She shrugged. This was weird, but at least it was bearable. She’d been worried that it might have been some sort of bondage outfit.
Checking the bottom of the bag, she was delighted to find a couple of pairs of plain knickers. As her mother said, you never want to risk being carted off to hospital with grubby underwear. She carefully wiped herself with the baby wipes – her desire to be clean outweighing her fear that one of them could return and find her half- naked. Then, taking a deep breath, she pulled on her new knickers and practically jumped into the boiler suit. Moments later, she sank back onto her cot, her heart pounding but relieved to have escaped prying eyes.
By the time Street returned, she was back in control. He checked her over and nodded.
“I see the suit fits. I got it a few weeks ago and was pretty confident I’d got the size right. How does it feel? I think it quite suits you.”
She looked at him incredulously. “I’m only wearing this because you told me to.” As she spoke, she knew how he was going to react – and there it was, right on cue: the knowing smirk that she really disliked.
“Well, I think you look good. If we need to send your friends another message – actually, hold that, it will be when we send another message – this will help focus their minds that you really are a prisoner. I do hope, for your sake, that they’re paying attention.” The smirk remained in place, but his eyes were glittering. “I thought you might like a change of scenery. Come on then, follow me. I think you’ll like this.”
Street spun round and quickly headed away. Mary Lou hesitated, but at last she followed him. It felt as if she was stepping into a different world as she left her prison and, after only a few steps, emerged into the main body of the house.
She walked into what was clearly intended as a sitting room, decorated in shades of white and cream, with a pale woolen carpet that felt lovely to her bare feet.
Street was waiting for her in the centre of the room and waved his arm around. “Welcome to my little slice of heaven. I’m not here that often so it lacks that lived-in look – but better, I think, than where you have been.”
He pointed out the settee, the large TV placed in front of it and the door in the facing wall.
“Through that door and left is the downstairs toilet, and past that the kitchen, where you can make yourself a hot drink. There are some ready meals if you feel hungry, so do help yourself. Now, before you go getting any funny ideas, every other room in the house is locked. Including the front door. You can go and have a look if you like – but you won’t get out, and this place is so secluded no-one will see you.” He pointed at the settee. “Make yourself a drink, then get comfortable and watch a little TV. I think you might find the news channels quite interesting. Someone, and I can’t imagine who,” he mimed innocence, “has leaked our little video. You’re a national hero now.”
As he hustled away, she heard the sound of a door slamming shut. She stood uncertainly for a moment, then decided she might as well do as he said. A proper cup of tea would be marvellous.
Soon, she found her way into a light and airy kitchen. Once again there was no attempt at colour, just neutral tones and clean lines. She had to open all the cupboards before she found what she wanted.
Once the tea had been brewed, she cradled the mug in her hands, headed back into the living room and sat down. As she raised the mug, a wave of emotion almost made it slip out of her hands. She was shaking so much she put it down.
Despite herself, she was grateful that he had made her more comfortable. She was under no illusion about her own safety – but at least she was better off than she had been. Picking up the remote, she worked it out and called up the news.
She found Sky news and didn’t have long to wait.
The woman presenter started talking.
“The John Ryder story has taken an even more sensational twist with the kidnapping of a key employee. Police are refusing to comment, but Sky sources have obtained the following video which it is believed was sent in the last few hours.” She looked especially grave and added, “Viewers of a sensitive nature are advised that the following video may cause distress.”
The next second, there she was on the screen – looking terrible. She couldn’t stop herself thinking ‘viewers of a sensitive nature are warned that this woman looks in a shocking state.’ Then she thought of her parents watching and cried, knowing how frightened for her they would be.
The video ran for its entire length and then ran again, this time with a commentary that it was believed to have come from the Cohort.
The item panned back to the studio, where the presenter still looked grave and solemn. “If this video is true then it appears a young woman’s life is at risk. Norman Smith is our Crime reporter at Scotland Yard. Norman, what more do we know?”
The crime reporter flashed into view. He looked tired and was talking slowly to disguise the paucity of hard information that was available.
Talking direct to camera he said. “This is a terrible ordeal for this young woman and her family. While the Ryder Corp is saying nothing at the moment, Sky sources have told us their only concern is to get her back safe and well.
“Police are not commenting at this stage and have given no further updates on progress, but I can confirm that the video is being treated as important evidence.
“And back to the studio.”
Mary Lou had watched the story unfold with a mounting sense of horror. She couldn’t get her head round being on live TV. It was not a comforting place to be and she sat there fighting back tears.
“Not now,” she told herself. “Don’t give in. While you still breathe, you still have a chance.”
She leaned back into the settee and within seconds she was deeply asleep. She was troubled by strange dreams and kept drifting in and out of wakefulness until Street finally roused her as he called out.
“Don’t worry about me and Marcus, we’ve just got to bring a few sacks through here.” As he disappeared, she realised he had given her the name of the large, silent man.
For some reason that didn’t make her feel better. It seemed as though Street was no longer worried about what she knew and there might well be a simple reason for that… he was about to kill her.
Chapter 54
The Major ended the phone call and started mock beating himself around the head with his mobile.
“The next time I put out an inquiry about a big bloke with military training, remind me it’s a bit like asking does a bear crap in the woods?”
“Having problems?” asked Hooley.
“I was, but thanks to Mary Lou, and the ever-amazing mind of Jonathan. You know I haven’t seen you guys for a while, but I walk back in and there he is, pulling rabbits out of hats that don’t even exist, at least not to most people. I’m just glad he’s on our side. If he was a master criminal, like Moriarty, we wouldn’t stand a chance.”
Hooley could only nod his agreement and the Major waved his phone. “I might be about to have a bit of luck. Someone is going to ring me back shortly. It’s a bit complicated, but a friend of a friend overheard someone mentioning a bloke called Street who was looking for a new security chief. He says it stood out because the bloke was offering big money, over a million quid a year, and then my mate says he heard nothing at all, so he reckons the job must have been filled.”
Roper and Brooker had been pounding their keyboards as they looked up details about Peter Street.
“He’s the head of Street Industries, and Britain’s biggest name in mobile phone manufacture and sales. He’s very much in second place to John Ryder. He fits the profile. How long before you hear anything?”
“Soon. But I can’t put a time on it. It's a bit of a ‘man who knows a man who know the man’ situation.”
“What have you got Susan?” asked the DCI, his urgent tone underlying his desire for action.
While they were waiting, Brooker flagged up some more background information on Street. “He’s said to be wor
th in excess of £500 million – but he’s always seen as coming off second to John Ryder. Where Street is a big name in the UK and quite a few European markets, he doesn’t have the same standing in the rest of the world, including North America and Asia. He once sued Time Magazine for an article that compared the two men. It claimed that Street was ‘always the bridesmaid’ when it came to producing mobile phones and bringing new products to market. The American courts dismissed the claim out of hand, although not before Street had spent a couple of million on case preparations, hiring teams of lawyers and public relations people. Against advice from his own people, he went on a tour of TV studios. Viewers said he came across as ‘weird’, ‘creepy’ and a ‘loser’, and those are just the descriptions I am happy to read out loud.”
The Major’s mobile phone rang, and everyone fell silent as all eyes swung towards the handset. Major Phillips picked up, identified himself and listened intently. Then he thanked his caller and hit the end call button.
“Looks like confirmation. A year ago, Peter Street let it be known he was looking for improved personal security. He’d hired one of those expensive protection companies to sort the details but wanted his own, self-contained, system. More “proactive” was how it was just described to me. The name I’ve got is John Marcus Edwards. He’s said to be ex-Foreign Legion and, even though he’s a Brit, he's spent most of his time in French territory. That seems to be the reason he’s stayed under the radar. In every other way, he’s a big player. He stands six feet six inches, weighs in at over 280 pounds and has a reputation for being utterly ruthless. He’s said to have superb contacts and would have had no problem organising the three hits. My contact says that, if the money’s right, there’s nothing that he won't do.”
Hooley was shaking his head. “Do we know anything about his personal background? You can’t imagine a man like that being able to stay out of trouble while he was growing up…”
The Major shook his head. “Nothing. He seems to have appeared out of thin air as a fully-fledged, giant killing machine.”
Chapter 55
Healy flicked through the news channels in an attempt to find one that had something new. She’d never really watched rolling news before, and it was clear that, without fresh developments, the reporters had to keep going over the same old ground. It was also very strange to be at the heart of a story that was dominating the news.
As she watched, her captors were toiling past with heavy looking bags. The man she now knew as Marcus was carrying one in each hand, while Street was bringing one at a time, staggering slightly at the weight.
She tried to ignore them, but an unpleasant idea lodged in her brain. Street had never been one to enjoy physical exercise – but here he was, grinning as he toiled backwards and forwards.
“Last bag!” he called out, as he made his way towards her prison cell. A few minutes later, he was back, spooling out a length of wire behind him.
She felt sick as her worst fears were pretty much realised.
“You’ve gone pale, my dear.” If he’d hoped to sound concerned, his flat tone undermined the attempt. “Why don’t you come and look at what we’ve been doing? It’s something you really need to see with your own eyes.”
Dread settled on her like a heavy weight. It took all her willpower to move as she used her hands to lever herself from the sofa onto her feet. With legs like jelly, she followed him back into the secret rooms.
Many bags of fertiliser had been piled high, but it was the object in the centre of the pile that made her blood run cold. Here, there sat a small block of grey material with two electric cables pushed into it. A solid power board connected to the two cables completed what she could see. She knew what this was – it had to be a bomb.
Street studied her closely, his eyes narrowed to slits. “Impressive, isn’t it?”
She didn’t bother to answer. This wasn’t impressive; it was plain terrifying. The sight was so chilling she felt frozen to the spot. She had to put her hand against the wall to fight off a wave of light-headedness.
Her discomfort made Street gleeful. “There’s getting on for two tonnes of ammonium nitrate fertiliser in there, a little bit of plastic explosive – and Marcus, an expert at this sort of thing, will be adding some sugar. Apparently, that will make sure everything goes boom.”
He said the last word quietly, almost reverently.
Suddenly, he straightened up. Healy was looking straight at him and was horrified to see his mouth drop open, his features distorting as though his face had slipped. For the briefest moment, his eyes were blank.
Then he was back and acting as if nothing had happened, the entire performance serving to convince her – as if there could be any doubt – that she was dealing with a man whose mind was on the brink of disintegration.
Street grinned. “Now, I expect you’re wondering what happens to you in all this? Well, I’m afraid it’s going to be bad news. You see, we’re going to make you part of the bomb, as it were.” He paused, taking in her reaction. “But you do have a very small chance. We’re going to rig this so that you’ll be ultimately responsible for when it explodes. You’ll be the one holding the switch – and, once you let go, it will set it off. This house, and you, will be blown to tiny pieces.”
He looked sly again and pulled his phone out of his back pocket. “Now, I can see that you have your own ideas about that. After all, how can I force you to sit around holding a detonator? You could just set it off the moment we hand it to you.”
He handed her his phone. The screen showed a couple of video feeds, although she couldn't make out what they were.
“You might want to enlarge those.”
She clicked and nearly dropped the phone. The feed – with a timer proving it was live – showed the outside of her parents’ home on the outskirts of Bromley.
“The second one, please.”
She prepared herself and clicked again. It was her sister’s little semi-detached in Milton Keynes, where she lived with her two young daughters, Mary Lou’s much-loved nieces, and husband. She sagged. She knew what was coming.
“As I’m sure you’ve guessed, we have people at both these locations. If I give the order, I can have them killed. And I will order that done if you are silly.” He paused and grinned as if something amusing had occurred to him. "Just think, you can save innocent lives if you follow my instructions. Mary Lou, I know you fancy yourself as do-gooder.”
When she didn’t reply, he patted her shoulder. “Good, good. You’re being sensible.” He pointed up at the ceiling. “There's a camera in the ceiling light fitting so we’ll be able to see you after we leave. Oh… and there's one other thing you should know. There are two ways of setting off the bomb. Either with the switch we give you, or by remote control. So, even if Mr. Roper works everything out – and he just might by all accounts – we can still make sure you go up in smoke. As I said before, I need you to encourage your fellow workers that they would be better off no longer working for the Ryder Corps.”
He turned to leave, walking a few steps before coming to a stop. With his back towards her he said. “Just to give you something to think about. I think I’m a reasonable man. I give people a fair chance.” He poked her sharply in the chest. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Sure, whatever.” She couldn’t be bothered to argue.
He carried on. “So, what I’ve done is to keep the bomb simple. That means someone with the right experience could dismantle it. You might just get away with your life. I didn’t have to do that, Marcus wanted to fit a special anti-tamper device, but I overruled him. While you’re sitting here with the switch, you can decide how lucky you feel today.”
She felt she no longer had anything to lose. “Can I make one request?”
“Try me.”
“Will you leave it until the last moment before I have to hold the switch? If I have a long wait, there’s a danger I’ll get cramp and just let it go.”
He sketched a bow. “Of course
. Never let it be said that I would leave a damsel in distress.”
Mary Lou Healy just stared at him. She was dealing with a mad man. There was nothing to be gained in pointing out the obvious flaw in that statement.
Chapter 56
Roper announced that he might have cracked the answer to “home”.
“That was quick, even by your standards. Tom only came up with confirmation about ten minutes ago.”
Roper shrugged. “Actually, Susan and I have had Peter Street’s name for a little while.”
The DCI looked incredulous. “Don't you think you should have mentioned it?”
Another shrug. “You know Susan and I have been working with algorithms. Well, Street was one of about 500 names we came up with. We didn’t have anything to mark him out, so we were still looking when Tom got the name.
“The good news is that we already had quite a bit of information about him – his company HQ, which is quite close to where we are now, his declared home address in Audley Square, Mayfair, and various other properties. But I also remembered reading that he had grown up in his family home in Leatherhead and once gave an interview saying how much he loved the area. Out of interest, I checked if he had any homes in that part of Surrey and something interesting has come up. A company linked to him bought up his family home a few years ago, after his parents died.
“The old house has been demolished and a huge mansion, one of those places that looks like it is built out of glass, has gone up in its place. Given that he has never publicly acknowledged owning the house, I think it might be the “home” Mary Lou alerted us to.
“I don’t think he could possibly be holding anyone at the company HQ, so I suggest we leave that to Operational Command. His address in Audley Square could be the one, although I only rate that a twenty per cent possibility.”
Just Kill Them Page 23
