“Any chance of tracing them?”
He’s shaking his head, “They were probably flying under the radar.”
Hunter leans forward and waves at the paper in Kadar’s hands, “Anything else?”
Kadar’s scanning it again, “The marks in the sand suggest it’s a small helicopter, possibly the R44.”
Ben clears his throat, “That would give it a range of about 400 miles in total. Check whether they fuelled at the airport in Al Qur’ah, if not, they haven’t much in the way of flying range, and I doubt they’ll have been able to leave Amahad.”
Nat picks up his phone, gets to his feet and nods at us. “Dave’s at the airport; I’ll give him a buzz and get him to check it out.”
Kadar presses the button on his intercom, “Ma’mun, can you set up a conference call with all the desert sheikhs in half an hour? Thank you.” He turns to us, “If they’re in Amahad we’ll find them.”
But can we find them in time? The more I think we’re right to think Danielle’s returned to take Mollie back, the more concerned I get about Nessa’s safety.
“Is there anything that would suggest they were after Vanessa?” At my flinch, Hunter shrugs, “Just exploring every avenue.”
It’s Ben who jumps to her defence, “I’ve known Nessa a long time, and unless they wanted a puzzle solver, and I can’t for the life of me think why they would, I doubt anyone would want to take her. As a Grade A employee, her background was fully investigated when she started.”
I tend to agree. Nessa isn’t going to be important to anyone, certainly not as important as she is to me. A wave of nausea hits me at the thought I might never see her again. It dawns on me just how vital she’s become to my life. I can’t imagine losing her, not before we’ve had a chance to explore what could be between us. But thinking on that isn’t going to get me closer to finding her. Trying to suppress the recognition of my growing feelings for her, I try to treat it like any other case.
Forcing myself to think rationally I join in with the others as we chuck ideas around in case we’re missing the blindingly obvious, but nothing floats to the surface. Within the half hour Nat gets a call back that all helicopters in and out of the airport this morning have been accounted for, so unless they’ve got another fuel dump somewhere, it seems likely the helicopter flew in from elsewhere. Which would suggest Mollie’s within two hundred miles of us. But that would still mean we’re looking for a needle in a haystack.
Leaving Kadar alone to conference in with the sheikhs, we exit his office. Ryan grasps my shoulder as we walk through the palace, a tactile but silent reassurance of his support. I clench and unclench my fists as I walk, never before in my life having felt as helpless as I do at this moment.
Chapter 29
Vanessa
Mollie had stirred three times in the night. I’d fed her and changed her nappy twice. The third time I’d noticed that I’d only one bottle and two clean nappies left for her, and not having a clue what was going to happen in the morning, decided I was going to have to start eking things out. The final time she’d woken, I’d just rocked her back off to sleep. I’m muddling my way through this only able to hope I’m looking after her as best I can while knowing I’m just making it up as I go along. But she’s become my responsibility, so can only hope my best is going to be good enough.
One would assume, as they’ve kidnapped a baby the men would have been prepared to look after her, but something tells me not to be overly optimistic. Hell, I don’t even know if the men will turn up today. They said they would, but all’s been quiet during the night. Either they’re sleeping, or they’ve left us here alone.
Dawn breaks, and I hear some sort of car’s engine, and voices speaking Arabic outside, but no one comes to us. By the time I estimate it’s about mid-morning and I’ve no option but to relent and give Mollie half of her last bottle, the poor mite is screaming and stuffing her hands in her mouth, letting me know she’s desperate to be fed. She cries when I take the milk away, but when I replace it with the dummy, it calms her down so hopefully her little tummy is at least no longer completely empty.
After I use up one of the last remaining nappies, I cuddle her close and rock her, hoping she’ll go back to sleep. From somewhere I dredge up ancient memories and start singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star to her, followed, for some reason, by Away in a Manger as no other songs come to mind. She doesn’t seem to mind I’ve anticipated Christmas by a few months, nor that some of the words are replaced by la la la when I’ve forgotten them. My rusty singing voice helps her to relax, and at least, for now, there’s peace.
“Oh Molls,” I place a kiss on her forehead, “Your Daddy will be looking for you, you know? He’ll come and find you soon.” I know I’m making promises I have no way of knowing I’ll be able to keep. But hope is the only thing that keeps me going. Hope, and knowing there’s no one else to look after her. Whatever happens to me, Mollie has to stay safe.
The sun’s past its highest point in the sky before the men eventually return. This time there’s three of them. Only one enters, but at least he’s carrying a plate of bread as before, along with another bottle of water. Guess I’m on a diet whether I want to or not. The other men hover outside.
“How long are you going to keep us here?” I call out to the man who’d spoken English and who’s one of the two waiting by the door.
He lifts his shoulders to his ears and drops them, “You stay.”
“The baby needs milk.” I tell him as forcefully as I can, “And more nappies.” In case he doesn’t understand, I wave an empty bottle and the clean nappy toward him. In fact, I’d have thrown one of the soiled ones at him but I didn’t want to invoke violence around Mollie.
Now he tilts his head to one side. I can see he understood me, but is at a loss as to how to provide what I’ve asked for. The men put their heads together and have a discussion that I can’t understand. Finally, he looks at me, “We bring.”
Well, that’s one thing I suppose, though where they’ll find what we need in the middle of nowhere I’ve no idea. Perhaps we’re near some village or town? The men leave, shutting and bolting the door behind them. I sit and think, if I can get out of here, maybe there’s somewhere close by I could walk to.
Three. Is that all of them? I’ve noticed they don’t enter with guns drawn, but have their hands hovering over their holsters. Am I faster than them? If I catch them unprepared, can I get three kill shots off before they’re able to respond? As I’ve never shot at a live target before, I’m not sure I could do it. And if they return fire, they might hit Molly. And what if there’s more of them than I’ve seen? The third man must have arrived in the vehicle I heard, but there could be others who’d accompanied him. The gun will have to be the last resort when I’ve given up all other hope of rescue.
Time drags. Aware she’s far too young, I attempt to teach Mollie to count her fingers and toes, she takes no notice of the numbers, but laughs along as I tickle her. Then her face scrunches and she begins to cry, so hoping I’m doing the right thing, I feed her the last of the bottle and make use of the final nappy.
That’s it. There’s no more.
They’d told me Mollie would be taken today, but as the light starts to fade, and I know it will only be minutes before full darkness descends again I realise something must have happened to upset their plans. I’d heard an engine going away from the building some time ago, but nothing else since.
Expecting another long night ahead, worrying that Mollie has nothing to eat and no clean nappies if she soils herself, I’m relieved when the engine noise becomes audible once again. My ears trace the sound which gradually gets louder and then ceases abruptly. Again I hear voices, and as they get closer, I pull Mollie tightly into me. No one’s going to be taking her away from me.
When the door opens, the man who enters is the one who knows some English. Again, he has two companions who are standing blocking the doorway. My gun’s hidden. Close at hand, but the odds are s
till too great for me to risk going for it.
“Milk,” he says, producing a jug with a flourish and setting it by my feet.
Shit, I should have asked him for formula.
He must note the way my face twists. “Goat,” he continues, “Baby good.”
Well, even if a baby can drink goat’s milk, it’s probably not going to be very gentle on the stomach of a child who’s been fed properly balanced formula to date. And it’s not sterile.
“No,” I try to explain, “She needs proper baby milk. And I’ll need to sterilise her bottles.”
He doesn’t understand anything but my denial, and points to the jug. “Baby drink milk.”
Resolving to leave it until I have no option but to give it to her, I sigh in defeat. Suddenly something else appears on the floor. A pile of rags which I presume are the answer to my other request. They don’t even look particularly clean. It’s the sight of the meagre provisions and the fact I’m the only person Mollie has to try to keep her well and healthy that makes me want to cry. Not wanting to show any weakness I force myself to get angry.
“Look, how long are you going to keep us here? You said we’d be gone today. This place is no good for a baby.”
I don’t think he’s going to answer, then he gives a shrug, “Mother come for baby, 'innaha ta'akhkharat.” I understood the first part which is enough to send a shiver down my spine. At my confusion with his Arabic he scratches his head, and then comes up with the translation, “Mother delayed.” Then he leaves, and bolts the door behind him.
Danielle. He must be talking about Danielle. And she’s been delayed? Yeah, right. That sounds like what I know of Danielle, dumping her baby on a man who she can have no idea as to whether he’d make a good father or not, and now delayed and leaving her to languish, dirty and hungry, in a hovel. I wonder what’s delaying her, the need to get her nails touched up? Another bottle of champagne to drink? Does she even know I’m here with Mollie? Or was she perfectly content to leave her with these rough men? If I hadn’t decided I’d hated the woman before, this would have settled it. And now she’s going to have to prise Mollie from me over my dead body!
I grow cold as I understand that’s very likely her intention. She’s coming for the baby, not me.
The jug of goat’s milk is at room temperature, and has a faint odour which I don’t know is right or not. When Mollie wakes and cries for sustenance, I try giving her some bottled water instead, but she’s not fooled. She wants more.
I hold out until she’s screaming with hunger, and then, with great reluctance, put goat’s milk in her un-sterilised bottle instead. As she sucks, her little face scrunches at the unfamiliar taste but the demands of her stomach dictate the show; she relaxes in my arms and proceeds to suckle. When she’s had her fill, and I remove the teat from her mouth it seems, at least for now, it’s given her some comfort and hasn’t immediately made her sick. Lifting her up I put her over my shoulder to burp her, just like I’ve seen Sean do.
This second night is worse than the first. The darkness is never ending. Mollie’s sleeping fitfully, and I’m sure she needs changing, but I’m trying to work out whether nappy rash from a wet nappy is better or worse than using one of the pieces of dirty cloth they’ve provided. But when morning comes, there’s nothing for it but to change her. And oh shit, literally. The goat’s milk has come out almost as runny as it went in.
Having to resort to the tools they’d left me, I wipe her up as best I can using water from my scant supply I leave her lying on the floor on my, by now decidedly worse-for-wear, blouse having had to discard her filthy blanket. Today I’m going to have to do something, the poor little mite can’t survive like this. Dehydration is dangerous for babies. I might not know a lot about them, but even I know enough to grasp that.
Sliding the gun out of the bag, I slip it into the back of my waistband, then pick up Mollie, pulling her into my arms. After which I sit. And wait.
And then I hear it, the sound of a helicopter approaching.
Friend or foe?
Soon I hear voices outside, men’s voices, and I try to distinguish the different tones and count them. There’s a woman’s too, speaking to someone in English. A voice I recognise. Danielle has arrived. I cuddle Mollie closer, vowing I’ll breathe my final breath before I allow her undeserving mother to take her.
The door opens, and the woman I last saw in Paris enters, looking equally well turned out, while I’m standing in the middle of the room dishevelled and covered in baby shit. Entering alongside is a man I’ve not seen before. Of the others, there’s no sign. She steps into my bare cell, wrinkling her nose at the smell, then her eyes fall on Mollie, and she reaches out her arms.
Scooting backwards and never taking my eyes off Danielle, I lay Mollie down on the blankets behind me and stand in front of her like a human shield.
“Why are you here?” Well, it’s obvious, but I’m trying to find out whether this is a rescue or not, though I very much doubt it is.
“For my baby. Give her to me.” Danielle sounds almost bored.
“Your baby? The baby that probably needs antibiotics and a doctor’s care after being kept in these unsanitary surroundings and given goat’s milk to drink? Your baby that doesn’t even have clean nappies?”
A fleeting chastened look crosses her face, “I should have been here yesterday, but we had a little trouble getting into the country. But no matter, Mummy’s here now.” She calls the last in a sing-song voice that makes me want to wretch.
She takes a step forward; I put out my arms to either side to block her.
“Oh, for goodness sake, Nasir, can you move her out of the way?”
As the man beside her makes to move, a hiss comes out of my mouth, “Where are you going to take her?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but home of course. Home with myself and Nasir. He’s going to be your Daddy, isn’t he, Mummy’s little precious?”
Mummy’s little precious takes that particular moment to let out a howl of distress. It tugs at my heartstrings, though seems to have the opposite effect on the person who birthed her, and the man who’s supposedly going to be taking a paternal interest in her who both give near identical grimaces.
“Give her a pacifier or something,” she instructs me.
I don’t want to turn my back else they’ll see the weapon, “None of her dummies are sterilised,” I tell her, but Mollie’s inadvertently helping, her screams providing a good distraction. I want to keep her talking, I’m waiting my chance until they relax and take their eyes off me.
Speaking loudly to make myself heard, I ask, “What’s all this about, Danielle? Why did you let them bring Mollie to this godforsaken place? And me?”
Airily she waves her hand, it’s the same gesture she used in Paris, “You weren’t meant to come along, but considering I was unable to get here sooner, it’s all to the good. You were able to look after Mollie.” If she knew me better, she might not have been so quick to trust her child with me. But then it’s not the first time she’s trusted this precious little girl to a perfect stranger.
“It was all a ruse, you see.” Now she’s talking, she doesn’t seem to want to stop. “I knew Sean wouldn’t go for it if I simply told him what I wanted him to know, so Nasir’s father set up the USB drive with information that needed to be decoded. Then all I had to do was leave Mollie with her convenient parent and assure him I was in danger.”
I let out a breath, “The information I decoded was false.”
She seems surprised, “That you decoded? I thought you were just his lame girlfriend. And a jealous bitch at that.” She laughs, “You wanted to scratch out my eyes in Paris.”
I couldn’t blame her for dismissing me. I hadn’t exactly shone in her company. I have another question having latched onto something else she’s said, “Who’s,” I point at her companion, “Nasir’s father?”
She gives him a look of complete adoration, “Amir al-Fahri.”
And ju
st like that, it all falls into place. “There was never going to be an attack on Al Qur’ah, was there?”
“No,” she sneers, “It was the oilfields that were going to take a hit.”
Right now, it’s not the most important thing on my mind, but professional curiosity makes me ask, “And did they?”
This time a shrug, “Not as much as was planned. Instead of sending the guards to the north, they beefed up security there too. They caught and killed the suicide bombers before they got to their targets.” She seems as concerned about the failed attack as she does about her baby. I glance at Nasir wondering whether he will show any greater regret about the loss of life of his comrades.
She notices the direction of my eyes and clears her throat to get my attention back to her. With a disdainful look, she queries, “Is there anything else you want to ask me? As I’m eager to get my gorgeous little pumpkin back and leave.” Every frigging time she talks around me to the baby, she uses that stupid voice. I’m watching her carefully, and the man beside her. With a terrorist as a father, there can be no doubt that he’s armed. But her? Mmm.
“Oh, for goodness sake Nasir, this woman bores me. She’s no use to us. Just shoot the bitch and we’ll take the baby.”
Chapter 30
Sean
Two whole days. That’s how long Nessa and Mollie have been missing. And we’ve still no idea where they could be. For the first forty hours, I had no sleep until I all but passed out from exhaustion, and my colleagues persuaded me to take a break. And even then, I found myself sleeping not in my bed, but in Vanessa’s, with one of Mollie’s blankets bunched up in my hands. I closed my red, bleary eyes breathing in the combined scent of baby and woman and at last my tired brain shut down.
Identity Crisis (Blood Brothers #4) Page 28
