The new driver kept to the seventy-mile-an-hour speed limit. On the way, they had to endure ‘are we there yet?’ three times, and Alana made her own contribution by filling her diaper and crying for the last twenty minutes of the journey.
When they got to within two miles of Shoreham Airport, Myers told the driver to stop so that she could change the baby. She did so in the back seat, and five minutes later, they pulled up outside the terminal building. Inside, the driver handed over four fake passports. The clerk checked that they matched the passenger manifest, then asked them to take a seat while the pilot readied the plane.
It was a tense fifteen minutes.
Melissa began to get bored, and Alana started crying once more. Myers fed her the formula, which kept her quiet until the pilot turned up. He made a show of checking their documents, then helped carry their bags to the Cessna waiting on the tarmac.
Myers buckled the girls in, then sat up front next to the pilot. She donned her earphones and told him to put it on intercom.
“What’s the plan?” she asked.
“Paris Orly. Someone will meet you when we land and take you to a connecting flight.”
“Okay. Let’s get this thing in the air.”
The pilot went through his pre-flight checks, then taxied to the runway. The Cessna thundered down the tarmac and gently climbed before banking left and out over the Channel.
Melissa spent the first half hour staring in fascination out of the window, but she soon got bored.
“I’m hungry.”
Myers turned in her seat. “We’ll have something to eat when we land, darling. It won’t be long.”
“You said spag bol. Can we have spag bol?”
“Sure you can.”
Myers was already sick of pampering the brat, but she had to keep her happy until they were on the jet. She couldn’t afford to have Melissa make a fuss when they transferred planes. She expected the switch to go smoothly, but a child in mid-meltdown would arouse suspicions.
“There’s a sandwich in my bag,” the pilot said. “It’s ham. She can have that.”
“Do you want a ham sandwich?” Myers asked Melissa.
“I hate ham!”
Spoiled little . . .
“I’m sorry, darling, but that’s all we have. Let’s just wait until we land, and I’ll get you that spag bol. Maybe some dessert, too. How does that sound?”
Melissa made a face and stared out the window.
Myers wanted to open the door and throw her out, but if she did, she might as well jump herself. She’d been briefed on how important it was to get the two girls to the island. Failure would be met with swift retribution.
“How long?” Myers asked over the intercom.
“Twenty-nine minutes.”
It threatened to be the longest half hour of Myers’s life. Thankfully, Melissa kept quiet and Alana refrained from producing any more toxic waste.
When they landed in Paris, the Cessna taxied to a remote part of the airport and was met by a car.
“Where are we?” Melissa asked as Myers helped her out of the Cessna.
“We had to stop at another airport, darling. This plane ran out of petrol. We have to go on a bigger one to get home.”
If there was one thing she knew about kids, it was how gullible they were. Melissa seemed to accept the explanation and she climbed into the car without complaint.
“Are we going to eat now?” the little girl asked when Myers got in the front passenger seat with Alana.
“Yes. It’s on the new plane. As soon as we get on, you can have your dinner.”
That seemed to satisfy her. She started humming the theme tune of a cartoon while she looked out the car window as it passed a number of other aircraft. “Can I watch Peppa Pig, too?”
“Of course.”
It was a short drive to the next plane, a private Boeing 737-700. The steps were already in place, and Myers let Melissa go first while she carried Alana on board. The car’s driver helped with the baggage, and an official gave their documents a cursory glance before leaving the plane.
Myers handed Alana to one of two hostesses, who put the baby in a bassinet. Melissa sat in the seat next to Myers, right next to the forward door.
The commercial version of the plane normally had 149 seats, but the cabin had been set out to the boss’s specifications, with no expense spared. There were eight soft leather seats in this section of the plane, and through a door to the rear lay three bedrooms, all with en-suite facilities. There was also a bar and kitchen, where the finest food could always be had.
“How long ’til we get there?” Myers asked the hostess, who had brought her a flute of champagne.
“We’re scheduled to arrive in Venezuela in ten hours. After we refuel, Caracas to the island will be another nine hours.”
“What island?” Melissa asked.
“None of your business, you little shit. Just shut up and don’t say a word until we get there.”
Tears welled up in the little girl’s eyes, and her bottom lip began to wobble.
“In fact, do me a favor,” Myers said to the stewardess. “Lock her in one of the bedrooms ’til we get there.”
“She should be strapped in a seat for takeoff and landing,” said the flight attendant.
“Like I give a shit. Take her there now. I don’t want to hear from her.”
The flight attendant unclipped Melissa’s seat belt and led her toward the rear of the plane. They went through a dividing door to the sleeping quarters, and Melissa was put in the smallest room. It had a double bed, shower and toilet, and a television. The stewardess ushered her inside.
“Stay in here. Don’t come out, or she’ll probably throw you off the plane.” She closed the door and went back to the main cabin. “I can’t lock it from the outside.”
“Then keep an eye on her. And if she asks for food, give her ham sandwiches, nothing else.”
Myers finished her champagne as the plane began to taxi, and once in the air she ordered the beef tenderloin and boiled potatoes.
With the brat out of the way, she was determined to enjoy the next twenty hours of luxury.
CHAPTER 21
Sarah Thompson walked gingerly from the clinic and made her way to the hospital parking lot. She paid for her parking ticket, then got in and drove toward home.
The procedure on her bladder had been less invasive than she’d imagined, but it had still been uncomfortable. They’d inserted the camera up her urethra, pumped her bladder full of solution, and had a look around to determine why she was still having pain after the UTI had apparently cleared up. It hadn’t worked. They’d found nothing to suggest a reason for the discomfort, which meant another series of tests in the coming weeks.
The only saving grace was that she now had some help around the house to take the pressure off. At first, she’d been hesitant. The idea of a stranger being in her home with her daughter had initially been a concern, but after a day with Janice, she had already seen the benefits.
Her phone rang as she drove, and Sarah clicked the hands-free button on the steering wheel.
“Hi, it’s me. Fancy meeting for lunch?”
Sarah was inclined to turn her down, but she hadn’t seen her friend Gillian for more than three months, and it would be good to catch up. She’d put her off a few times, but now she had no real excuse.
“Sure. Where do you fancy?”
Gillian mentioned the name of one of the restaurants at the Royal Albert Hall. Sarah knew it was a bit pricey, but she hadn’t treated herself in a long while.
Months, to be exact.
“Okay. I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”
Sarah hung up, then went to dial Linda’s number to let her know she’d be back late, only to realize that she’d forgotten to get it from her.
The dashboard clock said it was half past twelve. If she took an hour for lunch, she would still be back around two, as she’d told the nanny. She thought about calling Andrew a
nd asking him to look up a number for Linda, but decided to leave it. No need to disturb him about it.
This was one of the rare moments when a landline would have been a good idea, but she and Andrew had never felt the need to get one. In their previous apartment, the landline had been used solely to handle incoming telemarketing calls, a privilege she resented paying eighteen pounds a month for.
She arrived at the restaurant three minutes early, but spent ten minutes finding somewhere to park. When she finally got to the eatery, Gillian was already there.
Sarah ordered a mineral water, while Gillian asked for a half bottle of white wine.
They’d met at yoga class the year before and hit it off, though Sarah hadn’t been able to tell her what she did for a living. Apart from getting her into a whole heap of trouble, mentioning that she worked for MI5 would have invited a host of unwelcome questions. Instead, she’d stuck to her cover and told Gillian that she worked as a PA for the owner of a freight company, a story she’d chosen because it was the kind of job nobody would be interested in.
The talk at lunch inevitably turned to Alana, and Sarah explained about her infection and how it had made looking after the baby so much harder. She didn’t mention the fact that she’d hired a nanny, as that would have led to awkward questions about how she could afford such a luxury. Instead, she said a neighbor was looking after Alana until she returned.
Gillian started telling her about her boss, a lecherous old man who flirted with her on a daily basis. It was a story that came up every time they got together, and Sarah thought Gillian actually enjoyed the attention, despite constantly complaining about it.
Before Sarah realized, it was a quarter to two.
“I’m sorry, but I really have to go,” she said. “Call me next week. We can do this again.”
Sarah dashed out to find her car, then cursed the traffic all the way home.
She got to the house at ten minutes after two, and as she put the key in the lock she remembered that Linda had promised spaghetti bolognese for lunch.
She opened the door, and the silence struck her like a hammer. Normally the house was louder than a soccer stadium, but now it was deathly quiet. No cooking smell, either.
“Linda? Melissa?”
Sarah threw off her coat and ran to the kitchen. Coloring books and crayons littered the table, but there was no sign of anyone.
She ran back to the hallway and saw that Melissa’s coat was missing, as was Linda’s. Anger replaced panic. How dare Linda take the girls out when she’d explicitly told her not to? She reached into her bag for her phone, then slapped herself on the forehead when she remembered she didn’t have Linda’s number.
She dialed Andrew instead.
“Hi, hon—”
“I need a number for Linda,” Sarah blurted out. “I just got home and no one’s here and I told her not to take the girls out and I forgot to get her mobile number and I don’t know where anyone is.”
“Whoa . . . Hold on a sec and I’ll get a number for her.”
It seemed like an age before Andrew’s voice came back on the line. “I’m dialing her number on the other phone. I’m sure there’s an innocent explanation. She probably just took them to the shops or—”
“What? What is it?”
“The number went straight to voicemail. Hang on, I’ll try again.”
Sarah felt like she’d swallowed a bowling ball. Tears began to fill her eyes, and she wiped them away while she waited for her fiancé to respond.
“Same again. Stay where you are, I’m coming home.”
CHAPTER 22
When Andrew Harvey got home, he opened the door with his key and found Sarah slumped in the hallway, crying hysterically. He helped her up and led her through to the kitchen, then fetched a bottle of brandy from the liquor cabinet and poured her a small glass.
“Get that down you,” he said.
Sarah pushed the drink away and continued to weep.
“Drink it,” he insisted.
She relented and took a sip. “Where’s my daughter?”
“I don’t know. I told Veronica what happened and she got straight on to Special Branch. The police are on their way, and I’ve got Hamad working on her background as we speak. He’s also tracking her phone.”
Sarah stared at him for a long moment through bloodshot eyes. “What? You didn’t check her out this morning? You said you were going to do it first thing!”
“I . . . I started on it, but something came up and it completely slipped my mind.”
“She could be a murderer for all we know.” Her shoulders began to shudder as she wept anew. “Oh my god. I should never have let you hire her.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing like that. The agencies do background checks on the staff before they hire them. They have to, it’s the law. They wouldn’t open themselves up to a lawsuit.”
The doorbell rang, and Harvey answered it. The two men introduced themselves as Detective Chief Superintendent Wayland and Assistant Chief Constable Bennett, and Harvey asked for ID before letting them in.
He took them to the kitchen, where Sarah was trying to compose herself.
“I understand you’re concerned for your daughter’s welfare,” Wayland said.
“She’s been kidnapped,” Sarah said.
“We don’t know that,” Harvey told Wayland. “We hired a nanny yesterday and she was injured in a burglary last night. I found a replacement, Linda Myers, who started today. My fiancée Sarah had to go to a hospital appointment, and she told Linda not to take the girls out. When she got home, there was no one here.”
“Have you tried calling Miss Myers?” Bennett asked.
Sarah gave him the dirtiest of looks. “Of course we tried.”
“I called twice,” Harvey said, “but it went straight to voicemail. I was just about to call the agency to see if they have any other numbers for her.”
“You do that, Mr. Harvey. Meanwhile, I’ll have a few words with your wife.”
Harvey took himself into the living room and dialed the number for Fitch-Barron.
“Hi. My name’s Andrew Harvey, and I’d—”
“Mr. Harvey, thank you for getting back to me. This is Jeremy. We spoke a couple of days ago.”
“Yeah. Hi, Jeremy.”
“Awful business with Janice. I really hope it hasn’t put you out.”
“It may have,” Harvey replied. “I’m calling about her replacement.”
“Yes, I was hoping you might.”
“You were?”
“Yes. I think I’ve found the ideal person. Her name is Diane, and she’ll be available from tomorrow morning—”
“Wait,” Harvey interrupted. “I’m talking about Linda Myers.”
“Who? I’m afraid we don’t have anyone by that name on our books.”
“Are you sure? I called the out-of-hours team last night and they sent Myers round this morning.”
“I’ll check the call logs, but I can assure you that no one by the name of Linda Myers works for this agency. I interview and vet everyone myself, and of the twenty-two people we employ, none of them is called Linda, or Myers.”
While Jeremy double-checked his records, Harvey tried to think what might have happened. The simplest answer was that someone had intercepted his call to the agency. But who?
They would have needed extremely sophisticated equipment to pull that off, and . . .
Three letters flashed in his mind.
“I’ve checked the call logs, Mr. Harvey. We only had two calls last night. One was from Janice, explaining that she would be unavailable until further notice, and another nanny rang in to say she wouldn’t be working today because of illness.”
Harvey hung up and ran to the front door. He’d noticed a plumber’s van parked outside his neighbor’s house for the past couple of mornings. He knew the couple five doors down were having their roof converted into a loft room, but he’d thought it strange that they’d need a plumber. It was a half-noti
ced, minor detail. Now it could be vital.
The van was gone, but Harvey realized that he remembered the company name on the side of the vehicle. He called Hamad Farsi and told him to find out everything he could about Flintside Plumbers Limited when he was done tracking Myers’s cell phone.
“Hey, we just picked up a signal at McDonald’s in Kentish Town. Want me to send a couple of cars over to check it out?”
“Hang on.”
Harvey went back into the kitchen and told the two police officers about the discovery. Wayland got on his radio and ordered all available units to the location.
“Never mind, we’ve got it covered,” Harvey told Hamad.
“Flintside doesn’t exist,” his colleague replied when Harvey got back on the phone. “Nothing with Companies House or HMRC.”
His hunch had been correct, but the realization had come far too late. He left the room again. He didn’t want the cops hearing his next statement.
“This has to be the ESO,” he told Hamad quietly. “They intercepted my call to the employment agency and sent one of their people. Forget Kentish Town. That’ll be a diversion. I want a BOLO on all ports. They’ll have false papers, so go through all CCTV from the airports and check it with facial recognition.”
That was enough to get started with. He needed to think straight, and couldn’t do it with Sarah in such a state. He needed to be at the office, where he could oversee the operation.
Back in the kitchen, he leaned into Sarah and hugged her. “I’m going to find our daughter,” he said. He kissed her on the forehead and made for the door, but Sarah was on his heels.
“I’m coming with you. She’s my daughter, too.”
Harvey turned and told the police officers where they were going. He assumed they might need to send a crime scene investigator into the house to check for prints or DNA to learn the true identity of Linda Myers, so he simply asked that they make sure the place was locked up tight when they left.
He returned to the door and saw a small pair of wellington boots emblazoned with the face of Peppa Pig.
In all the commotion, he’d forgotten about Melissa.
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