Cry of the Needle

by Radford, Roger

  He apologised again, and helped her into the recliner.

  She peered deeply into the cold azure of his eyes and tried to fathom what lay behind them. Who really was this man who could combine tenderness with such suspicion? Her attention was suddenly distracted by a short wiry figure descending the stairs into the open plan kitchen-diner.

  ‘Sean Callaghan,’ Kelly explained. ‘A true friend.’

  Callaghan nodded. ‘Pleased to meet you, Countess. Kieran told me you were beautiful, and it’s no exaggeration, to be sure.’

  Magda felt herself blush. She could never handle compliments well. It was always as if people had to say something positive when confronted by a cripple in a wheelchair.

  ‘Magda’s here to try to change our minds, Sean,’ Kelly said. ‘Knowing me as you do, do you think there’s a chance?’

  ‘I’d say there’s more chance of the health secretary becoming leader of the free world. Which reminds me, I’m late with his lunch.’ Ever tactful, Callaghan picked up a plate of ham sandwiches in the kitchen and began making his way up the stairs.

  ‘Toss me your mobile, Sean,’ said Kelly, ‘mine’s had a bit of an accident. Not as robust as the old ones.’

  Magda turned her head back towards her lover just as he caught the phone. ‘I’m not leaving here unless you give yourself up,’ she said firmly.

  ‘Why should I give myself up, Magda, when the Government hasn’t agreed to even one of my conditions?’

  ‘Public opinion is on your side.’

  ‘Public opinion is fickle. If I give up now, everyone will have forgotten this inside a week.’

  ‘No, Kieran, the whole world is discussing invasive spinal procedures. You’ve set in motion a train that can’t be stopped.’

  Kelly began pacing up and down in front of her. ‘Those bastards’ll derail it at the first opportunity, you know that. I’ve never trusted the authorities my whole life and I don’t see any reason to start now.’ He suddenly stopped, pulled up a chair and sat facing her. His voice softened as he once more took her elegant pale hands in his. ‘Anyway, what about all the people like you who deserve compensation?’

  ‘I’m not looking for money, Kieran. I just want justice and mercy, not malice.’

  ‘But can’t you see that justice is what this is all about?’

  ‘Not this way, Kieran. Too many people are hurting already, not least the families of those three men you are holding.’

  ‘I can see the pain in your eyes, Magda. I wish I could take your pain.’

  The Countess looked squarely at the man she loved. What could he or anyone else understand of the terrors of her illness? ‘Don’t say that,’ she said in almost a whisper. ‘Don’t ever say that again.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ he said genuinely.

  ‘It’s condescending. The easiest thing in the world is for a healthy person to say they want to take on the suffering of a loved one. You can’t experience my nightmare unless your spine is injected with toxic material. That’s something neither of us are likely to agree to, however much you might love me. No, I don’t want anyone sharing my pain, thank you.’

  The Irishman released his right hand from hers and caressed her long blonde hair. She was truly extraordinary. ‘Look, Magda,’ he said softly, ‘I can’t give this thing up. I must win.’

  ‘So if you don’t get your way, you’ll kill another man,’ she said resignedly, ‘then another, then maybe even me.’

  ‘Never you.’

  ‘Auch das Schöne muss sterben,’ she said, smiling wanly. ‘It’s a phrase by Schiller. Even the most beautiful must die.’

  ‘I haven’t killed anyone, anyway.’

  ‘But the shot?’

  ‘I was pretending. That was just to see if I could wake them up a bit.’

  ‘Kieran,’ she said, shaking her head slowly in disbelief, ‘you have enough weapons to destroy an army, and I don’t think they’re here for nothing.’

  ‘I’ll use them only if they attack.’

  ‘They will if you don’t make some kind of gesture. Let one of the hostages go. Professor Tring is on our side, him at least.’

  The Irishman shook his head gravely. ‘I couldn’t let any of them go. It would show weakness.’

  The Countess sensed that it was hopeless arguing with him. ‘You’re a stubborn man, Kieran Kelly,’ she said sternly, ‘and the definition of stubbornness is stupidity.’

  ‘There’s something else, Magda,’ the Irishman said, ignoring her barb. She looked at him quizzically. What other surprises could there be?

  ‘I can’t let you go back to the police,’ he said flatly.

  ‘You’re frightened I might tell them too much?’

  ‘They have their ways.’

  ‘Don’t be a Männchen, a little man, Kieran Kelly,’ she said with rare bitterness. ‘I had no intention of leaving here without you.’

  Kelly nodded in acknowledgement of her devotion. He knew at that moment that whatever the outcome, he did not deserve this woman. In normal times, he could have allowed her to replace his darling Teresa. But these were not normal times, and the fires of revenge still burned too deeply to allow him the luxury of another woman’s love. He needed her opprobrium, if only because it helped prevent him from falling totally under her spell. He had to maintain a distance between them lest it impair his ability to achieve his aims. He also knew that despite the danger to which he was submitting her, he must do all he could to ensure her safety in the event of an attack.

  ‘You’ll sleep in my bed here in the lounge,’ he said pointing to a divan in the far corner.

  ‘And you?’

  ‘I’ll use the recliner. It’s just as comfortable.’

  The Countess nodded resignedly. ‘I’ve only got one favour to ask of you, Kieran. I want to meet Jonathan Tring.’

  ‘Fraternising with the enemy?’

  ‘Will you agree, or won’t you?’

  Kelly hesitated. He stroked his chin pensively, then, ‘Why not. You’ll have a captive audience, if you’ll pardon the pun. Can you make the stairs?’

  She looked at the staircase leading to the landing. The ceilings in the cottage were low, so there weren’t that many stairs to negotiate. She would use the banister for support. ‘I can manage,’ she said.

  ‘Second room on the right. You’ll find a chair in there. He’s chained up, but he’s being well looked after.’

  Kelly helped her rise from the recliner, her heady scent once more threatening to undermine his false coldness towards her. He watched her climb the stairs, knowing that each step was filled with pain. For the first time since the conception of his plan, he felt almost paralysed by self-doubt. He lowered his gaze and rubbed his eyes vigorously. He stared ahead at the whitewashed wall. He thought he could see a vision of Edvard Munch’s The Scream, only the ghost-like figure had long red hair.

  Teresa was still with him, guiding his every move. With renewed determination he picked up Callaghan’s mobile and dialled. The Irishman took small comfort from having to inform the negotiator that his ploy had failed.

  ‘A visitor for you,’ said Sean Callaghan, helping Magda von Esterhazy into Tring’s room.

  The scientist gasped in surprise when he saw her, not because he didn’t know she was in the building – the running commentary on the TV saw to that – but because Kelly had allowed her to speak to him. ‘I apologise for the lack of salubrious surroundings, Countess,’ he said staring up from the mattress. ‘It’s probably not what you’re used to.’ He pressed the silence button on his TV remote control.

  ‘Don’t be fooled by the title, Professor,’ she said with a nervous smile. ‘The Austro-Hungarian aristocracy doesn’t have much kudos nowadays. Anyway, I see that Kelly has allowed you to keep abreast of the news as it happens.’

  ‘The media’s having a field day,’ he said grimly. ‘There seems to be nothing like adding a touch of glamour to a drama.’

  ‘There’s nothing glamorous about being a crip
ple, Professor,’ she said without rancour.

  Tring lowered his head. Even if he was not directly responsible, his company had produced a drug that had caused chronic suffering like hers.

  Sensing his discomfort, Magda was quick to reassure him. ‘I wanted to thank you personally,’ she said. ‘It took great courage to do what you did.’

  ‘Anyone in my position would have done the same, Countess – and you can call me Jonathan by the way.’

  ‘That’s not true. For every man willing to do what you did, there are many others who compound injustice by their silence. There is a tendency to condemn, how you say, whistleblowers, rather than praise them. In German we call it Zivilcourage. To have the courage of one’s convictions and to express them without fear.’

  ‘Then you have Zivilcourage, too, Countess.’

  ‘Call me Magda, please.’

  ‘Our situation doesn’t look good, does it Magda?’ he said, looking at her squarely. She was more beautiful in person than in the TV footage.

  She laughed nervously. ‘Immer schlimmer. From bad to worse.’

  ‘He won’t listen to you, will he?’

  ‘No, I’m afraid not.’

  ‘He’s mad, you know.’

  ‘He’s not mad, Jonathan,’ Magda said, shaking her head. ‘It’s just that he sees everything in black and white. Anybody who is not for him is against him, that sort of thing. In some societies revenge is the most powerful of motives.’ She looked at him sadly. It was horrible to see a man in chains.

  ‘Don’t worry about these,’ he smiled knowingly, ‘I’ve got used to them. I’ve been treated very well. I must be the only hostage who has his own butler.’

  ‘Yes, Callaghan seems a nice man, but I think he would do anything Kieran asks of him.’

  ‘You must know that he won’t let you go, now that you’re here.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ she said with a sigh, ‘I’m here, as you English say, for the duration. For what it’s worth –’ She hesitated, debating with herself whether to tell him. ‘For what it’s worth, I asked him to let you go. I told him you didn’t deserve to be involved in this; that you were on our side.’

  ‘You’re really in love with him, aren’t you, Magda?’ said Tring baldly.

  ‘Yes, I suppose I am.’

  The scientist could sense her hurt. He thought there wouldn’t be much mileage in their relationship, even if the whole affair ended without bloodshed, but he kept silent. There seemed little point in compounding her sadness. ‘I have a favour to ask of you,’ he said at length. ‘If I don’t make it out of here in one piece, I want you to tell Fiona I loved her more than anything in the world.’

  ‘Please don’t speak like that,’ she said, her heartbeat quickening with fear. ‘The Government will see sense. They won’t endanger our lives by doing anything stupid.’

  ‘Kelly thinks all governments are stupid,’ said the professor, stroking his five-day-old stubble. ‘And he’s probably right.’ Just as he finished the sentence, it occurred to him that however devoted the Countess might be to her lover, her rare altruism might be put to his advantage. It was a long shot, he thought, but there was no harm in asking. ‘Magda,’ he said holding up his shackles, ‘is there any way you can find the keys to these?’

  CHAPTER 22

  ENDGAME

  The night was unusually tranquil for early November. A sliver of moonlight barely enhanced the outlines of the cottage and the wagon train surrounding it. For Commander Bob Simmons the night reminded him of an Arsenal home match in the seventies. It simply begged for action.

  He moved over to his chief negotiator’s bunk and shook him gently. The fat man moaned with exhaustion. It was a full minute before he regained a semblance of consciousness.

  ‘I’m sorry, Dai,’ Simmons said genuinely. ‘It’s a go.’

  The Welshman rubbed eyes that were rheumy through lack of sleep, his hangdog expression one of resignation and failure. His superiors had decided on a coordinated attack and no amount of verbal opposition on his part would make a blind bit of difference. Dai Hopkin knew that once the machinery of war swept into action, the outcome was simply a lottery. However well trained the anti-terrorist squad, the chance of everyone surviving without a scratch was minimal. The authorities had decided to replace jaw-jaw with war-war, and taking into consideration the expertise of the opposition, he believed that casualties were inevitable.

  ‘The MAR is showing no movement in the cottage,’ Simmons went on. ‘Whichever one is on guard, he hasn’t moved for half an hour. Let’s hope he’s fallen asleep.’

  ‘I hope you lot aren’t planning a frontal, boyo,’ the Welshman said apprehensively. ‘You know he’s probably mined the whole area.’ Up until now, all details of any planned action had been kept from him because a negotiator, if he knew too much, might let something slip to a hostage taker. Now it just didn’t matter anymore.

  ‘Choppers, Dai,’ Simmons said bluntly. The fat man deserved to know everything. ‘There’s a skylight.’

  The Welshman whistled. ‘Jesus, that’s risky. Can I have a look at the sketch?’

  Simmons handed his colleague the drawing that was reproduced for every member of the attack squad. The sketch showed possible concealment points such as fences, bushes and corners. Each of the four sides of the cottage was colour coded with numbers for each storey, door and window, from left to right and from top to bottom. By using the top-down method, everyone would remain consistent about which level was under discussion at any particular time. Each window and door had been labelled as to type, and the owner of Rosedale had given the police a full description of the interior.

  ‘What about our snipers?’ Hopkin asked.

  ‘Purely diversionary, mate.’

  They both knew that the sniper usually had myriad responsibilities at a hostage site, providing intelligence protecting innocent bystanders or preventing the escape of a dangerous hostage-taker. In this case, central command had decided to get the marksmen to open fire on the sides of the building in order to create a diversion while the special team fast-roped through the skylight. It was a high-risk strategy, but no commander could sanction the possibility of his men being blown sky-high by buried ordnance, unless there was no choice other than to mount a full frontal assault.

  The ‘Go Team’ on the ground would be activated only if it appeared that all or many of the hostages would be killed or injured if they didn’t carry out the assault immediately. The onus on the helicopter boys was enormous. Dynamic entry using speed, aggressiveness and surprise was their task and theirs alone. They would fast-rope down onto the skylight using a hands-free safety descender, and then employ a new rake and break implement that was simplicity itself. It would not only smash the window and rake the glass, but also insert distraction devices. These gizmos produced ear-splitting sound, millions of candlepower of flash and a certain amount of over pressure in the area. The combination usually disorientated the targets by causing ringing in the ears and contracting pupils. To be most effective, the device had to deployed in a darkened environment, and Simmons had taken the decision to cut electricity to the cottage just before the choppers reached their target. Main weaponry, which he prayed would not have to be used, was the Heckler and Koch MP-5 submachine gun. The H & K had recently become the weapon of choice, if only because it fired a pistol round, which would not risk over-penetration and endanger hostages as much as a rifle round. The ammunition had been treated to reduce ricochet in confined spaces. If things started to go wrong, then the dynamics would revert to the ground units. They would also move in if Kelly set off all his ordnance.

  ‘Give it to me straight, Bob,’ the Welshman grunted, ‘they’ve never done this in a real situation, have they?’

  Simmons shook his head wearily.

  ‘Plenty of scope for a fuck up then, boyo.’

  The commander nodded. He knew that even in the most professional of units, which trained constantly and maintained a ready force twenty-four sev
en, dedication and hard work might be tested in a single incident. Even many of the most successful operations resulted in the death of one or more hostages. It was essentially a no-win situation. ‘This is what they train for, Dai,’ he said quietly. ‘There has to be a first time for everything.’

  ‘And maybe a last,’ Hopkin sighed, the pessimism in his voice spreading through the command post like a grey mist. He hated himself for his negativity, but he was a man who couldn’t pretend to his colleagues. He was still convinced that Kelly had not shot anyone and that it was too soon for the Hooray Henrys to have their way.

  It was just past three in the morning when Magda von Esterhazy awoke. Her sleep had been fitful, wracked as it was both by pain and by conscience. She had foregone her usual dose of painkillers in order to remain fully compos mentis for the impossible task she had set herself. Tring had described the set of keys used for his shackles and she had seen them hanging on the wall in the kitchen. It was obvious from the size of the bunch that they included keys for the others as well. She felt she must try to set all the hostages free, although Tring would be the first. She lay on her bed with eyes still closed, imagining all sorts of scenarios, most of them ending in disaster. The whole ridiculous idea made her shiver with fear. It could never work.

  It was only when she opened her eyes fully that Magda became aware of a pink glow in the room and the stereo sound of heavy snoring. It appeared that both Kieran Kelly and Sean Callaghan had succumbed to the mental and physical exhaustion engendered by the siege. She turned her head towards the console. Kieran was lying back on the recliner, his hands clasped across his chest. On one side of the desk stood the table lamp, its pink shade spreading a kind of eerie cosiness throughout the room. On the other lay a threatening black sub-machine gun. It had what looked like a torch attached, or it might have been a telescope. She turned her gaze back towards the profile of her sleeping lover. How very handsome he looked in repose. All the moments of their intimacy seemed to flash through her mind in a kaleidoscope of colours, sounds and emotions: the first time they had made love, Bach’s violin concerto in D minor, the windswept pavilion in Westcliff where he told her he was leaving her. That decision had tormented her day and night until news of the kidnapping revealed his true reason. She was sure that he truly believed he was doing this for her and all the other sufferers; that he was their knight in shining armour. Such was Kieran’s single-mindedness that there seemed little point in attempting to disavow him of his mission. He had simply retreated into the forest of his own truth. She also knew that he would regard what she was about to attempt as the ultimate betrayal. He would never understand that she sought only to save him from himself, to rescue him from his destructive passion for revenge.