by Jack Fiske
“No, nothing. They’re supposed to be phoning back sometime today.”
“We don’t think there’s going to be any demand from the Kidnappers,” Archie said. “I thought it was a bit strange that they didn’t come straight out and say what they wanted on the phone yesterday, but if O’Hara is there to get you, then it would make sense. Kidnapping your wife and daughter gets them out of the way while the deed is done, it keeps you preoccupied in worrying about your family rather than watching out for yourself, and the kidnappers can come up with demands that are simply there to manipulate you into being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Jim frowned. What Archie said made sense, but where did that leave Susan and Millie.
“What would you do in my position?” Jim asked.
“That’s a tough question mate. If it wasn’t for your wife and daughter, I’d do a runner and lay low somewhere. Trouble is, what’s going to happen to them if you disappear? No – on balance, I think if I were you, I’d try to get him before he got me. If you get to him first, you might make him tell you where they’re holding them. After all, you’re not going to be bound by the same rules as the police, are you?”
Jim rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“I’ve got one last piece of information for you, which might prove useful. I think I know where he’s staying. The credit card that was used to hire the car in Liverpool has been used three times in the last week at the Moat House Hotel. It’s not far from Ringwood on the Bournemouth road.”
“Thanks Archie, I need to think about how I’m going to play this, but I really appreciate your help.”
“No problem. Listen, it’s your call, but I really think you should make this official. You could do with a hand on this you know.”
“No! Not yet!” Jim insisted. “I don’t want the top brass calling the shots. Not when the lives of my wife and daughter are at stake.”
Archie sighed. “Fair enough. Well, I’ve sent you something that might help. It should arrive by courier just after lunch at your father in law’s. If you change your mind and decide that you do want help, let me know and I’ll mobilise The Firm at this end.”
“Thanks Archie, I’ll keep you posted.”
Jim hung up and put the phone back in his pocket. Stephen and Marion had left the room to give him some privacy when it was clear that it wasn’t the kidnappers and he found them sitting at the kitchen table.
“Bad news?” Stephen asked, suddenly looking all of his sixty-eight years.
Jim was straight with him. After all, it was his daughter and granddaughter as well.
“Yes, it looks bad,” Jim agreed.
He went on to give them a summary of what Archie had been able to tell him and then helped himself to a mug of tea, while he let the information sink in.
“The IRA?” Marion repeated, looking shocked.
“Jim got mixed up with them in the past when he worked for the intelligence services,” Stephen explained, giving his wife’s hand a reassuring squeeze.
“If we know who’s involved though, surely we should call the police?”
“No, I don’t think so Stephen. What can the police do? If they pick up this man O’Hara, there’s nothing at all to prove he’s involved. What’s more, the IRA doesn’t make idle threats. The fact that they said Susan and Millie would suffer the consequences, makes me very wary indeed of involving the police.”
“So what then?”
“What I’m going to do,” Jim went on in a voice that was much steadier than he felt, “is try to get to O’Hara first, whilst we’ve got the advantage of surprise. He doesn’t know we’re on to him or that we know where he’s staying. If I can jump him when he’s on his own, we might be able to find out where Susan and Millie are being held. I can certainly be more persuasive than the police would be. Then we call in the authorities. Once we’ve got some information to give them.”
“What if it goes wrong though?” Marion objected.
“That’s why I’m giving you Archie’s number.” Jim pushed a piece of paper across the kitchen table. “I used to work with Archie and I trust him. It would be better to get The Firm’s help rather than the police. They’re used to situations like this. You just need to remember that sometimes they’re more concerned with the bigger picture and the politics, rather than the individuals that are caught up in it.”
Stephen and Marion stared down at the piece of paper in a resigned manner.
“O.k.” Stephen’s tone was reluctant. “But on one condition. I don’t want to be responsible for something happening to you as well. I want some way of knowing what’s going on. Then if necessary, I can phone this Archie chap and the police.”
“That’s reasonable,” Jim agreed.
Whilst Stephen and Marion finished their tea, Jim left them alone in case they should want to discuss the matter in private and went to make his preparations. Finding a copy of the Yellow Pages, he turned to the entry for The Moat House Hotel and jotted down its address and phone number, before checking on the map that he knew how to get there. Then, seeing that Stephen and Marion had gone through to the living room, he took the opportunity to borrow one of Marion’s kitchen knives from the knife block which stood on the work surface beside the cooker. He hoped that whatever Archie was sending would prove more appropriate if it came to the crunch, but a six inch knife of any description was still a dangerous weapon, particularly at close quarters in the hands of someone who knew how to use it.
Wolf padded around the kitchen, following in his footsteps and Jim stopped to stroke his head and share a digestive biscuit with him. “Don’t worry boy, I’ll get them back.” Wolf grinned his usual dog grin and wagged his tail as if today was just another day. If only that were true, Jim thought.
Jim picked up Marion’s kitchen roll, tore off several sheets and folded them around the blade of the knife before putting it out of sight in his jacket pocket. He would prefer that Marion didn’t see it. The thought of violence and the fact that he might have to use it would definitely upset her.
He joined his parents-in-law in the living room and found Stephen with a comforting arm around his wife’s shoulders. They looked up as he came in.
“Right, I’m going to check on the hotel. I’ve got my phone, so I’ll ring you every couple of hours and let you know what’s happening. If you don’t hear from me for any reason, phone Archie on the number I gave you and ask him to help.”
“Take care Jim,” Stephen said, putting a fatherly hand on his shoulder. “We don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Don’t worry Stephen, I’ll be careful. Phone me if you hear from the kidnappers.”
“We will.”
Marion held Wolf by the collar to stop him following and she turned to her husband as the door closed behind him.
“I do hope he’ll be careful.”
Stephen frowned. “I’m sure he will. I think Jim can look after himself a lot better than either of us realise.”
FOUR
Sunday evening passed quickly for Susan and Millie. The flask of tea that the masked men had left was very welcome and so was the radio. Susan had recorded a short message for Jim with mixed feelings. It would be all too easy to edit the tape and make it say something completely different from what was intended. However, she didn’t want to defy their captors, since it seemed more than likely that they would carry out their earlier threats. In the end, she had compromised by keeping the message brief. That way it was harder to tamper with. Millie had also added a short message of her own, which she’d enjoyed doing and it did keep her mind off the situation. Susan wasn’t quite as worried about her now. She seemed to find the whole experience more exciting than threatening.
Shortly after they had finished the recording, there had been another knock at the door. Two masked men again entered, collected the tape and left their food. The taller of the two had clearly been the same man who had threatened them earlier, but the Irishman with the blue eyes had been replaced
by a fatter man in shirt sleeves and smart trousers, who didn’t say a word.
To Susan’s surprise, the food was good. A rich stew, which was full of carrots, onions and chunks of stewing beef, accompanied by boiled potatoes and mashed turnip. Millie of course, turned her nose up at the turnip, but ate most of the rest. It appeared that they were to be well fed, because there was also a piece of apple pie each and a small jug of cream. Whoever had put their meal together was a good cook and Susan wondered if there was a woman involved, or whether one of the masked men had some experience in a kitchen.
As she put the empty plates on their tray and put it beside the door, Susan couldn’t help smiling to herself, despite the situation. At least she wouldn’t have to do the cooking or the washing up.
If the kidnappers didn’t want her to know the time, the radio had been a mistake. The news at 9.00 p.m. gave her an accurate time check and let her work out when they had come round from the drugs. Her watch now read 1.35 p.m. which meant they had been here just over three hours. They had been at the White Hart around four, which meant the journey here must have taken two hours or less. Of course, she couldn’t rule out the use of a boat or even a plane, but in all likelihood they had been brought here by road. That meant if there was any opportunity to get out, they might not have too far to go to find help.
After their meal, Millie fell asleep on the battered settee. Despite its appearance, it was actually quite comfortable and Susan decided to let her stay there for the night, covering her with a blanket from the bed.
It had been dark outside for some time when Susan began to prepare for bed herself. In the bathroom she switched the lights off and waited for her eyesight to adjust to the darkness, before she stripped down to her underwear for a wash. A red indicator light winked on and off at regular intervals on the body of the camera above the door and she presumed that when it was off, the signal was being taken from the camera in the other room. With the door closed there was very little light at all and whilst she could just about make out the bath and the sink, she was fairly sure that the camera wouldn’t be able to pick up a picture.
After cleaning her teeth with the new toothbrush and the toothpaste that had been provided, Susan dressed once more, switched the lights off in the main room and lay down on the bed, pulling the covers up over herself.
For most of the evening, they had listened to the radio and this was still switched on and playing quietly in the background. Susan didn’t think there was a microphone linked to the cameras, but if there was, the radio would be useful. Her plan was to wait for at least an hour before she got up and explored their prison more closely. The radio would help to mask any noise and getting up to turn it off would provide a valid reason for stumbling around in the darkness, should she be interrupted.
At 12.50 by her now accurate watch, Susan climbed out of bed and in stocking, feet walked softly across the room to the door. Pressing an ear to the keyhole, she listened closely, breathing shallowly, but could hear nothing. That was good. Earlier in the evening, she had been able to make out the sounds of someone moving around in another room and it seemed that with them safely under lock and key, whoever it was had turned in for the night.
On the settee, Mille was sleeping soundly and Susan didn’t disturb her. Taking her keys from her bag, she found the minute torch that hung from the key ring and slipped it off the chain.
It was almost two hours later when Susan eventually climbed back into bed. During that time, she had checked every inch of the two rooms. Neither the windows nor the door offered any possibility of escape, as both were solid. The floor was timber and could easily have a crawling space beneath it, but despite a lengthy inspection, there were no loose boards and with no tools it would be impossible to lift any of them. The roof however was different. In the bathroom, the water pipes came down through the ceiling and Susan was sure she had felt a draft of air when she put her hand close to the small gap in the plasterboard, where they entered. If they could get through the plasterboard, there must be a loft space of some sort and possibly a chance of escape by that route.
Lying in bed, Susan ran over her options and the possible implications, trying to come to a decision. If she didn’t have Millie with her, she would certainly try to break through the ceiling, but could the two of them do it? She thought of leaving Millie behind and trying to get out and go for help herself, then ruled that out as a bad idea. She just couldn’t leave Millie behind. What if they were caught trying to get away? What would the kidnappers do to them? On the other hand, what would the kidnappers do with them if they didn’t get away? Perhaps the kidnappers would get what they wanted and let them go? Or, God forbid, maybe they would come to some horrible end, neither of them to be seen ever again. With these thoughts running round and around in her head, Susan eventually drifted into a troubled sleep.
The Moat House Hotel was just south of Ringwood on the A338. Set back from the road in large grounds, it was surrounded by trees and had a car park to the front. Jim had driven past it twice already, but could see no sign of O’Hara’s blue Fiat. The third time round, he parked the car across the road where he could watch anyone coming or going and he rang the hotel reception on his mobile phone.
A girl answered.
“Hello, Moat House Hotel.”
“Hello, can you tell me what room Mr O’Hara is in please?”
“I’ll just check for you sir.” There was a short pause and then. “He’s in room 22.”
“Could you put me through?”
“Certainly, please hold the line.”
The line went quiet for a moment and then Jim heard a ringing tone at the other end as he was put through. Nearly a minute later, the call transferred back to the switchboard.
“I’m sorry sir but there doesn’t seem to be any reply. I’m afraid Mr O’Hara must be out.”
“Never mind. I’ll try again later. Thank you.”
Jim disconnected the call and put the phone away. So O’Hara was out. If that was the case, he had an opportunity to get in and look around.
Leaving the car where it was, Jim crossed the road and walked up to the hotel. Thankfully it was quite a large place and it was unlikely anyone would know that he wasn’t a guest.
As he entered the building, a young girl smiled at him from the reception desk. He returned the smile as he walked past and on up the stairs, as if he knew exactly where he was going. Room 22 was halfway down the corridor on the second floor. Having checked to make sure no one was around, Jim put his ear to the door. Nothing. No sound at all could be heard from inside, so he tried the handle. As he’d expected, the room was locked, but that needn’t be a problem.
On his way in Jim had seen a dozen room keys hanging in an ordered row behind the reception desk and beneath a row of numbered pigeon holes. Retracing his steps, he hurried downstairs to see how he might pick up those for room 22. The girl at the desk looked up as he approached. Jim was tempted to just claim that he was O’Hara and simply ask for them, but he decided against it. It was probably the girl who had answered the phone to him, in which case she might be suspicious. Seeing that the cash register was at the far end of the reception area, Jim pulled out his wallet.
“You couldn’t change a £10 note for me could you?” he asked.
“Certainly sir, what would you like?”
“Oh, just some change for the cigarette machine please.”
As the girl walked to the till with the note in her hand, Jim stepped quietly behind the desk, picked up the keys from the hook marked 22 and stepped back to his own side of the counter. The girl still had her back to him and he would have had time to go back and pick up another set or two, had he chosen to do so.
“There you are,” the girl said, giving Jim back a £5 note and a handful of change.
“Thanks.”
He walked away in the direction of the hotel bar and for the sake of his lie, bought a packet of cigarettes from the vending machine, before going back upstairs. Back at
the door of room 22, he looked up and down the corridor, turned the key in the lock and stepped inside, closing the door gently behind him.
It was a normal twin room. Two single beds, a television set in the corner, the usual electric trouser press and a small en-suite bathroom. The beds had already been made. That was good. There wouldn’t be any interruption from hotel staff coming to change sheets and clean the room.
Jim crossed to the window and looked out. The room was to the front of the hotel and overlooked the car park. Thankfully, there was still no sign of O’Hara’s Fiat. He went to work quickly, starting with the drawers. Nothing of importance there, just clean shirts, socks and underwear. The wardrobe was no better, holding three pairs of trousers, a coat and a casual jacket. Jim checked the pockets, but found nothing other than a crumpled till receipt which bore the name and address of a chemist shop in Belfast. At least it confirmed where O’Hara had come from. The bathroom also failed to yield anything significant. Behind the sink, O’Hara had arranged his toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, shampoo and after-shave, whilst an electric shaver was still plugged into the two pin socket, its red L.E.D. blinking intermittently to tell whoever might be interested that it was now fully charged. Back in the bedroom, the last thing to check was O’Hara’s suitcase, which stood beside the wardrobe. Jim lifted the case onto the nearest bed, flicked open the catches and lifted the lid. Result! The only item inside was an A4 cardboard folder with a rubber band around it. Jim pulled the band off and took out the contents carefully. Within the folder were at least two dozen colour photographs, most with writing on the back. Jim flicked through them slowly. A picture of his in-law’s house with their address on the back, a picture of Stephen himself, two pictures of Jim’s own house – one from the front and one from the back. A picture of Susan with Millie outside the local shops, two photographs of their offices in Ringwood and one of Millie’s school. A picture of Jim himself leaving the office. To the back of the photographs were a number of pictures of two unknown faces – one a thin faced man in his early forties and the other an older man, perhaps in his fifties with more weathered features and a decidedly unpleasant look about him. Jim turned the pictures over and read the notes on the reverse. Each had the name of its subject and a location scribbled on the back in pencil. His own picture bore the caption ‘Jim Turner’ followed by their office address in Ringwood, whilst the next one had ‘Millie Turner’ and the address of her school. Jim flicked on to the pictures of the unknown men. On the back of the younger man’s picture it read ‘Liam Quinn – Heathrow Airport’, whilst on the back of the older man’s there was a question mark also followed by ‘Heathrow Airport’. The question mark had subsequently been crossed out and the name ‘Walker’ written in beside it. Jim jotted the two names down on the back of a till receipt that he found in his wallet. He would have liked to keep a picture of the two men, but decided it wasn’t worth the risk of alerting O’Hara to the fact that his room had been searched. Instead, Jim scanned through the pictures one more time, carefully put them back into the folder, returned this to the suitcase and then replaced the suitcase itself where he had found it beside the wardrobe.
