by Ken McClure
Her audience, mainly older men, were hanging on every word, not that what she had to say was important; it wasn't, just loud, but Avedissian could see that she was flirting with each of them in turn.
A slightly built man in his early forties sat next to her and, at intervals, the woman would take a cigarette from the pack on the bar in front of her and have it lit by him, then she would turn away. The long-suffering husband, thought Avedissian.
Avedissian ordered gin and tonic for Kathleen and himself and five minutes later they were joined by Paul Jarvis.
Avedissian had deliberately picked a table well away from the crowd so that they could talk without being overheard. 'Does the team have the boy?' he asked.
'Not yet,’ replied Jarvis.
'But you know where he is?'
'Not exactly.'
'But…'
'I understand from Bryant that the plan is to take the boy from the IRA after the exchange has taken place. He thinks it will be easier than dealing, with both the kidnappers and the Irish at the same time. There's also the question of NORAID. We don't know what kind of a presence they are going to put up. There's a lot of money involved.'
'What do you want us to do?' asked Avedissian.
'First I've to give you these.' Jarvis handed Avedissian a sealed envelope and said that it contained airline tickets for the two of them and the boy. Avedissian put them safely away in an inside pocket.
'What about the kidnappers?' asked Avedissian. 'Do you know who they are?'
'Every lead has petered out into nothing as if a whole bunch of red herrings had been prepared in advance. Whoever they are, they are certainly no amateurs. They are almost too good to be true.'
'What about the Irish?' asked Avedissian.
That's our trump card,’ replied Jarvis. 'We know who their contact man is and we know where he is. If we stick with him he is going to lead us to the child. His name is Innes and he is staying at the Stamford.'
'How did you get on to him?'
'Intelligence from Bryant in London.'
'Then you have been in contact with London?'
'Of course,' said Jarvis. 'Nothing is done without Bryant's say so.' He turned to Kathleen and asked, 'Have you ever heard of this man Innes?'
Kathleen nodded. 'Malcolm Innes. They call him the Tally Man. He looks as if he wouldn't harm a fly, but he's dangerous.'
'Can you describe him?'
Kathleen gave Jarvis a description.
‘That's the man all right,' agreed Jarvis. 'Is there anything else you can tell us about him?'
Kathleen shook her head and said not.
'Are there any more IRA here?' asked Avedissian.
'Not overtly,' said Jarvis with plain meaning.
'But you think there might be?'
'What do you think?' said Jarvis.
Avedissian nodded then asked, 'Has Innes been contacted by the kidnappers yet?'
'Yes, that's why I called you. He was contacted by phone this afternoon and told to attend a baseball game this evening.'
Then the exchange could take place tonight?' said Kathleen.
'I don't think so,' replied Jarvis. There hasn't been time to finalise the ransom details. It's my guess that NORAID or the Irish have asked to see the goods before they do business.'
'So the child could be at the stadium?'
'Perhaps, or maybe it is just being used as a crowded meeting place. Innes may be taken somewhere else after contact is made.'
'Are you going to be there?' asked Kathleen.
'We all are,' said Jarvis. 'We know where Innes will be sitting but we don't know who will be with him. I want you, Miss O'Neill, to have a look at the faces round about. Tell me if you recognise any of them.'
Kathleen nodded and Avedissian asked what he was supposed to do.
'Just be on hand,' replied Jarvis.
Under instruction from the NORAID man, Roker, not to do anything without keeping NORAID informed, Malcolm Innes had gone to a pay-phone in the street and called the number that he had been given. He told Roker of the contact that had been made and gave him details of his seat ticket for the game.
'Nothing else?' asked Roker.
'Nothing,’ confirmed Innes.
It was true when he made the call but, as he left the hotel to attend the game, a bellboy handed him a pair of binoculars and an envelope. Innes opened it in the cab. It contained a piece of white card with a code on it. It said 'Section J, Seat L-17'. He examined his own ticket and saw that it was in a different part of the stadium. So that was it, he would be allowed to see the boy across the stadium using binoculars.
Innes edged his way through a crowd at a popcorn stand and climbed the steep banking to reach his row. He excused himself and a line of knees turned to the left to let him past. He had just settled into his seat when he felt a hand on his shoulder and a voice said in his ear, 'You came well equipped.' It was Roker.
Innes half turned and saw that Roker was referring to the binoculars. He told him how he had come by them.
'Did they give you anything else?'
Innes showed him the card.
Roker whispered, 'Let us deal with this.'
'Don't interfere!' hissed Innes. The last thing that he needed was the antics of bungling amateurs.
Roker gripped his shoulder more tightly and leaned close to his ear. 'Now get this, Innes! It's our money! A lot of our people have gone into hock over this. If there is the slightest chance that we can get the boy without paying through the nose for him we are going to go for it!'
'These people are not amateurs!' insisted Innes. 'You could ruin the whole thing!'
'Just sit on your butt and wait!' hissed Roker, getting up and leaving his seat.
Innes looked to his neighbours to see if his whispered altercation with Roker had attracted attention. There was no sign that it had. A family of four occupied the seats to his left and a teenage boy and girl sat to his right. In front two middle-aged couples shared out food and drink while behind him a man was explaining loudly to his wife or girlfriend exactly why he thought that Johnson was a better pitcher than Schwarz.
The steepness of the stadium made Innes uneasy for he had never been at peace with heights and he was sitting on the top deck of a series of steeply banked tiers. It seemed a very long way down to the brightly lit diamond where the players were now being introduced.
A roar from the crowd followed every announcement of a name and each player ran on individually to. acknowledge the cheers with a raise of his arm. Innes put the glasses to his eyes and focused on one of them as he stood in line, shuffling nervously and chewing gum with monotonous regularity. He picked out the chain round his neck and could see that it carried a St Christopher medallion.
Out of the corner of both eyes Innes could see that all attention was now being concentrated on the diamond. He put the glasses back to his eyes and raised them slowly to section 'J'. Seat L-17 was unoccupied as were the two seats on either side. Four or five rows behind the empty seats and slightly to the right three men were moving along the row. Innes could see that one of them was Shelby, the man who had led the NORAID delegation in Belfast. He cursed under his breath, then he became aware of someone entering the row behind him and glanced back. It was Roker returning. Almost imperceptibly, darkness had closed in on the stadium, shutting out the world in the interests of the game. The crack of the bat sent a ripple of excitement round the tiers and set the tiny, bright figures down on the diamond into motion. The hitter, running at full tilt, slid safely into second base and the ball slammed into the catcher's mitt to kill the moment. The ball was returned to the mound in a lazy arc where the pitcher snatched it from the air and spat out a stream of tobacco juice into the dirt. He adjusted his cap and prepared to throw again.
From a position well behind Innes, Jarvis was watching him intently. Avedissian and Kathleen sat beside him. 'Do you recognise the man sitting behind Innes?' Jarvis asked Kathleen.
'I've never seen him bef
ore,' she replied.
'Do you think he's one of the kidnappers?' asked Avedissian.
Jarvis shook his head and said, 'No, or they would have done something by now. They're both waiting for something or someone. He's either NORAID or another IRA man.'
A roar from the crowd greeted the first home run of the game and Innes was momentarily lost from view as people leapt to their feet to applaud. As they settled Avedissian leaned towards Jarvis and whispered, 'Innes is not looking at the game!'
'What do you mean?'
'He's watching the crowd on the other side of the stadium.'
Jarvis looked at Innes and traced his line of sight. He could now see what Avedissian meant. Innes was looking at a section of the crowd on a lower tier. Jarvis raised his own glasses and tried to emulate the angle of Innes's binoculars. He found the empty seats. 'They are waiting for someone to arrive on the other side,’ he said to Avedissian. Take a look at row "L".'
Avedissian looked, then passed on the binoculars to Kathleen.
Jarvis asked Kathleen to look at the crowd in the area of the empty seats to see if there were any faces there that she recognised. She looked but saw no one familiar.
'Keep looking!' said Jarvis, sounding anxious.
'Do you think they might try a snatch if the kidnappers bring in the boy?' asked Avedissian.
'It's possible,' replied Jarvis. 'It depends on how far in advance Innes was told where the boy would be and whether he or his NORAID cronies have had time to set up something across there.'
'You said the kidnappers were clever,' said Avedissian.
'That's what puzzles me,' replied Jarvis. 'This would be a silly mistake.'
‘There's someone coming into the empty seats,' said Kathleen. She handed back the glasses to Jarvis.
Jarvis saw the figure of a man wearing a dark blue lumber-jacket and a baseball cap edge his way along the row and sit down. He was alone. 'I don't understand it,' said Jarvis, checking anxiously on Innes and finding that he was still looking across to the same place. There's no sign of the boy.'
Avedissian took a look at the man in the lumber-jacket. He had taken a packet of peanuts from his pocket and appeared to be watching the game intently. Avedissian looked at the man's cap then looked again for it did not carry the logo of either of the teams that were playing. It had a plain blue shield on it with the cipher, F-B9. The cap!' he whispered urgently to Jarvis. 'Look at his cap!'
Jarvis looked and understood immediately. He swung the glasses round to find section 'F' in the stadium and homed in on seat B9. There, sitting beside a woman wearing dark glasses, was a little boy. He was wrapped up warmly and seemed to be very tired. In his lapel he wore a small enamel badge with a Union Jack on it.
'Jesus wept,' muttered Jarvis. He passed the glasses along the line.
Avedissian heard Kathleen draw in her breath sharply. 'What's the matter?' he asked anxiously.
There's a man looking at us!' she replied.
Jarvis looked and saw what had alarmed Kathleen. A man wearing a black overcoat and sitting three rows behind the woman and the boy appeared to be looking directly back at him through field glasses. His first impulse was to tear his own glasses away from his eyes but then he realised that the man was not looking at him at all. He was watching Innes. He was looking to see if Innes had noticed the seat code on the baseball cap… and he had not.
'We've got time!' Jarvis whispered urgently to Avedissian.
'What do you mean?'
They will have to keep the boy there until Innes tumbles to the code on the hat. Maybe we can get to him before that happens!'
'Snatch him back ourselves, you mean?' said Avedissian, filled with apprehension.
'Only if we get a real chance,’ replied Jarvis. 'We can't take any risks with the boy's safety. But we can get round there and take a look at the situation.'
Avedissian agreed.
'For God's sake, be careful!' urged Kathleen.
'We'll leave our seats one at a time,’ whispered Jarvis. 'Make as if you are going out for a beer. We don't want to alarm our friends across the way.'
Avedissian waited until Jarvis had been gone for a few moments before getting to his feet casually and starting to edge his way along the row. As he got to the end of the row he looked back at Kathleen and smiled. 'Be careful,’ she mouthed.
Avedissian found Jarvis waiting for him in the gallery behind the tier. Together they ran along it as far as they could before stopping when they came to a blank wall. There was a stairway beside it. They took the steps two at a time and descended to the tier below to look for the way ahead but there did not seem to be any. This section of the stadium appeared to be completely isolated from the next at all levels by a concrete partition.
'There's a door!' said Avedissian, pointing to a blue door set in the wall near the back edge of the gallery. They ran over to it but only to find that it was locked. Jarvis cursed and a voice behind them asked, 'What are you looking for, buddy?'
They turned to find a security man standing there.
'We've just seen an old army buddy of ours. We're trying to get to him,’ replied Jarvis with what Avedissian thought was admirable presence of mind. What was more, Jarvis had said it in a convincing American accent. Avedissian thought he understood why Jarvis had been chosen for the job.
'You'll have to go down and round the outside,’ said the guard. 'Just explain to the guy on the gate and he'll let you through if you show him your tickets.'
'Oh come on, man, that'll take forever,’ pleaded Jarvis.
The guard hesitated and rubbed his chin while Jarvis smiled disarmingly at him and then gave in. He unhooked a bunch of keys from his belt and found the one for the blue door. 'Don't you ever say I did this,’ he called after them as they passed through to the next section.
Jarvis ran up to the edge of the gallery and put the glasses to his eyes. Avedissian followed. Both men were breathing heavily. 'Are they still there?' asked Avedissian anxiously.
There was a pause then Jarvis replied. 'Still there. We can do it!'
They continued their run along the second gallery, swerving to avoid a fat woman coming towards them with a glass of beer in either hand and carrying several packets of popcorn between her teeth. She turned to protest but could say nothing for fear of losing the bags.
They made good progress, albeit in slalom style, as they weaved in and out to avoid cross traffic moving to and from the toilets and food stands. There had been no barrier between the last two sections; Jarvis prayed that there would be none between them and the final one where the boy was. His heart sank as he saw the concrete divide loom up.
'There must be a door in this one too,’ reasoned Avedissian. 'You check one level up. I'll go one down.’ He raced down the stairs to find another unbroken wall and cursed his luck before 'turning on his heel to climb back up again. He reached the level where Jarvis was and saw that Jarvis had found a door. He was trying to budge it with his shoulder.
Avedissian could see that Jarvis was attracting some attention so he hung back. He saw Jarvis put his foot to the lock in exasperation then someone said loudly, This guy's got a problem.' Jarvis threw himself against the door again but only succeeded in drawing a bigger audience. 'Somebody should call a cop,’ suggested a fat man.
The mention of police made Jarvis abandon his attack on the door and run back to the gallery where he found Avedissian. 'No luck,’ he said as they raced back down the stairs.
'I saw,’ replied Avedissian. 'We'll have to go round the outside after all.'
'There's no time,’ insisted Jarvis. 'There has to be another way.' He hurried to the back wall of the stadium and looked over. There, two metres below, projecting from the outside wall, he saw a concrete ledge. It was narrow but it was a possibility. He said so to Avedissian.
Avedissian looked over and felt unwell. At this level they were still thirty metres above the ground. One slip and they would be dead. 'I don't know…'
'We
can do it!' said Jarvis, deciding the issue by getting on top of the wall and lowering himself out on to the ledge. With a quick look behind him to ensure that no one was watching from the stairs, Avedissian followed.
Both men stood on the ledge, their bodies spread-eagled against the smooth face of the stadium wall. 'All right?' asked Jarvis. Avedissian grunted in reply.
Jarvis began to move along the ledge. Avedissian waited, pressing his cheek to the rough surface and considering all the things that could go wrong. He could fall and break his neck. Someone might spot them up there and call the police. The thought of a Hollywood style drama involving police and firemen frightened him into action. He started to move.
The ledge was not smooth underfoot for, over the years, it had accumulated a heavy coating of concrete dust and debris which made Avedissian painfully unsure of his footing. He tried to clear the way ahead by brushing it lightly with his leading foot but Jarvis stopped him. 'You'll attract attention below!' he warned. Avedissian took his chances with the uncleared ledge.
The blood was pounding in Avedissian's ears by the time they had passed the extent of the concrete partition and could once more get a firm grip on the top of the gallery wall. He permitted himself a look at the ground below but immediately wished that he hadn't when his senses began to reel. He closed his eyes for a moment and once more pressed his face to the wall until he had recovered.
'Come on!' urged Jarvis, pulling himself up and over the gallery wall. He turned to offer Avedissian a hand but it was not necessary and both men dropped down into the gallery of section 'F.
'What the…?' exclaimed a voice from the shadows of the stairway and a policeman moved forward into the light. He started to draw his pistol but Jarvis was on him before he could get it clear of the holster. He floored the man with two quick blows and caught him before he touched the ground, dragging him back into shadow, where he propped him up in a corner against the wall.
'We've done it now,’ exclaimed Avedissian.
'Let's go.’
They ran to the top of the stairs then Jarvis laid a restraining hand on Avedissian's arm. 'No more running,’ he cautioned. 'From here on we melt into the crowd.’
