Two men climbed out of the van and approached the man with the mobile. There was a brief exchange before they shook hands and followed him inside. Even though the light was faint, it was enough to make out long, dark coats and the sheen of short-cropped hair on bony skulls. One man in particular was easily recognisable.
Quine.
Palmer inhaled deeply, and Riley felt the tension radiating off him like a hunter about to go after big game.
‘If they take the girl, we’re too late,’ he said softly, as if to himself.
‘But we know where they’ll be going.’ It would be to the Church’s headquarters or home to her parents. Unless they were playing games and had somewhere else in mind. She preferred not to think about that. If they lost sight of the girl it could end in tragedy. She thought about calling up a taxi. Moving around this area on foot at night with a traumatised girl would substantially increase the risks of getting caught once they made their move. On the other hand, what could she say to a cab firm’s controller? ‘Hang around while we snatch a kidnap victim — we’ll only be a few minutes’?
Palmer settled back down into a squatting position, ready for action.
Suddenly the door opened again and one of the new arrivals walked out, shaking his head. It was Quine. Raised voices came from inside before the other man followed, shoving the door further open with an angry thrust of his arm. Behind him, the man who had emerged earlier held up a hand and flashed his open fingers twice, before closing the door again. Quine and his companion climbed back into the van and drove away with a squeal of tyres.
‘Interesting,’ murmured Palmer. ‘Thieves falling out, do you reckon?’
‘Ten minutes,’ said Riley. ‘Is that what he meant? Come back in ten minutes… or he would follow in ten?’
‘Could be the price they’re asking. Ten grand gets her back with all her fingers and toes.’
‘They might ask it of the parents, but I can’t see the Church paying that.’
He nodded. ‘Yeah, you’re right. Either way, they’re negotiating for her. Let’s get in there. You ready?’ When she nodded, he stood up and walked across the street, Riley following close behind. She was glad to be on the move again, but her legs still felt unsteady after having been confined to one position for so long. As they reached the outside of the metal barrier around the arches, Riley heard a click and looked down. In the dim glow from a street light, she saw that Palmer was holding a retractable police baton by his side.
Riley bent down and scooped up a length of wooden fence post lying in the gutter. She wasn’t sure how effective she could be, but given her anger at what these men were doing, and the cold and filth she had been sitting in, she wasn’t about to stand and watch Palmer have all the fun.
She followed as he eased carefully up to the doors and listened. A rumble of voices came from inside but without more surveillance time, it was impossible to tell how many were standing the other side of the thin wooden structure. And time was something Angelina, if she was still inside, simply didn’t have.
Riley could now see that the door nearest to her was sagging weakly on its hinges. It was one half of a double set, big enough to allow a car to drive in and no doubt once used as a garage or lock-up. There was an unpleasant smell of mould and damp in the air, and she reached out and ran her hand across the rough and peeling surface. It trembled slightly, betraying the decay in the wood, and she guessed it wouldn’t take much to bring the whole structure down.
Palmer was evidently thinking the same thing. With a sweep of his hand, he signalled for Riley to step back.
Chapter 33
The condition of the door was worse than it looked. Palmer’s kick demolished one half, which fell away, dragging the rest like old cardboard, showering him with fragments of damp and rotted wood.
Two men were standing in the centre of what had once been a workshop, their backs to the entrance. The walls were rough brick, covered in a thin screed of plaster that did little to hide the dilapidated structure. A single neon tube hung from the ceiling by two thin chains, throwing a sickly yellow light over the squalid interior.
Some attempts had been made to add a degree of comfort by the addition of a couple of greasy armchairs, two camp beds and a small, battered table covered with tea and coffee-making paraphernalia. A gas heater hissed nearby, casting a ghostly light up to the curved brick ceiling and adding to the depressing atmosphere soured by the smell of damp, dust and petroleum waste.
The two men were solidly built, with dark hair curling out from under woollen caps. Both were dressed in nondescript ski jackets, jeans and boots. Outside, nobody would have given them a second look. Towards the rear of the workshop, stretched out on one of the camp beds, lay the slim figure of a young girl, her head thrown back on a stained pillow. She looked fragile and wan in the yellow light, but still seemed to be breathing. Angelina.
The two men spun round, their faces registering shock at the noise and suddenness of the intrusion. Neither man looked unduly alarmed when they saw Riley and Palmer, but the one on the left instantly reached inside his jacket and produced a large hunting knife.
Palmer moved towards him without hesitation. The directness of his approach caught the other by surprise. He slashed wildly with the knife, displaying more aggression than skill, his breathing harsh and animal-like in the enclosed space. Palmer stayed carefully out of reach, but moved forward relentlessly, crowding the other man back. When he reversed into one of the workbenches with a grunt of surprise, Palmer flicked the baton across his face. The man’s head went back with a grunt, the knife falling from his hand and clattering to the concrete floor. Palmer gave him no time to recover. Taking a long step past his opponent, he swept the baton across and down, aiming at the side of the man’s knee. His opponent crashed to the floor with a cry of agony, his leg useless.
The second man was even less technical. Ignoring Riley as any kind of threat, he grabbed the kettle from the table and made to throw it at Palmer. The move left him wide open and gave Riley all the opportunity she needed. Grasping the post like a short lance, she lunged forward and jabbed him hard in the centre of his body. He gave an agonised squeal as the point sank into the soft part of his stomach, and dropped the kettle. Turning the post in her hands like a windmill, Riley followed up with a side-swipe which sat him back in one of the armchairs, his eyes wide open as he gasped for air, no longer able to put up any fight.
Palmer walked across and inspected Angelina. She groaned faintly and turned as he touched her shoulder. But it was soon apparent that she couldn’t move, as her hands had been tied to the bed frame with nylon rope.
‘It’s all right,’ he said soothingly, as the girl struggled to pull away from him, eyes flaring in terror. ‘We’ve come to take you home.’ He signalled to Riley, who scooped up the hunting knife and brought it over to him. While he began to saw at the ropes, she knelt down so the terrified girl could see her face. Seconds later the girl was free and Palmer was able to slide his hands beneath her, lifting her without effort. ‘Time to go, kiddo,’ he said easily, and looked at Riley. ‘They were definitely expecting company.’
Riley nodded and led the way past the two men, who were still groaning in pain, and peered through the open door. Satisfied the way was clear, she jogged down the street with Palmer padding along behind her, carrying Angelina.
Minutes later, they were on a broader street and spotted a taxi dropping off passengers outside a pub. Riley whistled and seconds later they were in the back and on their way, explaining to the driver that the girl had food poisoning. As they turned onto a main road leading towards the river, a white van going the other way drove past at speed, the street lights reflected in its darkened windows.
‘Surprise, surprise,’ murmured Palmer, looking back. ‘Are they going to be pissed.’
The van skidded to a halt just as one of the men staggered from the arches, angrily kicking aside the remains of the door. He stared left and right, then swore viciously at t
he night sky.
Quine stepped down and faced the man, head cocked to one side. ‘Please don’t tell me we have a problem.’ His voice was unnaturally calm, and the other man seemed to shrink in reply.
‘They took her away!’ he said defensively, gesturing into the dark. ‘You must have been followed here. Yeah, that’s it — how else would they have got here? We want our money.’
‘I don’t think so.’ Quine’s voice was coldly emphatic. ‘You paraded her around, didn’t you? Allowed her to be seen.’ He loomed over the other man like a menacing shadow. ‘You should be the one paying. Know what I mean?’
Chapter 34
The girl remained silent all the way to Portland Place. Huddled into one corner of the cab, she stared resolutely at the floor, shivering and tense. She had made no attempt to get away from them, and Riley guessed she was in shock. If she recovered enough to start thinking about what was happening, she might panic that she was being moved on somewhere else and start screaming her head off. Riley gradually eased closer, trying to establish contact as a reassuring presence.
‘She ok?’ the driver asked, peering over his shoulder. ‘She ain’t gonna be sick, is she?’
‘Just drive,’ Palmer said quietly, and the man turned back to concentrating on the road. Palmer took out his mobile and dialled the Boothe-Davisons’ number.
‘Will they try to get her back, do you think?’ said Riley softly. She was wondering how much value the Dukes or Quine and his companion placed on Angelina, and whether it might be sufficient to compel them to recover their investment. If they did, then the genteel and open surroundings of the building off Portland Place wouldn’t be the safest place to leave her.
‘I doubt it. But they might not let this go without some kind of response.’ He gave a slight start to indicate the phone had been answered.
‘Great,’ murmured Riley. ‘Maybe this time they’ll tidy my place up again.’
Palmer calmly informed whoever had answered the phone that they were twenty minutes away. By his succinct manner, Riley guessed he was speaking to the former Air Commodore. ‘She’s fine,’ he concluded reassuringly. ‘But you might want a doctor there to check her over, just in case.’ He clicked off and sat back, and Riley wondered if he was as calm as he seemed. She had seen Palmer in action before, and she was under no illusions about how effective he must have been in the military police. He would remain single-minded and controlled until this thing was over — or at least, until Angelina was back with her parents. After that, well, time would tell. She just hoped that when the reaction to her own part in the arches set in, which it surely would, she wouldn’t fall apart like an old wardrobe.
He seemed to sense what she was thinking, and turned to look at her. ‘You ok, Riley? You did well back there.’ He so rarely used her name, it sounded odd. Then he smiled with casual indifference, a welcome trace of the normal laid-back Frank Palmer. ‘Of course, I would have taken the other bloke, too. You just got there first.’
Riley patted his hand in the exaggerated manner of a concerned big sister and gave him a patient look. ‘Of course you would, Palmer. I know that. But you wouldn’t deny a girl some fun, would you?’ She sat back, wondering if she hadn’t just seen another chink in the armour of the Palmer façade; a glimpse to show the man was feeling guilty at having dragged Riley into a situation where things could have gone dramatically wrong.
The cab dropped them outside the front entrance to the building. The street was quiet, with only a few vehicles and very little pedestrian traffic. If anyone had followed them, they had used a stealth craft. With Palmer hovering close by, Riley ushered Angelina across the pavement and through the front door, gently murmuring to her that everything was going to be fine. She had no idea what was going through the girl’s mind, but she guessed she was probably dreading stepping back into her parents’ lives after whatever drama had compelled her to leave.
Mrs Boothe-Davison was waiting at the front door to the flat, and rushed forward to greet her daughter, arms open. Gone was the restraint of their last visit, and amid tears and murmured apologies, they disappeared into a bedroom, followed by a youthful man carrying a black leather briefcase. That left Riley and Palmer with the Air Commodore, who handed them an enormous whisky each in crystal glasses. His whole body was tensed with worry and he nodded gratefully to them in turn before downing his own drink in one hit. The shudder which ran through him afterwards said it all.
‘Don’t know how to thank you,’ he muttered finally. His voice caught on the words, but Riley couldn’t tell if it was the emotion of the moment or the belt of whisky on the back of his throat that caused it. ‘I’m so relieved I can’t explain.’ He sniffed and shook his head, and poured himself another drink. When he came back, he seemed calmer, and it was plain he was exerting a massive amount of self-control. ‘Where did you find her?’
Palmer gave the details in crisp report fashion, as if he was attending a de-briefing session after a military exercise. ‘As far as we know,’ he said carefully, ‘they didn’t harm her. There wouldn’t have been any value in it. But the experience will stay with her for some time. She may need specialist help to see her through — but I’m no expert.’ He drained his whisky and placed the glass on a coffee table. ‘I think you should take her away for a few days. Both of you. Give her time to recover.’
Boothe-Davison nodded. ‘Of course. Good idea.’ He was no fool, and seemed to consider what Palmer had said, before asking the same question that Riley had earlier. ‘You think these men may try to get her back?’
‘Seriously? No. They must know who you are — that you’ve got connections with the MOD. They’ll know if they push it too far and identify themselves, you could call down a lot of firepower on them. They won’t want that. My guess is they’ve already cut their losses and gone. I can give you the address where she was held, but I doubt you’ll find anything. It was a hole they used, that’s all. They’ll have others.’
Riley noticed Palmer said nothing about Quine or the Church of Flowing Light, and wondered why. She decided to go along with him and leave out the presence of de Haan’s sinister colleagues.
Mrs Boothe-Davison intercepted them as they were leaving and took Riley’s arm. Her eyes were red-rimmed and she looked deathly pale, but managed a tight smile. Riley guessed she was tougher than she looked and would be the mainstay in getting Angelina through the next few days and weeks. ‘Thank you so much,’ the older lady said softly. She gestured towards the bedroom where a man’s voice could be heard speaking in a low murmur. ‘The doctor says she’s fine. A bit bruised here and there, and dirty, of course, but… I’m so grateful to you both.’
‘Hey, don’t mention it,’ said Riley airily, suddenly keen to escape. They needed time alone, the three of them. Mending fences. ‘It was Palmer who got all hairy-chested, not me.’ She took the older woman’s hand and squeezed it tight. ‘Give her time.’
They left the family to begin the course of recovery and stood for a moment on the pavement, allowing the night air to flow around them. Palmer lit a cigarette, inhaled, then sent it spinning away into the gutter with a sigh. ‘I smoke too much. It’s the stress of being around you that does it.’
‘Did you mean what you said back there?’ asked Riley. ‘We can’t just let it go; there could be other kids like Angelina.’
‘I’m not going to. I’ll feed him the address in a day or two when he’s feeling calmer…and when they’re not expecting it. Any sooner and he’d send in the troops all guns blazing and get nothing.’ He turned to Riley. ‘Anyway, you’re writing the story, aren’t you? That’ll set the hounds running. I just don’t want them tramping all over us in the meantime. We need to finish this.’
Riley took his arm and they began to walk towards Portland Place, where they could pick up a cab. ‘We need to find Henry. He’ll fill in the blanks.’
‘If he’s still alive.’ Then Palmer stopped dead, snapping his fingers. ‘Christ, I must be getting slow. Henry�
�s car — didn’t you say it was missing from his garage?’
‘That’s right.’
‘So how did he get to the Scandair, if not by car?’
Riley saw where he was going and shook her head at her lack of foresight. Find Henry’s car and it might give up a clue they could use. ‘It must still be at the hotel. But wouldn’t the police have thought of that? The first thing they’d do would be to check the register. Unless… ‘ She paused, thinking back to something Henry had said on the phone.
‘What?’
‘I’ve just remembered. When I spoke to Henry the other morning, he sounded rattled. He’d switched off his mobile at one point, and when I finally got him back, he wanted me to meet him at the Scandair rather than talk over the phone. He said something about meeting me, but that he couldn’t get to his car… get to it easily, or something like that. I forget the exact words.’
‘He must have been on foot.’ Palmer stared at the pavement. ‘If he didn’t have it at the hotel, he’d parked it somewhere else. What did you say it was?’
‘An old Rover. Running boards, crank handle, the lot.’
‘There’s your answer. A classic — and easily identifiable. Anyone looking for him would only have to find the car to know he wasn’t far away.’
‘But the Church must have tracked him down by some other means.’
‘Unless they were already watching him. If they found out he’d been talking to Eric Friedman, it would be more than enough reason to want to shut him down. It explains why they got heavy-handed at the hotel.’
‘But would Henry have been thinking clearly enough to hide it? He’s hardly the ready-made secret agent type. The more I think about it, the more I get the impression he was simply running. All he wanted from me was… well, I can only guess.’ She thought about what Friedman had told her. If Henry really had been suffering acute pangs of conscience at what he’d discovered, he would have wanted to unload the information he had on to someone he knew could do something with it. And that would be reason enough for Quine to be after him. Given what Henry had been doing, according to Friedman, he probably had enough information in his possession to light up Broadcote Hall with blue lights for weeks.
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