The Girl in the Mirror

by Philip J. Gould

  George felt useless and exposed standing so close to where Sophie was about to attempt the theft of the Whisper of Persia. He glanced down at the brochure, folded over to the page that showed the diamond itself in view. He couldn’t deny that the precious stone was stunning in its cut. He still couldn’t understand why Dominic would want it so much?

  And taking his wife as leverage to get it didn’t make much sense, either. The only conclusion George count hazard was that Dominic had become unhinged.

  He wished he’d been properly prepared for this mission. He would have preferred to have had communication devices, earphones and mouthpieces so that he could know where Sophie was and what she was doing. Be able to help if ever there were any problems. Be a second pair of eyes and ears.

  Instead he had to second-guess what she was doing, where she was, and hope that she stuck to the plan and achieved the less than desired goal.

  After five minutes, ill at ease, George turned his back to the entrance of Masterpiece London Art and Antiques Fair, and started to walk along the road that headed towards the hospital exit. The only cars that seemed to use the road were the black taxis, of which nine were lined up parallel with the hospital building now falling back behind him.

  Five minutes later still, the sound which George had been waiting for, the shrill, discordant jangle of alarm bells, distant for the space between him and the exhibition hall, though sounding loud enough to warn all in and around the grounds that something bad had happened. Rather than alarm those in the vicinity, all it did was evoke curiosity. Like iron filings to a magnet, masses of people started forward to the beacon of sound, roused by the commotion. The same people would run to an erupting volcano rather than flee it. George was always astonished by how insanely senseless the majority of people were these days.

  Barely a second had passed when the screech of tyres sounded from the near distance and a moment later the first of two black transit vans followed it, turning sharply round the corner, entering into the hospital grounds sending pedestrians crossing the road sprawling to safety.

  George raised the brochure up to face level and hid behind the momentary shield, his eyes peering over the top at the passing vehicles.

  Although the van’s occupants were paying little notice to the people walking around, or to George for that matter, he was able to see into the front of the vehicles as they passed and what he saw churned his stomach.

  Men clothed in black, ocular contraptions strapped to their heads and the telltale sign of a weapon hanging over each and every passenger’s shoulder. George was under no illusion that this was anything but a response to Sophie’s attempted theft.

  But how could they get here so soon?

  George watched the two vans advance fast towards the entrance of the exhibition hall, tyres screeching further as they came to a halt just short of the start of the red carpet that led to where two attendants had barricaded the entranceway. Almost synchronised, the side doors of the transits slid open and men wearing uniform black outfits, body armour, night vision/heat seeking goggles and carrying rifles, jumped out and started forward towards the entrance. With the drivers and the two passengers from the front of each transit, there were twelve men in total.

  “It’s a setup,” George intoned. It had to be. Watching the squad of armed men enter the building and the screams of alarm descend, he felt like a General watching a battle from afar, waiting anxiously for the outcome.

  Two minutes that seemed like a lifetime passed and George watched soldiers spill out from one of the fire exits from the furthest corner of the building. The black garbed men fanned out and began pushing forward, heads turning from side-to-side, scanning, searching, their guns held ahead like metal detectors, muzzles pointed low.

  “Good girl.” George turned away and headed in the direction of Chelsea’s Embankment Gardens, heading back to their starting place, but more specifically back to the rendezvous point.

  “I got it,” was all she said when finally she appeared next to him almost an hour later. Well, appeared was not exactly correct. She was invisible still and grabbed her father’s attention by placing a hand onto his right knee and giving it a squeeze.

  He had been frantically clasping and unclasping his hands, nervously rubbing the hairs on the back of his arms and rocking back and forth like he had some sort of mental disorder. In a way, he did. He couldn’t be right in the head to allow his daughter to embark on such a fanciful scheme, regardless of what was at stake. He had thought something had gone awry, believed that his special daughter had been captured, the whole scheme just a ploy to ambush her during an elaborate and daring diamond heist.

  “Miss me?” Sophie startled him. Even with the physical contact, he hadn’t registered her presence.

  “I thought… I thought… I’d lost you,” George stammered, turning to the vacant space where he knew his daughter was now sitting.

  George heard her swallow. “Here,” softly, this was all she said in reply. He felt invisible hands prise open one of his palms. The diamond from the folded page of his brochure appeared in the centre of his hand as if by magic. Heavier than he’d imagined and the size of a kiwi fruit, it felt precious and clean, the stunningly cut multifaceted faces glinting in the late afternoon sunshine. It was more beautiful than any one could imagine.

  “I’m guessing those goons turning up wasn’t by accident?” Sophie didn’t do anything to mask the agitation in her voice. Still slightly out of breath from running, she’d quickly conquered her anxiety that had laboured inside her as she sought an escape route, replacing it with anger at the duplicity of the diamond heist.

  Still reeling from the events, George was just pleased to hear Sophie’s voice. He wrapped his hand round the large diamond and turned in her direction.

  “Thank God you’re okay.”

  Sophie took a deep breath and exhaled, calming herself. “I have to admit. It was a little exciting…” George noted the smile in her voice.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have agreed to you going in there… so stupid!”

  “Hey. It’s fine. I’m fine. We’re fine. Besides, what choice did we have?”

  “There’s always a choice, Sophie...” George looked down at his clenched hand. What had gone on? Clearly, Dominic had set them up, the theft of the diamond a refined plan aimed at getting Sophie out in the open. It was obvious the men garbed in black were pre-arranged. Who turns up wearing night/thermal vision goggles unless you expected to need them?

  But why such a scheme?

  “Here, take this. Put it somewhere safe.” George handed the diamond back to Sophie, the stone disappearing within her grasp. She would stow it in her backpack at the earliest opportunity, then somewhere safe for future use. For now, she returned it to her pocket.

  George retrieved the crumpled scrap of paper that Dominic had handed to him earlier, unfolding it to reveal the telephone number that he’d been instructed to ring on completion of the mission. His mobile appeared from deep within a trouser pocket.

  “What are you doing?” Sophie was slightly concerned. She absently placed a hand on her father’s arm, stilling him from raising the phone. “Don’t,” she said.

  “I think we need some answers.” He started to key in the number that appeared on the slip of crumpled paper. “Besides, they still have your mother…” George placed the handset to his ear listening to the ringing tone. After fifteen rings he started to doubt that it was ever going to get answered. Then, almost taking him by surprise, Dominic’s unmistakeable voice filled the void.

  “Yea, ‘ello?”

  George found that his voice had betrayed him and that he was momentarily struck dumb.

  “George? Is that you?”

  Galvanised, George responded without thought, almost spitting his words: “Why d’you set us up you son of a bitch?!”
<
br />   “George, go easy. Calm down. Remember who you are talking to here. Has it slipped your memory, I still have your wife?”

  George exhaled theatrically, closed his eyes and attempted to compose himself. An image of his traumatised wife sprung to mind. Strangely, it helped calm him.

  “It was never about the diamond, was it?”

  Dominic chuckled. “Truthfully, George? Not at first. But you know what, the more I looked at it, the more I was captivated, like. Sure, we wanted to draw the girl out in the open – what better way than to put her talent to the test – but I also fell in love with that diamond. So, for me at least it was about the diamond, but first and foremost you’ve guessed the rest right.”

  “What about my wife?”

  “She’s still alive. For today at least. All depends on whether I get what I want... whether she remains that way.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Now that’s the spirit, George. That’s the thing I like about you.” He trailed off momentarily. “Yes… quick to the punch line.”

  George was growing tired of the conversation. “Dominic, just cut out the bull. I’m growing a beard here.” He failed to mask his frustration.

  “I’m giving you tonight off. Get some rest. Meet me tomorrow at Whipsnade Zoo at 10:00 a.m. at the lemurs’ enclosure. You can get up close and personal with them. I love those critters…” he trailed off, and then remembered himself. “It will be busy, so it should give us both reassurance that there’ll be no nonsense. We will do an exchange – Sophie and the diamond for your wife.”

  “Do you honestly expect me to do this?”

  Dominic chuckled again. “We thought you might say that. So we’ve taken out some more insurance, you know how it is these days George. It’s a recession; you need to cover all your assets.” His tone became serious. “Did you think we wouldn’t know about Theodore White? He has a lovely home and a stunning wife, mmmm. Your kids looked like they enjoyed playing in the back garden today with the twins.”

  “Dominic! I swear if anything happens to them…”

  “George, George, George. You know what you have to do. They will be okay… at least until tomorrow. It’s up to you. I’ll see you at the zoo. Don’t be late,” with that he terminated the call.

  George slunk back on the park bench, a look of dejection on his face. He dropped the mobile phone where it clattered next to him.

  “Dad?”

  George shook his head in what looked like defeat. It all seemed like it was hopeless. He was out of words; the spirit in his fight had now waned into extinction. Despite the still warm late afternoon sunshine, George looked to have come over ice-cold, appearing whiter than Casper.

  “Dad? What did he say?”

  “They know where Meredith, Charlie and Stanley are. They are using them – and your mother – to make me give them what they want. But I… I can’t give them what they want. I won’t!” He closed his eyes, feeling moisture welling up behind the lids. He was at a loss and totally aghast at what he was being forced to do. His family was everything to him.

  “Dad, the way I see it is you don’t have any choice.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “I can’t trade you for them. You are too… important.”

  “Dad, I wasn’t thinking of that... though if it comes to it... No, what if we balance things a bit differently, level the playing field?”

  “Go on,” he urged, his curiosity aroused.

  “If Dominic didn’t have any hostages, do you think he would be a little annoyed?”

  “More than a little I’d say.”

  “Then that’s where we’ll start. Of course, I am assuming I’m not the only one with a GPS tracker stuck inside my brain.”

  “You know about that?” he was surprised and wore the expression.

  “I didn’t until just now...”

  “Actually Sophie…” he started, then thought better than to be drawn into discussing it. “The others have theirs strapped on. Less evasive...”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Emily

  The watch was dainty and delicately clung to Emily’s wrist. Ryan had bought it for her last birthday and she cherished it, not that it was very valuable or anything special to look at. Just a simple Accurist wrist watch, mother of pearl dial, sparkling stones encrusted in a tennis bracelet. He probably bought it from Argos.

  She glanced at it now as she waited in her car outside the hotel situated in Harlow, an hour’s drive from the command centre.

  10:19 p.m.

  She had been waiting for nearly half an hour at the location that Richard Cullum (Ricky to his friends) had given her.

  Leaving the command centre had been relatively easy. Having worked more than her contracted hours she made her excuses citing exhaustion, a microwave meal and a date with a rerun of Friends (The One Where Monica Sings) beckoning her home. Samuel hadn’t lifted an eyelid, in fact his eyes hadn’t strayed from the laptop computer open in front of him; he had no plans to go home – not whilst Tom Kaplan and Bravo Team were undertaking a mission that by rights should have been his. He’d cared little that they’d been on stakeout for over twenty-four hours now.

  Emily noted that Cullum was four minutes late. She hated delays, detested waiting. If there was one thing that irked her most in a person, it was poor punctuality.

  Cullum’s initial response to Emily’s assertion that Ryan was still alive was to end the call – no warning, just...!

  Emily was left cradling the handset listening to electronic silence. A minute after that abrupt moment, the phone began to ring and Emily flicked the connect button on the base unit, not expecting the security officer. Okay he said. Meet me at the Park Inn in Harlow at ten-fifteen. She hadn’t given a verbal nod or anything before electronic silence filled her left ear once again. Cullum was gone before he could change his mind.

  That seemed like a lifetime ago.

  A couple more minutes passed before the white Mercedes van pulled into the hotel’s car park, slowly edging closer, then turning to park up beside her silver Vauxhall Astra.

  The driver of the Mercedes climbed out of the van. Although hidden in shadow she could make out that the large frame, broad shoulders and hulking appearance belonged to Ricky Cullum. He walked round the front of the van and approached the Astra as though reluctant. He was slow and deliberate.

  Emily pressed the button that opened the window electronically, allowing it to wind down a couple of inches as the security man approached, just enough to hear and be heard. She watched him amble over. He was much cleaner than he’d been the last time she had seen him and dressed casually in shiny blue tracksuit bottoms and an Adidas collared T-shirt.

  “Miss Porter,” he said by way of greeting. He didn’t look happy to be there. Actually, he wasn’t. He was missing Top Gear on the telly and had forgotten to Tivo it.

  Cutting out the pleasantries, Emily proceeded directly to questioning. “Where’s Ryan?” she demanded. “What have you done with him?”

  All confidence winded from him, Cullum looked down at his feet as though ashamed. “He’s safe Miss Porter.”

  “I want to see him.”

  “It’s not a good idea,” he replied, looking up. “It’s not safe for him… and it’s not safe for me.”

  “I don’t care. I need to know what he meant to gain from helping them. Why he felt he…” she trailed off, unable to stop herself from crying, “…why he couldn’t trust me.” It was almost a whisper.

  Richard Cullum – Ricky to his friends – shook his head not knowing how to respond. He was never comfortable with people crying so did what he always did when confronted with such people. He turned and walked back to his van.

  “Wait!” Emily pleade
d. “Don’t go…” She opened the car door and clambered after the security guard. “Don’t go… not without giving me something. Anything!”

  Cullum ignored the young woman, retreating to the comfort of the driver’s seat of the Mercedes van. He closed the door behind him and keyed the ignition. The engine of the vehicle roared into life. Emily, following fast around the front of the vehicle, thumped the Mercedes’ door, the bang loud but causing no damage.

  “WHY!” she screamed. “WHY COME IF YOU ARE NOT GOING TO TELL ME SOMETHING?!”

  From behind the transit a dark figure emerged dressed in grey cotton trousers, white shirt (open at the collar), and a loose tie, dressed how she’d grown accustomed over the years. Emily hadn’t noticed him as her attention and anger was still aimed at Cullum who noisily shifted the van into gear. Emily smacked the Mercedes’ door a second time with the flat of her hand, agitated further by the fact that the security guard had set the vehicle in motion heedless to her protests, the Mercedes slowly moving backwards accompanied by a warbling reversing alarm.

  Emily made to follow – and stopped, her path surprisingly blocked by someone she hadn’t expected.

  “Hello Em.” He had managed to creep up on her without sound or warning. Too preoccupied by her anger at Cullum, Emily had failed to notice the man approach despite him now standing right next to her.

  “Ryan!” Surprise and shock overwhelmed her, soon to be replaced by relief and joy. “You’re here!”

  “I’m sorry kid.” Ryan said. He reached the young woman he considered his daughter and drew her into an embrace. Emily wrapped her arms about him in reply. “I’m so sorry.”

  Behind them, Ricky Cullum had straightened up the van and was preparing to go. Ryan acknowledged him with a subtle wave. Cullum just smiled and then drove off.