As Kyle stepped into the driver’s seat of the van with the motorbikes in the back, James and Mark strode briskly towards a small Renault parked around the corner. Adelaide gave a quick wave as she skimmed past in a Mini. Tom had jumped off the roof as soon as he’d seen the hostage leave and Kyle drove away with him a few seconds later.
Mark opened the back door of the Renault. He kicked off his shoes and began a quick change into a tracksuit and white canvas pumps. James stripped off his punk gear, revealing a white Nike tennis shirt with blue shorts underneath, then took a pair of white trainers out of a bag containing rackets and balls on the back seat of the car.
The clothes, shoes and sunglasses they’d used in the raid were all stuffed into a black bin liner that would be incinerated later. Mark told James to zip the handgun inside a plastic case covering a tennis racket.
James glanced at his watch again as they pulled out of the dockyard: 12:07. Thirteen minutes earlier they were masked punks waving guns around in a TV studio. Now they had different wheels and looked like a father and son heading off for a knockabout on the local courts.
32. HUMMINGBIRD
James, Mark and Adelaide’s role in the kidnapping was over, but Jo had laid down strict rules for their conduct. They’d worn disguises, but there was a chance that someone might have recognised them on TV and she wanted the trio out of the limelight until the operation was complete. She’d ordered them to hole up together in a safe house where they could keep an eye on each other. They weren’t supposed to go outside, or make any attempt to communicate with friends or family.
The Mini and the Renault arrived a few minutes apart, parking outside a terraced house in the coastal town of Whitley Bay. Each floor was a small, furnished flat. James raced upstairs to the top flat and dumped his overnight pack before rushing towards the toilet. Unfortunately the door was bolted.
‘Shan’t be a minute,’ Adelaide yelled.
Mark deadlocked the door at the bottom of the stairs before striding through to the living-room and flipping on News 24.
‘We’re the top story,’ he yelled happily.
James was torn between needing to pee and wanting to watch the news, but Adelaide was already coming out. She flicked water off her hands before grabbing James and surprising him with a hug.
‘You were bloody great, kid,’ she said, as her lips smacked his cheek. ‘Bloody great.’
‘Thanks – you weren’t bad yourself,’ James grinned, as he bolted the bathroom door.
There were towels on the rail and a grubby sliver of soap on the sink. So they were clearly borrowing someone’s home, and it wasn’t a palace.
James grabbed the piece of paper out of his pocket. He’d been driven out of the farm in the back of a van and still had no clue where it was, but Kyle was driving so he had to know where he was going. The were just four words in Kyle’s immaculate handwriting: Hummingbird Farm near Rothbury.
It was the information James had hoped for, but getting it to the outside world wasn’t going to be easy. The AFA plan called for James to stay in the flat for twenty-eight hours, when Mark would drive him to the station and put him on a train back towards Bristol. James didn’t have his mobile, the door at the bottom of the stairs was deadlocked and Mark and Adelaide both had guns.
James reckoned he’d be able to take Mark and Adelaide out and make a run for it, but he’d be putting Kyle in danger if word of his betrayal got back to Hummingbird Farm.
Once he’d peed, James went into the living-room to find the TV turned up loud. Mark and Adelaide sat on the sofa and an excitable newsreader spoke over footage from Tyneside Studios. The pictures showed the kidnapping, with TV CHEF KIDNAPPED rolling across the bottom of the screen.
Although the two camera operators on the stage floor had panicked and stopped filming, the Wendy and Otis Show’s director had remote cameras positioned around the studio and kept his show on air, cutting expertly between different angles as the drama unfolded.
‘That’s gotta hurt,’ James grinned, as he watched a replay of his mercifully unrecognisable self punching Otis Fox’s lights out.
Then the camera cut to a close-up of Gaynor, crying in her wheelchair as Mark’s gun hovered in her face. The newsreader spoke sternly over the images.
‘These pictures were taken forty minutes ago inside Tyneside Studios near Newcastle. TV chef Nick Cobb was kidnapped live on air and taken away on the back of a motorcycle at high speed. Police currently have no idea as to Cobb’s whereabouts and have mounted a search for the three kidnappers.
‘The Animal Freedom Army have claimed responsibility for the kidnapping and have issued a statement saying that they will run a live webcast with Nick Cobb, starting at one p.m.’
*
The drive from the banks of the Tyne to Hummingbird Farm took just under an hour. Two vans travelling at speed in a rural area might have raised eyebrows, so the one with Jo driving and Nick Cobb held at gunpoint moved quickly, while Kyle and Tom took the scenic route.
A stocky woman called Chase opened the gate for Kyle when they arrived. She had an assault rifle slung over her shoulder and as far as Kyle could tell, this was the only automatic weapon in the AFA’s small arsenal.
‘Take the van around the back and park beside the barn,’ Chase ordered, then she grinned. ‘Better get a move on, they’re about to start the webcast.’
Kyle’s heart was pounding as he stepped out of the van, making a point of keeping hold of the keys.
‘Excited?’ Tom smirked, as the two lads stopped by the back of the van and looked at each other.
‘Half excited, half scared,’ Kyle said uneasily.
They stepped close and kissed. Kyle’s feelings were all tangled up: Tom was great fun, he had a great body and was everything Kyle wanted in a boyfriend – apart from the difficult to ignore fact that he was one of the bad guys.
‘We should go on holiday together when this is over,’ Tom said. ‘Just you and me. I’ve got enough cash for a couple of cheap flights down to Greece and we can go camping for a couple of weeks. Do you think your mum could handle that?’
Tom’s plan made Kyle sad. There was nothing in the world he wanted to do more than bum around the Med with Tom, but it wasn’t going to happen.
‘If she won’t let me, I’ll run away with you,’ Kyle said.
‘I’ll book tickets when we get back,’ Tom said, before glancing at his watch. ‘Wanna go watch Viv’s TV debut?’
The studio lights made the dining-room unbearably hot. The ancient electrics inside the house weren’t up to the demands of all the equipment and bundles of cable ran out through the windows to a diesel generator standing on the back lawn.
Two women manned the cameras. Jay sat at a fold-out table, in front of three screens and enough buttons to launch a space shuttle. He yelled orders at a couple of teenage flunkeys who were making last-minute adjustments to the lights and microphones hanging over the tiny set.
Viv stood centre stage. Tall, young and well spoken, he looked every bit the aspiring TV presenter, except for the black Balaclava over his head. Jo handed identical Balaclavas to Kyle and Tom, before shaking their hands.
‘Keep ’em on in the studio, just in case a camera turns around and catches you,’ Jo said. ‘Bang-up job this morning, by the way.’
‘Where’s Cobb?’ Tom asked.
‘He’s in the other room. I’d prefer him not to see the set until we’re up and running. I want the camera to film his reaction when he first sees the cage.’
‘So, who can pick up this broadcast?’ Kyle asked.
‘It’s going out live over the Internet. The public site might get swamped if too many people try to download our video, but we’ve just sent all the big media organisations access codes for a high-bandwidth website, which guarantees they’ll be able to download broadcast-quality video.’
‘Can they trace our signals from the Internet back to here?’ Kyle asked.
Jo shook her head and smiled reassu
ringly. ‘Don’t worry yourselves, boys. I’ve been working on the technical side of this for over three years. We’re sending the images from here via an encrypted satellite link and then uploading them to web servers spread all over the world. There is a risk that someone will shut our servers down and stop us broadcasting, but the only way we’ll physically get caught in here is if the police followed us or someone tips them off.’
‘OK, let’s have some quiet,’ Jay yelled, ‘on air in five, four, three, two, one.’
*
‘Hello,’ Viv stuttered, tripping over his first few words as he imagined the thousands – perhaps millions – of people watching the AFA webcast. ‘Welcome to Liberation TV, broadcasting live over the Internet from …’ Viv paused for effect, ‘Well, maybe I’d better not tell you that.
‘Today’s show is brought to you by the Animal Freedom Army, who believe in ending all forms of cruelty towards living creatures and using an animal-free lifestyle to create an environmentally sustainable future for our planet.’
Jay flipped the switch and Liberation TV cut to a computer graphic:
CRUELTY FACT No 1.
Last year, 600,000,000 sheep, cows, pigs and chickens were bred to be slaughtered and fed to domestic cats and dogs.
The vegetables fed to those farm animals would have been enough to feed every malnourished child on the planet.
‘But you’re not here for facts,’ Viv said brightly, when Jay cut back to him. ‘You’re here to meet our very special guest, Mr Nick Cobb.’
Cobb was led on to the set, dressed only in a knee-length T-shirt with a picture of a rabbit on it.
‘Take a seat and let’s hear a big round of applause.’
A few dabs of applause broke out across the dining-room, as Viv and Nick sat on the trendy chairs.
‘Thank you so much for coming,’ Viv said, grinning sarcastically beneath his Balaclava. ‘What would you like us to call you? Cobb, Nick, Nicky Poos, Cobbykins?’
‘I’m not playing your games,’ Cobb said angrily. ‘I’m being held against my will and you’ll all be caught and locked up.’
The soft California twang had disappeared from Cobb’s accent and he sounded like he wanted to put up a fight.
‘Nick, you are but one man,’ Viv sneered. ‘Billions of your fellow creatures are being held in much nastier conditions than this room in farms and laboratories around the world.’
‘Give over, you pompous prig,’ Nick said dismissively.
Viv broke out laughing. ‘Cobby darling, I know you’ve been on a lot of chat shows recently talking about that dreary autobiography. One of the things that you don’t mention in your book is your Cobb Cleanse range of kitchen cleaning products. Sadly they’re not available here in the UK, but I understand they’re quite a hit across the pond.’
Nick glared defiantly at his tormentor.
‘But my friends in the Animal Freedom Army found out some interesting facts about Cobb Cleanse sink and worktop cleaner. Back in 2003, a three-year-old girl in Alabama drank some Cobb Cleanse sink and worktop cleaner. Now, it goes without saying that this made her very, very, sick.
‘Sadly, the little girl was only able to drink from the bottle because of a batch of faulty safety caps and her parents sued your company, Cobb Cleanse Inc, for sixty-six million dollars. Now, Mr Cobb, perhaps you could tell our audience what you did when you found out that you were being sued?’
Cobb didn’t answer, so Viv leaned forward in his chair and faced him off. ‘Cobby, I know you’re used to going on chat shows and having it all your own way. But it’s exceedingly boring if you don’t answer our questions and if you’re boring on Liberation TV, you might find that we decide to liven things up by shooting you.’
‘You’re a toffee-nosed little twerp,’ Cobb snarled. ‘Spoilt brats like you know nothing about the real world and to be honest, I’d sooner be shot than listen to any more of your left-wing tripe.’
The onslaught made Viv uncomfortable, but he was determined not to let Cobb get the better of him. ‘Well, Mr Cobb, hopefully the viewers at home will have a chance to see us shoot you a little later, but I’ll finish my story first.
‘You see, viewers, when Nick Cobb’s lawyers found out that the little girl’s parents were suing for all the damage to her digestive system, they decided to defend the case on the grounds that the amount of damage done by the Cobb Cleanse was being grossly exaggerated by her lawyers.
‘To prove this fact, Cobb Cleanse Inc paid Malarek Research’s US laboratory twenty-three thousand dollars to run an experiment. In the tests Nick Cobb commissioned, one hundred and eight rabbits were made to drink Cobb Cleanse sink and worktop cleaner. Once the cleaner was administered, the rabbits were left for three days while their insides slowly burned away. They weren’t even allowed a sip of water. At the end of three days, eighty-one rabbits had died from internal bleeding and the remainder were gassed. Their bodies were then cut up to examine the extent of the damage done by Cobb Cleanse.’
Jay cut to another graphic:
CRUELTY FACT No 2.
Since 1995 more than 80,000 animals have died in laboratory experiments carried out not for scientific purposes, but to provide evidence in lawsuits.
Viv shook his masked head grimly. ‘Do you know, Mr Cobb, I think that authorising those tests makes you an evil man. The Animal Freedom Army has brought you here today to avenge those one hundred and eight dead bunnies.
‘We’re going to put you in our cage and give you a nice refreshing drink of Cobb Cleanse sink and worktop cleaner. Then, we’re going to point our cameras at you and let all our viewers watch you suffer for twenty-four hours. Doesn’t that just sound absolutely yummy?’
33. NETWORK
CNN, ITN, BBC, NBC and even the business news channels showed the live feed of Nick Cobb being dragged across the set. James, Mark and Adelaide were squeezed together on a sofa in Whitley Bay, watching the story unfold.
‘This is terrorism meets reality TV and the power of the web,’ the commentator said. ‘Appalling and yet compelling in a way that makes you utterly unable to look away from the screen.’
James watched as Cobb was forced into the cage by Viv and two masked teenagers he’d met briefly the night before. Cobb’s neck was locked into a brace so that his head poked between the bars and the door was slammed shut.
‘This is exactly how they did it with the bunnies, Cobby,’ Viv explained. ‘And I’d just like to emphasise that my colleagues and I have no medical training, just like the laboratory assistants at Malarek Research.’
The cage door slammed as Viv was handed a pint glass and a bottle of Cobb Cleanse.
‘Mmm – pine fresh,’ Viv grinned, as he squeezed the viscous blue liquid into the glass. ‘Doesn’t that make your tummy growl when you look at it? Maybe the viewers at home can place bets on whether you’ll live or die? Or if you’re watching via our website, why not vote in our online poll?’
Cobb moaned desperately as Viv pinched his nostrils together to force him to breathe through his mouth, while one teenage assistant tried to prise his jaws apart and the other moved in with a feeding tube and funnel.
‘Come on, Cobby Wobbly,’ Viv said exuberantly. ‘Be a good bunny and eat all your din dins.’
The picture on the little TV blacked out for a second, before cutting to the face of a slightly startled newsreader. ‘Well, it appears that our director has cut away from those deeply disturbing scenes. But we will continue to follow this rapidly unfolding story.’
Mark flipped through all the news channels, but every news director in Britain and America had drawn the line at seeing a celebrity having a feeding tube forced down his throat.
Adelaide tutted. ‘We’re only showing a procedure that happens to thousands of lab animals every day.’
‘Can we get the Internet?’ James asked.
‘Not in this flat,’ Adelaide said. ‘There’s not even a telephone.’
James shrugged. ‘Does anyone fancy another cup
of tea?’
‘Definitely,’ Adelaide grinned.
‘Count me in,’ Mark nodded. ‘Three sugars.’
James squeezed off the middle of the couch and wandered through to the kitchen. He filled up the kettle and tried to think as he watched it boil. He realised that he’d got too wrapped up in Liberation TV and hadn’t put any serious thought into his main task: finding a way of getting the information about Hummingbird Farm to Zara without endangering Kyle.
Nobody at the farm had been in contact since they’d arrived at the flat. James figured that they were all busy making the webcast and looking after their hostage – and besides, why would they need to contact three people sitting in a safe house watching TV?
As the kettle rumbled, James realised that a couple of factors were working in his favour. First, there was no landline in the house and because mobiles can be unreliable, the crew up at Hummingbird Farm probably wouldn’t be suspicious if they couldn’t get in touch with Mark or Adelaide. Second, Kyle was a top agent. He’d given James the location of the farm and would surely be taking steps to protect himself in the event that things went wrong.
By the time James had poured the water in the teapot and grabbed the cups, he’d decided to move on Mark and Adelaide. The biggest problem was their guns. He knew Mark’s gun was still zipped up in the bag of tennis equipment, which now sat beside the nest of tables in the living-room. This meant James couldn’t get hold of it, but Mark wouldn’t be able to get his hands on it quickly either.
Adelaide’s gun was trickier. James had no clue where it was, or even if she’d taken it out the back of the motorbike. He decided to deal with her first.
As the tea brewed, James searched through the kitchen drawers and found scissors and a ball of chunky nylon string. He gave it a good tug to make sure it was strong, before slicing off half a dozen two-metre lengths. He made each length into two loops and formed a noose at the top. Next, he grabbed the tea towel off its hook and soaked it under the tap, before wringing it out, folding it into quarters and leaving it on the countertop next to the string.
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