She nodded.
‘These two are due to take over the supervision of two hostages who I’m assuming are Marcus and Amy. As soon as the kidnap unit hears that, everything is out of our hands. They’ll find out about your relationship with Marcus and why he’s being held. You’ll be finished. The person who comes to pick up the phone—’
‘OK, that’s enough.’
‘Stealing people is wrong,’ said Boxer. ‘Remember that. These two kidnapped Rakesh Sarkar. They didn’t even know why. I’ve asked them. Was it for money? How did they know that Jensen didn’t want to torture and kill him because he hated the guy’s father? No, they stole him, handed him over and took a hundred grand for the work.’
Mercy stared into the wall of the corridor, where they were standing by the front door.
‘The guy who ordered Marcus’s kidnap is the one who’s been knifed in the Royal London, Chuck Powell,’ said Boxer, glancing in on the two captives. ‘Jess, the girl he asked to arrange the gang, is dead. He broke her neck. I met the two guys who actually performed the kidnap last night. They run cigarettes out of a warehouse in south London owned by a white Bahamian.’
‘Oh God,’ said Mercy, making a fist against the wall, putting her forehead to it. ‘You mean there are even more people involved. And Chuck Powell … we can’t do anything about him.’
‘He might not survive that stab wound.’
‘He’s stable in ICU. They won’t let him die.’
‘So what’s it to be?’
‘Let me talk to them.’
‘It’ll be more difficult if you decide you want me to deal with them.’
‘I can’t …’ she said, and tried to brush past him.
‘You’d better take this,’ said Boxer, and gave her Rylance’s Beretta. She put it in her coat pocket and went into the sitting room.
As soon as she saw them lying there on the floor, these two pitiful trussed-up human beings with fear in their eyes, she knew she wasn’t going to allow it. What had she been thinking?
‘I’m DI Mercy Danquah from the kidnap unit,’ she said, and held her warrant card in front of their noses.
The relief spread through them. Boxer sat down at the table by the window.
‘These are their phones,’ he said, pushing them towards Mercy.
‘Right, let’s start with the names and numbers of everybody you’ve had dealings with in the kidnap gang,’ she said.
Louise gave her four names: Conrad Jensen, Chuck Powell, Mark Lee and Jim Ford. The last two had been their fellow coppers when they’d stopped Rakesh Sarkar for drink-driving. Mercy went through the mobiles. Only the last two names had numbers.
As she was searching, a message arrived on one of the mobiles.
‘The guy who’s coming to pick up the phone will be here in seven minutes,’ she said. ‘Is there a procedure for this?’
‘He knows my face,’ said Rylance. ‘He’ll come to the door. I’ll hand over the phone. He’ll know its make and model number. He’ll check it and leave. That’s it.’
‘Where will he take it?’
‘That I don’t know.’
‘How do you want to play it?’ Boxer asked Mercy. ‘Hand over the phone and follow, or pull him in?’
‘Not enough manpower for a tail,’ said Mercy. ‘You can’t do that on your own and the phone’s too important to lose.’
Boxer knelt down, released Rylance, recuffed his wife to a piece of furniture. He took the mobile phone, put it in Rylance’s hand, walked him to the front door.
‘This is how it’s going to happen,’ he said, seeing the fear in Rylance’s eyes. ‘When he calls, you open the door just to the point of your left shoulder, give him the phone with your right hand, keep your right shoulder to the wall. There’ll be a gun on your spine. That’s all you need to know.’
They went back to the sitting room, sat him down in an armchair. Mercy continued to interview Louise.
‘Tell me what happened after you kidnapped Rakesh Sarkar. Where did you take him, who did what?’
‘Mark Lee took the Porsche and parked it in Sarkar’s street somewhere. Mike was driving the police car, Jim Ford was in the passenger seat. I was in the back with Sarkar. We dropped Jim off somewhere around Chiswick.’
‘And when you delivered Rakesh to the Old Vinyl Factory in Hayes, what did you see there?’
‘We just told your friend that ours was the first kidnap of the night. We reversed into a loading bay and two men came and took Rakesh away. We left. We didn’t speak to anyone and we only saw those two guys.’
Footsteps shuffled along the pavement. Boxer checked the time. Too soon. They carried on past.
‘You were in a police car,’ said Mercy, ‘and in uniform. What did you do with those things?’
‘No, of course, you’re right,’ said Louise, struggling under the stress of the situation.
‘Come on, Louise. Let’s get this straight in our minds now. Don’t hold things back.’
‘That’s it,’ she said. ‘We had to leave the car. They needed it for another kidnap. A driver took us back into town.’
‘And the uniforms?’
‘We had to take the uniforms off.’
‘Where? In the loading bay?’
‘No, they took us into a room and we changed into paper overalls.’
‘So who picked the car up in the first place, before the kidnap?’
‘Mark Lee. He was the driver. He was supposed to drive us back that night but he wanted a go in the Porsche.’
‘And where did you meet to put on the uniforms?’
Louise blinked, staring into the floor, then glanced up at her husband, who nodded once.
‘Always easier to tell the truth,’ said Mercy. ‘You don’t and I’ll have you in knots.’
‘We met in Mark Lee’s flat. He’d given Jim the keys. We changed there.’
‘Let’s have that address.’
‘Longlands Court, just off the Portobello Road. Jim met us at the tube and brought us there.’
Rylance watched his wife lying on the floor. She had the look of an animal trussed for slaughter. He could see, even as she answered Mercy’s questions, the future playing out in her mind. Prison. For a long time. There was the fatigue of regret in her voice, even in her strong, desirable body. It made him sad that they’d given in to the money. He hadn’t thought they were like that. She sensed his gaze, looked up at him, and he saw the permission given in her eyes.
More steps. This time they turned up the path to the front door. There was a knock. Boxer pointed at Rylance, raised him to his feet with his finger. They went silently to the door. Boxer stood behind it, put the gun to Rylance’s left kidney, nodded. Rylance opened the door, gave a sideways glance to the man outside as he made to hand over the phone, and then smacked the door hard into Boxer’s face.
The blow knocked the gun away from his kidney and it slammed into the wall, jolting Boxer’s trigger finger. The shot tore into the floor. Boxer fell back, eyebrow split, blinded by blood in his right eye, ears ringing from the deafening shot in the confined space.
The man outside knew instantly what he had to do and threw himself at Boxer’s gun hand. Rylance vaulted over him, ran into the living room and launched himself at Mercy. The gunshot had been all the warning she’d needed. She had the Beretta out. Louise screamed with alarm. Mercy fired twice, hitting Rylance in the chest. He went down face first as if his feet had been kicked out from under him.
Boxer was dazed from the front door cracking into his forehead. The man had wrestled the Walther P99 from his slackening hand.
Mercy took four strides to the corridor to find the Walther P99 pointing up at her from the floor. She didn’t hesitate and shot the man in the head. Blood sprayed against the white corridor wall. Two more steps and she kicked the front door shut.
‘You all right?’ she said. ‘You’re bleeding.’
Boxer nodded. He was lying with the man’s weight across his chest.
‘I’m fine,’ he said, pushing the body away.
Mercy went back into the living room. Rylance was still alive. He’d reached out a hand to his wife, who was staring at him wide-eyed with horror.
‘Sorry,’ he said.
‘You’re an idiot,’ said Mercy. ‘A bloody idiot.’
And those were the words that Rylance took with him to the other side.
Louise blinked hard, as if this might alter the terrible image scored into her mind.
Mercy looked up at the ceiling, gathered herself, closed her eyes, trying to shut out what she’d just had to do. She took a deep breath and called
DCS
Hines.
‘There’s been an incident at 38 Algernon Road in Lewisham. It’s quite possible that there will be reports of gunshots from neighbours. This is a continuing operation and it’s imperative that no police come anywhere near the house.’
‘Has anyone been hurt?’
‘Two kidnappers have been shot dead,’ said Mercy. ‘You will get a full report just as soon as the operation is completed.’
Hines tried to ask more questions. Mercy was having none of it and hung up.
She looked down at Louise, who stared back at her with an implacable hatred.
‘You’ve got no cause to look at me like that,’ said Mercy. ‘If he’d done as he’d been told, he’d still be alive.’
Boxer came in with a butterfly strip, found in the bathroom, over his eyebrow. He checked Rylance for life. He knew from the hole in the back of the other guy’s head that he was dead. He knelt down beside Louise, who closed her eyes.
‘Tell us about this line of code you need to take over the hostage supervision this afternoon.’
Louise said nothing.
‘You know I’m going to stop at nothing to get this information out of you,’ said Boxer. ‘I’m not under the same constraints as my friend here. So make it easy for yourself.’
Louise slowly opened her eyes.
Rylance’s mobile went off. Mercy reached over.
36 Arran Road SE6 at 16.00.
Then Louise’s mobile flashed and vibrated.
Punish the innocent.
The first £25 million arrived at New Scotland Yard just after two o’clock. The bank had followed the instructions precisely. The money had been loosely stacked on a large plastic sheet, which had been folded around the notes to the dimensions laid down in the kidnappers’ demands. Ray Sutherland had told
DCS
Hines that he had the agreement of the hostages’ parents to install ‘undetectable tracking devices’. A member of the kidnap unit’s technology department was present as a
CIA
operative inserted the device supplied by the
CIA
. It was the size of a fifty-pound note and about as thick as three of them stuck together. They tested the device and taped up the plastic sheet.
Over the next hour and a half the remaining £125 million arrived. Tracking devices were inserted into each batch and they were loaded on to the open truck.
At 15.38,
DCS
Hines was informed that all the money had arrived and had been loaded on to the truck. An email was sent to the kidnappers, who responded.
At exactly four o’clock the truck will leave its present location at New Scotland Yard fully loaded with all the money. Each parcel of money should be loaded in such a way that it can be easily lifted off the truck. We suggest ropes connected to a central hook that can be attached to the truck’s lifting gear. There will be no escort for this truck from police or otherwise. There must be no air cover. The only person in the truck will be the driver, who will have a mobile phone and you will give us that number. We will direct him to a place where he will drop his own phone and pick up our disposable one. This must be the only device he carries. We are making the assumption that you have not been foolish enough to try to plant tracking devices on the truck or in the money. If any such devices are found, it will result in the death of one of the hostages.
DCS
Hines made a recorded call to Ray Sutherland, who confirmed that he had seen the kidnappers’ email and reiterated that he had been given permission by all the parents to install the devices.
15.55, 17 January 2014
Catford, London SE6
Mercy was driving to Catford. Boxer sat in the back with Louise, who no longer wore the cuffs. She rubbed her wrists occasionally where the plastic had chafed. Mercy parked in a street parallel to the one where they believed Amy and Alleyne were being held.
Mercy asked Louise to stay in the car while she told Boxer what she’d learnt from Emma about Jensen and his interest in Ken Bass and the
CIA
officers, Ray Sutherland and Clifford Chase. She also mentioned Ryder, and what he’d revealed about Jennifer Cook’s interrogation.
‘There’s a political dimension to this that I don’t get,’ she said.
‘Well, it seems to be left versus right,’ said Boxer. ‘We just don’t know who’s facing off, where the battlefield is or what they’re fighting for.’
Boxer and Louise set off for the four o’clock rendezvous at the house. He was no longer carrying the Walther P99. To be consistent with what had happened in Lewisham, he’d agreed with Mercy that he should carry Michael Rylance’s Beretta 92 Compact Rail.
‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ he said as they walked. ‘You know that.’
‘You’re what?’ asked Louise, looking across at him, astonished.
‘I lost somebody important to me yesterday,’ he said, thinking,
Was it only yesterday?
‘I’m sorry for what happened back there today.’
She stared at him. He had to pull her to one side out of the way of a lamp post.
‘How long were you married?’ he asked.
‘Nine years. We got married as soon as we came back from Iraq in 2005.’
‘No kids?’
‘I couldn’t have any. I got a piece of shrapnel in the gut from an
IED
outside Basra and they took everything out.’
Boxer was surprised at his interest. For some reason he had to know, or at least talk about it.
‘Did you love your husband?’ he asked.
Louise didn’t answer at first, had to get used to the surreal situation. This man, who’d come across earlier as a psychopath, was now revealing himself as human.
‘It was strange,’ she said. ‘I didn’t think I did love him when we got married. I wondered whether I was doing the right thing, my friends, too. Michael and I had grown very close in Iraq, but that was a weird, intense scenario. I had no idea how we’d be in the real world. Then three weeks after we’d done the deed, I realised I couldn’t live without him. He suddenly made sense to me.’
They turned into Arran Road, checked the house numbers and went right.
‘Did you work for Conrad before this?’ asked Boxer. ‘Or see him at any time in the last nine years?’
‘No, he just contacted us out of the blue. We were desperate for money, behind on our mortgage repayments.’
‘What did you make of Conrad?’
‘I really liked him. He was charismatic without being arrogant, generous without demanding anything in return. He listened. You know what rich men are like? They use false generosity to get you to do their bidding, but they don’t care what
you
want, they’re really only focused on what
they
want. Conrad wasn’t like that.’
‘Was that why you were prepared to do something illegal for him?’
‘We trusted him.’
‘Did he ever tell you why he was doing this, or mention any political motivation?’
‘Nothing political, and he said it was better we didn’t know. He made it clear that the mission could be dangerous, but his intention was not to hurt people.’
‘One last thing,’ said Boxer, as they arrived at the house. ‘Your motivation to co-operate. The hostages held here are my daughter and Mercy’s lover. The kidnap unit doesn’t know about either of them and Mercy wants to keep it that way. If we come out of this unhurt, you’ll walk, I guarantee it.’
He opened a wrought iron gate. They crossed a paved-over front garden to the door of a shabby Edwardian house.
‘Better I do the talking here,’ he said, and rang the bell, which made the sound of a gong in the depths. Feet made their way to the door, where they paused as someone checked through the peephole.
The door opened. An unsmiling, physically impressive man said nothing, waited. He had hair cut
en brosse
, blue eyes with long lashes, and biceps straining against the tight sleeves of his black T-shirt.
‘Punish the innocent,’ said Boxer.
The guy nodded, let them in. He tucked a Glock 17 back into a shoulder holster under his left arm as he led them down the hallway.
‘Fancy a cup of tea?’ he said, south London accent. ‘Before I show you around.’
‘Sure,’ said Boxer.
‘I’m Gav, by the way.’
‘Michael,’ said Boxer. ‘Mike.’
Gav put the kettle on, tea bags in the pot, laid out mugs, sugar, milk.
‘You come far?’
‘Just down the road, Lewisham,’ said Boxer, keeping to the story in case this was a vetting process. ‘Where are you off to?’
‘Wimbledon for tonight. Then I’m off early to Brize Norton to get a flight out to Afghanistan. Embassy security in Kabul.’
‘You on your own here?’
‘It was supposed to be just me and a single hostage, but there’s another one, young woman, mixed race, don’t know her name, and this bird Siobhan, who seems to be her chaperone. I haven’t seen anything of her, spends her whole time up there in the bedroom. Bit fucking weird, you ask me. My attitude has always been don’t get involved. You never know what you might have to do. Right?’
‘Right,’ said Louise.
He poured the tea, talked about Afghanistan, Iraq and a hair-raising job he’d done in Chechnya. He’d clearly been starved of company and wanted to chat. But he was boring and uninterested in what either of them had to say, except when he asked Boxer what weapon he was using. He was not impressed by the Beretta 92 Compact Rail. He didn’t say anything, but Boxer could tell he’d gone down in his estimation.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘I’ll just go for a piss and give you a tour of the facilities.’
After he’d left the room, Louise leaned over.
‘Be careful of him. All this friendliness is bullshit. He’s very watchful but unstable and he likes to use his gun.’
Boxer nodded, glad that she was conspiring with him, felt her come onside.
Gav took them round the downstairs rooms, where he pointed out the computer set-up and the email protocol.
‘Do you know any of these guys?’ asked Louise.
‘Nah,’ said Gav. ‘Just follow the instructions, take me money.’
He led them upstairs. Opened the door to a bedroom.
‘This is Marcus,’ he said.
Marcus Alleyne was lying on the bed, ankles crossed, sleeping mask over his eyes, wrists cuffed through the metal bed head. Calm.
‘And this,’ said Gav, holding up a key, ‘is for when Marcus wants to go to the toilet.’
‘What’s for dinner?’ asked Marcus.
‘You don’t need to ask,’ said Gav, handing Boxer the key.
‘Not frozen burgers
again.
’
‘We can do better than that,’ said Louise. ‘You up for a goat curry?’
‘Oh, finally a woman after my own heart.’
‘Please yourself,’ said Gav.
They backed out of the room.
‘Now you’re going to meet Siobhan,’ whispered Gav, pointing Louise to another door across the landing. She stretched out her hand to open it.
‘What’s that?’ said Joe, pointing at the chafe marks on her wrist.
The Beretta 92 Compact Rail was in Boxer’s hand, hanging down by his side as the door eased open. The bedroom was in darkness. When Louise didn’t reply, Joe lunged forward, grabbing her other wrist, and saw the chafe marks there too. He glanced at Boxer, saw there was something wrong in his eyes, and pulled Louise into the room, his left arm round her neck. He had the Glock 17 out and was pointing it at Amy on the bed, intuiting from the instant tension that this was something to do with the unknown hostage. Louise slashed on the light hoping to distract him.
‘No,’ shouted Siobhan, seeing the gun in Joe’s outstretched hand.
She threw herself across the room at the bed.
Joe fired, startled by the light and the sudden movement. The bullet thumped into Siobhan underneath her armpit. She fell over Amy, bounced back and ended up on the floor propped against the wall, her hand reaching for the hole in her side. Boxer swung the Beretta round on Gav, shot him through the temple. He went down, crumpling at the knees, dragging Louise with him.
Boxer shoved the gun in his pocket, knelt down and grabbed hold of Siobhan’s shoulders.
‘Look at me, concentrate, don’t go under.’
She looked up into his face, blinked once, desperate to comply, but a slow wince of pain crossed her mouth.
‘Oh shit,’ she said, eyes opening wide.
Blood surged from behind her teeth down her chin. She slumped to one side, eyes rolled back.
Amy, still with her wrist cuffed to the bed, came up on one elbow and looked down on Siobhan. She saw that she was dead, and was surprised as a rush of sadness shuddered through her.
Boxer felt for a neck pulse, dropped his head. Amy flung her free arm around his shoulders, buried her face in his neck. He hugged her to him, kissed her, stroked her back. Louise unlocked Gav’s arm from around her neck and got to her feet. She searched his pockets, found the other key, gave it to Boxer, who released Amy. He crossed the landing to Alleyne’s room, saw that he was suffering a paroxysm of fear and told him it was all OK. He flipped up the sleeping mask, unlocked the cuffs. Marcus grabbed hold of him, hugged him round the shoulders and wept.
‘Thought that was it, man,’ he said. ‘Thought I was done.’
Boxer patted his back, told him Mercy was outside and called her. He helped Amy downstairs, sat Louise down with her and opened the front door for Mercy.
Alleyne was shakily making his way downstairs, unused to being upright. Mercy’s car skidded into a parking place outside. She vaulted the front wall, pushed open the front door and saw him at the foot of the stairs; went straight to him, walked into his arms. They stayed like that for minutes, breathing each other in.
Boxer came into the hallway, shut the front door.
‘Amy’s in here,’ he said. ‘We need to talk.’
Mercy eased herself out of Alleyne’s arms, went into the living room and kissed and hugged Amy, who looked dazed and in a state of shock.
‘You’re going to be all right,’ said Mercy.
‘She took the bullet meant for me,’ said Amy.
‘Who did?’
‘Siobhan,’ said Amy, shaking her head, tears welling. ‘Why’d she do a thing like that?’
‘Instinct,’ said Boxer, bringing sweet tea in from the kitchen. ‘She saw Gav point the gun, felt responsible for you.’
‘We connected,’ said Amy, staring into space. ‘I thought she’d just been playing me, you know, to pull me in. But then she told me something and …’
She drifted off. Mercy brushed her tears away with her thumbs.
‘I think we should drive them to your place. I’ll get one of my doctor friends to come and look them over,’ said Boxer.
‘What have we got here?’ said Mercy, back in professional mode.
‘Two dead bodies upstairs,’ said Boxer, and explained. ‘Let’s go in the kitchen.’
‘Have you got a story for me?’ asked Mercy. ‘Because I’m in no condition to think one up.’
‘This is what I’ve come up with so far,’ said Boxer. ‘One of your informers directed you to the Rylances’ house. You went there, overpowered them and took Michael Rylance’s weapon from him. They told you about the guy coming to pick up the phone. Rylance and the visitor tried to overpower you during the exchange and you had to shoot both of them.’
‘It’s a start, but even I can see the holes in that one,’ said Mercy. ‘Their body positions aren’t going to look right with just me as the shooter. And what about here?’
‘Rylance had already told you he was meeting Gav, one of the other kidnappers, in this house at 16.00.’
‘Why?’
‘Gav’s leaving for Afghanistan in the morning and Siobhan needs help with some logistics. You turn up with the code word and are admitted.’
‘But I’m not a white male called Michael Rylance. I’m a black woman. He’d know that.’
‘All right, then we have to stage a break-in. The fact is, once you know about Siobhan being here, you’re desperate to talk to her. Since you heard about her in the Savoy, you think she’s the link to Conrad Jensen. There’s a confusing situation, which we’ll have to choreograph, and Gav tries to shoot you but kills Siobhan by accident. You shoot Gav.’
‘Not much better,’ said Mercy. ‘And what about Louise? She knows everything.’
‘The thing about Louise,’ said Boxer, ‘is that if you want an outside chance of holding on to your job, you’re going to have to let her disappear into the night.’
The truck set off from New Scotland Yard, heading for Victoria Embankment. It made a small detour, during which the driver dropped his own phone and picked up another from the roof of a parked car. The truck continued past Westminster Abbey, the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben, following the river going east.
DCS
Hines sat in the communications centre in Vauxhall, looking at the signals being sent from the tracking devices on the truck. Dusk came and went as teams of plain-clothes officers in unmarked cars stationed themselves all around the capital. They were being fed the signals via the communications centre.
There was also a microphone in the cab of the truck, which was sending back voice signals from the driver, who was being called by the kidnap gang at regular intervals, giving him new sets of directions each time. One moment he was due to head north from Blackfriars Bridge, the next they asked him to cross the bridge and go south of the river to Waterloo, Southwark and Borough before re-crossing the river over London Bridge. The driver repeated the instructions each time so that the communications centre had a double check on his position.
As the truck neared London Bridge, the driver was asked to turn right and continue to Tower Bridge. After crossing the river and going around the Tower of London, he was directed on to Lower Thames Street, heading back the way he’d just come. The traffic was getting heavier, rush hour was building. The truck was grinding slowly forward under a railway bridge that took trains into Cannon Street station. Just after the turning to Southwark Bridge, the driver was told to take a left turn down a cul-de-sac and pull up.