Underdogs

by Jack Fiske

  The White Hart was fairly isolated and there just weren’t a lot of places that Susan and Millie could have gone. In one direction was open countryside, whilst in the other a scattering of local houses were served by a single shop and Post Office. It only took a moment to confirm that no one in the shop had seen anything of the two and they had then searched the surrounding roads in the car without finding a thing.

  In the last two hours, they had been to Stephen and Marion’s and then back to Jim’s. They had checked with both sets of neighbours and had checked the answering machine at both houses. Leaving Jim at his place, they had agreed that Stephen and Marion would go back to the White Hart, check one last time to see if they had turned up, or if anyone had seen them and then they would contact the police.

  Jim answered his phone before it had a chance to ring more than once. “Hello?” he said anxiously.

  “I’m sorry Jim, there’s still no sign of them.” Stephen held the mobile phone to his ear, whilst putting his other arm round Marion, who was now close to tears. “What do you want us to do now?”

  There was a pause at the other end.

  “I’ve had second thoughts about the police,” Jim replied. “You and Marion go home. I’ll leave a message here in case Susan phones and I’ll see you there in about forty five minutes.”

  Jim put the phone down and went to his desk to get pen and paper. If Susan were to turn up, he didn’t want her to find the house empty and not know where he was, so he scribbled a quick note and taped it to the inner door in the hallway where no one could miss it. Next, he made sure that he had his mobile phone with him and then changed the voicemail message on their home number to include a request for any caller to phone him on his mobile if they didn’t get a reply. His final job was to pick up Wolf’s bowl from the kitchen, the dog’s rug from the bedroom and his own toothbrush from the bathroom. If Susan and Millie didn’t turn up, he would spend the night at Stephen and Marion’s and they could decide what should be done in the morning. Although he’d had second thoughts about the police, it wasn’t entirely his decision and he would need to speak to Susan’s parents before he ruled it out.

  Before he set the alarm and locked up, Jim checked that Susan’s keys were not in their usual place in the hallway. As he’d expected, they were missing, so Susan had them on her. Whilst this was a good thing if Susan were to turn up, Jim had to admit that there was a strong possibility that she and Millie had been picked up against their will. If so, whoever had them would have her keys and easy access to the house. With this possibility in mind, Jim briefly wondered whether there was anything in the house that was valuable enough for someone to kidnap his wife and daughter for, before mentally deciding that if there was, they were welcome to it.

  With a grim expression, he stepped outside, locked the door and made his way to the garage.

  Back at the farmhouse, Bryant was sitting in the living room watching Susan and Millie on the CCTV. Millie had woken first and had been trying to rouse her mother for the last ten minutes. Susan was now beginning to respond and with more initiative than you would expect from a ten year old, Millie had gone to fetch a glass of water from the bathroom, together with a wet hand towel, which she was using to wipe Susan’s face. Recognition suddenly dawned and Susan sat bolt upright on the bed, only to lie down immediately with a hand to her head.

  “Millie, what’s happening?” she asked in a weak voice.

  Millie just burst into tears and lay down next to Susan, hugging her tightly.

  “It’s o.k. darling.” Susan put an arm round her. “I think we’ve been drugged. Just lie here with me for a while until it wears off. Are you hurt?”

  “No!” Millie sobbed.

  “O.k. darling. Don’t worry – everything will be alright.”

  In the other room, Bryant picked up the telephone.

  “They’re awake”

  “Good,” Quinn’s voice answered from the other end. “Are they kicking up a fuss?”

  “Not yet,” Bryant replied.

  “Keep an eye on them. We’ll let them have some time to come round and then I’ll come over and make the introductions.”

  Quinn put the phone down. “They’re awake,” he informed Walker, in response to an enquiring look. “I’ll go and see them once they’ve had a chance to get used to their new surroundings.”

  Quinn and Walker had been going over their plans in more detail and Walker had answered some of the questions that were bothering Quinn. The main one being who owned the property? Kidnapping was not something that Quinn took lightly and he didn’t like the idea of anyone outside of the firm knowing about it.

  Walker had put his mind at rest. Farmland was good value at the moment and Walker himself had bought the property over six months ago. Walker’s ‘official’ occupation was managing director of a property and building company and the farm was on the company’s books as ‘work in progress’. After they had finished with it, the whole place would be converted into a luxury house and sold on with much of the land being sold separately. Even if their two ‘guests’ as Walker called them, could identify the place, they wouldn’t be able to in a few months time.

  Although Quinn was hard, he drew the line at the cold blooded murder of a woman and a child. However, that eventuality was only likely if their captives could identify them, either directly or from where they were being held. In that case Walker, who had no such reservations, wouldn’t hesitate to make them disappear without a trace. So far, their ‘guests’ couldn’t tell where they were, how long it had taken to get here, or who was holding them and that’s how Quinn wanted it to stay. He had also been reassured to learn that the clients, who were paying such a high price for their services, didn’t know anything about how the job was to be carried out. Walker would report back to them periodically, but they wouldn’t know any more than they had to.

  Quinn gazed out of the picture window as he finished his coffee. On this side of the house, the windows looked out over a combination of open countryside and mature woodland and the view was superb. Once the place had been converted, it would sell for a good profit. Not that Walker needed the money. Quinn guessed that he must be worth millions already. Mind you, he thought, it always helped to have a legitimate reason to explain where the money came from.

  “Right,” Quinn said, getting to his feet. “If it’s o.k. with you Mr Walker, I’ll go and get organised.”

  Colin Walker nodded, giving permission as if dismissing a servant and Quinn hurried away to make his preparations.

  In the Annexe, Susan had taken a little while to fully recover. Now though, having satisfied herself that Millie wasn’t hurt, she was coming to terms with their situation.

  The room they were imprisoned in was large but shabby. The double bed at one end squeaked and groaned when she sat on it, as its ancient springs protested, whilst the sofa and chairs beneath the single window sagged and showed patches of greying foam beneath splits in the cushions, which had worn through from years of use. The single window gave plenty of light but couldn’t be opened, whilst a white coating that had been sprayed on the outside made it completely opaque. Despite this, the pattern of shadows on the glass told Susan that there were solid bars on the other side.

  A small table stood beside the couch, on which lay a pile of magazines and newspapers, although nothing recent and with a threadbare carpet to finish the furnishings and a generally musty smell, the room gave the impression of being what it was – a fairly basic prison cell.

  The small bathroom lifted Susan’s spirits slightly. At least there was hot running water and they could have a bath and a wash. Susan was also surprised to find that she could open the small hopper at the top of the bathroom window to get some fresh air. Beyond the frosted glass there were more bars and although she squeezed her head into the opening, Susan could see nothing but blank walls to the left and right and a stretch of grass below. Turning back to the bedroom, she noticed the camera above the door and stared defiantly
at it. “If they think they’re going to see me burst into tears they’ve got another thing coming,” she thought.

  Millie was bearing up well. After the first flood of tears and a hug on the bed, she had seemed to accept the situation and was following Susan around as if reluctant to be more than a few feet away.

  “Are you hungry darling?” Susan asked, suddenly aware that they hadn’t had anything to eat.

  “No. I’m alright,” Millie replied. “I don’t think I could eat even if we had anything.”

  Susan looked at her watch to get an idea of when they had last eaten and was surprised to see that it said 10:15 a.m. on Wednesday 1st February, which was obviously incorrect. So, whoever had taken them prisoner didn’t want her to know the time. Well in that case, it had been a mistake not to lock the bathroom window. Although nothing was visible, the angle of the sun and the shadows suggested it was around 7.00 p.m. and Susan made a mental note to check her watch again when it got dark.

  Having familiarised herself with the surroundings, Susan decided that doing nothing was against her nature and she started to hammer on the solid door.

  “OPEN UP!” she demanded, kicking the door violently so that it shook in its frame.

  “LET US OUT!” she repeated, running one of the chairs across the floor and ramming the door, creating another tear in the chair’s upholstery.

  She paused for a moment to listen for any response and when there was none, she moved to face the camera which surveyed the room. Speaking more reasonably, she addressed the camera. “Look, whoever you are. If you’re not going to let us out, at least come and tell us what you want.”

  As if in reply, the door was rattled briefly from the outside and a menacing voice replied, “Take it easy. You wouldn’t want any harm to come to you or your daughter would you? You’ll be having visitors shortly.”

  Satisfied that she had at least provoked some reaction, Susan put an arm around Millie and sat down on the battered settee to wait.

  Twenty minutes later, Susan heard the noise of a door being unlocked somewhere beyond their room, followed by a conversation in lowered tones, before there was a firm but polite knock on the door. Susan found herself shouting “Come in!” whilst at the same time thinking how surreal that someone should ask for permission to enter in such a situation.

  A key turned in the lock and they heard the noise of heavy bolts being drawn at the top and bottom of the door, before it swung inwards and she could see two men in the small hallway beyond. Behind them, what looked like an internal door was closed, whilst to their left was a much more substantial door which, she decided must lead to the outside.

  Both men were in good physical shape and Susan knew immediately that she wouldn’t stand a chance in a struggle. The man to the rear was a good six inches taller than the other, yet it appeared that the smaller man was in charge. Both wore black ski masks through which only the eyes and mouth were visible and Susan noticed that the man in front had piercingly blue eyes.

  Millie hugged Susan tightly from behind and looked around her at the two men from a place of relative safety. Susan felt suddenly intimidated and took a step back.

  The first man stepped into the room. “Don’t worry,” he said in a strong Irish accent, “no harm will come to you if you do as you’re told.”

  “What do you want?” Susan demanded.

  “Nothing from you,” replied the Irishman. “Your father has something we want and we’re going to arrange a little trade. If he cooperates, you can be out of here in a few days.”

  Susan watched the second man come in and put a tray on the table. On it stood a thermos flask, a radio, a jug of orange juice and two mugs.

  “If you’re sensible, your stay needn’t be too unpleasant,” the Irishman said. “You’ll be thirsty, so I’ve brought you a flask of tea and some orange juice for the girl. There’s also a radio and a couple of toothbrushes.”

  Susan just looked at him, unsure what to make of it.

  “Think of it as a gesture of goodwill,” the Irishman said. “But just so that we know where we stand, my friend here would like a word.”

  The taller man stepped forward and Susan could see the thin lips and the mean eyes behind the ski mask. The man clenched one large fist and cracked his knuckles before moving the chair that Susan had slammed against the door earlier. “Don’t make life hard for us,” he said, identifying himself as the man behind the door earlier. “We’ll let the episode with the chair go this time, but if it happens again . . . !” He left the sentence unfinished, but the menace in his voice made it clear that there would be consequences.

  The Irishman produced a blank audio tape from his pocket. “We’ll be phoning your husband and your father shortly. The radio has a cassette player on it. We’d like you to record a short message. Nothing fancy. Just to let them know you’re alright and anything else you might want to say to them.”

  “And if I don’t?” Susan asked.

  “Well,” Irish replied, “if you don’t, then life could get a lot less pleasant. For instance, we might forget to bring your meal across later on, or we might switch the water off, or we could split the two of you up! On the other hand, if you cooperate, none of that would need to happen.”

  Susan caught the look in the man’s eyes and knew he was quite serious.

  “O.k.” Susan replied. “No need to make life difficult is there?”

  “We’ll be back,” he replied, as the two left the room.

  The key turned in the lock and they heard the sound of heavy bolts being thrown again at the top and bottom of the door.

  It took Jim longer than usual to reach Stephen and Marion’s, as he needed to call in at the office on the way. This time he had taken the Land Rover rather than the Renault. It was almost as if he needed something more solid and reliable at the moment. In the back, Wolf had been resting his head on the back seat, watching the scenery, unaware that anything was wrong.

  Jim parked in his in-laws’ driveway and as he let Wolf out of the back, Marion opened the front door to let him in. Jim could see that she had been crying and it was taking some effort for her to put on a brave face. Stephen was in the living room, looking particularly worried as he got up to greet him.

  “Jim. Marion and I think we should call the police.”

  “O.k. Stephen, I won’t argue if that’s what you want to do, but I’d like to discuss it first. Will you give me half an hour?”

  “But shouldn’t we tell them as soon as possible?” Marion asked. “Anything could have happened to them.”

  “I know,” Jim agreed. “I’m just as worried as you are, but let’s have a look at our options first and then we’ll phone the police if you still want to.”

  Marion nodded somewhat reluctantly and she and Stephen sat down on the settee. Jim himself was too wound up to sit down and he paced around the room as he spoke.

  “I’m pretty certain that Susan and Millie have been kidnapped.”

  “But why?” Marion protested.

  “I’m afraid it’s the only explanation that fits. Susan had put the dogs in the car and collected her bag, so something must have happened between the car and the restaurant. There isn’t anything that would have been so urgent that they couldn’t let us know – we were only half a minute away. Susan would have called us on her mobile phone if there was some legitimate reason for them disappearing. She always carries it in her bag. The only other explanation would be a serious accident, leaving them either unconscious or worse – but then no one saw or heard anything.”

  “I agree,” said Stephen, “but why no police? Surely we ought to contact them as soon as possible?”

  “Not necessarily.” Jim paused in his pacing. “Once we involve the police, we can’t change our minds. Although, if we don’t tell them immediately, we can still report it later. I’m sure the police won’t take any action until someone has been missing for twenty-four hours anyway, so they wouldn’t do anything at all until tomorrow afternoon at the ear
liest.”

  “What do we do then?” asked Marion.

  “Wait for them to contact us,” Stephen suggested.

  “That’s right.” If someone has them, then they’ve got them for a reason and they’ll be in touch pretty quickly. If we don’t hear anything by tomorrow, then I think at that point we should phone the police.”

  “O.k. we agree.” Stephen answered for the two of them, although Marion still looked very unsure.

  Having decided on a course of action, Jim tried to stay calm and not let the wrenching feeling in the pit of his stomach take over. If Susan and Millie had been kidnapped, he’d need to think clearly and try to use what he’d learned from his time in army intelligence to some advantage. Stephen and Marion were more than happy for him to stay the night and when Marion disappeared to make up the spare bed, Jim produced a small tape recorder, lead and telephone socket that he’d picked up from the office and attached it to Stephen’s phone.

  Knowing that there wasn’t anything else they could do, Jim and Stephen sat down to wait, whilst Marion, unable to sit still, looked for something that might keep her busy in the kitchen.

  THREE

  Sunday evening dragged by at a snail’s pace and when, at Marion’s insistence, the three of them eventually sat down for something to eat, the phone rang.

  Stephen jumped to his feet and rushed across the room with Jim right behind him. Before he could lift the receiver, Jim put out a hand and stopped him.

  “Wait! Let me switch the tape on. Just in case.”

  Jim flicked a switch on the tape recorder and half shut it in a nearby drawer, making sure that the caller wouldn’t hear the noise of the tape going round.