by Jack Fiske
“No one,” Jim conceded.
“There you are then. That shows you could use someone else, even if it’s only to give Marion some moral support while the two of you aren’t there.”
Jim knew Mark was right. His help would be useful.
“O.k. Thanks. Let’s go and tell Stephen that we’ve finished and see what he’s doing.”
Stephen was still in his office, working on the computer and adding to the already lengthy notes on his pad. Jim put the fake K2 unit down on his desk next to the half empty cup of coffee.
“That’s it,” he said, in response to an enquiring look from Stephen. “How about you. Are you getting anywhere?”
Stephen sighed. “Not yet. I’ve hit a snag and it’s taking longer than I thought.”
“Need any help?” Mark asked, peering over his shoulder to see what he was doing.
“Well you probably could help,” Stephen agreed reluctantly. “But the problem is that what I’m trying to do isn’t legal.”
“Neither is kidnapping,” Mark replied.
Jim moved behind Stephen, so that he could see what they were both looking at, but the information on the screen meant nothing to him.
“Mark was saying he would like to do more to help,” Jim explained.
“Even if it means breaking the law Mark?” Stephen asked, in a tone which made it clear that he didn’t want to involve him in anything illegal.
“Absolutely,” Mark agreed, without a trace of hesitation.
Stephen hesitated himself for a moment. “In that case, we gratefully accept. Pull up a chair and tell me what you think of this.”
Jim knew that when Stephen and Mark were working on something technical, it was usually way beyond anything that he could understand, never mind help with. He glanced at the clock. It was still only nine-twenty-five. If he left them to get on with it, he could be back at the house by ten in time to deal with the phone call from the kidnappers.
Stephen agreed to the suggestion. Although they had planned to be back in time, he agreed that it was sensible for him to stay. The main thing was for someone to be there, so that Marion didn’t have to deal with it.
Mark offered to drive Stephen back once they were finished, so Jim took the car keys, promised to give them a ring when there was anything to report and left them to it.
TWELVE
Susan and Millie sat on the steps in the cellar for what seemed like an eternity. After exhausting the subject of their failed escape, they settled for sitting there in silence, huddled together, with Susan’s arm wrapped protectively around her daughter’s shoulders.
Millie had cried quietly to herself for a while, but had managed to pull herself together when a single tear rolled down Susan’s cheek and she realised that her own reaction was adding to her mother’s worries.
Throughout the night there were regular comings and goings above them and they could hear muffled conversations through the floor. Susan climbed to the top of the steps and pressed an ear to the hatch, but it was no good, she couldn’t make out what anyone was saying.
At one point they could hear the sound of hammering from the other room and someone using an electric drill and then everything went quiet. Susan hoped that it was a good sign. She guessed that they might be doing something about the damage she had done to the ceiling in their bathroom. If that was the case, it could mean they weren’t going to leave them down here after all.
Eventually there were footsteps above, followed by a loud scraping noise as a piece of furniture was pushed to one side. The ring set into the wood gave a metallic squeak and then the trapdoor lifted, sending a shower of dust particles down upon them, sparkling briefly in the daylight that flooded in.
The Irishman who had been introduced as Quinn stood at the top of the steps.
“Right then. Out you come.”
Susan took Millie by the hand and the two of them climbed the steps, unsure what to expect when they got to the top.
There were three men in the room, all without masks and Susan recognised each of them from the night before. There was Quinn, who was obviously in charge, Bryant, who grinned evilly at her and Clarke, whose nose was black and blue and looked like it was broken . Susan consciously kept away from Clarke, who looked as if he would take great pleasure in taking some sort of revenge.
“Through there,” Quinn ordered, pointing to the small hallway and the open door beyond, which led to their original prison.
Susan obediently walked through and stood in the middle of the room, waiting for the door to close behind them. Instead, Quinn and the other two followed. The room looked the same. The same coffee table with old magazines on it, the same settee with torn covers standing by the window, the same smell of dampness. Then Susan noticed the light. Even though it was daylight, the light had been switched on and someone had replaced the switch by the door with a blanking plate, so that it couldn’t be switched off.
“Sit down,” Quinn instructed, pushing her towards the bed.
It was then that Susan noticed the other change. Next to the bed was a length of chain, secured at one end to a metal ring that had been screwed to the wall. Quinn threw a padlock to Clarke.
“Make sure she can’t get loose,” he said.
Clarke knelt beside her and grabbed her ankle, twisting it roughly so that he could wrap the chain around it. Now that he was closer, Susan could see the extent of his injury. Clarke’s nose was definitely broken, probably in more than one place and he was making a strange wheezing noise as he breathed through his mouth and coped with the swelling, which must be affecting his sinuses.
“Sit still,” Clarke snapped, pulling the chain as tight as he could around her ankle.
Thankfully, he couldn’t get the padlock on where he wanted it and he had to slacken the chain slightly, so he could put it through the next link. It was just as well, Susan thought, otherwise it would have cut off her circulation completely.
Quinn stepped forward and checked that she couldn’t work herself free.
“That’ll do.” He looked calmly at Susan and Millie sitting on the bed and then reached inside his jacket, producing the automatic pistol for them both to see.
“You know what this is?” he asked.
Susan nodded.
“Each of us has one,” he continued. “If either of you tries to escape, we’ve got instructions to use them. Do you understand?”
Susan nodded again. “Yes. We won’t give you any trouble.”
Quinn put the gun away, turned on his heel and walked out, Clarke and Bryant following behind. The door slammed shut behind them, it was locked and the bolts thrown at the top and the bottom.
Millie had started to cry again and Susan pulled her close, trying to reassure her.
“Don’t worry darling, we’ll be alright, you’ll see. Daddy will get us out. At least it’s better in here than being in that cellar.”
Millie nodded and after a minute or two she stopped crying and squeezed Susan’s hand.
“Will you do something for me?” Susan asked.
Millie nodded.
“Will you look in the bathroom and see what they’ve done about the hole in the ceiling?”
Millie nodded again and walked cautiously towards the bathroom, as if she didn’t really want to leave her mother’s side. She put her head round the bathroom door without going in and shouted back.
“There’s some wood nailed over it.”
“Is the light on?” Susan asked.
“Yes.”
“Can you turn it off?”
“No. The switch has gone.”
“What about the toilet?” Susan asked. “Is the handle back on?”
Millie disappeared into the bathroom and Susan heard the noise of the toilet being flushed, before she ran back to join her on the bed.”
“They’ve put the handle back,” she said.
Susan didn’t know why she needed to know. Maybe she was starting to become irrational. She couldn’t go to the ba
throom anyway, since she was chained to the wall. She got to her feet and took a couple of steps to see how far the chain would let her move. It was about eight feet long. Long enough to let her sit on the bed, or even to lie down, but not long enough for her to reach anything else in the room. Pulling on the chain had no effect at all. The ring it was attached to was on a solid steel plate fixed to the wall with four large screws. On closer inspection, she could see that the top of each screw had been filed down, so that even if she did have anything to unscrew them with, she couldn’t have done so.
Resigned to the fact that she couldn’t do anything about the chain, Susan settled down on the bed. It had crossed her mind that after last night, their living conditions might be considerably worse, particularly if that man Clarke had anything to do with it. However, apart from the lights and the chain, little else had changed. The radio still stood on the bedside table where she had left it and to her surprise she saw that breakfast had been left for them on a tray by the window.
Millie collected the tray and brought it over to the bed where they could see what had been provided. Just like the day before, there were two packets of cereal, a flask of tea, fruit juice, butter and marmalade, and a plate of toast. The toast was hard and cold, but was still very welcome.
A hot drink and something to eat made them feel a little better and by the time they had finished, Susan was beginning to look on the bright side and think that their situation could easily have been much worse. She was trying to convince herself that everything would work out, that Jim would pay their ransom and that eventually they’d be released, when her train of thought was interrupted by the noise of someone at the door.
There had been no knock this time. They heard the bolts being pulled back, the key in the lock and then two men stepped into the room. One was dressed smartly in flannel trousers, shirt and tie, with a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, whilst the other wore a pair of faded denim jeans and a T shirt that barely restrained his stomach, which bulged outwards over a broad leather belt. The thing that Susan found the most disturbing was that she hadn’t seen either man before and neither was wearing a mask.
“Finished?” the man in the shirt and tie asked, talking around his cigarette.
“Yes,” Millie replied, staring at them both defiantly.
“Yes thank you, you mean,” Susan corrected her.
Millie turned to her with an ‘I don’t understand’ expression on her face. Susan shook her head slightly in a gesture which meant don’t worry, I’ll explain later.
The older man grunted and picked up their plates, stacking them on the tray and then turned to leave.
“Excuse me,” Susan said.
“What?” asked the man with the stomach, pausing before closing the door.
“What do I do if I need to use the bathroom?”
“You’ll have to cross your legs, won’t you,” he replied.
His colleague put the tray down on the floor outside and turned back.
“We’ll get you a bucket,” he said, then closed the door and locked it behind him. A minute later the door opened and he lent in, placing a red plastic bucket just inside the room before he closed the door once more. This time they heard the bolts thrown on the other side and the two men talking in a matter of fact way as they went back to the room opposite.
Millie looked at her mother for an explanation.
Susan smiled at her. “I’m sorry darling. I know those men don’t deserve you being polite to them, but if we do what they say and speak to them nicely, they’re more likely to treat us better than if we’re rude.”
“O.k.” Millie agreed, somewhat reluctantly and wriggled out of Susan’s grasp to go and pick up the bucket.
“Do I have to use it as well?” she asked, putting it down next to the bed.
“No of course not darling. You can use the bathroom.”
Millie looked a little uncertain, as if she couldn’t understand why her mother had been chained up but she hadn’t.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine,” Susan said, making light of the situation. “If I want something and it’s out of reach, you can always get it for me can’t you.”
Susan didn’t like the idea of having to use the bucket, particularly with the video camera pointed directly at her, but she would manage. What worried her more was the fact that neither of the two men who had collected their plates had bothered to hide their face. To her, that seemed to have rather sinister implications.
When the phone did ring, it seemed to echo through the whole house.
Jim had been sitting staring at it for the last five minutes and he jumped to his feet, switched on the tape recorder and picked up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Reid?” the now recognisable Irish voice asked.
“No. Jim Turner.”
“Do you have what we want?”
Jim glanced at the fake processor unit that he’d brought back with him and which he’d placed carefully on the coffee table.
“Yes, I’ve got it.”
The voice on the other end of the line paused and Jim could hear a hand placed over the mouthpiece while the caller talked to someone else.
“That’s good. Now get a pen. I’ve got some instructions for you.”
Jim was already prepared and scribbled down what the Irishman told him, interrupting only once to check what he had said.
“Is that clear?” the Irishman asked, when he had finished.
Jim read through the notes quickly.
“Yes, I think so.”
“Come alone,” the Irishman stressed. “If we see anyone else, or we even suspect that you’ve informed the police, then you’ll not get a second chance. You do want to see your wife and daughter again don’t you?”
“You know bloody well that I do,” Jim replied with feeling. “There’s no way I’d let anything happen to them.”
“Well you’d better get a move on. You haven’t got long.”
There was a click at the other end and the line went dead.
Marion had been sitting with him in the living room and had jumped to her feet. “What’s happening?” she asked, looking down at his hastily scribbled notes.
Jim looked at his watch. It was five past ten.
“Marion. I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ve got time to explain. I’ve got to be at the phone box at Poulner in fifteen minutes. Listen to the tape, then phone Stephen and Mark to let them know what’s happening. I’ll take my mobile phone and I’ll ring you as soon as I can.”
Jim had expected Marion to be in a flap, but she was absolutely calm. “What about that man O’Hara and the people from MI5?”
“I’ll phone O’Hara as well. We’ll be under surveillance, so I don’t think they’ll have a problem following.”
Jim picked up the fake processor unit from the coffee table and put it into a rucksack that he’d borrowed. With it went the revolver and box of shells that Archie had supplied, a small pair of rubber armoured binoculars that he often took walking with him and Marion’s kitchen knife. He patted his pockets as he slung the rucksack over his shoulder. In them he had his mobile phone, an earpiece for it, and the two GPS tracker tubes – one that had come from Archie and the other, the one that O’Hara had given him to build into the fake K2 unit.
“Marion, have you got a local map?” Jim asked, “and a black bin bag?”
“There are maps in the hallway,” Marion replied. “On the top shelf of the bookcase, next to the walking books. The bags are in the kitchen. I’ll get you one.”
Jim had a look at the maps as he passed. Running his finger along them, he pulled out one of the Ringwood area and one that covered part of Salisbury Plain to the north. They were the only two local ones. All the rest were of the Lake District, Scotland and the Cornish Coast. By the sound of it, the kidnappers were going to have him running around. The maps might come in useful, although if they were expecting him to go by car, the road map was probably all that he’d need.
Marion came through from the kitchen and handed him two black bags, which he folded up and put in the front pocket of the rucksack.
Wolf had followed him through as well.
“Come on then. You’d better come with me.”
Jim opened the front door and Wolf ran out to the car, oblivious of the nature of their journey.
“Jim, you be careful!” Marion shouted after him.
“I will,” he replied.
As he walked to the Land Rover, Jim put the phone’s earpiece on, dialled the number for O’Hara and put the phone in his pocket. He had never bothered with a hands-free kit for the car as a wireless headset was more useful. Connected to the phone, it left his hands free for driving, or anything else come to that. O’Hara answered as he was putting Wolf in the back.
“It’s Jim Turner,” Jim said, getting into the driver’s side and putting the rucksack on the passenger seat beside him.
“We’ve been waiting for you to call. What’s happening?”
“They’ve been in touch,” Jim replied. “They want to exchange now. It sounds like they know what they’re doing. They’re not going to give us any time to get organised. I’ve to drive to the phone box at Poulner and get more instructions in fifteen minutes.”
“Shit,” O’Hara muttered. “It’ll take us longer than that to get there.”
“You mean you haven’t got anyone here already?”
“Two guys in a green VW,” O’Hara said, “but we need more than that.”
Jim turned the engine on and pulled out of the driveway.
“What about the fake K2 unit?” O’Hara asked.
“It’s finished. I’ve got it with me,” Jim said.
“Switch on the tracker unit.”
Jim had already switched on the tube that was built into the box of electronics, but of course that wasn’t the one that O’Hara had given him. He reached into his left jacket pocket and flicked the switch on the tube that was there, then for good measure swapped hands on the steering wheel, felt for the second tube from Archie and switched that one on as well.
