgow.'