Capital Punishment (35 page)

‘If they were originally in the same group, what happened to split them up and why do they hate each other?’ asked Fox.

‘Religion,’ said Deacon. ‘In retaliation for the destruction of the Babri Mosque in Ayodhya by Hindus, Dawood Ibrahim organised the 1993 bombings in Mumbai. It split his gang along religious lines. They’ve hated each other ever since.

‘We have had no confirmation that Chhota Tambe’s outfit was actually hiding Deepak Mistry; all we can say is that my agent was hoping to find him there. Mr Mistry has still not been found and his importance to this case is not clear.

‘We’ve also been investigating possible links between Mr D’Cruz and unsavoury elements within the Pakistani Inter-Services Intelligence agency. Mr D’Cruz was selling steel in Pakistan and receiving contracts from senior ISI officers, and Lt General Abdel Iqbal in particular. While this intelligence establishes some sort of link between Mr D’Cruz and the ISI, it does not show any terrorist connections.

‘It is well known in the intelligence community and the international press that Dawood Ibrahim’s old D-Company gang has since been incorporated by the ISI into the terrorist group Lashkar-e-Taiba. Confirmation that Mr D’Cruz was under the wing of Dawood Ibrahim in his gold smuggling days shows that there may be a, possibly defunct, link between the two men. So, as far as our terrorist concerns go, the most important link to establish would be between any of these ISI officers that Mr D’Cruz does business with, and Lashkar-e-Taiba.

‘So far the only link we
have
been able to establish is between Lt General Abdel Iqbal and his fellow ISI officer, Lt General Amir Jat, now retired. Jat has a complex web of loyalties, amongst them: the CIA, the Afghan Taliban, parts of the Pakistani Taliban, al-Qaeda and, we suspect, Lashkar-e-Taiba.’

‘You said the CIA?’ asked Hunter.

‘The CIA have always been grateful to Amir Jat for helping them mobilise the mujahideen as a fighting force against the Russian occupation of Afghanistan in the 1980s. Amir Jat has maintained that relationship with carefully managed intelligence from the Pakistani border region. A lot of senior CIA officers haven’t got a bad word to say about Amir Jat, but the younger officers in the field will tell you about his control of the heroin smuggling business to finance Taliban insurgency and that he is the prime suspect for hiding Osama bin Laden in the Abbottabad compound. So he’s a complicated individual.’

‘Heroin smuggling,’ said DCS Makepeace. ‘Amir Jat is beginning to sound like a linchpin to me. And if a direct link between him and Mr D’Cruz could be established, that would give all of us grounds for grave concern.’

‘It would certainly go some way to explaining the nature of this kidnap,’ said Joyce Hunter. ‘No financial demand, only a show of sincerity being asked for. It could be that pressure is being applied to Mr D’Cruz to perform in some way.’

‘It also implies that he should know
how
to perform,’ said Makepeace. ‘That he knows what the demonstration entails.’

‘We think that Mr D’Cruz might know something of what is going on,’ said Simon Deacon. ‘It’s possible that this “demonstration of sincerity” is actually a demand that he just continues to keep his mouth shut. At this stage we are inclined to trust him, that he has too much at stake in this country to betray us to terrorists. We are also hoping that if we allow Mr D’Cruz some freedom of supervised movement, we could pull off a major intelligence coup.’

‘And what the hell does that mean?’ asked Makepeace.

They went into the bedroom, hoods on, shook Alyshia awake, got her propped up, sleeping mask off. She was groggy from the drug. Dan patted her about the cheeks. She slapped his hands away.

‘Hold this newspaper up under your chin,’ said Skin.

Dan stood back and framed the shot with the mobile phone he’d found on Jordan and took it.

‘Shouldn’t I be in there with her?’ asked Skin. ‘You know: hooded man, gun to her neck. Scare them a bit.’

‘With a green and white al-Qaeda bandana, maybe?’ said Dan. ‘And a bread knife for extra horror? Let’s just keep it calm for the moment. We can build up to the more lurid stuff later.’

Dan walked the half mile to Old Street tube station and went down to Bank. He got on the Docklands Light Railway, out towards Canary Wharf and across the river into Greenwich. He made the call from Greenwich Park. He was nervous. His skin prickled and would probably have sweated if it hadn’t been so intensely cold. He had some notes written down. He sat on a park bench. People walked past him on their way to work, paid him no attention.

‘Isabel Marks?’ he said.

‘Hello? Is that Jordan?’

‘No, Jordan is no longer in control of this kidnap. Your daughter Alyshia is now in our hands.’

Silence.

‘I don’t understand,’ said Isabel. ‘Who are you?’

‘We have taken over the kidnap of your daughter. That’s all you need to know. To prove this I am sending you a photograph of Alyshia holding today’s newspaper.’

‘I don’t believe this.’

‘Get used to it, Mrs Marks,’ said Dan, finding a bit of confidence now that he sensed she was rattled. ‘Can you see the photo?’

‘I don’t know how to work this bloody thing.’

‘Don’t try and string this out, Mrs Marks. I’m only going to talk for a minute.’

‘Right. I can see her now,’ said Isabel. ‘What did you say?’

‘We want five million pounds in cash. I will call again in two hours’ time.’

‘What sort of cash?’

He hadn’t thought that out. Ridiculous.

‘Pounds. Used notes,’ he said quickly, because that’s what they always asked for in the movies. ‘Twenties. In five separate sports bags. We’ll call you again in two hours’ time with the delivery details.’

‘We’ll need more than two hours to get five million pounds together,’ said Isabel.

‘That’s your problem, not mine,’ said Dan, and hung up.

He took the train back to London Bridge, dropped the SIM card he’d just used in a bin and got on the Northern line to Old Street. He was nervous about being followed. Pike’s crew would be looking for them by now and they weren’t that far from Stepney. He didn’t fancy ending up in Kevin’s hands. Skin was a liability. That shaved head and stupid tattoo. He’d only let him out after dark.

The round trip had taken him over an hour. He should have given himself more time before the next call. He’d go west for that one, get away from the East End. Maybe this unit on Branch Place hadn’t been such a great idea. He’d rushed into it. And now, with Pike’s crew probably bleeding across from Bethnal Green into Haggerston and Shoreditch, time didn’t seem quite so available anymore.

Dan let himself into the flat silently. The murmur of voices reached him. He listened at the door. It sounded like a conversation that had been going on a long time.

‘That’s why I persuaded him we should take over the kidnap,’ said Skin. ‘We all need to make some money but there’s no need to treat people like shit. I mean, what was that all about? All those questions he was asking you?’

‘He knew everything about me. He knew more than my parents. He knew more about me than I did myself.’

‘Like what?’

Skin was never going to make it as an interrogator.

‘Like things from my past that I’d rather forget.’

‘And what have you got in your past that you’d want to forget?’ said Skin. ‘You haven’t killed anyone. I had to do those two back in the warehouse. We reckon one was CIA and the other SAS.’

Laying it on a bit thick, thought Dan.

‘How many people
have
you killed?’ asked Alyshia.

‘This week?’ said Skin, and they laughed, which sent a chill down Dan’s spine.

He put on a hood and went in to Alyshia’s room. They seemed to have been unaware of his movement around the flat. She was lying on the bed, Skin was at her side as if it was a hospital visit. At least he was wearing his hood, because he’d allowed Alyshia to raise her sleeping mask.

‘This looks cosy,’ said Dan.

‘Just getting to know each other,’ said Skin, looking round.

‘A word,’ said Dan. ‘She still cuffed to the bed?’

Alyshia rattled the manacle, smiled. No fear there, thought Dan. Skin brushed himself down. They’d been having coffee and biscuits. Dan closed the door on her.

‘What’s all this, then?’ asked Dan.

‘I’m just getting on with her,’ said Skin. ‘Finding out shit.’

‘Go on then, tell me what you’ve found out that’s going to make it easier for me to get a couple of million quid out of her dad?’

‘We’re not there yet. You can’t rush these things. I’m just—’

‘Chatting her up? That’s what it sounded like. The fucking CIA and the SAS? Coffee and biscuits? Fuck me. Just tell me you took over this kidnap because you fancied her. Let’s get that one out of the way, at least.’

‘She’s all right,’ said Skin, shrugging.

‘And when you have to get nasty with her because her dad’s not playing ball? How’s that going to go? Biscuits are cancelled for break? No cut flowers today?’

‘You were the one who
bought
the fucking biscuits.’

‘They’re rewards for good behaviour,’ said Dan. ‘She’s winding you ’round her little finger. I can tell.’

‘How do you know I’m not winding her ’round mine?’

‘In your fucking dreams, Skin. She’s so far out of your league it’s like watching Barcelona versus Barnet,’ said Dan.

‘You’re a cheerful little bastard, aren’t you?’

Try getting yourself
out
of the movie of your life and back
into
the reality. You said it yourself: nobody’s going to give us a million each unless we, at least, look like we deserve it.’

‘So how did the phone call go?’ asked Skin. ‘You asked for two mil and she said there’s a cheque in the post?’

Boxer left a voice message on Frank D’Cruz’s mobile and called Martin Fox, to be told he was out of the office. He sent a text: ‘Major development. Call me.’ He sent a copy to the Ops room and listened to the recording several times on the way to the newsagent, where he bought the
Sun
and compared the front cover to the shot on the mobile. He called Mercy.

‘You all right?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’

‘You sound tense.’

‘I’m all right,’ she said, brittle, getting on for fragile.

‘Someone else has taken over the kidnap,’ said Boxer. ‘I’ve tried calling Martin Fox but he’s in a meeting at Thames House with DCS Makepeace.’

‘Do you know who the new guys are?’

‘Not yet,’ said Boxer. ‘I’ve sent a copy of the call to the Ops room. Listen to it. We’ve had a demand for five million quid from a middle class Englishman, who’s sent us a photo of Alyshia with a copy of today’s
Sun.
I think they’re amateurs. We need to act quickly.’

‘Leave it with me. I’ll get hold of the DCS,’ said Mercy and hung up.

Isabel hadn’t moved. She sat on the edge of the sofa, staring into her lap, her shoulders rigid with worry. She’d wanted Boxer’s instant opinion but he was too professional for that. Nothing worse than for a consultant to be seen backtracking after giving the benefit of his experience. The family’s confidence would disappear in an instant. He listened to the last recording of Jordan’s voice. He sat down in front of Isabel.

‘What?’ she said, fingers clasped so tight they’d gone bluish-white.

‘He’s telling the truth,’ said Boxer. ‘That’s today’s
Sun
front cover. He hasn’t used any voice distortion and I can tell his speech pattern is totally different to Jordan’s. His set-up doesn’t feel as professional, either. He’s made no threats. His voice doesn’t sound like the kind that would make any threats. He sounds like an opportunist. An English middle class opportunist. I also think that because he’s made an immediate financial demand, he must be feeling the pinch of time. “I’ll call you back in two hours” is from someone who wants to get down to business. But he didn’t sound as if he’d quite thought everything through. The money, for instance. I also reckon he doesn’t know how big a million pounds in twenties is, nor how much it weighs. This is all good news for us, Isabel. The reason I want to speak to Frank and Martin Fox so badly is that, for once, we have to act really fast. These are the people we want to do business with.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Normally under these circumstances we’d start to string out a negotiating process, with the twin aims of frustrating the kidnappers and driving down the ransom. As time marches on, they become more prepared to accept less and less.’

‘And why wouldn’t you do that here?’

‘One of the time pressures on this new lot is that they’ve “taken over the kidnap”. To me, that means they’ve incapacitated the original kidnappers and “stolen” Alyshia. The one thing I felt about Jordan from the beginning was that he was a consummate professional—the psychology of his threats and knowledge, his aggression and intelligence, his patience and research—it was all energy-draining stuff. Somehow he got caught out, by whom we’re not sure, but it must have been by someone who was close enough to—’

‘Kill him?’ said Isabel. ‘Then why isn’t this new guy as professional as Jordan?’

‘He might be professional in a different way. In charge of security, for instance. That would have given him the perfect opportunity. But Jordan was a leader and a planner. This guy is feeling his way forward. I think he was somebody who got lucky and we have to act quickly because Jordan is the sort who’d have very dangerous backing. They’ll be out there and after them with the advantage of knowing who they’re looking for. Believe me, we want to do business with these new guys. We also don’t want to put Alyshia in harm’s way. If one group starts fighting it out with another, over a hostage in the middle...’

‘I’m not sure how quickly Frank can get hold of five million.’

‘We wouldn’t need anything like that amount of money,’ said Boxer. ‘Just something significant enough to make these amateurs want to do a deal.’

5.45 A.M. (LONDON TIME), 9.45 A.M. (LOCAL TIME), TUESDAY 13TH MARCH 2012

Shahrah-e-Faisal Military Airbase, Karachi, Pakistan