Steve spun round to face him with a grin on his face. ‘Clever girl.’
‘What?’
‘You didn’t see it?’
‘No – what?’
‘She sent you a message. Watch.’
Finn chewed a nail as Steve rewound the recording once more. What had he seen?
He shook his head. ‘Enough games. We’re running out of time. What message did you see?’
Steve smiled, replayed the tape and pointed to Kate’s knee as it bobbed up and down.
‘Tell me the one person you know who has the annoying habit of doing this when he’s wound up.’
Me.
Finn frowned, and then began to smile as the last few seconds played out.
‘She never told me she knew Morse code.’
Unknown to Kaan, Kate had just sent a message to the two hostage specialists.
Car. Garage. Space.
18
The garage owner pushed the boy away from the bench and cuffed the side of his head as he passed.
‘Keep him away from us,’ growled Yusuf. ‘He’s too nosy.’
‘I am sorry, Yusuf – he is a schoolboy – he wants to learn about everything.’
The younger man frowned.
‘What is that around your neck?’
Mustafa grinned, fingering Kate’s necklace.
‘The woman’s – she was flaunting it in front of me. It is a fine piece, is it not?’
‘Yes, it is,’ said Yusuf, and then moved forwards and tore it from the man’s neck. ‘You are an idiot! Did you not think someone might see you wearing this?’
‘I – I…’
‘Enough.’ Yusuf pushed the necklace into his shirt pocket. ‘Go – and keep an eye on your boy. Leave us.’
He watched as the older man turned and tried to ignore the weight of the woman’s necklace, the thin fabric of his shirt doing little to prevent it rubbing against his skin.
***
Kate let her head drop forward, closed her eyes and tried to ignore the sweat running between her breasts and seeping into her bra. In the distance, a car horn blared once, closely followed by another. The sun had peaked over the building some time ago and the afternoon air was lethargic, heavy with the smell of spices.
She hadn’t seen Halim today. The old man had brought her food and water instead, taking great delight in removing her necklace from within the folds of his shirt and holding it up, letting it spin in the air.
Kate had ignored the gesture. She’d seen the mess the man’s fist had made of Halim’s cheek, and she had no desire to give the man a chance to hit her – or worse. She shivered.
At the back of her mind, Finn’s voice kept reminding her that she was now in mortal danger. She’d never forgotten his last words to her after the training weekend. They were etched in her mind and, if she was honest with herself, had been the entire time she’d been working overseas.
Her head suddenly shot up. A memory – something about looking for opportunities, however small they seemed. Finn’s words echoed in her head. She frowned, and then shuffled forward to peer at the wall to which she’d been shackled.
Her fingers traced the chain which connected the metal clasp around her wrist to an iron loop fixed to the wall. She tugged at the chain, tentatively at first, then harder. It rattled, but the links remained locked together, unyielding. Kate’s hands moved to her wrist, felt around the clasp which bound it and turned it so that the hinges faced her. The smooth outside surface protected the locking mechanism. She cursed in frustration, slapped the metal surface, and fell back to the floor, exasperated.
As she sat, her eyes caught a motion on the wall. She held her breath, and then tugged hard at the chain once more. A faint smile began to form on her lips. Although the chain held tight, the metal loop in the wall moved slightly in the mortar. She dropped the chain and moved across the floor to the wall to inspect it more closely.
Kneeling, she rubbed her finger against the pale coloured mortar and was rewarded with a small cloud of dust which tumbled to the floor. Glancing over her shoulder towards the door, she repeated the process, and managed to dislodge a little more. Her smile broadened, until she peered down and noticed the cement dust which now covered the floor by her knees.
She swore, pushed herself upright and glared at the crumbs on the floor. Exhaling heavily, she tried to ignore her heart pounding between her ribs. She stepped back from the wall, then tripped over her bedding and fell onto the concrete floor. She cried out in frustration and untangled the bedding from her feet.
As she pushed it out of her way, an idea formed. Scrambling to her feet she pushed the mattress until it was flush against the wall, and then tossed the coverings back onto it.
The mortar dust now hidden, she sat down and inspected the cuts to her fingers where she’d attacked the mortar.
She peered at the metal hoop protruding from the walls and then back to the bloodied tips of her fingers. It was no good – she’d have to find some sort of tool to use, otherwise she would never loosen the iron fittings.
She gathered up the chain so it wouldn’t make a noise as she walked backwards and forwards across the room, her eyes scanning the floor.
She worked on the premise that the room had been prepared in a hurry, evidenced by the slipshod paint job on the window panes, and that there might be something lying around that she could put to use.
She worked a section of the floor at a time, resting her ankle between each. She listened to the noises in the building, ready to return to her mattress and feign innocence the moment she heard footsteps.
Luck was on her side. On her third search of the room, in the far corner beyond the door, she found what she had been looking for.
A nail, bent and rusted, had avoided being swept up by whoever had prepared the room. She stretched the chain as far as it would reach and ignored the metal clasp as it dug into the skin around her wrist as she strained her fingers towards the crude tool.
She knelt down and picked it up, a broad grin across her face, and then she scurried back to her mattress and began to scrape at the dry mortar.
Kate began on the side of the hoop which was furthest from the door, working on the premise that her handiwork wouldn’t be seen easily by someone entering the room.
Using the nail, she quickly dislodged a large chunk of the wall and kicked the dust under the mattress. She was so engrossed in her work that she didn’t hear the approach of footsteps.
Her head shot round at the sound of the bolts being drawn back from the door. She quickly pushed the nail under the mattress and sat down, her back against the wall and forced herself to calm her breathing.
She rubbed at her ankle to give herself something to focus on when Yusuf entered the room, a small bowl of stew in one hand and a fresh bottle of water in the other.
She ignored him while he set down the items in front of her, turning her head when she caught him leering at her, dreading to think what Kaan would let the man do to her once he decided she was no longer of any use to him.
She shuddered and then cursed inwardly. Yusuf had noticed her reaction and glared at her.
His eyes shifted from the door to where she sat. He seemed agitated, his movements nervous. He licked his lips as he stood, and then he stared down at her and moved his gun from shoulder to shoulder. As he moved, the scent of his sweat and unwashed body wafted across Kate, and she turned her head away.
Yusuf moved quickly, crouched down and grabbed her jaw in his fist.
‘Don’t stare at me like that.’ His lip curled, his eyes blazing.
‘I’m sorry,’ Kate whispered.
His eyes glazed, and Kate noticed the fresh pinprick on the inside of his arm. His breath, sweet and sickly, brushed her forehead.
Kate kept her gaze on him, terrified of what he would do to her if she dared to turn away.
His fingers moved down her jaw, then encircled her neck. He jerked her hard towards him, and she put up her hands, pressing
against the stained cotton of his t-shirt and straining against him.
Grease and sweat clung to her fingers, and she whimpered, feeling his hardness pressing against her.
A door slammed on the floor beneath them, and a voice carried up the stairs.
‘Yusuf! We need you down here!’
The man stepped away from her and sneered. ‘When we leave here, I shall claim you as my prize from Kaan,’ he said. ‘You will do well to fear me, woman.’
Kate closed her eyes, and then cried out as he released her, pushing her back against the wall, before he turned and left the room, cursing under his breath.
Kate waited until the door swung shut and the bolts shot back into place, and then slid her back down the wall until she was in a crouching position. She shuffled round on her feet and counted slowly to one hundred. Downstairs, she heard the low murmur of voices before a door slammed again and the building fell silent.
She finished counting, then lifted the thin mattress and extracted the rusted nail.
Moving into a crouching position, she began digging into the mortar once more.
She had no idea what Hart was doing to rescue her, but she suspected she was rapidly running out of time.
‘The only person who’s going to get you out of here is you,’ she whispered. ‘So you’d better get a move on, Kate Foster.’
19
A brief knock on the door preceded the receptionist walking into the office.
‘Mr Hart, the package from the States has just arrived in reception.’
‘Thanks.’ Hart turned to Finn as the woman left the room. ‘This is it then, isn’t it?’
‘It looks that way.’
Steve walked across the room and held out Ian’s mobile phone to him. ‘Phone the number Kate read out in her video,’ he said, handing Hart a slip of paper. ‘Keep the conversation short, and again, buy us as much time as possible.’
Finn checked his watch. ‘We’re well ahead of schedule. Suggest to him you need to check the parts, make sure they weren’t damaged during transit or something.’ He turned to Steve. ‘We need to aim for late tomorrow for the exchange if we can.’
‘Why?’ asked Ian, frowning.
‘People clock off work earlier for the weekend. It’ll be quiet so we can recce any drop-off point,’ said Finn.
Steve nodded. ‘He’s right. Are you ready?’
Hart exhaled loudly and turned his eyes towards the ceiling. ‘Yes.’ He looked at both of the men. ‘Yes, I guess I am.’
He took the phone from Steve and dialled the number, turning his back on the men, who hurried over to the communications equipment and slipped headphones over their ears.
‘Sounds like it’s being pinged off another exchange,’ said Finn.
Steve shook his head and frowned, placing a finger on his lips.
After three rings, the phone was answered.
‘Speak.’
‘The parts have arrived.’
‘Good. They are ready?’
‘I – um, no. Not quite.’ Hart ran his hand over his forehead, a bead of sweat running down his temple.
‘What do you mean?’
Hart took a deep breath. ‘I need to check them – run some tests.’ He turned to Steve, who nodded. ‘The packaging is damaged. I want to make sure the parts are okay.’
‘How long will that take?’
Finn held his hands apart and pulled them away from each other.
Hart frowned, and then nodded, understanding. ‘I can’t say. At least twenty-four hours, I should think. I’ll need to get one of my engineers here to help me, and we’ll be working through the night running diagnostics. If they are damaged, we’ll need to fix them.’
Finn mimed clapping his hands.
Hart frowned at him, and then turned his back again.
‘That is over the allocated time.’
Hart inhaled sharply. ‘It is, I know, I’m sorry – but the parts have arrived earlier than we anticipated, haven’t they?’
The silence stretched along the phone line.
Finn pushed the headphones closer to his ears, trying to ignore the sound of his heartbeat in his ears and listen through the slight hiss of static.
‘You have until six tomorrow night.’
Hart spun on his heel.
Finn punched the air and nodded.
Hart tipped his head back and closed his eyes, before calming his voice. ‘Okay, yes. I can work to that. Where do you want me to bring them?’
‘I will phone you on this number with further instructions two hours before the drop-off time. Do not lose this phone, Mr Hart. It is your only lifeline to Miss Foster.’
***
Finn pushed his sunglasses up his nose and leaned forward, his hand gripping the steering wheel, his jaw clenched.
Steve’s mobile phone vibrated on the dashboard, making both men start in their seats, before Steve answered it.
Ending the call, he turned to Finn. ‘Grab team’s in place,’ he said. ‘The school’s about to turn out for the day.’
Finn exhaled and started the car. ‘About time.’
He left the engine running and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘They’re sure the target will take this route?’
‘They followed him yesterday as soon as I told Emrah we suspected him. Best they can do.’
Finn adjusted the rear view mirror, and then looked up when Steve nudged his arm.
‘Here we go.’
A man and a boy were walking along the road towards them.
Finn frowned. If the boy was meant to be the same age as Osman Kadír, then he was small for a thirteen-year-old.
Halim shuffled along the pavement beside his father, his shoulders slumped, hands in the pockets of his school uniform trousers.
The garage owner had been identified earlier that day by Emrah’s team as Mustafa Rizman. He had been easily traced, having been implicated in a car theft racket five years earlier, where he’d been released on probation due to lack of concrete evidence.
The man was talking to the boy, hands animated while he spoke to his son. At one point, he slapped Halim behind the head, the teenager ducking out of range of a second blow. The man continued to gesticulate, while the boy continued to walk alongside him, his eyes to the ground.
‘Happy family,’ murmured Steve.
‘What happens to the boy?’
‘Emrah will get child services to sit in with him while he’s interviewed.’
‘And after that, when we charge his dad with assisting a terrorist?’
‘Don’t think about it. I expect they’ve got a good social care system which will care for him.’
As the couple drew closer, Finn’s heart began to beat rapidly. If Emrah’s team didn’t time the take-down right, all their plans were going to go south – and fast.
‘How long do you think it’ll be before they miss him?’
‘I don’t know. Couple of hours?’
‘It’s his business – do you think they’ll believe he’s done a runner?’
Steve sighed. ‘The man’s not the brightest bad guy I’ve known,’ he said. ‘I’m hoping they’ll think he’s got cold feet. Taken his son away from the danger.’
Finn tensed as a black SUV rounded the corner at the end of the road behind Mustafa and Halim.
The vehicle crawled along the road, the driver waiting until there was space to pull alongside the two pedestrians, and then picked up speed.
Finn floored the accelerator and swung the car out of its parking space. He drove straight at the man and his boy, sliding to a stop when the car mounted the pavement in front of them.
In seconds, the SUV was alongside, its side door ripped open and a team of four masked men jumped out and surrounded Mustafa and Halim.
‘Move,’ their leader said.
Finn swallowed as Halim stared at his father, his face pitiful.
‘Shit, I hate this part.’
‘Me too.’
One of the
masked men took Halim by the hand and led him into the vehicle. The boy went meekly, glancing once over his shoulder at his father who was struggling with the three remaining men.
As the leader drew out a syringe, Halim’s captor turned his head and gently pushed the teenager into the vehicle.
Mustafa slumped to the pavement with the effects of the tranquiliser, his legs buckling under him.
At a signal from the leader, the remaining two men hauled Mustafa into the SUV and the vehicle sped away.
Finn checked his watch. ‘Fifteen seconds.’
‘They’re good.’
‘Hate to think how they get the practice.’
Finn sighed, slipped the car into gear and reversed off the pavement before turning and steering the car in the direction taken by the SUV.
‘Okay, let’s see what we’ve got.’
***
Emrah led the way along a dimly-lit corridor, the pale green walls casting a sickly glow in the innards of the police station.
After dropping Steve at Hart’s offices, Finn had sped to the intelligence officer’s temporary base.
‘You can have five minutes with him,’ said Emrah over his shoulder. ‘My boss will have a heart attack if he finds out an American was interviewing a Turkish suspect.’
Finn clenched his fists as he followed the man towards the interview room. ‘Five minutes is fine,’ he lied. ‘We appreciate it.’
Emrah nodded, mollified for the present time. ‘I will be in the room as well.’
Finn shrugged. ‘No problem – I don’t speak Turkish anyway.’
The intelligence officer turned, raised an eyebrow and leaned against the door to the interview room.
‘Ready?’
‘Can we take a look first?
Emrah nodded, stepped to one side and pulled a cord. A section of material moved along the wall, revealing a window to the cell.
‘He can’t see us.’
Finn stared through the glass at Mustafa who was sitting, handcuffed to a simple wooden table, a wad of cloth held to a cut on his cheek.
Two FBI thrillers: Before Nightfall and Mistake Creek Page 12