The driver signalled and pulled to a stop. Nobody got out.
Ruth felt a jab of apprehension and reached up to her right ear, tapping the small ear-piece. She checked nobody in the store was close enough to hear and said, “Green Renault Scenic on the east side. Stationary. At least four up with a small girl at right rear.”
“Got it. On my way.” Vaslik’s voice sounded unnaturally calm over the phone. She looked away from the Renault and tried to find him in the crowd, but couldn’t. She saw Gina hadn’t moved from her position, which was what they had agreed. Gina was the back-up.
When she looked back the Renault was moving away, the long lens of a camera poking from the passenger window in the hands of a middle-aged woman. With a flick of an indicator, it joined the main stream of traffic and was gone, heading north.
“Hold that,” she said quickly. “False alarm.”
“Right.”
She checked her watch and was surprised to find it was nearly on midday. Several minutes had gone by in a flash. She forced herself to remain calm. Impatience now could ruin everything.
There would have to be some give and take if Vaslik’s plan was to have any meaning. If Drybeck did what Vaslik suspected, the other side would be here and itching to get Hardman without fuss. But they would expect him to be utterly cautious in making his approach, knowing that a man in his position would not want to give himself up without getting the one thing he had demanded; sight of his daughter.
A BMW estate with ambulance chevrons and a light array on the roof nosed into the stream of traffic from the west and cruised along the lower edge of the square. The windows were slightly tinted, with the corner of one chevron plate missing, Ruth noted. The vehicle looked full, no doubt on its way to a hospital or a private clinic.
The BMW didn’t stop but continued north at a steady pace and was soon swallowed up by other traffic.
Ruth felt a rush of frustration at the thought that they were wasting their time, that the kidnappers weren’t going to show and Vaslik had been wrong in his suspicions about Drybeck. She breathed deeply, forcing herself to remain calm in spite of the situation here. She was accustomed to surveillance work, but not where something so important was riding on the timing and circumstances.
Ten minutes later the BMW ambulance was back.
It was the same one; she recognised the torn chevron. This time it stopped against the kerb and allowed two men to climb out before moving away. They were carrying camera bags and bottles of water, and dressed in sports shirts and jeans. Tourists.
Then she recognised one of the men and felt a tension in her chest.
Tall and bulky, packing a lot of muscle; it was one of the men Vaslik had snapped near the supermarket, following Nancy and Gina. As the man closed the car door, a little girl’s face appeared in the opening.
Beth.
“Slik. You there?”
“Where else?”
“Lower square. Two men, cameras, sports shirts and jeans, just decamped from a BMW ambulance estate making its second run. It’s a fake. Beth Hardman’s inside. Recognise the tall guy?”
A slight pause, then, “Got him. Looks like we’re on. Have you seen any others?”
“Not yet. They might be keeping this operation tight.”
Ruth left the book store and headed across the road at the lights. She was lucky and was able to attach herself to five large women with shopping bags, one of them struggling to hold onto her load. She helped her cross, then skipped free of them and dodged across the road into the square proper, stopping alongside a party of school kids being handed their lunch in paper bags by a stressed-out teacher.
“Stay together!” the woman was calling, eyeing up three boys who were already making a move to scuttle away. “And don’t leave Trafalgar Square, you hear me?”
The ambulance had disappeared. Making another tour, Ruth guessed, while the two men did a close recce. They probably had others already in place and ready to move.
She saw Vaslik. He was close by one of the fountains, chatting to a couple of girls and offering to take a picture with their phone. They were blushing and laughing but nodding enthusiastically.
The BMW appeared again. It was ghosting along the kerb on the east side, this time slowing to a halt. The move was a disaster for Ruth; as it stopped, the group of school kids moved away, leaving her exposed with no time to find alternative cover.
She froze. A woman’s face was at the rear passenger window, staring right at her.
Clarisse. She looked surprised, then turned away and said something to the driver, who responded by shaking his head vigorously in disagreement.
But she waved a hand, dismissive and angry, before opening the door and stepping out. A sharp exchange of voices echoed from inside the car before she turned and walked away.
The driver shouted, then dipped his head and clamped a phone to his ear. He listened for a moment, his head snapping up in shock before leaning over, clearly seeking out Clarisse. He shouted again but she either didn’t hear over the noise of the traffic or wasn’t listening. He looked agitated and hit the wheel with his hand, and the look on his face told Ruth everything she had feared.
He’d just been given the news about Michael Hardman.
She experienced a feeling of unusual calm. She knew all she needed to know: from the two men prowling loose in the square, to the group using a vehicle capable of moving fast if necessary without being questioned, to Clarisse’s over-aggressive manner.
Beth being in the car was for show; they weren’t going to let her to go and had probably never intended to.
fifty-eight
Ruth experienced what it felt like to be under the gaze of a hunter. Clarisse was coming straight at her, eyes focussed and shoulders squared, unwavering. She was walking quickly, brushing aside anyone who got in her way and making it look simple, almost graceful.
She was wearing a light anorak with patch pockets over a short T-shirt that gave a glimpse of bare stomach, and had one hand out of sight under her clothing.
A gun or a knife, Ruth guessed. She’d come ready for action.
She glanced past Clarisse and saw movement in the BMW. A small face topped by blonde hair was staring through the rear side window, which was down, eyeing the crowds.
Beth.
“Slik,” Ruth snapped. “The ambulance. Beth’s in the back.”
“I’m on it. Watch the woman—she’s deadly. Gina’s on her way in.”
“Good to know.” She unclipped the tiny earpiece and stuffed it into her pocket, and moved into a clear space. As she did so she took a slim object from her pocket and held it concealed behind her leg. Whatever this woman was going to do, it would be fast and furious with no holds barred. She was undoubtedly disobeying orders by coming out after Ruth instead of staying with the vehicle and Beth, but maybe she’d got stir-crazy on this assignment and wanted to take it out on somebody the way she had with Andrew the luckless fitness instructor.
A woman of extremes. Normally ideal for this kind of mission, where orders had to be followed even at the risk to self, she was now making a mistake. Hopefully it would be to her detriment, not Ruth’s.
Clarisse was six steps away when she drew her hand out from under her anorak and dropped it by her side. There was a brief flash of silver and Ruth’s stomach flinched involuntarily. It was a blade of some kind—small and probably razor sharp, it would be ideal for close-up covert work. She would aim at inflicting the maximum damage on the way past before walking on as if nothing had happened, and be gone before the first cry of alarm.
Before the first drop of blood hit the ground.
Ruth took a deep breath, then settled, feet square, eyes fixed on the attacker. She was only vaguely aware of sightseers around her, all busy enjoying their day, most looking up at the various statues around the square, enjoying the play of light thr
ough the fountains or taking photos. They wouldn’t see a thing.
Lucky them, she thought.
Four more steps and Clarisse would be on her. She already had her hand drawn back behind her leg, ready to strike. Ruth shook off the instinctive desire to turn and run. Running wouldn’t work; she’d never been that fast and this woman looked like she could outrun Usain Bolt.
She took another deep breath and steeled herself, knowing she had just one chance. This had to be timed to the very last second.
“Clarisse!” She shrieked instead, and rushed to meet the woman, waving the magazine in the air to attract her attention. A few tourists turned and smiled, one or two glancing instinctively towards the object of Ruth’s cry. If they noticed anything unusual in the greeting, they didn’t react.
But Clarisse did.
She faltered, a frown touching her face at this sudden change of tactics; Ruth should have been frozen to the spot or running away, not coming to greet her like a long-lost friend. Her eyes flicked to the magazine, seeking the obvious threat as her training would have taught her. A rolled magazine can inflict painful damage or conceal another weapon.
But she recovered quickly and evidently dismissed the threat as minimal. She came on again, the distance between them closing faster.
Two more steps.
Ruth waited until the last moment, then side-stepped, turning her body to present the slimmest possible target. Hurling the magazine into Clarisse’s face, she swept her right hand from behind her into the woman’s stomach and squeezed.
Clarisse batted the magazine away with her free hand, a look of contempt on her face. Then she stopped dead, eyes wide in shock.
A low fizzing sound was coming from her unprotected middle, and she staggered sideways, her legs giving way. For a split second she remained upright, glancing down to see what had stopped her, before dropping to the ground like a dead weight.
“Someone get help!” Ruth shouted wildly. “This woman’s having a heart attack!” She dropped the stun stick she’d used into her pocket then knelt and scooped up the fallen knife. It was four inches long and razor sharp, with a moulded rubberised handle that fitted snugly into the palm of the hand.
A killer’s weapon.
She stared down into Clarisse’s eyes, which were fluttering faintly as she tried to hold on to consciousness. She couldn’t tell if the woman could see her through the pain, but allowed herself a brief smile just in case.
She hoped it would really piss her off.
Then she stood up and let others crowd around her before stepping back.
Two of the newcomers claimed to be doctors and began checking Clarisse for vital signs and telling others to stay clear and give them some room. Another was calling the emergency services and rattling off instructions about location and apparent symptoms.
Ruth glanced towards the ambulance. The driver was staring at her, shocked by the outcome. He began shouting into his phone, gesturing furiously at her position in the square. He was rallying his troops.
Ruth looked round. The two men in sports shirts must be close. And by the animation on the driver’s face, their orders were simple: end it now.
When she looked back at the ambulance there was more movement. This time it was Vaslik framed in the window, standing behind the driver. The door opened and Vaslik moved fast.
The driver slumped over the wheel.
Ruth caught a flash of rapid movement off to one side. It was the tall, bulky man. He had made his way along the pavement up the side of the square, no doubt acting as a lookout and back-up. He must have spotted what was happening but had been unable to intervene before Clarisse went down. Now he was responding to the driver’s call and closing in on the ambulance and Vaslik.
She began running. She left the square and ran along the pavement, pushing through the groups of sightseers. Beth. She had to get to Beth and get her out of that car.
But she’d forgotten about the second man. Just as she was closing in on the ambulance she was hit broadside and nearly knocked off her feet. She bounced off a lamppost, feeling her left shoulder give way with a horrible crunch followed by a vicious stab of pain. Something had gone, she was certain, but she didn’t have time to react to the shock or worry about what had happened.
Survival. That was all.
She looked round and saw the man who’d hit her picking himself up. He’d sized up the situation and moved to take out the threat, and was feigning an accidental collision. But now he was moving towards her, his hand out towards her as if to apologise. But his other hand was clutching the strap of his camera bag, swinging it like a slingshot.
Ruth thrust her hand into her pocket, grabbing the stun stick. She had no idea if the stick had enough charge left to inflict more than a sting, but it was all she’d got and the camera bag looked heavy and dangerous. The knife against this man would be worse than useless.
She held the stick out in front of her. It was no more than six inches long and in spite of its colour, unobtrusive. She could hardly breathe with the pain in her shoulder; her left arm was useless but her right was still functioning. She had to give Vaslik a chance to get Beth out of the vehicle.
The man looked solid and had the confident stance of a professional. He almost smiled until he saw the stun stick, then appeared to have second thoughts and stepped back a pace. She felt a surge of relief. He’d recognised the stick for what it was and it was enough to put him off.
With a shrug, he turned and walked away, clearly deciding it was a no-win situation, and disappeared into the crowd.
Ruth hobbled along the pavement towards the ambulance, where Vaslik was talking to a traffic warden, trying to warn him off approaching. As she moved she pocketed the stun stick and took out her phone and hit speed-dial for a number Grant had given her.
“I see you.” It was Grant, sounding tense. He was clearly nearby and had got an eyeball on the situation.
“Situation critical,” she breathed. “One down, one gone, the ambulance is a fake and I’m just going for Beth.”
“We’re on the way. Be careful.” The connection was cut.
Ruth looked around, wondering what had happened to the bulky man. Then she saw Gina. She’d intercepted him and was standing very close, dwarfed by his bulk but not the slightest bit intimidated. She saw why: Gina had her jacket wrapped round her hand which was pushed into the man’s belly.
She was holding her gun on him, daring him to make a move.
Ruth shook her head. The woman was a danger to herself, but just what they needed right now.
She focussed on getting to the ambulance, reached the rear door and pulled it open. Leaned in and unclipped the buckle of the child’s seat. Beth stared at her for a second, her face blank, and Ruth wondered if she’d been sedated to keep her quiet now Tiggi was gone.
She smiled. “Come on sweetie,” she whispered. “Let’s get you back to mummy and Homesick, shall we?”
The child came willingly enough, sliding to the ground and grasping tight onto Ruth’s hand. She seemed curiously innocent and trusting among strangers even after everything that had happened to her, and Ruth wondered at the resilience in one so young, and how it would hold up in the days and weeks ahead.
“Homesick,” Beth echoed. “I dropped him.”
Ruth said, “I know you did, Beth, but don’t worry. He’s fine—your mummy’s looking after him and they’re both waiting to see you.”
She led Beth away and seconds later Vaslik was on one side, holding her by the waist, with Gina close behind, watching their backs.
“Hi, Beth,” Vaslik said easily. “I’m Andy.”
“Hello, Andy,” Beth replied. “Are you taking me home now?”
“You bet.”
Vaslik looked at Ruth and said softly so the little girl couldn’t hear, “Was that a stun stick you used? Aren’t they illeg
al here?”
She nodded. “Only if you get caught. But I don’t think Clarisse will be telling the cops, do you?” She was feeling nauseous but exultant, the pain in her shoulder dulled by the relief of getting Beth away safely. She was holding tight onto the little girl’s hand and wouldn’t let go until she was able to hand her over to Nancy.
“Sure. But it was pink. Pink. What were you thinking?”
She didn’t really care for guns; they got people killed. So she’d asked for something else instead.
“Blame her,” she said, nodding towards Gina, who was grinning. “She got it for me.” She turned her head just enough to give the former bodyguard a silent thank you before the pain made her stop. “Anyway, it worked, didn’t it? What are you complaining about?”
fifty-nine
The reunion proved bitter-sweet. It was an emotional and tear-laden relief for mother and daughter, who went upstairs the moment Beth was carried across the doorstep. But having to explain later to Nancy about her husband was something Ruth wished she hadn’t taken on. She felt dizzy with the pain of her injured shoulder, but she had to finish this. She swallowed a couple of painkillers and got on with it.
It didn’t go well.
“I don’t believe you.” Nancy said it again and again, a mantra helping her close in on herself at every attempt by Ruth to explain the unexplainable; that her daughter had been kidnapped by an unknown group seeking to capture her husband. She was talking quietly but with cold fury, with Beth fast asleep upstairs. The Cruxys doctor had examined her and found her well, other than suffering the lingering effects of a mild sedative.
“It’s true, I promise you.”
“Is that why you wrecked the house? Took my passport? Show me the proof! You can’t, can you?”
Ruth had no idea what Mitchell had told Nancy about why they were taking the house apart, and it wasn’t her place to do so. Neither could she comment on the passport being confiscated, which might have been Mitchell’s doing on instructions from her bosses. She had no authority to mention the kidnap group or who they were thought to work for, either, nor how the authorities had come by the information about Michael, since that was a matter of the highest secrecy. All she could say was that his activities had put them all in danger … and he still hadn’t shown up, even though he must know by now what had happened to his daughter.
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