by PT Reade
“Of course,” I said.
My phone broke the conversation. A message from Yash. Not much to it. Just a series of coordinates and times. But it was all I needed
“Gotta go,” I said. “Thanks again, Miranda. Go home and try to get some sleep.”
“Doubtful,” she said.
It wasn’t until I got out of her car and headed back to my own that I realized a better man might have asked her why she was having issues with sleeping.
But it had been a long time since I had been a better man.
Besides, I was on the clock…with Chelsea and Aisha missing, every second counted. I didn’t have time to go all touchy-feely.
EIGHT
It felt like every step was taking me further away from the girls, further from the truth.
The coffee was wearing off, and I was starting to feel burned out when I closed in on the location that Yash had sent me. It was the only place the kidnappers’ vehicle had stopped for any length of time. I’d used my phone’s GPS because I wasn’t familiar with the area and glanced through the window.
I double-checked the address, double-checked my phone, and pulled the car to a stop. I eased on the parking brake, stepped out, and surveyed the last known location of the girls.
Shit.
The address wasn’t really an address at all. It was simply a location that put me directly on top of a concrete overpass. Apparently, the perps who had rented the fake taxi had known about the tracker and had taken precautions. Either that or I’d been incredibly unlucky. I stepped out of the car, the overpass dead at the early hour—it was just after 4 am now—and stared at the sprawling sight below.
The overpass looked down across the Northdown Estate—the largest council estate in London. My American-trained mind couldn’t grasp why something that looked like this was called an estate. It was nothing more than a rabbit warren of cheap housing and winding, trash-blighted alleys. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked and in response, a car alarm wailed. I’d read about these places before. Built en masse in the sixties to house the booming population, low cost and full of ugly concrete; estates like this had now become an eyesore and a haven for petty crime. Some had been torn down. This place deserved to be. It stretched for miles in every direction and reminded me of something out of a post-apocalyptic movie. In America, we’d call them The Projects…and that was an insult to Projects.
This was not going to be easy.
I dived back into the Range Rover and headed toward the estate. But when I reached the ramp to enter that wasteland, doubt hit me. I stopped at the side of an access road and paused for thought. The girls could be behind any one of a thousand doors… if, indeed, they were there at all. If the kidnappers had been smart enough to not stop at any actual place, other than the Hyde party, they could have just used the Northdown Estate as a ruse. They could have used it as a way to keep snooping policemen—and overambitious private detectives—off their trail.
It was daunting and overwhelming. Sure, I was used to having trails go cold, and back in New York, I had been involved with plenty of unsolved cases. So I was used to all of that. But in this country, I was an outsider. The case wasn’t even six hours old, and here I was, wondering if this one was too big.
The smoke inside called to me again. The need for a drink flickered at the edge of my consciousness. I pushed it away, but I knew where the doubt came from. It was the ghosts of my family… the most important case to me, and one that had yet to be solved.
No, focus on the two girls.
It wasn’t just Chelsea out there. Aisha was with her, and Amir had done so much for me. I had to find them, if for no other reason than to keep my promise.
From my lofty position on the slip road, I stared out at the rooftops, trying to figure out where to start, when my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number.
“This is Blume.”
“Blume, it’s Andrew.” He sounded like I felt; thin and worn ragged—the kind of bone-tired that only came from losing a loved one. “Any news?”
“I’m sorry, Andrew, but the trail just got very cold. Like mid-winter cold.”
I heard him sigh and could almost feel his body sag in defeat.
“Ok. Plan B,” He said. “I just got off the phone with the kidnappers. They gave me a time and place for the money drop.”
“Okay,” I said. “How can I help?”
“Well…I’d like you to carry it out. Amir says you have some experience in that.”
“One time on the force,” I told him. “But I wasn’t in charge of it.”
“I need all the help I can get, Blume. If you need more money, that’s not a problem.”
“I don’t need more money,” I told him. I wanted to say: I’m just not willing to be responsible for your daughter. If she dies, I don’t want it to be on my conscience. But the words wouldn’t come.
“Then what?” Andrew asked, and I could hear the desperation in his voice.
Damn, I thought. “Nothing,” I finally said. “Where and when?”
“Come back to the office as soon as you can, and I’ll give you the money. I’ll tell you the rest then.”
“On my way.”
I hated the idea of paying off the kidnappers, but if we didn’t want to get the girls back in installments, I would have to play along.
For now.
NINE
The game had started badly. Time for a second-half comeback.
By the time I returned to Andrew’s office, dawn was still elusive, but I could feel it on the air. In the East, a dim radiance started to fill the horizon. My head pounded. My body longed for sleep. One of Andrew’s security guards escorted me into the office. Inside the glass and steel building, there was a somber silence. The nerves and frantic terror that had been here four hours ago were gone, replaced by something that felt very much like acceptance or depression.
When Andrew saw me, he became a little more animated. I tried my best to ignore the glimmer of hope in his eyes. Amir was directly beside him, and he looked just as tired and defeated. It hurt me to see him like that. It made me much more determined to bring the girls home safely, washing away the doubts I had experienced while looking at the Northdown Estate.
Andrew gave me a briefcase, handing it over as if there might be a bomb inside. “You’ve no idea how hard it was to get the cash so quickly, but it’s all in there,” he said. “Every last pound.”
“You’re certain?”
“I’ve counted it four times,” Andrew said. “As did Amir.”
“It’s all there,” Amir nodded.
“Okay,” I said. “So where am I taking it and when?”
“The old Battersea power station,” Andrew said. “They want it there at 6:45.”
“And do they know you aren’t bringing it to them yourself?”
“Yes,” Andrew said. “I told them that two of my hired guards would be coming on my behalf. They didn’t seem to care, as long as it wasn’t the police. They went so far as to say that if they see any sign of police interference, they’ll kill both girls.”
“Okay,” I said, taking the briefcase. “Look, you have to know that I—”
“I know,” Andrew said. “I’m sorry to put this on you, but I don’t have much of a choice.”
I nodded, finding it very hard to believe that I was actually holding three million pounds in my right hand.
“A few ground rules,” I said. “I won’t contact you until it’s done. Once I have the girls in my possession and safe, I’ll call you. I can’t be distracted before then. Also, you’re making the decision not to go now…and it has to stay that way. You can’t just decide an hour from now that you want to show up. The kidnappers are going to want predictability. No surprises. Got it?”
“Yes.”
“One other thing,” Amir said.
“What?” I asked.
“I’m going with you.”
“The hell you are,” I said.
Amir was a ticking t
ime bomb. I had no idea what he would do and we’d already discussed this.
“I am, Blume. Andrew can’t get involved because it would be a media storm. But I don’t have that baggage. And damn it, I am going to be there to make sure my baby is safe.”
“Amir, you can’t—,”
“I have to,” Amir said. “We’ve already told them that there will be two men. And you just said that they don’t want surprises. We said two men, so we’d best show up with two men.”
“That was stupid, Amir.”
He gritted his teeth. “You’re stuck with me.”
I was exhausted, frustrated and had a catalog of words ready to throw his way, but I held back. “Fine,” I said. “Come on. Let’s get going.”
Before stepping out of the large office, I looked around at the people in the room. There were now only six in all, including myself.
There was one noticeable absence.
“Where’s Gordon?” I asked.
“He left about two hours ago,” Andrew said. “There’s nothing he can do to help anyway.”
I nearly decided to grill him on the relationship with his brother this was not the time or place.
“If you have anything else you need to tell me or ask, do it now,” I told him. “Once Amir and I leave, it’s radio silence until I have your daughter.”
If that ever happens.
“No,” Andrew said. “Nothing else. I’m sending the rest of my staff home. They can’t help now, and I need to concentrate. It’s just you, me, and Mr. Mazra.”
“Then let’s go,” I told Amir, allowing venom to seep into my voice.
We stepped out into the growing morning. The three million weighed heavy in my hand … like a weapon. One that could backfire at any minute.
***
After grabbing a drive-through coffee on the way, I felt a little more revived. Amir was noticeably distracted. He stared out of the Range Rover window, and on two different occasions, tears slipped from his eyes.
“It’ll be okay,” I told him. “We’ll get her.”
I tried to sound convincing, but doubt it helped.
“I know you’re right,” Amir said. “I trust that you can get it done. But…this feeling…of knowing I’m helpless to do anything right now. It feels like it’s my fault…it…”
“It burns,” I said, a photo of my family’s crime scene flashing through my head.
“Yes, it does,” he said.
As Andrew’s car ate up the miles, Amir seemed to get a little more clear-headed, although he was fidgeting in his seat and clearly nervous.
“How were you able to find the cab the kidnappers used?” Amir asked.
“A phone tracker. It uses GPS to locate a cell phone. It’s not exactly legal, but I won’t tell if you won’t.”
“So you’re using a computer to do your job for you?”
“Sometimes,” I said. “Enter the grand new world of modern technology, Amir. Your kids know it,” I said, reminded of the times he’d briefly allowed his son to assist me with some savvy internet hacking skills.
“Whatever works, I guess,” Amir said.
“I might feel like an old dog,” I said, “but there’s nothing wrong with learning new tricks, you know.”
“You’re not an old dog, Blume. You know that by now. I hope you know that.”
I only gave a shrug in response.
“Do you think things will work out?” Amir asked. “After these men get their money, do you think we’ll get my daughter back?”
“I think so,” I said, but it wasn’t the honest truth. In fact, the closer we got to the power station, the more it felt as though Amir and I were pawns in a game being played around us.
But who were the players?
TEN
The drop.
We reached the power station at 6:43 am. On the horizon, a liquid glow gave birth to the new day, and London began to come to life.
Battersea Power Station had been abandoned for almost ten years. The huge concrete monolith had once served the entire southeast of London, but now the decaying structure—with its famous quad chimneys—sat empty, a ubiquitous presence on the city skyline.
The feeder road that led out to the station was dead and abandoned, just like the rest of the grounds. Rumors of the site being redeveloped and turned into housing or a shopping center had been around for years, but for now, weeds and cracks had taken over most of the road, features that only continued to grow along the parking lot of the station. As we pulled into the lot, a white van at the corner blinked its hazard lights at us and then cut a hard right turn.
I followed as the vehicle wound toward the back of the station. A few old signs told us we were heading towards the loading area. The van turned and we followed it into the vast central hub of the station.
At least two hundred feet long, and half that wide, the empty brick building was supported by thick girders and catwalks, giving the space an almost organic feel. It looked like the decaying carcass of some colossal brick-and-steel whale.
Maybe that made me Jonah.
Giant metal support beams and iron buttresses carried frames the length and breadth of the building, presumably where large machinery would once have been hard at work. Now the place was quiet, apart from the occasional scuffle of birds high in the rafters. The first rays of sun now broke through the shattered windows and illuminated dust specks gently floating in the air.
Once we were all safely inside the building, the van stopped. Two men got out of the front. Both had guns and made no attempt to hide the fact. One had a pistol attached to his hip. The second carried a shotgun slung over his shoulder. I doubted these cowboys even knew how to use the weapons properly, but even a cowboy gets lucky in a gunfight occasionally. I didn’t want to risk finding out.
“You stay here,” I told Amir. “At the first sign of real trouble, call for help.”
“But we aren’t supposed to call the cops.”
“We aren’t. You’d call for an ambulance. And if things get really bad, jump in the driver’s seat and get the hell out of here. Understand?”
He nodded, but I didn’t like the look of doubt on his face. I felt some of it, too. Again, I wished for the reassuring weight of the Glock holstered to my hip. I couldn’t risk carrying a gun. It didn’t feel fair that these assholes could.
Still, with a deep breath, I stepped out of the car and into the space of the empty building. The two men eyed me cautiously, and for a moment, we were separated only by the cracked concrete and particles in the air.
“Who are you?” one of the men asked, his accent thick and Eastern European.
“I work as security for Mr. Hyde,” I lied.
“And who is he?” the other enquired, pointing at Amir. This one had a craggy face and a snake tattoo starting at his neck, disappearing beneath a dark t-shirt and emerging near his forearm.
Another serpent tattoo.
“He’s the father of the second girl you kidnapped—”
I almost gave Aisha’s name, but I didn’t want to give away any more information than necessary. Besides, the two goons didn’t seem to care. I could tell they were here for the money. Low rent mercenaries, pure and simple.
“And Hyde is still at home?”
“He sure as hell isn’t here.”
“Where is the money?”
“In the trunk,” I said, not liking how direct and back-and-forth this guy was allowing things to go. It seemed rushed. “Where are the girls?”
“The Hyde girl is in the back of the van,” the other man said. “You’ll get the other one once we’ve counted the money.”
Not good.
“Count it here, in front of me,” I said. “Make it quick and easy.”
“No.”
“Then let me see Chelsea. Where is she?”
The man tilted his head backward and said, “Let the little bitch out.”
The back doors of the van opened and a ragged, battered girl in a cocktail dress was sho
ved out, hands bound. She nearly fell face first but managed to catch herself by one of the back doors. Chelsea looked filthy—barefoot, wide-eyed and scared, but at least she was alive. She blinked and looked around as if she was expecting the absolute worst at any moment.
“Now, you’ll get the money when I know where Aisha is.”
“You are not in any position to make demands,” said the man who had done most of the talking to this point. He pointed his gun at me. “Pop your trunk and let’s see—”
A thunderous bang filled the warehouse. The noise was deafening. Everyone instinctively ducked—everyone except the man who’d asked me to pop the trunk. He simply stood there looking dazed for a moment; a gaping red hole in his chest. Finally, he collapsed to the ground, missing a large chunk of torso.
I hit the ground and scampered to the far side of my car as the loading area erupted in gunfire.
The initial blast had been huge, much bigger than any handgun could cause. Someone else had joined the party.
A rival gang? Police?
As I dived into cover, I was glad to see that Amir was out of sight—hopefully ducking down as far as he could in the passenger side of the car.
The tattooed thug took cover on his own side of the space. He was looking up towards the rafters, presumably reaching the same conclusion I had: there was a third party, a shooter somewhere. The man who had pushed Chelsea out suddenly emerged, kicking the back doors of the van open and screaming curses as he fired a pistol blindly into the rafters. The dead guy must have been someone close—a brother or cousin. Only the loss of a family member brought that kind of rage, the kind I knew all too well.
Chelsea was freaking out, and I couldn’t blame her. She screamed hysterically, running blindly across the open space. The thug from the van spotted her and gave chase, apparently deciding he could at least redeem something from this shit-show. He had the pistol in his hand, and he looked far too angry to be trusted with it.
I pulled out the X26 stun gun from inside my coat, lined it up, and fired off a shot. It struck the thug in the right shoulder, and he fell down in a writhing heap against an old stack of palettes
