by Sam Christer
122
NEW YORK
An under-tens soccer match is finishing at the Met Oval in Queens, a public ground hailed as the oldest continuously used soccer facility in America.
Brooklyn Knights are two-nil up against Westchester on a pitch that boasts a skyline view of Manhattan and lies just a third of a mile and a three-minute walk from Zachra Korshidi’s house. Stood among the small crowd of cheering parents is Gareth Madoc. On the opposite touchline are two armed members of his team. Six more are stationed along the approach roads to the ground.
Zachra is twenty minutes late for their secret meeting and Madoc is getting nervous. South of the pitch, he sees the shadowy shape of a black burqa slide through a patch of trees. He whispers into the transmitter clipped to the cuff of his baggy brown pilot jacket. ‘Standby. We have target approaching from south side.’
Bodies move in the crowd. Unseen hands click the safety catches off their weapons. Zachra may be being followed; she may not. No one is taking any chances.
Madoc makes sure she sees him, then wanders away from the cheering parents and up a bank heading back to the streets. He slips into the shade and watches.
In one hand she carries a brown paper bag bearing the Burger King crest, and in the other a half-empty beaker of cola. Through the slit of her black niqab he sees her fearful eyes flicking everywhere.
‘You okay?’
The covered head nods.
‘Anything you can tell me?’
‘My father ordered my mother and me out of the house. He said he’d be receiving a very important guest and we were not to be there to shame him. We had to clean the back room, then he told us to stay away until he calls.’
‘Did you ask how long that might be?’
A laugh tumbles through the head cloth. ‘You don’t ask my father things. You just do what he tells you.’
‘Did you manage to fit the devices I gave you?’
Zachra doesn’t answer. She lifts her cola, forces a bent straw into the slit in her headdress and takes a long drink.
Madoc watches the liquid rise and notices the knuckles of her right hand are swollen. He glances at the bag held in her left hand and sees her other fingers are also damaged.
Zachra catches his stare. ‘He beat me for being in his room. The back room where you wanted me to go. He made me kneel like a dog, then stamped on my hands.’
Madoc’s heard enough. ‘We need to take you to hospital.’
‘Hospital can wait.’ There’s steel in her voice. She throws the finished cola into a trash bin and lifts up the Burger King bag so he can see it. ‘I’m taking this somewhere quiet to eat.’ Before she turns and walks away, she adds, ‘And yes, your camera and microphones are now hidden in his room.’
123
CAERGWYN CASTLE, WALES
Mitzi puts the phone down and sits in stunned silence. The door opens and Owain walks in with George Dalton.
It’s just her luck that the man she has most wanted to interview turns up when she can least afford to talk to him.
‘I heard about your daughters.’ Dalton looks genuinely sympathetic. ‘I’m very sorry about what has happened.’
She addresses the ambassador. ‘I need to leave right away and catch a flight back to California. Can you tell me what’s the nearest airport?’
He shakes his head. ‘That’s not necessary. My helicopter will get you to Heathrow and from there I have a jet that will fly you across the Atlantic.’
She looks shocked. ‘That’s very kind. Thank you.’
‘There’s no need to thank me. Please excuse me while I make arrangements.’
Mitzi watches him go. Her eyes settle on Dalton. If nothing else, she’s going to throw one question at him before she leaves. ‘Did you kill Bradley Deagan?’
He takes a long beat before he answers. ‘Sir Owain informed me that you know a little about our cause. About the good we try to do.’
She strides into Dalton’s space. ‘I have your DNA.’
The consul’s face reddens.
‘I lifted the bottle you drank from when we met in London and ran it through the labs. Guess what? It matches the DNA found mixed with Deagan’s on the washroom floor in the All Night All Right diner off Dupont Circle.’
He thinks for a moment. ‘I’m not sure what you are surmising from that. I have already told you that I was there.’ He looks unconcerned. ‘The bathroom would have been filthy. I imagine there was DNA from a hundred other people as well.’
‘Bad luck there. It had just been cleaned. The hygiene rota was signed ten minutes before you came in for your bleed.’
Dalton licks his dried and nervous lips. ‘Last time we met you said you had surveillance footage and that was a lie.’
‘You were at that diner with a man you had followed all the way from a crime scene.’
‘You could be lying now.’
‘I’m not.’
Owain walks back into the room. ‘Pilot says he’ll be ready for take-off in about twenty minutes.’
‘Thank you.’ Mitzi turns back to Dalton. ‘Come on, George; you and I both know you killed Deagan and hid his body and vehicle somewhere. Today of all days, save me the dance.’
Dalton glances at the ambassador, who gives him a telling nod.
Finally, he opens up. ‘I tailed a brown SUV from the antiques store where the owner died. Deagan and another man pulled up a couple of miles away. They both went into the woods, but only Deagan came out. I followed him to the diner. He went in and ate. When he came out I asked him to return our property.’
‘Asked?’
‘Yes, asked. He could have given it me and nothing would have happened. He went crazy, pulled a knife and we fought. I got stabbed, he got killed.’
‘And the body and the vehicle?’
‘Must have got moved.’
She smiles in disbelief. ‘You were doing well with the openness and honesty, until then.’
Owain steps into the conversation. ‘From what I told you yesterday, you can imagine why we wouldn’t want to be caught up in a homicide investigation. It’s imperative that George’s admission – and everything else I confided in you – stays between us.’
‘I’m sorry, Sir Owain. My job isn’t to keep secrets, it’s to disclose them.’
‘I really hope you don’t do that.’ He glances at his watch. ‘We should get you down to the helipad; the pilot will be about ready.’
Mitzi’s cell phone rings.
Her heart jumps. The display says: ‘Number withheld’.
She presses the accept button. ‘Mitzi Fallon.’
The voice is electronically distorted and chillingly slow. ‘Which of your daughters do you love most?’
The words make her light-headed. She sits on the back of a leather sofa to steady herself. ‘What do you want?’
‘The codex. If I don’t have it within twenty-four hours, I’m going to kill one of them. You can choose.’
124
FBI HQ, SAN FRANCISCO
CARDT, the FBI’s Child Abducted Rapid Deployment Team, has an office two floors below HRU. Donovan rings unit boss Bob Beam, fills him in and says she’s on her way down with one of her lieutenants.
Within five minutes, she and Eleonora Fracci are sat in a briefing room.
Beam is late forties and looks like a college prof in his leather patched brown blazer and square-framed spectacles.
With him are two contrasting colleagues: a tall, broad man with black, soldierly hair and a petite, blonde woman in a grey business suit. He introduces them as they pull up chairs around the small table in the glass-walled room. ‘This is Damon Spinks. He’ll lead the operational side of any recovery we get to stage. And this is Helena Banks; she’s our psychologist and negotiator. She can talk the devil into singing in a church choir.’
Donovan reciprocates. ‘My colleague here is Eleonora Fracci, one of our lead investigators. She works alongside Mitzi Fallon and I want her to be the link on this – to you,
me and any other agencies we include.’
Beam writes her name at the bottom of the notes he made when the AD called him. ‘Right now, everyone’s in what we call the sit-and-shit mode. It’s the most unnerving phase there is. Given the warning that the kidnappers left, we can’t get a full team to the house the girls were taken from because the unsubs might be watching.’
Spinks jumps in to give a little reassurance. ‘I’ve got an unmarked surveillance helicopter flying high and sweeping surrounding areas. We’re also asking for real-time satellite access and rollback replays, but we’ll be lucky to get them.’
Donovan blows a sigh. ‘What about traces on the house landline and family cell phone numbers?’
‘Those we can get,’ says Beam. ‘You know the game, though. The kidnappers will use burners and ditch them straight after a call.’
‘Worth a shot.’
‘Always.’ He rolls the pen across his fingers as he thinks. ‘And you figure the girls might have been taken because of this case their mom’s working?’
‘That’s right. She’s handling two homicides connected to an old cross and a memory stick taken from an antiques store near Washington DC.’
Beam makes notes. ‘What’s on the stick?’
‘Coded information.’
He looks interested. ‘As in spies?’
Donovan shakes her head. ‘We don’t think so. Seems to be something else. Fallon didn’t go into great detail.’
‘Then she needs to.’ He looks at Eleonora. ‘Can you call her and get the full picture for me?’
‘Si.’ She dips into her voluminous Fendi bag and produces a clutter of photograph frames. ‘I took these from her desk. I thought you’d need photographs of the girls.’
‘Thanks.’ He takes them and carefully lays them on the table. ‘Nice kids. I hope we can keep them that way.’
Helena, the psychologist, picks up one showing the girls with their mom at Disney. They’re all wearing mouse ears. ‘Can you tell me something about the family? It would be good to get an idea of how the girls might be acting right now.’
‘Not sure how much we can help,’ answers Donovan. ‘Fallon’s new to the unit. Came from LAPD Homicide after a messy divorce and brought the kids with her.’
‘Their father is a bum,’ adds Eleonora.
They all give her a look that demands further detail.
‘I checked on her a little. He used to beat her. One day she beat him back, called the cops and filed for divorce.’
‘Good for her,’ says Helena.
‘She’s a tough cookie,’ adds Donovan. ‘That’s part of why I wanted her on this unit.’
‘She’ll need to be,’ says Helena. ‘Her girls, too. Let’s hope some of Mom’s survival instinct has rubbed off on them.’
Beam is examining a seaside shot of a younger Mitzi carrying twin toddlers, one on each arm, into the sea. ‘Any chance of Fallon trying to solve this on her own?’
Donovan thinks out loud. ‘She called it in straight away. Means she’s trying to do things by the book; she wants us involved.’
The psychologist smiles sceptically. ‘Make no mistake – a mother will do anything to save her kids. And one like Fallon will only go by the book as long as she believes the book is worth it. After that, then there isn’t a line she won’t cross.’
125
CAERGWYN CASTLE, WALES
Mitzi hangs up.
Owain and George Dalton stare expectantly at her.
She’s almost in a trance as she talks. ‘I have to hand over the codex within twenty-four hours or they’ll kill one of my girls.’ She almost breaks down. ‘But hey, I get to choose.’
The ambassador guides her to a nearby sofa. He knows there’s no point lying about the dilemma she’s in. ‘What you decide to do now is critical. Unfortunately, as you have two daughters, they will, if necessary, kill one of them, to increase their leverage.’
Mitzi stares at her hands. It’s a long time since she’s seen them shake. She looks up at the tall Welshman. ‘Once these sons of bitches have got what they want, they’re most likely going to kill them both, aren’t they?’
He knows she’s right. ‘What instructions did they give you?’
‘Said again not to phone the cops. I’m gonna get a call within the hour telling me where to go. I told them I was in England and they said they knew that. Then they hung up.’
‘You said England?’
‘Yeah. Why?’
‘You’re not in England. You’re in Wales. It means they know you crossed the Atlantic and came to London, but not that you came out here to see me.’
‘Or,’ adds Dalton, ‘it means they don’t know they are separate countries.’
Owain sees tension on Mitzi’s face. ‘I’ll stand down the helicopter. Given the developments, you’re better off here than anywhere. Certainly, there’s no point flying you back to the US.’
‘I’m not sure about that.’ She becomes visibly more nervous. ‘I want to be as close to the girls as possible.’
‘I understand. But what if by travelling you miss vital contact with the kidnappers?’
She sees his point. ‘I don’t know. I’m not thinking straight. Give me a minute.’
‘What are you going to do about the FBI? Are you going to tell them about this call?’
‘I have to.’
‘Keep in mind that we’re better placed to help than they are. If they make one slip, then you know this gang will kill your daughters and flee.’
Mitzi chews a nail. ‘The bureau have a standard trace on my phone. They’ll have picked up that I received a call.’
‘They haven’t. There’s a communication shield around the castle. It makes it impossible for anyone to track your location or listen in.’
A thought hits her. ‘Were you? Were you recording and tracking that call?’
‘We were, but the kidnapper’s location is masked. There are anti-trace software programs that make it look like calls are coming from hundreds of miles away from where they are made. We can break it down, but it’ll take time.’
She looks desperate. ‘I don’t have time.’ Her phone rings. She looks down and sees that it’s Donovan’s direct line. ‘This is my boss. I have to take it.’
‘It’s up to you.’ He touches her arm. ‘You have to decide whether to trust the FBI, who’ve been dealing with kidnappers for decades – or us – an organization that’s been doing such things for thousands of years.’
126
FBI HQ, SAN FRANCISCO
Sandra Donovan explains that she’s with Fracci and is putting her on speakerphone.
‘Mitzi, it’s Eleonora.’ The Italian leans over her boss’s desk and talks into the spider-shaped conferencing unit. ‘We’re going to do everything to get your children back, I promise.’
‘I know you will. Has anyone called the local precinct?’
Donovan answers. ‘No. They’re in the dark and we’re keeping them that way. Have you fixed a flight?’
She hesitates. ‘I thought I might stay here for a while and see if the kidnappers make contact. I don’t want to be mid-air if they call. Have you got any breaks?’
‘Not yet,’ says the assistant director. ‘We’re figuring this woman who approached your sister was working with at least one man, probably more. Eleonora’s just spoken to Ruth and she said she thought she had a Californian accent.’
‘Ruthy is smart on accents; she used to be a teacher and could pick out exactly where every kid came from.’
‘We’re going to work on a sketch too. We can do a lot over a secure video link to Ruth’s home computer. It’s not as good as being there with her, but it’s close.’
The Italian leans towards the mic again. ‘We got a trace on your husband. He’d been in a bar brawl and spent the night in a cell in Oakwood. The custody sergeant knows you from way back and is about to kick him out without charge.’
Mitzi huffs in exasperation. ‘Alfie never changes. I’ll give him h
alf an hour, then call. Can you have someone look out for him?’
‘We will,’ confirms Donovan. ‘We’ve met with the Child Abduction Response Department and they need to go through your case. I’ve asked Eleonora to get the files from Vicky and bring them up to speed. I know this is tough but can you think of anyone who might bear a grudge and be behind this – guys you’ve locked up, gangs you’ve crossed?’
‘I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure this is down to whoever killed Sophie Hudson for the memory stick she took from Goldman’s store.’
‘Which you’ve still got?’
‘Yeah, I’ve got it all right.’ She can feel Owain’s eyes on her. ‘It’s in a place where no one’s gonna find it.’
‘If you’re right,’ says Donovan, ‘this stick is what you’re going to have to trade for your girls.’
‘I know. And to be clear, evidence or no evidence, if it means I get the girls, I’ll trade it in a blink.’
Eleonora senses the call’s about to wrap up. ‘Can you have Bronty call and bring me up to date?’
‘He’s not here. He’s following some religious leads on Lundy.’
‘Lundy? Where is that?’
‘Off the west coast. I’ll have Bronty contact you.’
‘No, leave it. I’ll call him. You have enough to deal with.’
‘Thanks.’ She finishes the conversation and looks around.
Dalton and Sir Owain have left the room.
In their place is the tall, thin, white-bearded man she saw in the garden.
127
LUNDY
The storm the weathermen predicted is now battering the tiny island.
Most of the thirty people who live here are holed up inside cottages in the south, but Bronty is braving the elements, in an all-too-thin waterproof borrowed from the tavern.
