Underdogs

by Jack Fiske

  “Afraid we’ve lost them. There’s still no signal. We lost it just after you made the drop. The helicopter picked up someone on a motorbike in the woods, but the trees are too thick and they lost him when he dropped the bike and switched to something else.”

  “So now what?” Jim asked in a worried tone. O’Hara and Trent weren’t to know that he could just reach into his left hand pocket and switch the signal back on again.

  “Now we wait,” Trent replied. “We’ll pick up the tracker before too long. We think it’s inside something, which is blocking the signal. If not, we’ve got plenty of men on the ground and we’ve a good chance of picking them up when they break cover.”

  Jim could hear the faint beat of the helicopter’s rotors in the distance as it flew wider and wider circles, looking for some trace of the man on the bike.

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” Jim said. “Not in these woods.”

  Trent looked at O’Hara and nodded in the direction of the white Renault, indicating that he should stay with the car.

  “Michael is going to listen in to see how the search is going. I need to debrief you if that’s o.k. and you can show me where the drop was made.”

  “Fine,” Jim agreed. The quicker they did so, the better. He wanted to get away before the trail started to go cold.

  As O’Hara climbed back into the Renault and picked up the radio, Jim took Trent down the path to where he’d left the K2 unit behind the beech tree.

  “So you didn’t see anything at all?” Trent asked as he surveyed the scene.

  “No. Nothing.” Jim said. “I was back at the car park before I heard the bike and I couldn’t see a thing through the trees.”

  Trent bent down to examine the set of tyre tracks that could be clearly seen in the damp ground next to the tree. Then, still bent over, he walked forward, following the tracks to the point where they left the main path.

  “Looks like he came from the other direction. He must have been waiting in the trees and picked it up as soon as you left.”

  Trent took a small pad from his jacket pocket and scribbled some notes.

  “Have a seat,” he said, pointing to the bench.

  “O.k. Take me through what happened, from the time you got the phone call until we got here.”

  It couldn’t have taken more than ten minutes to go through everything for Trent’s benefit, but to Jim it seemed like forever. He kept thinking of the signal that Stephen would be picking up on the PC at the office and wondered how far behind it he would eventually be.

  At last Trent put the top on his biro and returned the notebook to his pocket. As the two walked back, Jim whistled to catch Wolf’s attention and he came running from the other direction to trot obediently at his heel.

  “Now what?” Jim asked, when they got back to the cars.

  “I’ll check.” Trent went over to lean into the Renault and speak in a low voice to O’Hara.

  “Still nothing,” he said, coming back to join Jim by the Land Rover. “You can get away if you want to. We’re going to stay here and help with the search. There’s still no signal from the tracking unit, but we’ve got a few leads. The motorbike was ditched a couple of miles from here and our man switched to a mountain bike. We’ve got a few sightings of a bike in the area and we’ve got our people checking them at the moment.”

  “How will I know what’s happening?” Jim asked.

  “We’ll phone you,” Trent said. He had obviously got all that he needed from Jim and turned to get back into the car. Jim followed and took hold of the door, preventing Trent from closing it.

  “When?” he asked.

  “As soon as we know anything.”

  O’Hara leaned forward from the back. “Where will you be?” he asked. “They’re going to send someone round to have a word with you.”

  Jim checked his watch. “I’m going back to the office to let my father-in-law know what’s going on. They can meet me there if they like.”

  “We’ll let them know,” Trent said, taking hold of the door once more and waiting for Jim to move so that he could shut it. He started the engine and backed the car up, then rolled down the window as an afterthought.

  “If you hear anything from the kidnappers, phone us.”

  Trent put the car into gear and drove away, the car bouncing gently over the potholes as it left the car park. Jim could see Trent turn to speak to O’Hara and the two laughed. They really didn’t care what happened to Susan or Millie, it was just another day at the office for Trent and who knew what O’Hara was up to?

  Jim waited until the Renault was out of sight, bundled Wolf into the Land Rover and then climbed behind the wheel, starting the engine as he did so. He wound the steering wheel to turn the car in a tight circle and as soon as they were through the gate, he jammed his foot down on the accelerator. The wheels spun briefly on the gravel and then the Land Rover leapt forward, the engine protesting at the rough treatment as he pushed it up through the gears.

  If he was followed on the way back to Ringwood, they were doing a good job because he couldn’t spot a tail. He assumed there would be one, but he had no reason to try and lose it for the time being. He took the most direct route to Ringwood, down the motorway, pushing the Land Rover up to eighty or ninety down the open road and sighing impatiently when he had to slow down on the outskirts of town. When he got to the office, he swung the car into the first vacant space, jumped out and, leaving Wolf in the car, he hurried inside.

  Having taken the stairs two at a time, Jim was out of breath when he got to Stephen’s office. There Mark was sitting in front of the computer screen, whilst Stephen paced up and down behind him.

  “Have you still got a signal?” Jim asked, as he hurried into the room and stood at Mark’s shoulder.

  “Yes, we’ve still got it,” Mark confirmed. “It’s stopped, right on the coast, just this side of Southampton.

  Stephen picked up an open road atlas from his desk and put it down beside the PC.

  “There it is,” he said, jabbing a finger down on the page. “There’s a marina there. I know the place. They went straight there and haven’t moved since.”

  “Do we call the police?” Mark asked. “It looks like they’re on a boat.”

  Jim bent over the atlas. “No not yet. I want to have a look before we let the cavalry go charging in with all guns blazing. It won’t take long to get there.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Stephen said, looking determined.

  “No, I need you here.” Jim tapped the computer screen. “I want you to watch this thing and tell me if they move.”

  Stephen started to protest, but Jim insisted.

  “What about me,” Mark asked. “You can’t go alone, you might need some help, some sort of back-up.”

  Jim nodded. “You’re right, I do need some help, but not as back-up. I need you to smuggle me out of the building.”

  He produced the two tracking devices from his pocket, one of which had a band of red insulating tape wrapped round it.

  “When I need back-up, this will bring the security services running.” He held up the taped tube. “This is the one they think is in the K2 device. All I need to do is switch it on. The other one’s the spare that came from Archie Long. I’ll switch that on and it’ll give you a reference signal to let you know how close I am.”

  Jim handed Mark his mobile phone. “Do you mind swapping?”

  “No, why?” Mark asked, reaching for his jacket to get his own phone out of his pocket.

  “I don’t want anyone on my tail when I leave,” Jim explained. “They’ll be listening to my calls and there’s probably someone sitting in a car outside keeping an eye on us.”

  Mark handed over his phone and Jim gave him the keys to the Land Rover in return.”

  “Which car are you driving?” Jim asked.

  “The Toyota. Why?”

  “Do you mind if I use that as well?”

  “No, help yourself,” Mark agreed.

  Th
e Toyota was Mark’s somewhat unusual company car and Jim had driven it before. A four wheel drive Land Cruiser, it was a massive machine. As good in the Forest as the Land Rover and with its 4.2 litre turbo-diesel, it was possibly a little quicker on the open road.

  “Could you bring it in?” Jim asked. “Without it attracting too much attention?”

  There was a loading bay at the back of the building, where their deliveries came and went, with enough room for at least two vehicles to drive in through a double steel door that was left open during the day.

  While Mark went for the car, Jim explained to Stephen what he planned to do. Until he knew where Susan and Millie were being held, Jim didn’t want MI5, the police and especially O’Hara anywhere near the Marina. The last thing he needed was for part of the gang to be picked up by the police, leaving the rest at large and still holding his wife and daughter. He needed to check out the situation for himself first. If Susan and Millie were on a boat, he would get Stephen to call the police. If they weren’t, he would need to find out where they were being held. Exactly how he might do that he didn’t know, but if he got his hands on one of the kidnappers, he knew he could make them talk.

  Mark’s phone buzzed in Jim’s pocket.

  “I’m in,” Mark said.

  “Good, I’ll be right down.” Jim put a reassuring hand on his father-in-law’s arm. “You know what to do?” he asked.

  Stephen nodded.

  A second mobile phone was now propped against the monitor on Stephen’s desk, a yellow post-it note stuck to the front of it bearing Mark’s number. Jim had a similar sticker on the phone in his pocket. To be absolutely safe, Stephen had exchanged phones with his secretary. She was a little bewildered as to why he would want to use her phone, but she had worked for him for too many years to question his motives and had agreed to the request.

  “Mark shouldn’t be long,” Jim said. “I’ll phone you as soon as I’m away.”

  In the loading bay, the Toyota had been backed in and Mark was sitting at the wheel with the engine running. Jim climbed into the back and lay down on the floor. It was a bit of a squeeze, but not uncomfortable and they were only driving a few hundred yards anyway. There were a couple of items on the floor, which Jim pushed out of the way under the front seat. The barrel of the revolver dug uncomfortably into his ribs and he twisted round so that he wasn’t lying on it before reaching up to close the door.

  “Ready?” Mark asked.

  “Ready,” Jim confirmed. “Let’s go.”

  The Toyota eased out of the loading bay, drove sedately through the car park, past the Land Rover and out onto the road. From his position on the floor, Jim could see the top of the building pass by, then the arm of the barrier that stood at the entrance to the car park and then the occasional tree as they picked up speed down the main road.

  “Any cars hanging around?” Jim asked.

  “No, nothing,” Mark said. “We probably don’t need to do this you know.”

  “Maybe not,” Jim agreed, “but it doesn’t hurt to take precautions.”

  Mark took a right turn, then a left and stopped where they had agreed. Jim sat up in the back and looked around. Mark was right. There was nobody to be seen. He stepped out of the car and brushed himself down to get rid of the grit that he’d picked up from the floor. Mark got out at the driver’s side, leaving the door open and the engine running.

  “All yours,” he said. “I’ll get back so Stephen isn’t on his own. Good Luck.”

  The two men shook hands and Jim climbed behind the wheel. As he adjusted the seat and the rear view mirror, he could see Mark hurrying back towards the office on foot. Then, mirror adjusted, he checked over his shoulder for traffic, pulled out and headed towards the Southampton road.

  It didn’t take long to get onto the dual carriageway and once there, Jim picked up the phone and rang Stephen. Mark had made good time getting back and he heard him arrive in the background while they were talking. The tracking device hadn’t moved, so they agreed that Jim would phone again once he got to the marina.

  As he drove, Jim checked his equipment. He still had the revolver, the kitchen knife, a box of shells and two GPS tracking units, one with its band of red insulating tape and the other, the spare, which he’d switched on so that Stephen and Mark could track him. He’d also acquired a twelve inch wheel nut wrench, which he’d found under the driver’s seat when he was lying on the floor. It lay on the passenger seat beside him and looked like a useful weapon if things were going to get physical.

  Once he left the main road, he glanced down at the atlas, which was open on the passenger seat, making sure he was on the right road. It wasn’t far to the marina and he should be there in twenty minutes. He glanced in the mirror to see what was behind him and then pressed the accelerator down to the floor. Make that fifteen.

  As he neared the turning for the coast road, the phone rang on the seat beside him. Jim picked it up, trying to divide his attention between the road, the phone and the atlas. He didn’t want to miss the turn and have to double back.

  “Hello?”

  “Jim, it’s Mark. The damned thing’s on the move again.”

  Jim swore and stamped on the brakes. A horn blared behind him and there was a screech of rubber on tarmac. Jim cursed himself for being stupid. If someone ran into the back of him, he wouldn’t get there at all. He pulled off the road onto the verge and put up a hand of apology to the van driver behind him.

  “Where is it?”

  “You’re about four miles away. It’s heading for Southampton on the B3054.”

  Jim picked up the atlas from the passenger seat and looked for the B3054.

  “What are you doing?” Mark asked.

  “I’m looking at the bloody atlas,” Jim replied, with annoyance.

  “Never mind that. We’ve got you on the screen. Just get a move on and we’ll direct you.”

  There was no traffic now, so Jim put the car into gear and quickly pulled out. He could have done with the headset that he used with his own phone. As it was, he had to drive with his head on one side, the phone trapped between his ear and his right shoulder.

  “Next on the right,” Mark said, and fifty yards further on Jim slewed around a T-junction and onto a minor road.

  “Put your foot down,” Mark demanded, and Jim floored the accelerator, feeling the power of the engine kick the big car forwards.

  “You’re gaining on them,” Mark encouraged. “You’ve got about five hundred yards to a crossroads then, if you take a left, you’ll be on the same road.”

  As predicted, the crossroads appeared ahead and Jim skidded to a stop at the give way sign, then pulled away quickly when he saw that the road to his right was clear, wheels spinning despite the four wheel drive.

  Jim took one hand from the wheel and repositioned the phone. “How far?” he asked.

  “About a mile and a half,” Mark replied. “You’ll need to get a move on or they’ll be in Southampton.”

  Jim let the accelerator sink further towards the floor and then thought better of it when the Toyota briefly left the road surface at the next hump in the road.

  “Can you see them?” Mark asked a few minutes later.

  “No,” Jim replied.

  There were a few cars in the distance, but he didn’t think he was that close.

  “You’re not going to catch them,” Mark said. “They’re on the outskirts of the city. Give me a minute, I’m going to see if I can change the display to show a better map.”

  Mark went quiet for a moment and then came back on the line. “That’s better, I’ve got a street map now. Hang on, it looks like they’ve stopped. No, they’re back on the move again.”

  Two minutes later, Jim came to the same spot, where the car he was chasing had stopped at a red light. Luck was with him and the lights turned green as he approached.

  “Where do I go?” he asked, when there was silence from the phone.

  “Straight through,” Mark replied. �
��Sorry, too busy watching where they’re going. You must be about three hundred yards behind them.

  A bus pulled out in front of him and Jim swung onto the other side of the road and then pulled back in again to the noise of a horn blaring from an oncoming lorry.

  “Come on, come on,” he muttered to himself as the bus took up the whole road and crawled along at twenty miles an hour.

  “You’re dropping back again,” Mark said in his ear.

  “I’m stuck behind a bloody bus!” Jim said, swinging out to his right again. This time the road was clear, so he floored the accelerator and the Toyota leapt past the bus, cutting in just in time to avoid a motorcycle coming round a corner.

  “Next left! Next left!” Mark shouted down the phone.

  Jim jammed on the brakes, to the audible annoyance of the bus driver behind and swung round a left turn bearing a signpost with the words ‘City Centre’ on it.

  “They’ve stopped again,” Mark said.

  Jim had as well. He was at a set of lights which were at red. There were three cars in front of him. He couldn’t go round, there wasn’t enough room. A line of traffic blocked the other side and cars were starting to get nose to tail as he approached the town centre.

  “They’re on the move again,” Mark said in his ear. “I think they’re on foot. They’re moving much slower. Hang on. Yes. They must have parked. Look out for a car park. They stopped about two hundred yards in front of you.”

  The traffic seemed to crawl along, but then Jim spotted the sign – a white letter ‘P’ on a blue background and he pulled off the road and into the car park. It was a pay and display, but he just parked in the first vacant space, switched off the engine and left the car where it was. The revolver banged against his side as he jogged in the direction of the shops, the phone still pressed to his ear as he tried not to be too conspicuous.

  “It looks like they’re heading for the bus station,” Mark said.

  Jim had some knowledge of Southampton, but he didn’t know where the bus station was. He stopped for a moment and grabbed the arm of a middle aged woman who was weighed down with shopping.