Underdogs

by Jack Fiske

  “Come now,” O’Hara prompted in his soft Irish accent. “We are on the same side you know.”

  Jim gave a resigned sigh and began. “Well, it was luck really. What you didn’t know when you checked the back of our house, was that I was sitting in the garden less than twenty yards from you.”

  “Surely not? You can’t have been.”

  “Afraid so. I’m up early on a Sunday morning to take the dog for a walk. I quite often sit on an old tree stump in the rhododendrons when I get back. It gives me time to catch my breath and contemplate while I watch the birds. Normally it’s a peaceful time of day, although this weekend it was interrupted by a suspicious character in the woods with a telescope. When I saw you all I did was sink down a little in the bushes and watch what you were up to. By the way, what was the writing on the Ash Tree all about?”

  O’Hara grunted. “Just a signpost to identify your house. I’m afraid we were caught off guard. The gang moved much quicker than we were expecting. I was just doing the initial recce. Once we’d established what was needed, there would have been one of our people on station there keeping an eye on things.”

  “And the numbers?”

  “Just an indication of the distance to your house.”

  Jim raised his eyebrows. “Useful information for someone with a gun.”

  O’Hara shook his head. “No, it’s not what you’re thinking. It was there to help our man if he needed to gain access to the house in the middle of the night. Firstly so that he got the right house and secondly to give him an idea of the best access point. If I remember correctly, it read something like ‘MO 4 CT - 84L31’ with an arrow beside it. That just means Michael O’Hara for Charlie Trent – 84 yards in the direction of the arrow. Then, L31 refers to the fact that, including the windows, your back door is the third possible entry point from the left hand corner of the building, on the ground floor.”

  That made sense Jim conceded. If an agent who was unfamiliar with the territory was on watch and was instructed to move in because something was about to go down, the last thing you wanted was him stumbling around in the dark without clear direction.

  “So having seen me in the woods, you recognised me at the petrol station?” O’Hara asked.

  “That’s right,” Jim agreed. “The girl at the counter even gave me your name when she handed back your credit card. I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you how I traced you here. You’ll just have to accept that having been in the service myself, I still have ways and means.”

  “Fair enough,” O’Hara agreed. “I can guess anyway. What about the gang themselves? Have they been in touch?”

  Jim looked at his watch.

  “God. Look at the time. I need to phone my parents-in-law to find out what’s been happening. I promised to call every few hours. They’ll be on the verge of phoning the police.”

  O’Hara, who had been sitting on the edge of the bed, got up. “I’ll give you some privacy while you phone. I need to get something from the car anyway.”

  Once O’Hara had closed the door behind him, Jim dialled Stephen’s number on his mobile phone. He had his doubts as to whether the conversation would be private. There could easily be a bug in the room to enable O’Hara’s colleague to listen in to their conversation, but then maybe he was just being cynical.

  When he got through, Stephen sounded relieved to hear him. “Jim, thank goodness you’re alright. We were both starting to get worried about you. Have you spoken to the Irishman?”

  “I have. It looks like he’s actually on our side.” Jim kept the details as brief as possible, but promised a full explanation when he got back. “What about you?”

  In response, Stephen explained what he and Marion had achieved at the office. The fact that they should have a realistic copy of the K2 unit first thing in the morning and that Mark had found it very straightforward to include the GPS tracker device within it.

  Jim’s side of the conversation was a little stilted, as he was particularly guarded in what he said. If his conversation could be overheard, he wanted to make sure that he was in control of any information that O’Hara and his team could pick up.

  “They’ve phoned again,” Stephen said. “Just before six. They were cursing us. Seems they’d tried earlier in the afternoon and couldn’t get hold of us. It really didn’t occur to me that they wouldn’t have our mobile number. I’ve given them yours as well as mine. I hope that’s o.k?”

  “Fine,” Jim agreed. “What did they say?”

  “They want the K2 unit as soon as possible. It didn’t help their mood when I said we couldn’t get it until tomorrow. I told them it was up at Pritchards for them to test the hardware while we worked on the programming, but that I’d arranged for them to courier it back down as soon as possible. They’re expecting me to have it first thing in the morning.”

  “How did they react to that?”

  “Like I said they weren’t happy, but nothing to suggest they didn’t believe me. They’re going to phone me back at 10.00 a.m. tomorrow with instructions on what they want us to do with it.”

  There was a knock from outside and O’Hara put his head round the door. Jim motioned for him to come in.

  “I’ll need to go Stephen, but I’ll be back in half an hour or so.”

  Jim switched his phone to standby and put it in his pocket.

  “Well?” O’Hara asked.

  “Things are starting to happen,” Jim said. “They’ve phoned again.”

  He went on to explain in as much detail as Stephen had given him, carefully omitting a couple of facts that he didn’t want O’Hara to be aware of. Firstly, that they would be able to track the movements of the fake K2 unit and secondly the matter of the mobile phone information that Stephen had mentioned to him.

  “So things are moving very quickly,” O’Hara commented. “Your father-in-law seems to know what he’s about. I wouldn’t have expected them to come up with a copy of the electronics. I thought we’d have to arrange that.”

  “Yes, he’s extremely capable,” Jim agreed, thinking that Stephen was a lot more capable than they both realised – particularly if he’d been able to get information on the kidnappers through their use of a mobile phone.

  O’Hara held out a brown envelope. “Here, I got this from the car for you. It’s most of what we know about Walker, Quinn and the Arab. You can read through it later. What about the fake K2 unit? Will you definitely have it by tomorrow morning?”

  “We should do. One of the company directors has taken it home with him to finish off. There are a couple of parts that he needs in the morning but they should come from the supplier overnight.”

  “Well in that case, I’ve got something else that I’d like him to fit in.” O’Hara opened the briefcase he had brought back with him and produced a small cylinder with a switch at one end and a wire wrapped around it.

  Jim knew exactly what it was, but he tried to look curious. “What is it?”

  “A tracking device. You left before MI5 started to use these. It works from the GPS satellite system. As well as knowing where it is, it can tell you where it’s been. You just need to switch it on at this end and it will do the rest itself.”

  “What’s the range?” Jim asked.

  “Ah, that’s the nice thing about it. We can pick up a signal from this thing anywhere in the country. It’s all computerised. MI5 can track it on their system up in London, or we can track it on a laptop computer in the field. Just make sure that it’s inside the box that you hand over and we’ll be able to follow it to wherever they’re holding your wife and daughter.”

  “Assuming they take it to the same place.”

  “True,” O’Hara agreed. “But if not, at least it will lead us to the gang themselves.”

  Jim dropped the tube into the brown envelope with the papers that O’Hara had given him. The fact that O’Hara was using the same equipment as Archie Long was certainly reassuring. It lent some weight to his story that he was working with The Firm.


  Jim glanced at his watch again. “I’d better get back.”

  “Phone me first thing tomorrow morning,” O’Hara said. He tore off a sheet of paper from his pad, scribbled down two phone numbers and handed it to Jim.

  “The top one is mine. The bottom one is Charlie Trent. I’ll introduce you on your way out. Give me yours and your father-in-law’s if you would.”

  Jim took the pad that O’Hara offered and wrote down his own and Stephen’s number, adding Stephen’s home number and the office for good measure.

  As he left, O’Hara took Jim down to the first floor and knocked on a bedroom door at the back of the building. The room was a copy of O’Hara’s on the floor above, except for the view, which was considerably better, looking out over woods at the back of the hotel.

  Charlie Trent wasn’t a tall man, but he looked like he could handle himself. Jim put him in his early thirties and when he spoke, he had an accent that Jim mentally classified as public schoolboy watered down with a large measure of South London. Wearing a shirt and tie, he looked like a respectable businessman staying in the hotel for some legitimate company business. The handshake that he gave Jim was firm enough and his manner was open and direct, yet despite that, there was something about him that Jim was immediately wary of. He couldn’t put a finger on what it was, but his instincts said that Trent was not someone to rely on in a tight situation.

  The introduction was brief and businesslike with nothing said about the fact that Trent had knocked Jim senseless only a couple of hours earlier. It was probably just as well. There was no point in offering apologies or making something of it. It was just part of the job. Maybe subconsciously that was the reason why Jim didn’t like the look of the man.

  Promising once more to phone them in the morning, Jim left the two men in Trent’s room and walked back to the car. He had reclaimed the revolver from O’Hara without any objections on his part and it was once again wrapped in its cloth and plastic shopping bag as he hurried down the road.

  At the car Jim left the gun in its wrappings and put the whole package out of sight under the passenger seat. He made a mental note not to forget it and then had second thoughts. He pulled the bag out again, opened it and put the gun in the glove compartment where it was within easy reach. He’d been away from The Firm for too long. He could almost hear the voice of a sarcastic instructor during his early training days – “keep your weapon clean, keep it loaded at all times and most of all, make sure you have it when you need it.” He didn’t have any reason to think he would need it, but it would be better if he got into the habit of being prepared for the unexpected.

  Jim put the key in the ignition, but before starting the engine, he opened the envelope that O’Hara had given him. Inside were two photographs and three sheets of A4 paper, each with a few paragraphs of writing. The photographs he recognised as copies of those he had seen in O’Hara’s suitcase earlier. The three sheets of paper looked like summaries of what was known about the three main players. There was no photograph to go with the third sheet and it looked as if any information on the Arab was pretty sketchy because there was also considerably less written about him.

  Jim put the papers back into the envelope and put it in the glove compartment with the gun. He could read them later, once he got back to Stephen and Marion’s place. The other thing he needed to do was to phone Archie Long and see what he had to say about O’Hara’s story. He certainly wasn’t convinced that all O’Hara had told him was on the level and he wanted to know if Archie could come up with anything different at his end.

  There was no answer when he tried Archie’s mobile. The phone rang seven or eight times and then transferred automatically to voicemail. Jim hung up without leaving a message, waited half a minute and then tried again. Still no answer. This time, when the recorded voice cut in, he left a brief message asking Archie to call him as soon as he could.

  As he pulled out of the side road where he’d left the Land Rover, Jim checked his watch. He should get back to Stephen and Marion’s place before nine. His stomach was starting to rumble and he realised he’d not had anything since breakfast that morning. As he passed a Chinese restaurant, he thought briefly of stopping to get a takeaway, but then knowing Marion she might well have made him something and it would be waiting for him at the house. In any event, she would probably be offended if he didn’t take it for granted that she would feed him when he got there.

  Twenty minutes later he pulled into their driveway. The gravel crunched under the wheels of the Land Rover as he manoeuvred it in the tight space, trying to avoid blocking Stephen in. In response to the noise, the two dogs came bounding round the back of the house, barking furiously until they saw who it was and started wagging their tails. Wolf was so pleased to see him that he whined softly and his whole back end wagged from side to side. Jim took a moment to make a fuss of the two of them, before he recovered the revolver and the brown envelope from the glove compartment, locked the car and walked round to the rear of the house, where he assumed the dogs had come out through the French windows.

  “Hello?” Jim shouted as he walked into the living room.

  “We’re in here,” a voice shouted from the kitchen.

  Jim put his head round the door to find Stephen sitting at the kitchen table and Marion standing beside the cooker, where a pan simmered, steam rising gently from whatever was cooking within.

  “I’m just going to dump a couple of things upstairs and I’ll be right down,” Jim said.

  “Don’t be long,” Marion replied. “Food’s nearly ready. You haven’t eaten have you?”

  “No I haven’t,” Jim confirmed. “It’s good of you to make me something. What is it?”

  “Corned beef and potato pie, with peas and a few new potatoes. You’ve got five minutes before I serve up.”

  “Thanks, I’ll be right back.”

  Jim knew his mother-in-law well by now. He was glad he hadn’t stopped at the Chinese. Marion’s corned beef and potato pie was good and apart from that, as Susan liked to remind him, takeaway food wasn’t a very healthy option.

  At the thought of Susan, Jim’s brow furrowed. There was no knowing what she or Millie would get to eat this evening, if anything. He had a sudden feeling of emptiness in the pit of his stomach and wondered how long it might be before he would see them again. There was of course, the awful possibility that he might not. That thought lurked only half formed at the back of his mind and he pushed it aside, unwilling to admit to himself that they might not be back within the next few days.

  Putting the revolver out of sight in the spare room, Jim hurried downstairs. Wolf seemed to realise that something was wrong, because he had followed closely at Jim’s heels since he’d returned, apparently glad that he at least was still around. Normally, with the smell of food about to be served, you only had to look in the kitchen to find Wolf sitting begging or lying expectantly under the table waiting to rush out and clear up anything that happened to fall on the floor.

  Jim knelt down and gave him a reassuring hug. “Don’t you worry boy. Everything will be alright.”

  As the two of them walked into the kitchen, Marion picked up the oven gloves from a hook beside the sink, took a plate from under the grill and transferred it to the kitchen table, where a place was already laid for him.

  “Be careful. It’s very hot.”

  Jim sat down gratefully and then moved his legs out of the way, so Wolf could squeeze in under the table beside him.

  “Right,” Stephen said, once he had settled. “Tell us what happened. The details you gave on the phone were rather sketchy.”

  “For goodness sake, let the poor man eat first,” Marion interrupted indignantly.

  Jim speared a new potato with his fork and rolled it in the melted butter at the edge of his plate. “No it’s o.k. I can talk and eat at the same time. But maybe you should go first and tell me a bit more about your afternoon. Particularly the information you’ve come up with on their phone.” />
  Whilst he worked his way through the rest of the potatoes and pie, Jim heard what Stephen and Marion had been doing in more detail. The fact that Mark Brennan was putting the electronics together was reassuring. If he said it would be ready in the morning, then Jim was satisfied that it would be.

  As Stephen expanded on what he had told him over the phone, Jim could feel the reassuring weight of Wolf’s head resting on his knee beneath the table. Every so often he would drop a hand to stroke his head and he also couldn’t help feeding him the odd piece of pie crust, much to the disapproval of his mother-in-law.

  Stephen had managed to tape the call when the kidnappers had phoned and he brought the tape recorder through to the kitchen, so that Jim could listen to the conversation for himself. It was the same Irish voice on the line and he definitely wasn’t happy. As Stephen had mentioned, they must have tried more than once during the afternoon without being able to reach them and as a result, when he did get through, the Irishman had really let rip.

  To his credit, Stephen had kept calm and handled the call well and the man did seem to accept his explanation that they were out doing their best to get hold of the equipment he wanted. Still, Jim thought, they had better be there when the call came the following morning. They didn’t want to antagonise them by making it appear that they were avoiding the calls deliberately just to play for time. Although, having said that, the kidnappers did have their mobile phone numbers now, so there shouldn’t be any risk of that.

  By the time Stephen had played the tape for a second time, Jim had finished eating and was able to tell them in detail what had happened at O’Hara’s hotel. Marion was horrified to hear that he had been knocked out and insisted on examining his arm and the side of his head.