He walked into the baby’s room and picked his son up. He was smiling. Mac wondered if the boy ever stopped being happy.
‘Come on little man, I think your mother’s in town and I’ve got a suspicion I know what she’s up to. And us two are going to stop her doing it.’
He walked back into the corridor and began barking at the confused staff who passed by. ‘Come on, you know what to do . . .’
But it seemed many of them didn’t, especially the temporary ones.
He was asked, ‘Is it a real fire?’
‘I don’t know; better safe than sorry.’
He walked out onto the wing’s main drag, pulled on his hoodie and tucked his son inside. He skipped down the steps to the ground floor. When he got to his car he laid John Mac on the front passenger seat. It was only then that he realised he didn’t have any idea where he was going to keep him. His flat was a non-starter; that would be the first place the police would look when they realised the kid was gone. Mac pulled away and then stopped when he saw his son rolling around dangerously on the seat. He needed a baby seat. In fact what he really needed was a mother. But where was he going to find one?
Unlike his previous experience at Foster’s club, on the second occasion, that afternoon, Mac was treated to the smooth and slick welcome at reception that an honoured guest of the eminent lawyer might expect.
‘Ah yes, you’re here to see Mr Foster of course. He’s expecting you in the smoking room. Please allow one of my colleagues to escort you.’
Stephen Foster sat in a distressed leather armchair, smoking a cigar, under the portrait of a no-nonsense Victorian Duke. Mac’s escort went off to get him a drink and when he returned, cut a Havana for him and lit it with a taper from a candle.
Foster didn’t look at him. ‘Have you brought a photograph?’
When Mac handed it over, the lawyer produced an ID card from his wallet and clipped it into place. He handed it to Mac. ‘According to that you’re from an agency that hires out temporary legal staff. I’ve booked you in for an appointment with Garcia at four. According to the prison visitor’s log, you’ll be there to deal with routine paperwork on behalf of my firm. Of course, if the prison staff get suspicious and call me up, I’ll deny any association with you. Then you’ll be arrested and you’ll need your own lawyer. Garcia knows you’re coming and he knows why. You can discuss any business you have with him in private.’
‘Where is he?’
‘Wetherall Maximum Security in West London: just report to the gate. Can you imagine? They put a respectable businessman like Mr Garcia in a place for terrorists and common criminals. No wonder the international business community prefer to do their work in other countries.’
‘Save it Foster, you’re not on TV now.’
The lawyer gave him a wary eye. ‘You’re a very confident young man aren’t you? You do understand the risks you’re running here?’
‘Sure. I just don’t care.’
‘Very well. I don’t think we need to see each other again’
‘Actually we do. I need you to look after something for me.’
Mac unzipped his hoodie. Foster looked down with horror at the sight of John Mac who was sound asleep inside the padded jacket, nestled on his father’s chest. ‘You want me to look after a baby? Are you mad? I’m a lawyer not a child-minder.’ He quickly looked around. ‘Small people aren’t permitted in here.’
‘I know what you are Mr Foster. Either you make arrangements to look after him or I’ll have to take the kid to see Garcia with me. Do you want to get your client off or not?’ Foster said nothing. ‘It’ll only be for a couple of days max. You must have facilities for this sort of thing. In fact I’m sure you have.’
‘Whose baby is it?’
‘Mine. It’s all legit. Just make sure he’s well looked after.’
Foster sighed, ‘You’re full of surprises young man . . .’
He pulled a phone out of his jacket pocket and made a call, ‘Sarah? I need you to meet me at my club. Bring a baby carrier with you . . . Just purchase one on the way.’
Mac finished his drink, kissed his son on the forehead and handed him over to a clearly embarrassed Foster. He stubbed out the Havana and put it in his pocket for later. As he got up to go, Foster warned him, ‘Let me remind you that Mr Garcia is not a man to be trifled with.’
Mac leaned over and whispered, ‘Neither am I. If I don’t get my son back in one piece as delivered . . .’ He didn’t need to finish his menacing sentence.
Mac listened to the car radio as he drove to the prison. There was nothing on the news about any abduction of a child from a hospital. But then why would there be? As soon as Phil Delaney heard that John Mac was gone, he would have a prime suspect. There was no call from his boss either. No, Phil knew that would be a waste of time. The best way to get Mac was to send out cars looking for him.
It was only when Mac arrived as the bogus solicitor at the heavy oak front gates of Wetherall Prison that he realised Foster had been right. He was running a terrible risk. He’d been to prisons many times for professional reasons but never to blag his way in. And he knew prisons were a lot more careful with security than most. Their own security depended on it.
He was ushered into the office at reception where an officer asked his name. Mac realised he hadn’t checked his fake ID card and so didn’t know what his name was supposed to be. He pulled out the card, ‘I’m here on behalf of Stephen Foster to see Mr Garcia. I’ve got an appointment.’
The officer examined the card carefully. Then he went out back to check his visitor’s credentials. He was gone a long time – far too long. When he returned it was with a more senior colleague, ‘I’m terribly sorry sir but I’m afraid we’ve some questions we’d like to ask you.’
The two men looked and sounded less like prison officers and more like detectives with a suspect. Mac looked backwards at the main gate. But it was too late for that now. He smiled at the two officers and waved his empty briefcase at them in an effort to prove he was a real solicitor.
‘Of course. What seems to be the problem?’
‘We’ve checked with the legal agency and they say you left their employ last month.’
At least Foster had taken the trouble to find the name of a real solicitor. ‘No, I handed in my notice with them last month. They’re obviously confused.’
‘If you work freelance for an agency sir, surely you don’t have a ‘notice’?’
‘They ask you to commit to them for three months at a time. I notified them last month that I wouldn’t be renewing.’ The two officers looked unconvinced. So Mac went for broke, ‘You know Stephen Foster don’t you?’
‘Of course sir, everyone knows Mr Foster.’
‘Call him then. He’ll put your minds at rest.’
One of two men disappeared again while the other kept Mac under observation. Foster had warned him at the club that he would not acknowledge any connection if there was any trouble. But Mac was betting that he would: the dodgy brief had too much to lose. And if anyone knew how to get a client out of difficulties with the authorities, it was Foster. When the prison officer returned he was grinning. As he escorted Mac into the prison he whispered, ‘You should have explained the situation to us sir. We’d have understood.’
‘Mr Foster explains these things so much better than I do.’
‘Of course.’
Mac made a mental note to find out what Foster had said, once he knew his son was safe for good. It was obviously a trick he might be able to use himself later. The officer thoroughly searched him inside a secure area near reception. Next was an X-ray machine. Then he was led into the legal suite where prisoners were allowed to consult with their lawyers. Garcia was already there.
Eight
Prison had changed Garcia. When he was arrested he’d looked like a jovial uncle who had been the victim of a cruel practical joke. When Mac set eyes on him, he looked like a caged animal with a grudge, a sharp set of claws and a grey
tone on his olive skin.
Garcia got straight down to business when Mac took a seat opposite him. ‘Mr Foster tells me you have a proposal to put to me?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Do you mind telling me what your interest in this matter is?’
‘I’m the father of the baby you were hiding.’ Garcia didn’t react to his news. ‘I intend to keep him safe and sound and that means I need to know what his mother is up to. I’ve got a strong suspicion that she’ll be turning up here soon, looking to get him back. And I’m going to stop her doing that.’
Garcia shrugged his shoulders. ‘A baby should be with its mother.’
Mac leaned across the table. ‘I didn’t come here for a lecture on parenting the Garcia way. I want to know why you had my son and where his mother is.’
The prisoner nodded and said calmly. ‘You’re a police officer aren’t you?’
Mac reddened slightly. ‘No, I’m not.’
Garcia smiled. ‘I think you are. I find police interrogation techniques are the same all over the world.’ His smile became a malicious grin. ‘Although I’ll admit I’m cheating a little. I know you’re a policeman – Mr Foster told me. John MacDonagh isn’t it? Known to his colleagues as Mac? The man who was led around by the nose by the very persuasive Elena Romanov? You should know Mr Foster has a lot of friends in your police force. I suspect he’s hoping you’ll be one of his new “friends” there – whether you like it or not.’
When Mac said nothing, Garcia continued. ‘Come on Mac. We’re not going to get anywhere unless we’re frank with each other.’
‘OK, you’re right. I’m a cop.’
Garcia seemed pleased. ‘And you can use your position to help?’
‘Not for nothing I can’t. How did you end up with the boy? And where’s his mother?’
Garcia rubbed two fingers together on his right hand, like he was missing the comfort of a cigarette. ‘It’s a complicated story Mac. But basically the child’s mother had a relationship with the company I represent. She owed us a substantial sum of money, which she was reluctant to pay. As a result, senior managers in my company decided that holding her son as security might encourage her to settle her debt, together of course with a commission for late payment. Some gentlemen were hired to go and collect the security from the mother’s home in California. The woman wasn’t at home but as you can imagine her property was well guarded and as a result I’m afraid some of our men and some of hers unfortunately lost their lives . . . There’s no need to look like that Mac – the baby was completely unharmed.’
Just thinking of his son being kidnapped and possibly witnessing violence at such a young age made Mac shiver. Didn’t psychiatrists say that no matter how young or old a child was, those were the type of things they remembered?
‘As you can imagine,’ the money launderer continued, ‘the deaths meant that each side in this dispute were no longer inclined to reach a compromise. And of course, you know how mothers are with their children. Elena was determined to get her son back. As you will know also, this mother is a woman of considerable resources. My company decided that in the circumstances, it might be a good idea to get the boy out of the United States to a place where our opponent would have more difficulty finding him. As I had business in London, I was asked to look after him after he was brought to the UK on a false passport. So I hired a nanny and had some adaptations made to the house I was renting and took charge of the young man.’ Garcia smiled, showcasing two crooked side teeth. ‘Charming child.’
Mac took the information in. If Garcia was telling the truth that would explain how John Mac came to be in London. But it left one important question. ‘And Elena Romanov, where is she now?’
‘Is that her real name?’ Mac just stared the other man down. ‘The answer to your question is that I don’t know. But the obvious answer would be back in the US, hunting for the boy. However, one of the tactics that Ms Romanov has employed to great effect in the past is to give information to law enforcement in the USA that they can use to arrest her enemies. In return they pass information back to her. I’m sure you’ll agree that’s unprofessional behaviour, but there’s no doubt that it’s effective. I’m afraid it wouldn’t surprise me if one of her friends in the FBI had already tipped her off that the boy was now in the custody of the British authorities. Nor would it surprise me to discover that she was already in London under a false name looking for him.’
Mac nodded; he’d already come to that conclusion himself. ‘Have you heard of an FBI agent called Tom Bracken?’
Garcia smiled as if an old friend had been mentioned. ‘Ah yes, Mr Bracken—’
‘Do you think he would tip Elena off that the baby was in London?’
Garcia’s fingers started rubbing together again. ‘He’s a very unscrupulous individual. I’m afraid that wouldn’t surprise me in the least. Although, of course, Ms Romanov would have to help him catch someone in return – which no doubt she would be delighted to do.’
The two men sat in silence. Mac studied the prisoner carefully as he’d done so many times in the past. Garcia had every reason to lie but the story about Elena rang true. It also explained why John Mac would be in London. In the minutes that followed, Mac devised a plan. He also noticed that Garcia seemed very pleased with himself, which pissed the hell out of him. ‘OK Mr Garcia, that’s all I need to know. If I require any more information, I’ll be in touch.’
‘Delighted to help you my friend and I’m sure you’ll help me in due course.’
Mac rose from his chair but then sank back down again. Something wasn’t right.
‘You seem very confident that I’ll be able to help you.’
Garcia had his malicious grin on again. ‘Yes, I’m very confident about that.’
When Mac got back to his car, he was in a panic about John Mac’s safety. With his suspicions about Elena confirmed, he decided to check straight away that his son was safely hidden. He rang Stephen Foster who was happy to put his mind at rest. ‘Yes, of course I’ve ensured the child is safely tucked away. A colleague of mine has taken the baby to his place in the country. He’s perfectly secure.’
Mac leaned back in his seat with relief. ‘You’d better give me the guy’s contact details so I can check my boy’s OK.’
Foster was dismissive. ‘There’s no need for that. In fact, it’s better that you don’t know. It will be more secure that way.’
Mac was alarmed. ‘I want to know where my son is.’
‘And you will, you will. And then you’ll be happily reunited with your child . . .’ There was a long pause before Foster added with menace, ‘As soon as Mr Garcia is released from custody.’
Mac reeled with horror. He’d recovered the son he thought he’d never see, only to lose him again through his own stupidity.
Nine
When Mac got home from the prison, he found his front door had been professionally battered in and left hanging open. Still in shock from his phone call with Foster, he walked through the hallway to find his property had been completely ransacked. Files, papers, ornaments and furniture were left scattered around. Doors on cupboards and sideboards swung wide and his home computer was gone. Then Mac noticed that on an armchair that had come to rest at an angle to the wall, a solitary figure was sitting, smoking a cigarette.
‘I was hoping you’d make an appearance.’
Phil Delaney.
Mac looked around at the ruins and then back at Phil. ‘Why wouldn’t I come back to my own home?’
Phil’s voice was laced with sarcasm. ‘Well, I don’t know if you’ve heard – your son has been kidnapped from hospital.’
Mac didn’t need to play the role of a father whose son had just been stolen away. He was a father whose son had just been stolen away. ‘I know. I was at the hospital earlier. I can’t believe you allowed that to happen. I thought he was supposed to be under guard.’
Phil ignored the slight. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t call in when yo
u found out?’
‘I was in shock. I’m still in shock. What’s happened to my home?’
‘Yes, I’m sorry about that but you know the drill. When a crime is committed against a member of a family, other family members are usually in the frame. Your son’s been kidnapped so I’m afraid we have to treat you as a possible suspect. I brought a team around to search for any evidence that you are connected to the crime.’
Mac picked up a fallen photo. A great photo of his other son Stevie a year before he’d died. He placed it back gently on the mantelpiece. ‘Yes, I understand that . . .’ Then he added with sarcasm of his own, ‘And did you find any evidence?’
His boss didn’t answer. He stubbed out his cigarette and got up out of the armchair. He looked around at the wreckage of Mac’s life. ‘I’ll get someone round to secure the front door.’
Mac realised that his superior’s people must still be trawling through the hospital’s security footage. Phil began to walk out of the flat but as he did so, he turned, walked over to Mac and put his arm around his shoulder. There was nothing supportive about his gesture.
He whispered, ‘Don’t come back to the office until this business is sorted out.’
‘I’ve done nothing wrong sir.’ Mac had only called Phil sir on a few occasions. Times when the tension between them was like a line marking the hierarchy of their different ranks. ‘You know what the police therapist put in my notes: if I don’t work – even glued to a desk job – that could trigger my PTSD again. You wouldn’t want that would you?’
Phil squeezed Mac’s shoulder. ‘I’m warning you now, if I find out you had anything to do with the abduction of that child, you won’t be wearing a badge anymore.’
The following morning when Mac arrived at work, he checked the time: 9.00 a.m. London time, 1.00 in the early hours LA time. Meanwhile, Phil Delaney ignored him. When Mac went to visit his office, Shazia told him that their boss would be unavailable all day as he was busy organising the investigation into the hospital kidnapping. Although she did add pointedly, ‘I believe he may want to interview you about that when he’s got all the facts together . . .’
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