Free The Nationalist by Campbell Hart

thousand more than it was designed for. In the shadow of the bridge sat Anderston Station. It had opened in 1896 and closed in 1948. Unused for 30-odd years it was reopened in the 80s and was largely unloved and mostly unnoticed; you could easily miss it nestled between the supporting pillars. The only thing to mark it out was the dark blue band which held its name, the only colour in the drab grey space. The patrol car left the road and crossed the slabs in front of the station which followed the path of the motorway above. Standing under the carriageway a slow, steady drip of water drummed off Arbogast’s shoulder. Looking up he could see that it wasn’t raining. He wasn’t sure where the water was coming from. In front of him the station had been cordoned off and around a dozen officers were milling around, directing pedestrians to take the long way round.
    “DI Arbogast,” he said to the officer at the door, “Where’s the ticket collector?”
    “He’s in the office, sir; seems quite shaken up. He eh...”
    “Yes?”
    “He’s in a bit of a mess, had a bit of an accident. He shat himself,” The PC tried not to snigger, but failed.
    “This isn’t funny. You might have too if it happened to you. Where is he anyway; through here?”
    The officer nodded and Arbogast made for the brown fire door which sat beside the ticket machine. To his right he could see the office, a mass of machines, paper, and CCTV. Behind a partition wall was a small communal area. Jim Hamilton was sitting in an orange plastic chair with chipped black legs. He was wearing a pair of shorts. The room did not smell fresh.
    “Mr Hamilton?”
    “Officer.”
    “I understand you’ve had a bit of a fright today?”
    “I thought I was going to die.”
    “You didn’t though so everyone’s a winner.”Arbogast coughed; the stench was overpowering.
    “I don’t think this is funny.”
    “Neither do I Mr Hamilton but let’s face it, this could have been a hell of a lot worse. I was in George Square yesterday. If that had happened on your train then, well you know what could have happened.”
    “I thought I was going to die.”
    “But you didn’t. What I need to know from you is exactly what happened. Can you do that for me, Jim?”
    “I’ve already told the officers. They’ve got all the information you’ll need.”
    “I need to hear it from you.”
    Jim Hamilton looked as if he was going to protest but thought better of it. Sighing, he started to recount the last moments of today’s shift, “It was a holdall – a blue bag with brown stripes; kinda retro looking. I thought a young guy had left it by mistake. You’d be surprised how often that happens. It’s busy at that time. People are reading their papers, checking their phones, checking out each other, or me sometimes,” He could see Arbogast didn’t believe the last part, “It’s true. It’s easy to leave things behind. A group were just getting off. I stopped them but they said it wasn’t theirs. Then I started to get worried. After the explosion we’ve been told to keep an eye out for something – well for something like this.”
    “What did you do then?”
    “I don’t know why, but I opened the bag. At first I didn’t know what I was looking at. It was heavy, really heavy. There was a long black package in the bag. I turned it over to try and see what it was then I saw there was a clock.”
    “Can you describe it?”
    “It was just a digital display; like an alarm clock; maybe about two inches square. The display was made up of green lines. You know like a digital watch. It was at 20 when I first saw it then it was counting down. The train had stopped at that point and a lot of people were getting off. I thought maybe one of them had left the bag. I didn’t know what to do. There were so many people.”
    “You did the right thing.”
    “I didn’t need to do anything. I just sat and stared at the bag. I was shaking, sweating. I just sat there and