by C J Carver
It didn’t work. Things grew heated.
I heard the traffic cop snarl something sarcastic along the lines of he was sorry Barry would get home late for his tea, and just as I was wondering if I should get out and fall to my knees and beg, my phone rang.
‘Why have you stopped?’ asked the Saint.
‘Traffic accident.’ I was curt.
‘Like I believe you.’
‘It’s true,’ I hissed. ‘Check the Internet. Three car smash.’
‘You’ve got your brother?’
‘Of course.’
‘Let me speak to him. I want to make sure you’re keeping your end of the bargain.’
‘He’s in the car behind us.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘Yes!’ The word was a shout of frustration and fear.
I could hear him breathing. Finally, he said, ‘How long until you get here?’
‘I don’t know. Twenty minutes? Thirty?’
‘Twenty minutes. Not a second more.’
He hung up.
I twisted in my seat to see Barry Gilder on the phone, talking urgently. He passed his phone to the officer who spoke for a while, looking between Barry and me, and Dad’s Discovery. Then he handed Barry’s phone back. Things happened fast after that. The cop leaned down to look at me.
‘Follow me,’ he said.
Walking ahead of us, he guided us between the wreckages and around the worst of the broken glass. As soon as we were clear, Barry jumped inside and said, ‘Go.’
I floored it.
The BMW rose smoothly to the challenge of an empty motorway and a heavy foot on the accelerator. By the time I eased off, the needle rested on 140 mph, and I only slowed because Dad’s old Discovery was struggling to keep up. Even so, we made junction twenty-six in under five minutes.
‘How did you persuade the cop to let us through?’ I asked.
‘I rang your wife’s office.’
I was opening my mouth to protest that she’d told me specifically not to do that, but he overrode me.
‘I know what you said,’ Barry snapped. ‘But we need all the help we can get. I spoke to Mark Felton. Told him the situation, and not to go in until my boss gives him the go-ahead. She’s one of theirs. He doesn’t want her vanished any more than we do.’
I had to hope to God that Barry was right, and that MI5 wouldn’t blunder in and cock everything up.
Taking the dual carriageway to the roundabout, I swung left and ducked east to join the A104, a road that ran directly through the forest. Trees lined the road, rough grass verges on either side opening up into stretches of brown bracken and gorse. A mile on, I slowed down, looking for a track on the right which would, according to the coordinates the Saint had left, lead us straight to him.
I steadily rounded a sweeping bend and there it was. A rough track of stone and gravel, rutted with potholes filled with rainwater. I turned onto it. Crawled along, leafy low-hanging branches brushing against the windows. Although the Discovery had made the same turn, Rob had slowed right down, following us at a distance.
Barry’s phone rang. He looked at the display. Answered it. ‘Boss, thanks for clearing me. I’m sorry I couldn’t say much with Plod listening in, but I’m on a–’
I could hear a woman’s voice, sharp and angry, trying to override him, but he kept going.
‘Kidnapping case. We’re going to the rendezvous now. I need backup.’
There was a pause, and then came more angry noises.
‘No,’ he said, ‘this isn’t a joke. We’re meeting George Abbott, who’s kidnapped an MI5 officer.’
I half-listened to him giving a DCI Ann Harris the lowdown. From what I could gather, she was shorthanded and was going to struggle to put a team together. She was also spitting fire at the short notice and let Barry know in no uncertain terms she didn’t appreciate it and nor did she approve of anything he was doing or had done or would do in the future.
Finally, he clicked off the call. ‘Christ almighty. Facing George Abbott’s going to be nothing compared to her.’
My stomach was rolling in a sea of oil, making me feel sick. I had a sheen of sweat all over my body and more sweat seeped down my spine to soak into my waistband.
I crossed the bump of a small bridge. Checked my phone and the blue destination push pin.
‘Nearly there,’ I said.
We passed a massive boggy pond with silvery bronze plants at one end and giant rhubarb plants with umbrella-shaped leaves at the other. Birds flitted in and out of bushes. A squirrel darted across the track ahead. It felt as though we were in another world.
We came upon a clearing. An area of rough grass and ferns. I stopped. We were on top of the push pin on the map.
‘We’re here.’
I saw Rob pull up behind me. I kept the engine running. I didn’t want to switch it off straight away in case we needed to get out of there quickly. That said, I couldn’t see anyone. No cars, no people. Nothing except dripping oak trees, beech, some silver birch. A blackbird darted from one bush to another but otherwise all was still and silent.
The phone in my hand rang.
‘Who the fuck is that with your brother?’ the Saint asked.
I twisted violently in my seat.
My blood pressure spiked off the chart.
Rob stood stock still next to Dad’s car. Behind him stood a man.
I blinked rapidly, wondering if I was imagining things.
Twelve years may have passed but he had the same strong body I’d seen on the CCTV tape. His hair had gone grey and his jowls sagged, pulling his skin down and making him look like a saddened Basset Hound, but it was the same man all right.
David Gilder, Barry’s father.
He was holding a gun to my brother’s head.
Chapter 64
‘And who the fuck’s in the car with you?’ the Saint demanded.
I had to work my mouth to answer. It had turned to cotton wool. ‘Barry Gilder.’
‘Put him on.’
But Barry was yanking open the door and striding furiously to his father.
For Chrissakes… I flung my door open and hastened after him, clutching the phone, my feet squelching in wet ground, my heart belting away like an industrial piston on overdrive.
‘Dad.’ Barry Gilder stopped in front of the men. ‘What the hell are you doing?’
His father looked at him. His expression was flat. ‘What do you think?’
‘But Mum said you were in Finland. Fishing with Michael Wujek.’
‘That’s what I told everyone, yes.’
David Gilder glanced at my phone, which was squawking furiously. We could all hear the Saint going nuts and I was going to speak to him, try to calm him down, but David Gilder shook his head sharply, shoving his gun harder into the side of Rob’s head.
‘Don’t move,’ he said.
I stilled and at the same time, the Saint’s voice went quiet.
‘Look,’ said David Gilder reasonably. ‘It’s simple. I spotted an opportunity.’
I saw his son’s skin pale. ‘No, Dad. Please, no.’
‘There’s a reward for this piece of scum. You really believe he didn’t kill those people? That he wasn’t screwing that woman, Rachel, or that he wasn’t so high on crack that he didn’t go insane and cause that bloodbath?’
Rob held my eyes. His hands were bound in front of him. He had a gun against his head, but he was unnaturally calm. Where I was sweating, my pulse racing, he looked totally composed. It was weird. Was he in some sort of fearful fugue? Or had his old security training kicked in?
Barry was practically hopping from foot to foot, infuriated. ‘But taking money from George Abbott, it’s–’
‘He tells me you’re on his payroll too.’ His father’s eyes held a cold challenge. ‘So don’t tell me you’re whiter than white.’
‘But I didn’t have a choice. He told me that if I didn’t find Robert Ashdown, one day Hayley would go to collect Noah from
school and he wouldn’t be there. We’d never see him again, and–’
‘Enough,’ his father snapped. ‘Let’s do this thing. Get this man’s wife back. You do want that, don’t you?’ He flicked a look at me.
‘Yes, yes,’ I said. ‘But not if Rob–’
‘Good.’
David Gilder reached over and grabbed my phone. Clicked it off. Passed it back to me.
He eased the gun from Rob’s head, but not too far. He said to Rob in a conversational tone, ‘How was that, do you think?’
‘Stirling,’ he said, giving me a wink. ‘You should be on the stage. I nearly fell for it and I already knew the plan.’
Silence. There came the cawing of a crow. The swirl and rustle of a breeze lifting leaves. All these things were at the edge of my consciousness as I tried to make sense of things.
Barry said slowly, ‘You did that for George Abbott’s benefit?’
‘I still am,’ replied his father. His eyes were clicking around the clearing, sensing, evaluating. An old warhorse returning to the battleground. Then he looked at me. ‘I’d shake your hand, except it would give the game away.’
‘Game?’ I repeated. My voice was dusty.
‘You got everything I left for you?’ he asked me. ‘The CCTV tape? The photographs?’
I stared. ‘It was you?’
‘Rob couldn’t do it,’ he told me reasonably. ‘He might have been spotted.’
I remembered what my neighbour had said when I’d asked her if she’d seen anyone entering our cottage. He was an older man… I thought it was your father.
‘I don’t understand,’ I said.
‘It’s simple.’ Rob turned his head slightly to look at David Gilder. ‘This man saved my life.’
But he’s on the Saint’s payroll, I thought. He lied about when the police turned up.
‘No,’ I said. I’d decided I didn’t trust his father even if he had given me the CCTV tape and the photographs.
‘Think about it, Nick.’ Rob’s mouth went tight. ‘But don’t take too much time over it. David saved my life. He helped set up my fake drowning. He hid me from the Saint. I consider him my friend. Get with the programme, will you?’
He’s your friend until he gets the reward. And he still has a gun against your head, remember?
‘You think I don’t want to bring Abbott down?’ David Gilder’s gaze was like a pair of iced lasers on mine. ‘He’s had my balls in a vice nearly all my life. I’ve been unable to move, to live freely, and now he’s got my son caught in the same trap. You think I don’t want to end that?’
I stood there, desperately unsure. I didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to do.
Rob asked, ‘Do you trust me?’
He held my eyes. They shone with sincerity and warmth.
I nodded jerkily.
‘Then trust him.’
I swallowed. I didn’t see I had much choice. There were at least four of the Saint’s men waiting for us. If Barry and David Gilder came along, it would make it even. Four each side. Was I making a mistake? I couldn’t tell. I was in such a state of alert I was having trouble identifying any instincts or emotions. I had to trust Rob with this. Trust my brother.
‘Okay,’ I said.
My phone rang.
‘Put Barry Gilder on,’ the Saint demanded.
I passed Barry the phone.
Chapter 65
Barry put the phone on loudspeaker so we could all hear.
‘What the fuck are you doing there?’ the Saint asked. ‘Having a fucking tea party?’
‘Delivering Robert Ashdown to you.’ He kept his voice level. ‘As you wanted.’
‘But what the hell is your father… No matter. You’re here now.’
‘Yes. We needed the two of us. Ashdown kicked up a bit of a fuss when we went to get him. I had to taser him.’
Barry’s father gave Barry a small approving smile at the embellishment.
‘Did you?’ The Saint sounded impressed. ‘Thank you, Barry. I’ll make sure you won’t come to regret it.’ His voice then changed. Became cold. Oily. ‘But if I come to doubt your loyalty, you know which little boy will have his legs amputated tomorrow.’
Barry’s entire body spasmed. For a moment I thought he might retch but he took a noisy gulp of air, then another.
Dear God, I thought. This crazy plan had to work. David and Barry Gilder had to destroy the Saint, because if they didn’t, neither of them could live with the damage the Saint would wreak.
‘Now,’ said the Saint. ‘I’m sending someone over. I want you to do as he says.’
I turned to see a big white guy appear through the trees. He had mouse-coloured hair that was longer at the front and buzz-cut up his neck and over his ears. He wore a windcheater and jeans, army surplus boots. The windcheater had NIMETU in red on it.
‘The Nameless,’ Barry murmured. ‘It’s the name of a street gang. Eastern European.’
As NIMETU stepped into view, at the same time, half a dozen men also appeared. Each held a weapon. Each weapon was trained on the car. I saw semi-automatics, shotguns. A couple of Uzis.
My adrenaline went into free fall.
The Saint had brought an army.
‘Oh, God,’ Rob said. ‘Oh, no.’
Barry gulped audibly. ‘It’ll be all right. I’ve called the troops, remember. They’re on their way.’
Please God they get here soon.
The man in the NIMETU windcheater held a sawn-off shotgun in both hands. He was flanked by two men. One held an Uzi, the other a Glock. They approached slowly. NIMETU jerked the end of his sawn-off shotgun at us.
‘Phones,’ he said. ‘Throw them.’
His voice was accented. Definitely Eastern European. Maybe Estonian, or Albanian. I found it hard to differentiate between them.
‘Where’s my wife?’ I asked.
‘Phones,’ the man snapped.
I threw my phone to one side. Heard a clatter then a splash as it hit a puddle.
The black eye of the shotgun’s barrel swivelled to Barry. ‘And you.’
I hoped Barry had left the line open as he threw his phone onto the ground.
‘And you.’ NIMETU jerked the barrel of his shotgun at Barry’s father.
‘Back left pocket,’ he told NIMETU.
NIMETU looked at Barry. Said, ‘Get it.’
Barry lifted his father’s phone from his pocket, chucked it on the ground. I saw that Rob also had a phone in his rear pocket, but nobody checked him. He was the prisoner, after all.
NIMETU swooped and picked up all three phones. He walked a few paces away and threw them, hard. I heard the splash as they hit water. A pond, a lake. Whatever. They wouldn’t be working anymore.
NIMETU returned. ‘Weapons,’ he demanded.
‘None,’ said Barry. ‘We’re civvies, okay?’
‘We’ll see about that.’ He backed up a little. Waved the shotgun at them. ‘You two.’ He meant Barry and me. ‘Turn round.’
We turned.
I saw NIMETU pull out a pistol from Barry’s waistband. ‘Some civvy,’ he said, spitting on the ground.
‘Where is she?’ I asked.
‘Arms up.’
I did as instructed. Watched the man with the Uzi sling his weapon with its strap across his back. He came and patted me down. Shoulders, arms, legs, ankles. Then he went to Barry, did the same. Swift, professional. But they didn’t pat Rob down. Not so professional after all.
‘Walk.’ NIMETU waved the gun at a pollarded tree which had a massive crown of thick, trunk-like branches. ‘Over there.’
I shivered as the temperature dropped and my breath misted before me. The ground was sodden, and I’d barely walked ten paces and my shoes were soaked through. I leaned close to Rob. ‘Is your phone on?’ I whispered.
He gave a tiny nod.
Barry had given his boss, DCI Ann Harris, everyone’s phone numbers earlier. When his and mine didn’t work, she’d track Rob’s phone. The troops would f
ind us. I had to hope it was soon, but what would happen when they arrived, God alone knew. I prayed we’d survive that long.
As we walked through the forest, the cold bit harder. I could hear the wind playing in the high branches of the trees, causing them to creak and whisper. The light weakened.
‘Is my wife okay?’ I asked NIMETU.
‘Shut up.’
We came to what looked like an animal trail. Followed it, snaking through the trees. Our footsteps rustled and squelched through carpets of wet leaves. To my disbelief, we kept walking.
‘Where the hell are you taking–?’
The butt of a gun hit the back of my head. A sharp clip, above my ear. It hurt like hell and was expertly placed not to knock me out as much as to shock me. Make me compliant. I was trembling, my heart hollow. Christ. The Saint had hired real pros. My dread increased.
We walked for over forty minutes. I lost all sense of direction and had no idea where we were. Dread sat on my shoulder and fear in my stomach. If I got out of there alive, I was going to take Susie sailing in the Caribbean. Sod the money.
‘Stop there.’
The voice came from ahead.
The Saint.
Chapter 66
Nick. The name came into Susie’s mind. He was coming. Rob too. And David Gilder. Barry Gilder. Father and son. She didn’t trust either of them. She needed to see what was happening, to know Nick was all right. That her future was going to be safe.
She levered herself onto her knees and leaned against a tree trunk. Waves of pain emanated up her arm, into her shoulder and neck and into her brain. She’d already vomited from the pain, but it had settled to a mind-numbing shriek.
Her guard raised the pistol as she made to get to her feet. Shook his head. She lifted her good arm in a pleading gesture.
He hesitated.
She struggled up.
The pain in her other arm intensified at the movement. Her vision blurred. She waited for it to pass. It was only a broken arm, she told herself. It would heal. And it wasn’t as bad as the Saint had made out to Nick. He hadn’t broken the skin. There was no bone showing, no blood. It was a closed break. Her forearm was shattered, and although the pain was pretty bad, along with the swelling, she could at least function.