Three days later, Mac is waiting near the appointed location in Kings Cross. He had arrived an hour earlier and has spent his time watching, from various vantage points, the people pass through the busy station. They descend from trains, meet friends or family or lovers, hurry across the concourse and disappear into the tube, into buses or out into the street. Others move in the opposite direction, queuing for tickets, waiting for trains, peering up at the large departure board, gathering in groups, standing guard over luggage. Mac likes stations. Families, lovers, mothers and fathers, aunts and uncles, singles, couples, groups - all of humanity is here brought together with the single purpose of travel. The rich rub shoulders with the poor, the nervous with the confident, the seasoned traveller with the day tripper, the business man with the holiday maker, and their comings and goings, to-ings and fro-ings are regulated by that great and inexplicable mystery known to God and man as the train timetable.
All seems to be in order. No-one pays him undue heed. No-one appears to be lingering unnecessarily, though, he thinks wryly, if they are as adept as he, himself, he probably wouldn't recognise them. Still, his instinct, which he has learned to trust, is raising no alarm bells. So he sips his coffee at the 'outdoor' café and watches for the arrival of his charges.
Suddenly he puts down the cup with a clatter, then glances quickly around to check that his impetuous action has gone unnoticed. The cause of this uncharacteristic act is the sudden and horrific realisation that he has forgotten something extremely important. Silently he curses himself. Kent's behaviour at the hotel bar put him off his stride and made him forget to ask the man one exceedingly important piece of information - the ages of his daughters. Still, perhaps it won't matter. He tries to make a quick calculation. If Kent is in his early forties then his children couldn't be any older than twenty. Hmm, but twenty-year-olds were hardly children needing a baby-sitter so they must be younger. They couldn't be below the age of, say, twelve for not even Kent would entrust one so young to an unmarried stranger. So, let us say they must be mid to late teens.
His deliberations are interrupted by the sight a group crossing the concourse. Two stunning Eurasian girls in their late teens are accompanied by a heavy-set man pushing a luggage trolley on which are piled a number of large suitcases. As they progress, conversations stop and heads turn. They stride, no they didn't do anything so crass as stride: they glide, no that didn't describe their motion either. Rather they do not move at all. It is the world that moves. They are the hub, the fulcrum, the absolute centre and the world flows past them and around them like the waters of a stream round a rock. Mac is fascinated. They pass, oblivious to the hustle and bustle as miraculously, obstructions melt out of their path. He smiles to himself - beautiful to look at but difficult to handle, he thinks. He wonders what on earth they are doing travelling by train - private jet would seem more their style.
The group pause and the man looks round as if searching for something or someone. He says something to the girls and they start off again coming in Mac's direction. The penny drops - two girls, arriving by taxi, not used to stations and heading in his direction - Oh, my God, these must be the Misses Kent. His emotions range from incredulity to astonishment to anger. What did these two little hussies think they were playing at? Did they imagine they were going on holiday to the South of France, for God's sake? He realises his plans are now in ruins. He had been going to make a quiet departure by tube to a suburban station where he had parked the car. But there is no way he can make a quiet departure with these two, certainly not on the tube and most certainly not with all that luggage. 'I should have checked their ages,' he curses himself as he folds his newspaper under his arm and strolls out of the café.
The heavy-set man notices him and, with a word to the girls approaches him. Mac sizes him up - a minder, fit, light on his feet for a big man, and probably carrying a gun though it is well hidden.
"You McDonald?" the man asks in a hard tone.
Mac nods. "And you?"
"Smith."
Mac grins. It's a feral thing and not at all pleasant. 'Smith' starts back. "You have something for me?"
"Yes," Smith says and then, as if reciting by rote, "I have a pair of valuable items for your safe-keeping."
"Good," says Mac, conversationally. "You may rest assured that they will be well protected."
Smith pauses as if checking Mac's words against his memory. "Good." He grins nastily. "You're welcome to them."
Mac just regards him coolly as he turns away to fetch the girls over. Behind his cool exterior, Mac's mind is racing, considering then rejecting one plan after another.
Close-up the Kent sisters are even more stunningly beautiful than from a distance. Having been taken with their long, seemingly endless legs and confident bearing from afar, Mac is struck by two more qualities: their skin, the colour of ancient vellum and as smooth and flawless as the finest silk, and their delicate oriental features leavened with just a touch of European sharpness. Smith introduces Aranya, the older and slimmer of the two, and Sunita who is slightly shorter and curvier. They do not offer to shake hands.
Mac bites back the telling-off he wants to give them and says mildly, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to alter our travel plans, slightly. I hadn't anticipated quite so much luggage."
"You don't expect us to stay in some godforsaken hole without our things, do you?" demands Aranya. Her words are harsh but her voice is low and melodious. She has some problem pulling off the 'grande dame' act.
"Whatever. If you would oblige me by waiting over there, I won't be a moment."
Without waiting to see if they comply, he strides off to the Ticket Office where he buys three 1st class returns to Luton. He is pleased to see that a train is due to leave in ten minutes. Upon return, he finds, to his secret amusement that they have obeyed his request and are waiting in a less visible spot.
"Thank you. If you would follow me, our train leaves in ten minutes."
"Train?" demands Sunita. Her voice is higher and more nasal than her sister's. "You expect us to get on a train?"
He turns and flashes her a mirthless grin. "I do. It's a lot easier than walking and much more salubrious than the tube. I suggest you get a move on."
He strides off, leaving Sunita with her mouth hanging open. They suddenly realise that he is serious and have to trot to catch up. Smith puffs along in the rear with the luggage trolley. But he is grinning and wishes he could be a fly on the wall for the next week. It could be an interesting time.
Settled, with much huffing and puffing, in the train and on their way the girls demand to know what he is playing at. Where is he taking them? Why all this cloak and dagger nonsense?
"Let's just say it's a surprised holiday," he says and ignores them the rest of the journey.
The waiter brings coffee and the girls find something new to complain about - not just the quality of the coffee but also the attitude of the waiter and the cleanliness of the cups. They also manage to find fault with the heating, the comfort of the seats, the length of the journey, the swaying of the train and the dullness of the scenery. At Luton, they step down from the train and stand looking disdainfully around them as Mac struggles with their cases - a factor he hadn't considered when he dismissed their minder in London. Once again they are the centre of attention and he knows his plans to slip them quietly and discreetly away are shot to hell. Idly, he wonders how two people can command so much attention by doing absolutely nothing. He gets them into a taxi for the airport. There he guides them to a secluded corner, tells them he has to leave for half an hour or so and reminds them that they must not leave their baggage unattended.
Aranya looks at him down her nose. "We have been in airports before, you know."
He bites back the retort that leaps to his lips them tells them that if they so much as move a muscle while he is away he will just leave them there to make their own way home. He says this in such a flat and emotionless voice, looking them straight in the eye, that the pair simply nod dumbly. Hoping, rather than expecting, that they will stay put, he goes off to hire a car.
This takes rather longer than he had hoped and he hurries back fearing the worst. His words, however, seem to have done the trick for they are still where he left them. Or perhaps it is not his words, for they seem to have found a new game to play. As he draws nearer he notices a young man hovering nearby. Instantly suspicious he pauses to watch. The young man smoothes back his hair and adjusts his clothing, surreptitiously eyeing the girls then glancing around, trying to do it without appearing to do so. He is obviously checking to see if they are on their own. Finally deciding that they are, he strides confidently up to the girls and leans over to talk to them, smiling broadly, his manner oozing confidence. Aranya slowly turns to look at him and, her face a mask of utter indifference, examines him from top to toe, then turns away. The young man blanches then turns red. He speaks again, this time more animatedly. Aranya rises to her feet. In her heels she is nearly as tall as he is. She looks him straight in the eye and says two words. As far away as Mac is, he can easily lip read the words and he grins. The young man raises his hands as if in surrender and slinks away.
"Any trouble," Mac asks casually as he comes up.
"Nothing I couldn't handle," Aranya says. Her look says that she knows fine well he was watching. Suddenly she grins and sticks out her hand. "I'm Aranya Kent, by the way. And this is my sister, Sunita."
He shakes the proffered hand and smiles back at her. "I'm pleased to meet you, Aranya and Sunita. I'm McDonald. Call me Mac."
Sunita looks up and offers a shy smile. She suddenly looks very young and vulnerable. 'Well,' he thinks, 'it's a step forward at least.'
Before they get into the car, which is large enough but not at all to the girls' taste, he decides that it's time for a few home truths.
"Before we go, I need to talk to you," he starts.
Sunita studies her fingernails and Aranya seems to have taken up ornithology - at least she seems to be extremely interested in the feeding habits of a seagull scavenging for food in the car park.
Mac takes a deep breath and plunges on. "Where do you think we are going?"
Aranya's eyes drift in his direction. "To some dreary hole in the country."
"Why?"
The question seems to take them by surprise. They exchange glances.
"Because Daddy wants us to and we couldn't persuade him otherwise," Sunita says.
Mac grimaces inwardly imagining the tears and hysterics as they tried to dissuade their father from this drastic course of action. "Why did he want you to go?" he persists.
They shrug. Sunita looks blank and a small frown creases Aranya's perfect brow. "Don't know," says Aranya. "He said something about being safe but it didn't make much sense."
"Hmm," says Mac grimly, "then it's time you had some facts explained to you. Your father has received threats - threats to kill him and, even worse, to kill you."
"But why would anyone want to kill us?" Aranya asks indignantly. "We haven't done anything."
"The world is full of unpleasant people, I'm afraid. Some of them want to hurt your father and hurting you will hurt him. You're being sent to the country so he knows you are safe and he won't have to worry about you - and he's a very worried man. It's my job to see that you get there safely and remain there safely until he's got his problems sorted out. Are you with me so far?"
He has their full attention now.
"To be safe you need to disappear. Up to now you've done nothing but draw attention to yourselves. Instead of leaving quietly and discreetly, several hundred people know you were at Kings Cross, a whole lot more know you were at Luton Station and another bunch know you were here. This will stop - now. From now on my word is law. You will do what you are told when you are told and do it without carping and complaining. Do I make myself clear?"
They look at him, resentment clearly written on their faces.
"I said, do I make myself clear," he repeats in a voice like flint.
They flinch. "Yes," they mutter.
"Let me make your position clear. Do you know where we are?"
"Luton Airport," Sunita says.
"And where is Luton Airport?"
They look at each other helplessly.
"I thought so. So if I got into this car and drove off, what would you do?"
Aranya stares at him defiantly. "Get a taxi back to the station and a train to London," she says. "We're not completely helpless or total idiots, you know."
Mac laughs harshly. "Touché." Then more soberly, "We're doing this for your protection, your father and I. We'll be some time in the car and we won't be stopping so I suggest a toilet visit now."
The girls exchange another look then nod mutely and follow him back into the airport terminal.