The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1197 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I was waiting at Eastleigh Services on the M27 between Southampton and Portsmouth by half past ten. I’d done one drop before when I rescued Julie. I was parked conspicuously–let’s face it, in a Porsche Boxster it’s hard not to be conspicuous.

It was bitingly cold and I kept the engine running so the aircon still worked–aircon in a convertible? I wonder if it works when the roof is down? I watched a delivery van park near the services building and two men in boiler suits took a large package into the concourse. Apart from that and the comings and goings of Joe Public and his friends and family, nothing seemed to be happening.

At 10.59 my phone peeped indicating a text. My heart thumped in my chest as I picked up my phone, which lay on the seat beside me.

‘U beta hve da munny. In da bin by da entrance get da bag. Put da munny in da bag. Will be in tuch.’

I got out of the car, slipping the phone into my jacket pocket–a leather and fleece bomber jacket Simon had given me for Christmas. I could feel the cold of the air through the jeans I wore and on my hands as I pulled on my leather gloves. My trainers slipped a little on the frosty surface of the car park.

It only took a minute or two to cross the car park and reach the two bins by the entrance to the building. In the second I found a cheap black rucksack and pulled it out, careful not to scatter much litter as I did so. I shook it clean and walked back to my car.

I sat back inside and put the case on the seat and transferred the money and bonds into the bag. Then sat and waited. My phone rang. It was Henry.

“What’s going on?”

“I don’t know. They told me to transfer the money and bonds into the bag they left in the bin.”

“Nothing else?”

“No not yet, they said they’d be in touch.”

“They’re still sussing us out, I expect. When things happen, it’ll happen fast, just watch out and be very careful.”

“I will, d’you think this is a set up–I mean will they hand over Jim?”

“I have no idea, if they do he might be dead.”

“Oh God, don’t say that.” My tummy flipped as I worried about the man who’d saved my life.

A large motorbike drove in and the two riders dismounted and wandered into the concourse. For a moment I did wonder if that was our pick up but they seemed just normal punters. Could Jim be in the boot of any one of the cars in the car park?

The delivery men got back into their van and drove off. My phone peeped.

‘Walk down da slip rd 2 da Mway. Hold da bag in ur hand.’

Astonished at this request I got out of my car and locked it. God it was cold, the wind was rising a little and it seemed to go straight through my clothes and into my bones. As I walked, I saw the motorcyclists get back on their bike and head off to the petrol area. For a moment I wondered again if it was them, but they seemed ordinary. I walked past the fuel area and towards the exit road. A couple of cars and a truck came past, the truck hooting at me and pointing at the ‘no pedestrians’ sign. I walked on.

The motorcycle roared past me and then stopped, The man on the back shouted, “No pedestrians, are you blind?”

I walked on towards him. He got off and pointed at the sign, then suddenly grabbed the bag and pushed me over in one move. Before I could do anything he was back on the bike and they roared off down the motorway, towards Southampton. I was so cross with myself. I got myself up and saw an envelope with my name on it lying on the grass. I tore it open and inside it said, ‘In da gents’ I began to run back to the car park dialling Henry as I went. He met me at the gents toilet, and ignoring all protocols followed him in. I got one or two bemused looks as we pushed against the closet doors. The last one swung open and sat on the loo wrapped from head to foot in duct tape was Jim. It was pretty obvious he had nothing on underneath and there was bow tied round his neck.

Henry ripped the tape from his mouth, “Are you okay?”

“I’ll live, have you got a drink?” I rushed off to get him some water.

When I ran back Henry had hoisted him over his shoulder and was carrying him back to his car. I followed him back with the water. Once we got him seated, I held the bottle for him to drink.

“Let’s get you back to Cathy’s place and get this mess off you.”

“What about the money?” I gasped.

“It’s all fake.”

“But that means they’ll be back again.”

“They might.” Said Henry in a very matter of fact way.

“What about my children–this is going to really piss them off.”

“Your children?”

“No, giving the gang fake money is really going to piss off the gang.”

“It’s all being tracked.”

“I thought the tracker was in the case?” I offered not really sure of anything anymore.

“No, the bonds have little transmitters in the stamps on them, the batteries are in the wraps on the bundles of cash.”

“Crikey, how very James Bond.”

“Bloody amateur,” said Henry tersely.

“I’m going to follow a hunch, see you later.” I jumped into the Porsche and within a minute or so was flying up the motorway. The motorbike would leave even this baby behind, but if they went very fast they’d be asking for the police to take notice.

A few miles further on, I saw the white delivery van, and the bloke was closing up the back of it. It was one of those with a lift on the back. Why had he stopped?

I slowed right down and it came past me, only there weren’t just two men in it, there were four. Unfortunately, the Porsche is not the least obtrusive of cars for shadowing, so I made a note of the number, and called the police on my handsfree.

“I hope I’m not wasting your time, but there’s a large van acting very suspiciously on the motorway coming from Eastleigh into Southampton. I think it might be carrying drugs or illegal immigrants.” I gave the number and shadowed the van from a discreet distance.

Ten minutes later a police Jaguar came whooshing past and pulled them over. I stopped a hundred yards behind. Suddenly one of the policemen was holding his hands in the air. I called 999 and reported it.

The back of the van opened and the motorbike was lowered to the road, and the two riders donned their leathers and shot off, this time I followed. I could hear sirens behind me which I suspected were police going to the aid of their colleagues. I called them again and told them to stop the large BMW motorbike which was being followed by the Porsche, they’d come from the van and were perhaps armed. I saw the helicopter, flashed my lights at them and watched as they followed the motorbike.

I knew as soon as we got close to Southampton I’d lose them in traffic, a helicopter was something able to cope with evasive suspects in traffic, I turned off at the next junction and drove back on the non-motorway to home, in case the police were waiting for me on the M27.

I was anxious to learn how Jim was, but restrained myself and drove very carefully, putting the car back in the garage when I got home. I could see Henry’s car still in the drive, and I wondered what I’d see when I got indoors.