The Maggie Bainbridge Box Set

by Rob Wyllie

  He reached over and took her hand. 'You can wait here if you want. Until Frank and his mates arrive. I'd prefer it if you did.' He knew before he said it what her answer would be.

  'Ok, so you've got your mask, good.' Rummaging in the holdall, he took out the Glock-17, slid back the safety catch and slipped it into his pocket. 'Right, just need to get the ladder and we're good to go. Ready?'

  She hesitated for a second, took a deep breath and then nodded. 'Ready.'

  He slung on the back-pack and pulled a jumble of orange-coloured nylon cord out of the holdall. 'Rope ladder,' he explained. 'Ever climbed one before? It's easy.'

  The short ladder was equipped with two sturdy grappling hooks. A deft throw and they were attached to the top of the wall. He gave the ladder a firm tug to confirm that it was securely attached. 'First time,' he said, smiling at Maggie. 'Not lost my touch, eh?'

  'Right, so I'm going up first. Just going to check the lie of the land with regard to any cameras, and then I'll jump down into the garden. Then it's your turn. So you don't do anything until I shout the all clear, and then you've got to move as fast as you can. Got that?'

  'Got it,' she replied, without hesitation.

  With one final pull to check it was secure, he began to climb. On the journey, he had been mentally assessing the risks, as you did on every mission of this type. Security lights and cameras, they were a given, but what if they had dogs, or even guards patrolling the grounds? Hopefully it wouldn't be needed, but the Glock provided an element of reassurance, the only problem being you couldn't just order a dog to stop or you would shoot it. You just had to shoot first and say sorry afterwards. But then again, maybe he could just pat it on the head and say 'good boy'.

  He paused on the fourth rung, gingerly bobbing his head just far enough above the wall to allow him a clear view, scanning left and right to assess the situation. Yes, as he had predicted, there was one CCTV camera, mounted on a swivel bracket on the wall of the house, conducting a leisurely one hundred and eighty-degree sweep of the perimeter wall. But that would allow plenty of time for them to get up and over undetected. He waited until it had reached the furthest extremity of its cycle, climbed the last couple of rungs of the ladder then swung his legs over the wall and jumped down. With a swift glance in each direction, he sprinted the few steps across a short section of lawn until he stood with his back up against the wall of the house and directly under the camera. In its blind-spot.

  'Maggie, can you hear me?' He had to shout louder than he would have liked since the garden wall formed an effective sound barrier, but he didn't think anyone in the house would hear.

  Her voice was faint but clear. 'Yes.'

  'Ok, start climbing now, but don't stick your head above the wall until I say go. Then swing yourself over and then run to where I'm standing. Fast as you can. You'll be fine.'

  The wait seemed interminable as she stood on the fourth rung, awaiting his signal. But finally it came. Mimicking Jimmy's actions, she managed to pull one leg over the wall until she was straddling it. A second later she was picking herself off the ground and dashing over to where he stood.

  'Nice work,' he said, squeezing her hand, 'ok?'

  'Yeah, apart from the crashing headache and only being able to see out of one eye. Oh, and I think I've just sprained my ankle. Both ankles in fact.'

  'So you're fine then,' he grinned. 'Well at least you got here in more or less one piece. So here's the plan. We're just going to edge our way around this wall and then round that corner. We should if I remember rightly then come to a set of patio doors that open outwards. That's how we are going to effect our entry, if you'll pardon the military jargon.'

  'Yeah, ok.'

  The doors were of traditional style in keeping with the beautiful Arts & Crafts house, multi-paned and constructed in white-painted hardwood, opening out from the kitchen onto the block-paved patio area.

  'Right,' Jimmy said, 'you need to be ready to pull your mask on in case I have to use this,' waving the object he had taken out of the backpack. He doubted if she could make it out clearly in the dark, the cylinder about the size of a baked bean can, attached to what looked rather like a skipping rope handle. 'Oh aye, and I nearly forgot, you'd better stick these in,' handing her a pack of tiny foam ear defenders. 'It can be a wee bit noisy when these things go off.'

  'Hell Jimmy, how long have you been planning this?' Maggie said disbelievingly. 'What else have you got in that bag?'

  He smiled. 'Fail to prepare, prepare to fail, that's what I was taught in the army. I always knew this op was a possibility so I started tucking things away in my hold-all a couple of weeks ago. Now, will you just shut up for a minute and stand back a bit whilst I get this door unlocked.'

  He took the Glock from his pocket, stepped back a metre or so and aimed the pistol at the keyhole.

  'Just a minute,' Maggie said, reaching over to the door handle. It yielded to her gentle pull. She smiled apologetically. 'I'm always forgetting to lock mine too.'

  'Ah, right,' he said, momentarily nonplussed. 'Saves a bullet at least.'

  'Pleased to be of assistance,' she grinned. 'So I assume we are going in? Because won't they have an alarm?'

  'Yes, and yes. But let me qualify that. I'm going in, you're staying here. And yes they will definitely have an alarm. And that's what we want. Right, here we go.'

  Taking a deep breath, he opened the left-hand door and took a step in. A second later he heard from somewhere in the house the faint beep-beep-beep as the alarm system prepared to unleash its full repertoire. And when it kicked off, it was everything he hoped for and more. The siren was deafening, even more so than the one at Allegra Ross's place, and the kitchen was instantly flooded with blinding white light from the ceiling-mounted floodlights, causing him to screw up his eyes so that he could barely see. Excellent, that's job number one done. He stepped back out into the garden.

  There shouldn't be long to wait now, because no-one was sleeping through that. He assumed she would have some on-site security, but the really heavy squad would be on standby but off-site, at that very moment mobilising their forces in response to the automated alert triggered by his intrusion. He just hoped that Frank's wee army would get here before them. They bloody ought to, considering they had at least a ten-minute start. But that assumed Frank had a proper case number and had filled in the right forms. Terry and Harry Kemp wouldn't be bothering with any of that.

  A moment later, the door from the hall was flung open and a figure charged into the kitchen. Gregor, the shaven-headed Latvian gardener, carrying a semi-automatic assault weapon.

  Jimmy whispered to Maggie. 'Right, so get the mask and earplugs on and wait here with your back tight against this wall until I tell you otherwise.'

  She nodded, pulling it up over her face, the built-in goggles clamped tightly against her cheeks and forehead, the lower mask causing her to gasp for breath as she adjusted to the restricted airflow. He gave her a quick look over to make sure she was prepared, and then removing the firing pin, tossed the grenade into the middle of the room. There was a muffled doof as the charge went off, the powerful shock wave blowing Gregor off his feet. Seconds later the room was filled with an acrid smoke that burned the eyes and made breathing impossible. With a barked 'Stay here,' Jimmy leapt back into the kitchen and sprinted across to the Latvian, who was still on his knees, retching loudly and rubbing his eyes furiously. And quite oblivious to Jimmy's approach. 'Sorry pal,' he mouthed to himself as he administered a savage blow to the side of his head with the butt of his pistol. As the guard crumpled to the ground, Jimmy snatched his assault gun and ran back to the door, thrusting the Glock into Maggie's hand, shouting above the deafening noise of the alarm.

  'Look, I need you to cover this guy for a while, ok? Just stand here by the patio doors and keep the gun pointed at him. Don't get any closer, we don't want him making a grab for you. And if he wakes up, make sure he sees the gun is on him. Then shout for me as loud as you can. But whatever
you do, don't pull that trigger.' Not the most helpful advice, he knew that, but he didn't want Maggie Bainbridge up on another murder charge. With a brief backward glance, he charged back into the kitchen. Hell, it was impossible to think straight above that bloody din. Smoke was still swirling around the room, and although sporadically infiltrated by shafts of light from the ceiling lamps, it was difficult to make out any distinguishing features. Now whereabouts was that door into the hall? Suddenly, his question was answered, as the door was flung open and silhouetted in the doorway stood Gregor's wife Bridget. With a gun. And she looked as if she was about to use it.

  'Get out now Maggie!' he screamed at the top of his voice, gesticulating wildly towards the patio doors. 'Now!' He reached her in a second and bundled her towards the exit, both of them making it to the garden just as the first shot rang out. And then another and another and another, the crack of Bridget's automatic echoing around the room.

  'Christ sake, she's just firing off at random! There's no way she can see a thing in that damn smoke.'

  Then suddenly the shooting stopped and they heard it, so loud that it penetrated the air even above the satanic noise of the alarm. A scream of utter horror and anguish, the likes of which they had never in their lives heard before. And now lying prostrate on the kitchen floor was Gregor, a torrent of blood spurting from the three bullet wounds in his chest. It took Jimmy a few seconds to work out what had happened and a second more to make his decision. He threw down the automatic then took his pistol from Maggie, checking again that the safety was off. Cautiously he peered into the room. Through the smoke he could just about make out the kneeling figure of the maid, her hands pressed against her husband's chest in a futile attempt to arrest the flow from the bullet wounds that she had caused. Which meant she wasn't holding her gun now.

  He ran across to them, scanning the tiled floor for the discarded weapon. There it was, tight against the kick board of one of the kitchen units. He stretched out a foot and dragged it towards him, then with a firm kick sent it spinning across the floor. 'Grab that!' he shouted to Maggie.

  Bridget was now sobbing, pleading. 'Help me, help me, please.' There had been quite a few of the lads out in Afghanistan who would have helped her by putting a bullet in her skull, and sod the Geneva convention. He'd witnessed a few of those incidents, and it left bitter memories that never quite faded. It was one for all, all for one in time if war and you had to turn a blind eye and just make sure everyone stuck to the same story. But this wasn't war. He knelt down beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder.

  'The police will be here in a moment and they'll call an ambulance. Keep the pressure on his chest. He'll pull through.' There was no chance of that, but it didn't cost anything to give her a little hope.

  He ran back to the patio doors, and grabbing Maggie by the hand, dragged her across the kitchen and out into the hall. Slamming the door behind them, he helped her pull off her mask before removing his own, both grateful for the ability to breath properly again. Now they could do what they had come here to do.

  First though, he needed to do something about that bloody alarm. He ran towards the front entrance, on the assumption that she would have a cloakroom in the hall, and that would be the logical place to keep the control unit. He slid open the first door to find the cupboard stuffed tight with coats and jackets suspended from an aluminium hanging rail. Grabbing a dozen or so in both arms, he threw them onto the floor behind him, pushing the remaining items aside so that the back wall of the cupboard became visible. There it was, a small white box with a keypad and digital display panel, which was flashing the message 'activated,' as if they didn't know that already. Of course, all these systems were tamper-proof, he knew that. But there was tampering, and then there was proper tampering. He smiled at Maggie, took a step backwards and aimed the Glock at the middle of the unit. A gentle squeeze on the trigger and the box was blown to bits, momentarily bursting into flames as the state of the art electronics tried in vain to cope with a catastrophic re-wiring of its circuits. And then silence. Total, blissful silence. Now they were ready.

  'She pointed it out to me when I was here for the garden party,' Maggie shouted. 'The door to the basement. I'm sure it was off this hall somewhere.' And then she remembered, her voice urgent. 'That one. Next to the kitchen.' It was no surprise to either that it was locked, protected by a keypad-activated combination lock. They looked at one another and exchanged a knowing smile. And then to her surprise, he handed her the pistol.

  'Go on. Blow the arse off it.' He couldn't explain why, but it seemed somehow right that she should do it. 'And it probably would be a good idea if you didn't shut your eyes,' giving a faint grin as he saw her grimace. 'Just relax, and a wee squeeze will do it.'

  She held the gun out in front of her, her arms rigid, squinting down the barrel to take aim, then did as he instructed. The gentlest touch on the trigger and then the deafening crack as the pistol discharged, punching a four-inch diameter hole where the lock and handle had been. He gave her a thumbs up as she thrust the pistol back into his hands, as if it was too hot to hold.

  'That was brilliant,' he said, 'and I'm hoping we won't need this again. Come on.' The entrance led to a small landing with a glass-fronted elevator and to the side of that a staircase. A staircase that led down to the gymnasium and swimming pool. It took just a few seconds for them to reach the basement level, entering through a pair of satin-white doors.

  But they didn't lead to a swimming pool or a gymnasium. The room looked more like the upstairs landing of an executive show-home, bathed in a beautiful natural light, warm and welcoming, the walls painted in a soothing lavender-white, the floor carpeted in a soft dusky off-grey, thick and luxuriant. Each of the two side walls had a large picture window, bordered by pretty pastel-coloured curtains held back by matching tie-backs, looking out onto a lovely sunlit garden. For a moment Jimmy was thrown, because not only were they at least three metres below ground level, but it was pitch dark outside. Until, getting closer, he saw these weren't windows but TV screens, broadcasting some weird virtual reality into this perfectly-recreated domestic paradise.

  And then they saw the doors. Four of them, spaced around the room, gleaming white with delicate chrome handles, and on each of them was mounted a beautiful hand-painted enamel sign. Kitty's Room, Jamie's Room, Lizzie's Room.

  And Ollie's Room. He leapt over and pushed at the handle but it didn't move. Locked. And then from behind it, he heard the sound of a child crying. Please, please, please let him be all right. Please God. He took Maggie's hand and squeezed it tightly. Of course it was going to be all right. He was going to make damn sure of that.

  He gestured at the door. 'Right, let's get this done,' and taking two steps backward, he launched his boot at it, sending splintered wood flying in all directions.

  Little Ollie Bainbridge was sitting listlessly on the edge of a bed, clutching a Toy Story figure and sobbing quietly to himself. For a moment he didn't react, as if unable to understand what was happening. And then, comprehension. It was his mummy, here to take him home, and he ran towards her, throwing himself into her arms. Thank god he was all right.

  From upstairs Jimmy could hear voices, urgent barked instructions, doors being kicked open, shouts of 'clear!' Outside, a Range Rover with blacked-out windows paused for a few seconds at the front gate then after a brief weighing up of the situation, accelerated away.

  'Down here,' he shouted. 'Down here Frank. It's clear.'

  He could hear his brother clumping down the stairs and then a second later he emerged, trailed by two heavily-armed officers in full assault gear.

  'Oh, thanks to our Lord,' Frank said as he weighed up the scene. 'He's safe. He's safe.'

  'Aye, but what about the other kids?' Jimmy said, pointing at the other doors.

  'Only one way to find out,' Frank said, trying the handle of Jamie Grant's room, 'but it'll be fine, I'm sure it will.'

  He nodded to one of the assault squad. 'Break it down,
but go easy, eh?' then winced as the burly officer took the battering ram to the door, Frank and Jimmy following him in.

  It was a perfect little boys' room, wallpapered in a navy design of spaceships and stars, furnished with a single cabin bed with pull-out desk and a soft bean-bag chair in one corner. And on the bed a little boy was sleeping soundly. Little Jamie Grant, just eighteen months old when he was taken, but now nearly four.

  'Let's leave him sleeping,' Frank whispered, 'until we can get his mum and dad here.'

  They had already broken into Kitty's room, gently leading the little girl by the hand and entrusting her to the care of Maggie. They were sitting on the floor, Ollie on her left, snuggling up to her, and Kitty on her right, unsure at first, and then finally tilting her head and laying it against Maggie's shoulder.

  Everything was going to be alright.

  ◆◆◆

  'These kids need medical attention.' Frank barked the order to his nearest armed colleague. 'Can we get the paramedics here fast, and can one of you start making some hot chocolate.'

  What they really needed fast was to be held tightly in the comforting arms of their parents. If everything went to plan, Charles and Vivien Grant would soon be here to be reunited with their son. But Mr and Mrs Lawrence were eight hundred miles away in south-west France. He took out his phone and fired off a quick text to Inspector Marie Laurent. Kitty Lawrence found, safe and well. He would fill her in with the details later, and that was going to be a nice call. Afterwards, he might even invite her over to London, see the sights, take in a show, and then perhaps a little romantic dinner. It was a lovely daydream but there was no time for any of that now.

  'Where is she?' he asked as his focus returned. 'Have we found the crazy bitch yet?'

  'No sign,' Jimmy answered. 'I'm beginning to think she can't be at home. Nobody could have slept through that alarm.'

  Maggie looked up. 'She's got a panic room. Upstairs. The door is off her en-suite.'