The Hawk Is Dead

107

Thursday 30 November 2023

Tommy Magellan-Lacey was feeling pretty damned pleased with himself. A couple of glasses of the perfectly acceptable pink champagne British Airways provided in their Gold lounge had added to his well-being. And equally importantly to his wife’s.

‘Cheers, my darling! To our rather rosy — or should I say rosé — future.’ He lay back in his comfortable seat and clinked glasses with his wife.

‘A rosy future, indeed!’ Fiona replied.

They were both so pleasantly woozy.

With all the money they had, as well as the treasures in their luggage, for which he already had buyers lined up, he was never going to have to work a day in his life, ever again. Nor Fiona.

He kept a watchful eye on the flight departure board. Theirs was still showing on time. The sooner they were away the better. He wouldn’t fully relax until they were in the air. But he was chilled enough now. That rather beady detective, Roy Grace, would be focusing his attentions on Rose Cadoret — and Tommy had enough on her to ensure her ongoing silence. And thanks to the crazy bitch’s actions, he was guaranteed Smoke’s silence. That thought made him smile.

Happy days!

And if the balloon did go up — well, hey — by then he and Fiona would have long left Dubai and be safely ensconced in beautiful Georgia where he had a couple of very interested buyers for some of the merchandise they had stored in their warehouse. It was another country that had no extradition treaty with the UK. But also a very nice place to live. Until they decided where, in the world that was now their oyster, to buy their forever home.

He stood up, a little unsteadily, clutching his and Fiona’s glasses, and topped them up again. As he did so he felt a sudden burst of exuberance like nothing he’d ever experienced before.

I’m a millionaire! He felt like shouting it out across the packed lounge. I’m a millionaire! No, correction! I’m a MULTI-MILLIONAIRE!

It was all in his phone. In Bitcoins.

Oh my God!

He handed Fiona her glass. Then clinked his against hers. ‘To the future, my darling!’

‘To our future!’ she said.

‘Indeed!’

Champagne spilled over the rim of his glass as he sat — almost falling — back down, the seat lower than he had remembered. Instantly he felt a damp sensation on his lap and he peered down, seeing a dark patch. It looked like he had peed himself.

‘Bugger,’ he said.

Then he saw the change on the Departures screen to Boarding. Gate B14.

Clutching his very precious briefcase, he said, ‘We should go, darling.’

‘Let’s finish our champagne,’ she said. ‘They’re not going to take off without us, not with all the luggage we have on board!’

He grinned. ‘Good point.’

Five minutes later they rode the escalator down. He was now a totally different persona to the old Sir Tommy Magellan-Lacey, Master of the Royal Household, who was always attired in a Huntsman suit, Hilditch and Key shirt and conservative old Marlburian or Athenaeum Club tie. Now he wore a Panama hat at a jaunty angle, Ray-Ban sunglasses, a white Paul Smith jacket over a pink linen shirt, his damp-lapped chinos and, sockless, Todd loafers.

Fiona too looked pretty different to her past twinset and pearls persona. Her brown hair bunched up inside a blonde wig, to match her new passport, she wore an emerald Versace trouser suit and Prada sandals.

The pair strode, a little light-headedly and somewhat unsteadily, against what seemed an endless tide of travellers flowing towards them. They negotiated, in their boozed-up carefree haze of happiness, the oncoming barrage of wheely bags, wheelchairs, mobile phoners, loose children and dodderers, passing some of the fancy shops — nothing in the windows out of their price range now — and then another escalator down to the shuttle platform.

A few minutes later they emerged from the train and took the two long escalators up. Tommy held his beloved wife’s hand as they walked on, at the top, towards Gate B14, their flight to Dubai, towards freedom and the start of their new life.

He felt so incredibly excited. It had worked! They’d done it, got away with it! They were rich beyond their wildest dreams!

And beyond the reach of the British law!

Gate B14 was ahead. The electronic sign said, BA 2971 Dubai.

Just a few more minutes!

They joined the Priority Boarding queue.

An announcement was made. Boarding had started for all passengers with a 0 or a 1 on their boarding cards. They had a 1 on theirs, of course!

A few people in wheelchairs were pushed through. Then a bunch of parents with annoyingly shouty sprogs. Then he and Fiona held their printed cards as they approached the automatic gate. A man in front was struggling with his boarding card on his phone, which the machine didn’t seem to want to accept. He was about to turn away when it finally went green and the gates opened. The light went red, then green again and Fiona went through. And a few moments later he was through too.

Then two police officers, in full airport protection kit and holding sub-machine guns, stepped into their path. They were apologetic and very polite.

‘Mr and Mrs George?’ one of them, a clean-shaven male, in his early thirties, asked.

Tommy gave them his most charming smile, practised to pitch-perfect on monarchs and their acolytes over the past decade. ‘Yes, can I help you?’

‘We’d like you to come with us, please.’

Tommy and Fiona exchanged a nervous glance. ‘What is this about exactly, officers?’ he asked.

‘We’d like you to come with us, sir,’ the officer repeated, a little firmer and a little colder.

Tommy looked around, suddenly feeling bewildered. All the feel-good from the booze suddenly drained away. ‘I’m terribly sorry,’ he said. ‘My wife and I have a flight to catch.’

‘I’m aware of that, sir. But I need you to come with me.’

Tommy shook his head. ‘No, I’m sorry, we are boarding.’

‘Sir,’ the officer said, even more insistently now. ‘If you don’t agree to come with us voluntarily, then we will have no option but to arrest you and your wife, here in front of everyone.’

The officer’s colleague was a robust-looking woman, with an equally robust expression.

‘Nicholas,’ Fiona said. ‘There’s clearly a mix-up of some kind. We should go with them — and we’ll get it sorted out.’

Tommy jabbed the air with his finger. ‘Officer, you are making a terrible mistake.’