They laughed at him.
'Twenty times,' said Deng. 'I'll get you new identities, new passports. Hong Kong passports. I can do it. Plus twenty times what he's paying you.'
They laughed even louder, and Wong laughed along with them. The front door opened and the bodyguard who'd been in the Mercedes walked into the sitting room. The Red Pole with the silenced gun shot the bodyguard twice in the chest and he dropped to the floor without a sound. The driver never came into the house. When he wasn't working, he stayed in a small flat above the garage, too far away to hear what was going on in the main building.
The two Red Poles went over to Deng. The one with the gun pulled his wife away, grabbing her by the hair and throwing her over to Wong. The other heavy pushed Deng in the chest and he staggered backwards. The heavy seized him by the lapel and spun him down into a chair, and then quickly wound the insulation tape around his legs and arms, tying him fast.
'I thought I'd run through the programme I've planned,' said Wong. 'Just so you know what's coming.' He ran a hand down Deng's wife's breasts and between her legs. She squirmed in his grasp but he tightened his grip around her throat. She was looking at Deng with pleading eyes, but he knew there was nothing he could do. Nothing he could say, either, to her, or to Wong. There were no words with which to apologise to her for the horrors that lay ahead, nothing he could say to Wong to make him change his mind. The only option was acceptance. 'I'm going to fuck your wife,' continued Wong. 'Not because it'll give me pleasure, you understand. She has the face of a pig, and her body's not much better. I can see why you're always screwing hookers whenever you go to Hong Kong.'
Deng's wife moaned in despair and Wong twisted her head around so that he could look into her tear-filled eyes. 'Oh, poor baby,' he said. 'Didn't you know? Didn't you guess? Young girls. Pretty girls. He takes them to a love hotel in Kowloon Kong. He's probably thinking about them on the rare occasions he screws you.' He grinned at Deng and released his grip on the woman and kicked her over to two of the Red Poles. They grabbed her, an arm each, supporting her because the strength had gone from her legs and she could barely stand. 'Then my men will fuck her. In any way they choose.' Deng's wife began to sob uncontrollably. The two boys were staring at their mother in horror.
Wong gestured at the large man standing at the door to the kitchen. He was big and broad-shouldered, with close-cut hair and a round, line-free face. He had thick lips which he kept licking with a square-shaped tongue. 'Cheung here, he likes boys. It's all I can do to keep him out of prison.'
Cheung laughed throatily.
'He really likes your sons,' said Wong. 'So he's going to play with your boys for a while. Then he's going to kill them.'
Cheung opened his jacket and pulled out a curved knife. He ran his finger along the edge of the blade, still chuckling.
Deng kept his eyes fixed on Wong, his face impassive. There was no point in showing any emotion. That was what Wong wanted. A reaction. Appeals for mercy. He wanted to see Deng on his hands and knees, begging for his life and the life of his family. Deng knew that any such appeals would be ignored, so he kept his teeth clamped together and waited for the end.
Deng's elder son started to cry, and the younger boy put his arm around him and tried to comfort him. Deng was suddenly immensely proud of the young boy, not yet a teenager but already behaving more like a man than he could ever have imagined.
Wong held out his hand and one of the Red Poles gave him a baseball bat. Wong swung it by his side, the end brushing against the carpet that Deng's wife had had specially woven in Bangkok, to a design of her own. She was so proud of the carpet, it was the first thing she pointed out to visitors to their home.
Wong took a couple of steps towards Deng, then smacked the bat hard against his left knee. The knee-cap cracked like dry wood and his leg felt as if it had been thrust into a fire. Deng bit down on his lower lip, fighting not to scream as tears stung his eyes. For a few seconds he thought he was going to pass out, but then the pain subsided a fraction and his mind cleared.
'Then, Deng, you thieving bastard, I'm going to beat your wife to a pulp with this bat. Every bone in her body. From her toes up. Then, when her brains are all over the carpet, I'm going to do the same to you.'
Wong grinned, waiting for a reaction, but Deng said nothing. Then Wong slapped his forehead theatrically. 'But how stupid of me,' he said, taking a mobile phone from his jacket pocket. 'There's someone who wants to talk to you first.' He tapped out a number and listened until it was answered. 'Yeah? You can start now,' he said. He held it against Deng's ear. 'Your brother,' said Wong. 'And his family.'
The screaming was terrible, more than Deng could bear, and he tried to twist his head away, but Wong kept the phone pressed to his ear. There were three gunshots in quick succession. Then another two. Then two more. Then silence. Wong took the phone away from Deng's head. 'Your brother. His wife. Their daughter.' He put the phone away, then made his hand into a gun and pointed it at his own head, mimicking the hammer with his thumb. He grinned. 'They raped your sister-in-law, and your niece. While your brother watched.'
Deng's left leg had gone numb from the knee down. Totally numb. He couldn't feel his toes, or move them. Wong slapped the baseball bat into the palm of his hand. 'Right,' he said, nodding at the Red Poles. 'Let's get started.'
One of the Red Poles began ripping the shirt off Deng's wife, while another unzipped his trousers. Deng's sons began to scream at the men to leave their mother alone. Cheung stepped forward and slapped the elder boy across the face, hard, and blood streamed from his nose. Deng looked away. There was no point in watching. He closed his eyes and tried to blot out the screams and cries of pain. His wife called out his name, but he kept his eyes firmly shut. There was nothing he could do to stop what was happening. All that lay ahead over the next few minutes, hours maybe, was acceptance. Then death.
SIX MONTHS LATER
The doorbell rang and Martin Hayes put down his copy of the Irish Times and went to answer it. It was Saturday morning and he wasn't expecting visitors. It was James FitzGerald, the Garda detective inspector. Behind him stood Sergeant John Power. It had been raining all morning and both policemen were wearing dark blue raincoats,,
'Mr Hayes,' said FitzGerald, nodding. 'Sorry to bother you.'
'What's happened?' Martin asked.
'It's about Katie,' said FitzGerald. Before he could continue, Andy appeared at her husband's shoulder.
'What's wrong?' she said.
'It's about Katie,' said Martin.
'We think we've got one of the men who kidnapped her,' said FitzGerald.
Andy reached out to hold her husband's hand. 'You're sure?' she asked.
'Well, he's denying it, but his fingerprints match some prints we found in the cottage.' He gestured at the car parked at the end of the drive. 'We'd like Katie to come to the station with us, to see if she can identify him. If that's okay with you.'
'She won't have to face him, will she?' asked Andy.
FitzGerald shook his head. 'She'll be able to see him, but he won't be able to see her.'
'I'll go and get her,' said Martin. He went down the hall and through to the kitchen, where Katie was kneeling on a stool and stirring a bowl of cake mixture with a wooden spoon.
She grinned up at him and held out the spoon, which was dripping with chocolate. 'Do you want some?' she asked.
'I'll wait until it's cooked,' he said. 'Katie, the police think they've found the man. The man who kept you in the basement.'
Katie put down the spoon and wiped a stray lock of blond hair away from her eyes with her forearm. 'Are they sure? Are they sure it's him?'
'They want you to look at him. To check they've got the right person.'
Katie frowned. 'I don't want to, Dad.'
Martin ruffled her hair. 'It'll be okay. I promise.'
He helped her climb down from the stool and held her hand as they walked to the front door, where Andy was already putting on her coat.
'I'll lock up,' she said.
She went through to the kitchen while Martin and Andy got their coats. FitzGerald smiled at the little girl. 'How are you, Katie?'
'I'm fine, thank you,' she said, buttoning up her coat.
'Thank you for helping us,' he said.
Andy came back into the hall. 'Right,' she said. 'Let's go.'
Power drove the blue Orion, with Martin and Andy sitting either side of Katie in the back. FitzGerald kept twisting around in the front passenger seat and smiling reassuringly at Katie.
Power dropped them at the front of Pearse Street Garda station and FitzGerald took them inside. Martin grimaced as they followed FitzGerald down the corridor past the interview room where he'd been grilled by the detectives the last time he'd been in the Garda station. He put his hand on Katie's shoulder and gave her a small squeeze, as much to reassure himself as to comfort her.
FitzGerald showed them into a room. Martin was relieved that it wasn't the room where he'd been held before. It was slightly larger, with no recording equipment. FitzGerald asked them to wait, and they sat down while he went back down the corridor, returning a few minutes later with a young uniformed policewoman. She introduced herself by her first name. Teresa. She was in her mid-twenties, blonde with a pretty smile. She knelt down by Katie's side and asked her if she wanted a drink. Katie shook her head.
'What about a Coke?' asked Teresa.
'Okay,' said Katie. Teresa asked FitzGerald to get the little girl a Coke, then pulled a chair up close to her and sat down.
'Do you know why you're here, Katie?' she asked.
Katie looked down at the floor and nodded.
'Good. Now, I don't want you to worry. Everything's going to be all right. We think we've got the man who took you away from your mummy and daddy, but we have to be sure. Do you understand that?'
Katie nodded again. She began swinging her legs backwards and forwards.
'What we want you to do is to look at some men and see if you can recognise the one who took you away from your mummy and daddy. There'll be eight men. We want you to look at them, all eight of them, and then tell us which one is the man who took you. Do you think you can do that for us?'
Katie scowled. 'I don't want to.'
Teresa leaned forward and put her face close to Katie's. 'Why, Katie?'
'I just don't want to.'
'There's no need to be scared, Katie. The man can't hurt you. Look at me, Katie.'
Katie slowly raised her eyes and looked at the policewoman.
'Let me tell you how it works,' said Teresa. 'There'll be a line of men, and they'll be on the other side of a window. You look through the window at them, but they can't see you. It's a special glass. You can see through it, but they can't. They just see themselves.'
'Like a mirror?'
'That's right. Just like a mirror.' FitzGerald reappeared with a can of Coke and a plastic beaker. He put them down on the table and Teresa poured some of the soft drink and handed it to Katie. 'So they won't even know you're there. Each of the men will be holding a number. All you have to do is to look at all the men very carefully. Look at them twice. Then tell me which number the man you recognise is holding. You can do that, can't you?'
'I guess so,' said Katie quietly. She took a sip of her Coke.
'If you can tell us which one it is, we can make sure he'll go to prison for a long, long time. He won't be able to do anything to you again, Katie. You'll be safe with your mummy and daddy. You do understand, don't you?'
Katie nodded.
'If we don't put this man in prison, he might do something to hurt another little girl. You wouldn't want him to hurt anyone else, would you?'
Katie put down her plastic cup. She looked at the policewoman for several seconds. 'No,' she said eventually. 'No, I wouldn't.'
'Good,' said Teresa. 'That's good, Katie. Okay, shall we go and have a look at these men?'
Katie nodded solemnly.
Teresa looked at Martin and Andy and they nodded too.
'Right,' said FitzGerald. 'It's this way.'
'You can both come,' Teresa said to Martin and Andy. 'Katie'll probably be more secure if you're with her.'
Andy took Katie's hand and they followed FitzGerald out of the interview room and along the corridor. Martin walked with Teresa. 'How's she been, since the kidnapping?' the policewoman asked.
'Fine,' said Martin. 'She saw a child psychologist for a few weeks afterwards, but there didn't appear to be any problems.'
'Perhaps she didn't realise the danger she was in.'
Martin shook his head. 'No, it wasn't that. She knew exactly what was happening. She just coped with it all, far better than we thought she would.'
FitzGerald held open a door and they all trooped in. It was a long, narrow room with a curtain running virtually the whole length of one side. FitzGerald motioned for Martin and Andy to stand with him. Teresa held out her hand to Katie and Katie took it. 'Right, Katie, let me explain what's going to happen. My friend over there' -she nodded at FitzGerald – 'is going to pull the curtain back, and you'll see the men sitting down on the other side of the window. Look at them carefully, look at every one of them at least twice, and then tell me the number of the man you recognise. There's no need to worry. They can't see you. Okay?'
'Okay,' said Katie.
'Are you ready?'
'I guess so.'
'Good girl. You're being very brave, Katie. I'm very proud of you. We all are.'
Katie looked over at her parents, and they nodded as if to encourage her. Teresa signalled to FitzGerald to draw the curtain back. He dimmed the lights first, then pulled on a cord. There was a ripping noise and the curtain parted in the middle.
There were eight men, all in their forties, sitting on wooden chairs and staring ahead blankly. They were all holding pieces of cardboard on which was printed a number, from one to eight.
'Take your time, Katie,' said Teresa.
Katie stared at the men. She walked slowly down the length of the room, gazing at their faces. The Nice Man was number five. He was wearing a black pullover and brown corduroy trousers and his hair was all messy, the way her dad's was when he'd just got out of bed. Katie walked back along the window.
'There's no rush, Katie,' said Teresa. 'Take all the time you need.'
Katie shrugged. 'He's not there.'
Teresa knelt down in front of Katie and put her hands on her shoulders. 'There's no need to be scared, Katie. He can't hurt you any more.'
Katie looked straight at the policewoman. She took a deep breath. 'He's not there.'
Teresa frowned. 'Are you sure?'
Katie nodded solemnly and made the sign of the cross over her heart. 'Cross my heart and swear to die.'
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The Bombmaker Page 37
