Angie's mind raced when she contacted the Centre, but she controlled her voice. As was required, she advised the duty officer on the details of Davy's trip to Spain via Gibraltar.
That evening, Davy and Angie went to the Rutland for a meal. As they ate, she knew that the man she loved was putting a noose around his neck. If anything went wrong, the trap door would open.
"Promise me that you'll be careful." She watched him pick up his fork and push a large portion of steak into his mouth, "I don't know how you can eat at a time like this."
He leaned towards her. "Because I'm scared, and when I'm scared, I eat. I'm the condemned man. The hangman's waiting, and I have my foot on the first step. But, if I can nail this bastard, we're home and dry."
"Do you trust Harman-Smith to let you off the hook?"
"Not a hope in hell. He would double-cross his mother if it meant getting results, but I prefer to face one problem at a time."
"I fancy a large brandy," she said. "What about you?"
"Make mine a double. It might help me sleep." He smiled at her. "Unless you have a better idea?"
She wandered off to the bar, returning a few minutes later with two large Remy Martins. "A drop of the good stuff, and you know what they say about brandy!" She sipped hers and gazed at him.
They walked home, both fearful of what lay ahead. For Angie, the night passed in restless torment. She made fierce love, the last time ending in tears in his arms. He held her close; neither wanted the night to end. The morning came unwanted and too soon.
***
Lightning slashed the sky, and the deluge flooded the gutters. The first crash of thunder woke two sleeping people. Davy glanced at his watch: five o'clock was history, and he had a flight at seven-thirty. He swore and charged around the flat like a headless chicken. Having packed the night before. He washed while Angie telephoned for a taxi, which arrived unusually quickly. Grabbing his bag, he kissed her, charged down the stairs but did not look back.
"Gatwick Airport please, and hurry; I'm late."
Despite the awful weather, the taxi arrived at the terminal in less than forty minutes. Davy dashed to the check-in desk. Gasping for breath, he glanced at his watch and realised there was time to spare. He found Ghashide reading a paper in the departure lounge.
Full, the Airbus 320 climbed skyward. In the rain lashed and cloud-blackened sky, the aircraft headed south. The two men sat in silence. Davy fell asleep, only to wake as the plane hit air pockets approaching the Bay of Gibraltar. Many of the passengers looked anxious. A cabin crew member who was checking seat belts commented for all in the vicinity to hear. "A few potholes today." Causing a few nervous chuckles.
The plane bounced, and Davy's body strained against the seat belt. He peered at the sea out of the window, flat and blue.
The intercom burst into life. "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. This is your captain, David McKewan, speaking. At the moment, we're experiencing a few bumps. I ask that everyone please return to their seats and fasten their belts." He continued. "To our right is the famous Rock, a slice of England sandwiched between Spain and Africa. It's a one-thousand-three-hundred-foot-high limestone creation. Historically, reputed to be one of the Pillars of Hercules, the other being on the coast of North Africa and marks the gateway into the Mediterranean. For Beatles fans, the late John Lennon married Yoko Ono here in 1969. The airport is on a strip of land known locally as the neck. It has so little space that the traffic must stop whenever an aircraft lands or takes off. For your information, anyone requiring a taxi, there are plenty available to take them anywhere for under ten pounds Stirling."
