by CJ Carver
‘Good luck!’ she yelled.
With his satchel slung across his chest, Dan sprinted into the terminal. Tore for the check-in desk. His flight was still lit up on the flight information board. Final call.
As he ran, heads turned to watch him go.
The check-in desk was twenty yards away when a man called, ‘Mr Wilson!’
Dan swivelled round to see a man in Lufthansa uniform striding towards him, hand outstretched. Dan showed him his passport and ticket and the man said briskly, ‘Follow me.’
As they strode out, he added, ‘My name is Viktor. We have five minutes before the gate closes. We will make it in time, don’t worry. They know you’re coming.’
‘Thank you,’ Dan gasped.
‘It is your first child?’
‘Third.’
‘Still,’ Viktor smiled. ‘It’s an important event.’
‘Very,’ Dan agreed.
They bypassed the queue to immigration. Viktor passed Dan’s passport to the officer, speaking rapidly, obviously filling him in. The immigration officer took Dan’s passport. Slid it out of sight. The man’s head was bowed as he tapped on a keyboard Dan could hear but not see.
The seconds ticked past.
‘Gibt es eien problem?’ Viktor asked.
‘Gib mir nur eine minute,’ the officer replied.
‘He’ll just be a minute,’ Viktor said to Dan, but Dan didn’t like the sudden anxiety that rose in Viktor’s eyes.
Even though he kept his breathing level, he could feel the sweat beginning to form at the base of his spine. He had to hope there was none on his forehead.
He looked at his watch then at Viktor, but Viktor had moved away a little and was looking anxiously ahead, then back, as though he could will the officer to return Dan’s passport.
Footsteps sounded behind them but before he could turn his head to see who approached, the immigration officer finally lifted his eyes. They were stone cold and devoid of emotion.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but there is a problem with your passport.’
Two Bundespolizei stepped into view and took up position on either side of Dan. He had no choice but to go with them.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Dan spent the night in a cell, in the detention centre. His shoes and his belt had been taken from him, and he’d been given a rough blanket to sleep beneath along with a hard, square pillow. They’d taken his satchel and phone from him straightaway while he was still at the immigration desk. Viktor had looked appalled as Dan was carted off by the two guards, but he hadn’t intervened.
The interviews had been relentless. Same questions, over and over again. How long had he been planning his trip? How much money did he have for his trip? Whose idea was the trip? First time abroad? How much did he earn? Dan didn’t want to give MI5 away since they’d provided him with the passport earlier in the year, so he didn’t say much. He knew all the interview techniques and watched them being trotted out with vague interest. He wondered how long they’d keep him for. The German Immigration authority was the Bundespolizei, uniformed Police with the same ranks as the State Police Agencies.
Due to his refusal to cooperate, he’d eventually met the top dog, a small man with unnervingly wet and bulging eyes. Chief Inspector Richter. Dan said everything would be explained if he could be allowed one phone call, which was repeatedly refused.
He’d been in his cell all morning, listening to doors slamming, bolts clanking shut. Women and men sobbed and shouted. They couldn’t keep him here another night, surely? Jenny would be going insane with worry. She’d probably think he was dead. Killed in a traffic accident. He couldn’t think how she’d forgive him for missing his son’s birth. He just hoped that everything had gone all right, that the boy and Jenny were doing OK and that there hadn’t been any complications.
He did a set of press-ups before he returned to pacing his six-by-eight cell. He thought over everything he’d experienced since he’d learned that his father had been murdered. That someone in the security services was watching him, off the grid. That they had access to one of the most frightening people he knew: Sirius Thiele. That his father had visited a cemetery in Isterberg. That he’d rowed with Anneke. That his close friend, Rafe, had asked him to help him die.
Since they’d also taken his watch, he only had a rough idea what time it was and guessed it had to be mid-afternoon or so. He tried not to be angry with himself for being so impetuous, so stupid as to use a false passport – it was a waste of mental energy, he was where he was – but it was almost impossible. He shouldn’t have been tempted. He should have left the damned thing at home and stayed with Jenny. Should, should, should. When would he learn?
He paused his pacing when the bolt outside drew back with a resounding clang.
‘Come.’
Dan followed the guard to a large, rectangular room. There was a glass panel in one of the walls. Another interview room. He sat on one of the chairs and waited. Soon an immigration officer arrived, a file in one hand, Dan’s passport – or rather Michael Wilson’s – in the other.
More questions. Who was he really? Why had he used a false passport? What was his intention? What sort of criminal was he? People smuggler? Drug trafficker? Was he a terrorist? Was he even English?
Dan simply repeated his mantra. ‘Everything will become clear when you let me make one phone call.’
‘Who is that to?’
‘My lawyer,’ Dan lied. He had no intention of calling for legal representation, but since he knew his best chance of being allowed a phone call was by doing so, he stuck with it.
‘Not your wife or your employer? What is it you do, could you remind me?’
‘One phone call,’ Dan repeated.
The officer halted the interview for a few seconds to review his notes. He looked up when the door opened. Chief Inspector Richter stepped inside and gave a nod to the interviewer. The interviewer stood up and Richter said to Dan, ‘Come with me.’
He led the way to a small room which held nothing but an old-fashioned phone affixed to the wall.
‘One phone call.’
Dan picked up the receiver and dialled. He knew he had to keep it short in case the phone was snatched from him. Prioritise.
When she answered, he said, ‘Listen. Don’t talk. I need you to do three things for me. First, ring Jenny at the Bath RUH and tell her I’m OK but detained. Second, call Philip at DCA & Co and tell him German Immigration have me in custody at Hanover Airport. Third, go and meet someone called Firecat at the Fiddichside Inn at six tonight. All are extremely—’
He ducked his head aside as Richter came close, reaching to cut off the conversation.
‘Urgent!’ he finished at the same time as the German slammed his fingers on the hook.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Lucy stood on top of Iron Ridge, gazing down at the Duncaid road snaking its way along the valley bottom as she replayed what Dan had said.
Sweet Jesus, he’d been lucky to get through. She hadn’t had a signal all morning and it was only when she came into sight of Duncaid that she got connected again. She was walking the route Connor had supposedly taken the day he’d died, between Gordon’s lodge and his house in the centre of Duncaid. Seven miles of heathland and rocks. The police had already walked it looking for clues, any signs of a scuffle, and apparently found nothing, but Lucy wanted to do it too. She was glad she’d borrowed Grace’s sturdy walking boots along with her best, most expensive 3-in-1 waterproof jacket. She needed all the protective clothing she could get out here.
Quickly she googled the number for the RUH and dialled before the signal vanished. Her mind was spinning. What was going on that Dan was being held by German Immigration? Who was Firecat and where the hell was the Fiddichside Inn?
‘Royal United Hospital,’ a woman’s bright voice answered her call.
‘My name’s Detective Constable Lucy Davies,’ she said. ‘I urgently need to speak to Jenny Forrester. She’s either h
aving or has had a baby.’
‘Hold a moment . . . Ah, here she is. Post-natal Ward. Putting you through.’
Lucy spoke to two nurses before she finally got hold of Jenny. She started to shiver. She’d been baking hot climbing the ridge but now that she’d stopped her sweat was cooling and the wind cut against her face and wrists like cold knives, but she didn’t dare to move. She didn’t want to risk losing the signal.
‘Lucy?’
Dan’s wife sounded cautious.
‘Dan asked me to ring you,’ Lucy ploughed on. ‘He’s fine, OK? He’s just been, er . . . detained.’
‘Detained?’ The woman’s voice was faint.
‘Yes.’ She would have loved to have given Jenny more information but didn’t dare without Dan’s approval.
‘He rang me yesterday,’ Jenny told her. ‘Not long after I called him to say I was on my way to hospital. He said he was caught up in a traffic accident—’
‘No accident,’ Lucy said firmly. ‘He’s fine.’
Another pause.
‘Why doesn’t he ring me himself?’ Jenny asked. Her tone began to sharpen.
‘He didn’t say. I’m sorry.’ Lucy found herself cringing. She’d kill Dan for this, she really would. He should be having this conversation with his wife, not someone standing on top of a bloody mountain in a freezing cold wind.
‘Where is he?’
She took a breath and said, ‘Sorry.’ a second time.
‘Where are you?’
‘Actually, I’m on top of a mountain in Scotland. Investigating Connor’s death.’
To try and prevent Jenny asking more questions, she said, ‘How are you?’
Another short pause.
‘I had to have a caesarean so I’ll be here for another couple of days.’
‘Oh, Jenny.’ Lucy’s concern was genuine. ‘I am sorry.’
‘But Mischa’s doing fine.’ The woman’s voice lifted. ‘He is seriously adorable but then I would say that, wouldn’t I, being his mother and all.’
‘I can’t wait to meet him,’ Lucy lied. She’d never been great with babies and always struggled to find something nice to say about them. She was never sure if that made her anti-motherhood or if she’d had the baby gene removed from her DNA. Her mum said she had been the same – she’d never liked other people’s babies – but when Lucy came along she’d fallen in love straightaway.
‘Give him a kiss from me,’ Lucy added. ‘And tell him I’ll see him soon.’
‘Thanks, Lucy.’ Jenny’s voice turned warm. ‘Look, I know it’s not easy being a go-between for Dan and me but I appreciate your call. Truly.’
Despite Jenny’s words Lucy hung up still cringing, wishing Dan could do his own dirty work. She couldn’t imagine how Jenny was going to receive him when he eventually turned up. Personally, she’d throttle him, which she guessed Jenny would no doubt do.
She checked her signal to see it had gone from 4G to 3G. Flipping through her contacts she exhaled in relief when she saw she had Dan’s business number, but when she rang Philip Denton it was to find he was out.
‘Please get him to call me urgently,’ Lucy told someone called Julia. ‘Tell him it’s to do with Dan Forrester.’
‘Can I help? I’m looking after Dan’s desk while he’s away.’
‘Sorry. I’ll wait for Philip Denton to call me.’
‘I’ll make sure he gets the message.’ Julia was brisk. ‘In fact, I’ll text him right now.’
Lucy googled the Fiddichside Inn but just as a picture of a low white building with a red trim appeared, the signal vanished and the page froze. She moved around the ridge top, holding her mobile high and low, but with no success. She looked at her watch. It was 3 p.m. No time to waste. She started walking fast, down the hill to Duncaid and hopefully to a signal as well as her car.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Jenny Forrester walked back from the loo feeling tired and sore. She was finding it hard to rest on the busy post-natal ward, noisy with other babies and mothers. She’d pulled the curtains closed around her bed to try and get some privacy, but the noise continued non-stop. She couldn’t wait to get home, get some proper sleep and start recovering properly.
She wasn’t sure how she felt about Lucy ringing with a message from Dan. Part of her was relieved to know he was, apparently, OK, but the other part was upset, so goddamn angry she felt as though her blood pressure would burst. She’d thought he’d changed. She really had. But no, he was the same old Dan beneath it all. Give him a mission, a venture, any escapade, and he was off quicker than you could say ‘Booking.com’.
Yes, he’d been in Germany. Yes, she’d agreed to the trip. Yes, he’d responded immediately when she’d called him, saying I’m on my way, but he hadn’t got to her and she still had no idea where he was, Germany or the UK.
She loved Dan, but right now she didn’t like him one bit. Another woman might be tempted to give him his marching orders but she could no more do that than cut out her own heart. She had to think positively, but how? She felt poleaxed by being abandoned to have Mischa on her own. Her mother had been with her but she hadn’t wanted her mum, she’d wanted her husband.
Worry gnawed at her, making her restless and irritable. She wished he was here to see his son. She wanted him to hold Mischa, watch his expression as he gazed at his little boy. She suddenly felt like weeping. Oh, Dan, she thought. How could you do this to me? To us?
She pulled back the curtain, her gaze going automatically to the cot next to her bed where Mischa lay sleeping.
Her heart leaped to her throat.
The cot was empty.
She dived to the cot and flung the blankets back. No Mischa.
Her gaze flew around the curtained area. Nothing. No baby.
Pulse pounding, she yanked back the curtains. A nurse must have taken Mischa for some tests. Blood tests, hearing and heart screenings all needed to be done. Why hadn’t they told her? Where was he?
She began to move along the ward, her head switching from side to side, searching for Mischa, a maternity support worker, a midwife, anybody who might know where her baby was. She felt a scream bubbling in her throat, a primal scream of fear and panic, but she quelled it, telling herself not to be so stupid, that her baby was fine and he’d be back any second.
At the other end of the ward she saw a man walking towards her with a baby in his arms. Despite the central heating belting out through the ward, he wore a double-breasted camel coat and leather gloves. Clean shaven, his shoes highly polished, he looked like a city businessman. He was looking right at her.
She stared. She didn’t dare move. Was he holding Mischa?
As though he’d heard her thoughts, he nodded.
Her mouth turned as dry as sand.
She began to walk towards him. Her brain seemed to have frozen. She didn’t recognise the man. Who was he? What was he doing with her son?
As she approached the man dropped his arms to show Mischa, wide awake and gazing at her with his huge blue eyes. She gave a little whimper. She held out her arms to take him but the man moved aside, saying, ‘A little privacy, I think.’
He walked to her bed and, holding Mischa against his chest with one hand, he pulled the curtains around them with the other.
‘Give him to me,’ she demanded.
‘No.’
She opened her mouth to scream for help but in one swift movement he brought Mischa high into the air, holding him upside down by his ankles. The baby blanket drifted to the floor.
‘Don’t, or I will drop him.’
Mischa gurgled, began to make a choking sound.
‘No, please don’t . . .’
‘Listen to me,’ he said. He didn’t relax his grip on Mischa, whose face started to turn a dark pink.
‘Please, the blood’s going to his . . .’
‘Listen.’
He may as well have slapped her. Her whole body flinched at his voice, laden with menace.
‘
Or this little boy will find himself with a crushed skull.’
A wave of cold nausea crashed over her. This couldn’t be happening. Who was this man? What did he want?
‘OK, OK.’ She put her hands up. She was trembling violently. ‘I’ll listen.’
The man immediately brought Mischa upright to hold him against his chest, but his eyes never left Jenny’s: twin shiny, glassy black marbles.
‘I want you to tell your husband my name. Sirius. Then tell him to stop what he’s doing in Germany.’ His voice was quiet but even through the sound of crying babies and women’s chatter she could hear every word. ‘I want you to tell him to come home and stay at home, or one day he won’t have a baby boy to come home to.’
‘Whatever Dan’s doing, it’s nothing to do with me,’ she said desperately. ‘Nothing!’ The word came out on a half-sob.
‘I wouldn’t be here if he’d heeded my first warning.’
‘P-please,’ she begged. ‘Give me my baby back.’
‘He is to stop what he’s doing. Do you understand?’
A whistling started in her ears. This was Dan’s fault. Dan had brought this man to her and her baby. He’d put them in danger. She suddenly felt a wave of heat roar through her, the hot dry wind of sheer rage, and with no plan, acting on nothing but fear and anger she launched herself at the man.
She didn’t think she saw him move. One second she was flying towards him, fingers hooked and reaching for his ghastly dead eyes, the next she was rammed against the wall with both arms twisted behind her and held high between her shoulder blades, so high she thought they might dislocate.
She was gasping, choking against the pain.
‘I understand you’re frightened,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘But I promise I won’t hurt you or your baby if your husband does as I say.’
Her cheek was pressed into plasterboard and she rolled her eyes to see Mischa on the bed, fists and feet kicking. He started to cry.
‘Do you understand?’
She nodded.
‘Say it.’
‘I understand,’ she gasped.
