John heads to London

Biting the cellophane packaging to rip it I spread jam on my croissant, and washed it down with coffee. I felt pleased to taste the best inflight meal ever.

A Star of David prominent on the fuselage I had boarded the jet and felt relieved: euphoric to be heading home. My legs stretched and I eased with the seat back and relaxed during the flight thinking of my family. I did not notice two passengers watching me.

Excitement kept me awake for the comfortable four and a half hour flight until, with rapture, I heard the pilot announce landing, London time 16.30., and the usual protocols.

At the luggage island my blue and white case made a bumpy circular journey on the steel conveyor amongst a handful of others. Flight bag slung around my shoulder I moved gratefully to collect my case. I felt a load off my mind.

Suddenly I felt a push. A scruffy young man had rudely pushed me out of the way, pointing to my luggage. He hurried to join an older - more menacing - man as they made their way to the revolving carousel. I felt dazed when the other man grabbed my case and they ran.

"Oi Stop! Those men are stealing my belongings!" I shouted. "Stop them!". Security guards - standing in the corners - started to move, but the thieves had a head-start and raced away. Seething anger erupted within me while I gave chase, my voice growing hoarse.

"STOP THOSE MEN!" I bellowed, pursuing them as fast as I could through the concourse. In the Arrivals hallway people jumped out of my way; I ran breathing hard. Trolleys laden with cases spiralled away, striking walls and upturning chairs. I could see the two men even further ahead, and dreaded that our hope was being stolen.

Suddenly a six-footer with grey military buzz cut hair leapt a security barrier to rugby tackle the man with my case. They tumbled along the hallway, scattering passengers and pot plants as they grappled, and my case fell from his clawing hands. The new arrival head butted him, and quickly stood to body - punch the younger man. With a couple of karate kicks and punches to their bodies, the two luggage - thieves ran away empty-handed, glancing back angrily, the guards in hot pursuit.

"I can't take you anywhere," said the grey-haired man in an Irish accent - his chest rose and fell. Wiping blood off his forehead he said, "It's not mine, don't worry."

"Sean, it's good to see you!" I said, puffing and panting. "You came in the nick of time!"

"What were those eejits after?" he said,"... not your Calvin Klein undies?" I smiled with relief.

Then I grew more sombre and said, "they must be after the box, Sean."

Sean handed me my case. "Come on, we'd better get out of here."

Minutes later I strode through: "Nothing to Declare."

The wind blew my hair as we walked to Sean's Range Rover. He said, "After I landed in the General's private jet ..." I coughed. Sean continued, "...I placed my luggage in the boot, and sorted a hire-car for Rachel so she could journey straight to Great Ormond Street."

"Who's Rachel again, Sean?" I said, amused.

"Ah, well, ya see, she's the other rescued hostage, Boss," he said, while we pushed the trolley with my case and flight bag. "Anyway, knowing you could get lost without me, and were arriving within the hour, I had a word with airport security. I flashed my old SAS warrant card and used Irish charm, and they escorted me to luggage retrieval beyond the customs hall. They even gave me coffee."

I guessed he would fill me in on the way to GOSH. With the Range Rover door open I placed my case and flight bag on the back seat.

Fields and buildings sped past on the motorways and I opened the case. The box lid laid aside I put the bag in my pocket. At a service area, Sean looked at the box, took my hand, stared at the box lid, and slapped my back.

He locked the box and my luggage in his boot and said, "Well done, Boss, you did it!" Journeying through London traffic he made hands-free call to his new mates at Heathrow.

"Aye, it's me. No problem. Can ya e-mail The Morgan Group the CCTV of the two bozos? Thanks."

My head against the headrest I fell asleep. I woke startled to: "Wakey, wakey, Boss." Then Sean said, "bloody English: Irish labour build your roads, and now I have to pay to park on em."

I laughed and rubbed my eyes. I had missed Sean's Irish wit. He dropped five pound coins in the meter near to Great Ormond Street hospital.