The Bombmaker

by Stephen Leather

  'Martin!'

  'What?'

  'Martin, come here.'

  Martin could tell from her voice that something was wrong. He ran down the hall and up the stairs. 'What? What?' he shouted, a tight feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  He found Andy standing at the foot of the bed. He put his hand on her shoulder. She was trembling. The bed was empty. Katie had gone. He looked around the room. Nothing. He turned around and went to the bathroom. The door was open and he could see immediately that Katie wasn't there, but he pulled back the shower curtain to assure himself that she wasn't hiding there, that she wasn't playing some sort of crazy game.

  'Katie!' he called.

  'She's not here. I looked everywhere.'

  Martin fought to stay calm. Katie was a seven-year-old girl, and seven-year-old girls didn't just disappear. He knelt down and looked under the bed.

  'I did that,' said Andy, her voice quivering. 'I looked there.'

  'She has to be here somewhere,' said Martin. 'Maybe she's sleepwalking.'

  'She doesn't sleepwalk.'

  'Maybe she's started.'

  Martin straightened up. They both jumped as they heard a noise downstairs.

  'Thank God,' said Andy.

  They rushed downstairs, shouting their daughter's name. Andy went into the sitting room. A stand-up comedian was telling a joke but she couldn't follow what he was saying, her thoughts were too jumbled. She couldn't concentrate. Katie wasn't there. Andy even checked behind the sofas. Nothing. The TV laughter annoyed her and she switched the set off.

  'Katie, if you're doing this on purpose, you're in big trouble,' she shouted. Her voice echoed around the room.

  The dog came scrabbling along the carpet, pink tongue lolling from the side of his mouth.

  'It was Dermott,' said Martin. 'He was scratching at the door.'

  'She's not in the garden?'

  Martin shook his head.

  'Oh, Jesus.' Andy put her hands up to her face, her fingers splayed across her cheeks. 'This can't be happening.'

  Martin went over to her and put his arm around her shoulders. 'We don't know that anything's happened,' he said. 'There's got to be an explanation for this. She's fallen asleep somewhere, that's all.'

  'Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.'

  Martin shook her gently. 'Come on, love. Pull yourself together. Let's search the house from top to bottom. She'll be somewhere. She has to be. We'd have heard her if she'd gone out.'

  'We were watching TV,' said Andy.

  Martin closed his eyes and tried to quell the rising sense of panic that kept threatening to overwhelm him. 'It's going to be all right,' he whispered, but he could hear the doubt in his voice. He opened his eyes again. 'You check upstairs. I'll check the rooms downstairs.' Andy didn't move. He put his hands on her shoulders and moved his face up close to hers. 'Okay?'

  Andy nodded uncertainly. Her eyes were brimming with tears and Martin brushed them away. 'We'll check the house and if there's still no sign of her then we'll phone the police, okay?'

  'Police?' she repeated.

  'We'll find her,' said Martin. 'Go on, up you go. Check the bedrooms. When I've finished down here, I'll come up and check the loft.' He knew they were clutching at straws but he wanted to do something, anything other than picking up the telephone and calling the police. Calling in the police meant that their daughter was missing. Up until the moment he picked up the phone little Katie was sleepwalking or hiding, somewhere in the house. She wasn't lost. Or worse. Martin was prepared to clutch at any straw within reach before he picked up the phone and dialled 999.

  He took Andy by the hand and half led, half pulled her into the hallway. He waited until she was climbing the stairs before he went through to the study. Nothing.

  He closed the study door and went to the kitchen. He began opening all the kitchen cupboards, knowing that it was useless but wanting to check nevertheless.

  'Martin!'

  Martin's head jerked round. 'What? Have you found her?' Even as he said the words he knew that she hadn't. He dashed upstairs. Andy was walking down the landing, an envelope in one hand, a sheet of paper in the other. 'What is it?' asked Martin. 'What's happened?'

  'They've take her,' gasped Andy. 'They've taken my baby.'

  Her legs gave way beneath her and she fell. Her head smacked against the banister, smearing it with blood before she crashed to the floor and rolled on to her back, the letter still clutched in her fist.

  – «»-«»-«»The man in the passenger seat of the Ford Mondeo twisted around and lifted the corner of the tartan blanket.

  'Is she still out?' asked the driver.

  Katie lay on her back, snoring softly. 'Yeah. You think I should give her more chloroform?'

  'Nah. We're almost there.'

  'Do you think they'll have read the note yet?' He draped the blanket back over the child.

  The driver looked at the digital clock on the dashboard. 'Maybe. They'll let the dog out first, then check on her.'

  The passenger settled back in his seat. 'I'm not sure about being so close to their house.'

  'Makes no odds,' said the driver. 'Here, the North, over the water – they're not going to know where to look.'

  They drove in silence for a while. The passenger spoke first. 'What if… you know? What if they don't do what they're supposed to?'

  The driver shrugged but didn't reply.

  'Would you… you know?'

  'Would I what?'

  The passenger made a gun with his forefinger and thumb. 'Would you?'

  'It won't come to that. The threat'll be enough.'

  'Are you sure of that?'

  The driver threw him a quick' look. 'Are you having second thoughts, Mick?'

  'No, but

  'There can't be any buts. Buts are what get people killed. We've been told what we've got to do and we do it.'

  Another silence, longer this time. Again, it was the passenger who spoke first. 'George?'

  'Aye?'

  'Have you ever…?' He made the gun with his hand again. 'You know?'

  'You know I have,' said George McEvoy.

  'Nah, I mean a kid. Have you ever offed a kid?'

  McEvoy shrugged. 'Man, woman, kid. A life's a life, Mick.'

  Mick Canning nodded. He twisted around in his seat and lifted the blanket again. The little girl's mouth was wide open and a thin trickle of frothy dribble was running down her chin. Canning reached across and used a corner of the blanket to wipe the mess away.

  'Stop fiddling with her,' said McEvoy tersely. 'You don't want to get too attached.'

  Canning frowned and did as he was told.

  – «»-«»-«»Andy opened her eyes and blinked. For a second or two she thought she'd been asleep, and then the horror of it all came rushing back and broke over her like an icy wave. Martin was dabbing at her forehead with a damp cloth. 'Easy, love, you had a nasty fall.' Andy tried to sit up, but as she did so her head swam and she felt consciousness slip away again. Martin helped her lie back on the sofa. 'Take it easy,' he said, pressing the cloth to the bridge of her nose.

  'What happened?' she asked.

  'You fainted.'

  Andy took several deep breaths, trying to gather her thoughts. She'd been in Katie's bedroom. The letter. Oh my God, the letter. She pushed Martin away and forced herself up. 'The letter,' she whispered.

  'I've got it,' said Martin.

  Andy held out her hand. 'Give it to me.'

  Martin gave her the sheet of paper and she read it quickly, even though she could remember it word for word.

  ANDREA HAYES

  WE HAVE YOUR DAUGHTER. SHE WILL NOT BE HARMED IF YOU DO EXACTLY AS WE SAY. YOU ARE TO TAKE FLIGHT EI 172 TO LONDON TOMORROW. A ROOM HAS BEEN BOOKED IN YOUR NAME AT THE STRAND PALACE HOTEL. WAIT THERE FOR FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS. IF YOU CONTACT THE POLICE YOU WILL NEVER SEE YOUR DAUGHTER AGAIN. YOUR HUSBAND IS TO CARRY ON HIS NORMAL ROUTINE. YOU WILL BOTH BE WATCHED. IF WE BELIEVE YOU HAVE CONTACTED THE POLICE YOUR DAUGHTER WILL
DIE.

  Andy blinked away tears. 'Why?' she asked. 'Why us?'

  Martin took the letter from her. It was typed, all capital letters. It looked as if it had been done on a laser printer. The same typeface was on the envelope. Just two words there. ANDREA HAYES.

  Martin read the letter again. 'It doesn't say how much,' he said.

  'What?'

  'It doesn't say how much they want us to pay.' Martin ran his hand through his hair, frowning. 'What sort of ransom demand doesn't mention money?'

  'Maybe they'll phone,' said Andy.

  'But then why do they want you to go to London? Our money's here, in Ireland. Everything we own is here. If they want paying in London we'd have to fly over with the money. This doesn't make sense.'

  'Sense? Why should it make sense? They've kidnapped Katie, they came into our house and took her, why should anything they do make sense?' She could hear the hysteria in her voice and she fought to stay calm.

  Martin took her hands in his. 'Don't worry, love. We'll get this sorted. We'll get Katie back. I promise.'

  'You can't promise something like that, Martin.'

  Martin shook his head. 'They've obviously planned this, Andy. They've thought it all out. They knew where Katie was, they knew where we were. They had the note ready. They've got the hotel room booked in London. It's all been well planned. Kidnapping is a straightforward business transaction. That's what I'm good at, business. We give them money. They give us Katie. That's business. There's no profit in either side trying to screw things up. Okay?'

  Andy nodded. What he was saying made sense. It was horrible, it was frightening, but it was logical. It wasn't a pervert who'd stolen her child, it wasn't a sex killer or a paedophile, it was a kidnapper. It wasn't about sexual thrills or sadism, it was about money, and she could just about cope with that. 'What do we do?' she asked.

  'We do what they say in the note. You go to London and I guess they'll contact you there to tell you how much they want.'

  'Why us, Martin? Why us? We're not rich.'

  'We're not short of money, Andy. There are plenty of scumbags out there who'd class us as wealthy. They don't take mortgages and loans and overdrafts into account. They see a couple of new cars and a four-bedroomed house and they think we're rolling in it.' He stood up and went into the kitchen, returning a short while later with two tumblers of whisky. He gave one to her. 'Drink this,' he said.

  She swallowed the whisky in two gulps. Martin sat down and read the letter again. He sipped his own whisky thoughtfully. 'I don't understand why they haven't said how much they want. There are things that have to be arranged. We've got to get the money together, they've got to take the money from us. That's all got to be sorted out, and until they tell us what their demands are, there's nothing we can do.'

  'We do have the money, don't we?' asked Andy.

  Martin stroked her hair and brushed several stray strands away from her face. 'Whatever it takes, we'll get it. I can increase the mortgage, there's cash in the business, we've got friends. It'll be all right.'

  Andy nodded through her tears, desperately wanting to believe him.

  – «»-«»-«»Egan took off his headphones and leaned back in his chair. He stretched his arms up above his head and rolled his head from side to side, trying to ease the tension in his neck. On the desk in front of him were five digital tape recorders, each linked to radio receivers, one for each of the five listening devices in the Hayes house.

  He'd planted the devices three weeks earlier while Andrea Hayes had been out walking her dog. There was one in the smoke detector in the upstairs hallway, one in the phone in the master bedroom, another in the phone in the sitting room. A fourth device was in an electric socket in the downstairs hall and a fifth in a light fitting in the kitchen. They gave him virtually complete coverage of the house.

  Egan stood up and went through to the kitchen where he poured himself a mug of black coffee. The studio apartment was in a block just a half-mile away from the Hayes house and he'd rented it for a full twelve months, even though he only expected to be using it for another week. Once the Hayes woman was in place, Egan planned to fly to London to oversee the final phase of the operation. He took his mug back into the sitting room and sat down at the desk. So far everything had gone to plan. Martin and Andrea Hayes were reacting exactly as he'd anticipated.

  George McEvoy drove the Mondeo down the rutted track that led to the cottage. The car bucked and swayed and they slowed to a walking pace. The single-storey building was in darkness, and he put the headlights on full beam. 'Home sweet home,' he muttered. 'How is she?'

  Mick Canning leaned over and lifted the tartan blanket. Katie was still fast asleep. 'Out like a light,' he said.

  McEvoy drove around the back of the cottage and parked by the side of a wooden garage. He climbed out and unlocked the back door of the cottage and switched on a light before waving at Canning to carry the girl in. The nearest house was a hundred yards away and they weren't overlooked at the back.

  Canning gathered up Katie, still covered with the blanket, and took her through the kitchen to a white-painted hallway. A wooden door warped with age opened on to a flight of concrete steps that went down into the basement. The underground room had been sparsely furnished with a small camp bed, two wooden chairs and a small Formica-covered table. On the floor was a wool rug that had originally been in front of the fireplace in the sitting room, and in one corner was a bucket, covered with a towel. Canning placed Katie on the bed, then turned her so that she was lying on her side. Still asleep, Katie murmured and put her thumb in her mouth. Canning gently took her thumb out.

  'You all right, Mick?' asked McEvoy. He was standing at the door, looking down into the basement, an expression of barely concealed contempt on his face.

  'Yeah, no problem. Do you think we should be with her when she wakes up? She'll be scared, she might start yelling.'

  'No one'll hear her,' said McEvoy.

  Canning went up the stairs. 'Do you think we should leave the light on?' he asked.

  'For fuck's sake, this isn't a hotel,' snapped McEvoy. He closed the door and slid the bolts across.

  DAY TWO

  Martin Hayes awoke with a start. It took him a few seconds to realise where he was. He was in the sitting room, sprawled on the sofa. He rubbed his face. He was exhausted. How long had he been asleep? He looked at his watch. It was just after seven. 'Andy?' No answer.

  He stood up and his knees cracked. He felt stiff and his shoulders ached. He didn't remember coming down to the sitting room. He'd been upstairs with Andy, lying on their bed, propped up with pillows, hoping that the phone would ring. Martin went upstairs. Their bedroom was empty. Martin was still half asleep. Part of him didn't want to wake up, didn't want to accept the reality of his situation. At least when he was asleep he didn't have to think about Katie and what she was going through. Martin just wanted it all to be over, for the kidnappers to tell him how much they wanted and for them to give him back his little girl.

  Andy wasn't in the bathroom, either. The door to Katie's room was closed, and even before Martin pushed it open he knew that he'd find his wife sitting on their daughter's bed. She didn't look up as he went over to her. She was clutching a pillow to her chest and was resting her chin on top of it, her eyes closed. Martin sat down next to her.

  'They've taken Garfield,' she said.

  'What?'

  'Garfield. They've kidnapped Garfield, too.'

  Andy kept her eyes closed. Tears glistened on her cheeks. Martin looked around the room. Katie's collection of soft toys lined the shelves on the wall that faced the end of the bed, and others were crammed on to the windowsill. Martin knew that Katie had given them all names, but he knew only a few of them. Bunny. Babe. Foxy. Wilkinson the badger. Andy was right. There was no Garfield, and Garfield was the favourite of late – he was the one she cuddled when she went to sleep. There were two gaps on the windowsill, too, but he wasn't able to remember which toys, if any, were
missing.

  Martin knelt down beside the single bed and peered under it. No Garfield.

  'There's a teddy bear missing, too. The one my father got her two Christmasses ago. And the monkey. The one we got at Regent's Park Zoo. In April. The one with the silly grin and the banana.' Andy's voice was flat and emotionless.

  'That's a good sign, Andy,' said Martin.

  She looked up at him and opened her eyes. They were as devoid of emotion as her voice. 'A good sign?' she repeated.

  He sat down on the bed and put his arm around her. 'They wouldn't have taken her toys if they were going to hurt her,' he said. 'They want her to be happy so they took along some toys. Trust me, it's a good sign. We'll have her back soon.'

  She nodded but her eyes were still vacant. She was in shock, Martin realised. 'Come on downstairs, you need a cup of tea,' he said.

  Andy nodded. 'I guess,' she said, but she made no move to stand up.

  – «»-«»-«»Mick Canning was breaking eggs into a frying pan when Katie started shouting and banging on the basement door. 'Help!' she yelled. 'Let me out!' George McEvoy looked up from his copy of the Irish Times and scowled at the door. 'Her ladyship's awake,' he said.

  'I'll see to her,' said Canning, handing a spatula to McEvoy. 'You look after the eggs, yeah?'

  'Don't forget your…'

  'Balaclava, yeah, I know,' interrupted Canning. He picked up his rucksack and went down the hall. From the pocket of his track-suit top he pulled out a rolled-up ski mask and put it on before unbolting the door. 'Katie, stand away from the door,' he said.

  There was a short silence. 'Who is that? I want my mummy.'

  'Your mummy's not here, Katie. I'm a friend of hers. Look, I'm opening the door now, be careful.'

  Katie was standing four steps down, staring wide-eyed up at Canning. The basement was in darkness. Canning unfastened the neck of the rucksack and took out the Garfield toy. 'I brought this for you,' he said, holding it out to her.

  She looked at the soft toy, then back at him. 'I want to go home,' she said.