Hostage to Murder (22 page)

They rounded the bushes and found Tam crouched like a coiled spring. “Fuck it, I'm going for it,” he growled.

“Don't be stupid,” Lindsay said. “You'll blow the whole thing if you try it now.” She took out her mobile and dialled Sasha's number. “Sasha? Abort. We'll see you back at the boat.”

She turned back to find Rory and Tam engaged in furious argument. “He's my son,” Tam said mutinously.

“We've all stuck our necks out to get this far, Tam,” Rory said.

“You've got no right to put everybody else at risk. We'll figure something else out for tomorrow. But today's a bust. Leave it.”

“She's right,” Lindsay said. “We need to figure out a better way
of doing this. But we can't do it now. Come away, Tam,” she added, taking his hand. “There's no sense in you getting arrested.”

“Or worse,” Rory pointed out.

The argument was settled by the blast of the teacher's whistle, summoning her charges back into line for the walk back to school. Tam's head dropped and he pulled away from Lindsay, trudging despondently towards the far exit where minutes before Sasha had been waiting.

There was no need to take the Metro now. Lindsay flagged down a passing taxi on Nevsky Prospekt and managed to communicate their destination. They arrived back at the boat to find Andy and Sasha with tumblers of whisky in their fists. The atmosphere of depression was palpable.

Lindsay poured drinks for the rest of them while they recounted the disastrous operation. Afterwards, they slouched in the cockpit in gloomy silence. It was Sasha who opened the discussion. “We have one more chance, no?” he said.

“That's right,” Andy said. “We've only got three-day visas. That means we need to be back at Kronstadt by lunchtime the day after tomorrow. So, realistically, if we don't get the boy tomorrow, we'll have to leave empty-handed.”

“No fucking way,” Tam stated, pounding his fist against the bulkhead. “Youse can do what the hell you like, but I'm not leaving without Jack.”

Lindsay felt a headache beginning at the base of her skull. “That would be one way of making sure neither of you leaves Russia for quite a while,” she said tartly. “Look, can we skip the heroics and get down to brass tacks? Obviously, we need a better diversion if we're going to get Jack away from his minder. Any ideas?”

No one spoke for a moment, then Rory said, “Rather than
directly approaching the minder, maybe we should try to think up something that would draw everyone's attention away from the kids?”

“Like what?” Tam demanded.

“I don't know. Maybe Sasha and Andy could pretend to have a fight?” Rory suggested.

“Who'd drive the getaway car then?” Lindsay objected.

“You could. Or I could,” Rory said.

“You'd get lost,” Sasha said.

“We could practise the route tonight,” Lindsay countered.

“I need to be with the boat, Lindsay,” her father said. “What if somebody calls the police, and we cannae get away? What happens then? You're stuck with the boy and no way of getting out.”

“I can sail the boat,” Lindsay said.

“I'm no' disputing that,” Andy said. “But all the paperwork is in my name. They Russian bureaucrats, they're not going to wave you through if your papers aren't in order, are they, Sasha?”

The Russian shook his silver head. “He's right, Lindsay. It's too risky. We could all end up in jail that way.”

“Have you got a better idea, then?” Tam challenged. Sasha shrugged.

“You know, I think we're making this all too complicated. Keep it simple, that's always the best way,” Andy said. They all looked at him in surprise.

“How do you mean, Dad?”

“I wasnae there this afternoon, so I'm just going by what you've all said. But from the sounds of it, this minder's a pro. Would that be right?”

Rory nodded. “He knows what he's doing.”

“Right. So at the first sniff of any kind of diversion, his first instinct is going to be to protect the lad. It doesnae matter how clever we get, he's going to do his job. So there's no point in us trying to be smart. We've just got to tackle it head on.” Andy's voice was quiet, but Lindsay knew from experience that his lowkey approach disguised a stubbornness that nothing would shift. Whatever her father's idea, she had a sneaking suspicion that
would be what they ended up doing.

“So, what are you saying, Andy?” Tam leaned forward, suddenly alert.

“Keep it simple, like I said. We've got Sasha waiting in the car, like before. But this time, we wait till the kids are running about, then Tam just walks through the park, picking a line that'll bring him close to where Jack is. Then he just grabs him and makes a run for it. You two,” he pointed to Lindsay and Rory, “your job is to buy Tam some time. You wait by the path till Tam passes you, then you get in the minder's road. Trip him up, make him go the long way round, whatever. Just slow him down long enough, then disappear yourselves.” Andy sat back and the others looked at him in stunned astonishment.

“It'll never work,” Lindsay said. “They're bound to have told the bodyguard to look out for Tam. He'll recognise him.”

Sasha cocked his head to one side, considering Tam. “Maybe not if we get rid of the beard and chop the hair off and put him in an FC Zenit shirt . . .”

“You really think we can hold him up for long enough to let Tam get clear?” Rory asked.

Andy shrugged. “I don't know. I've never seen the guy. But from what you said, he sounds like a weightlifter. They're no' built for speed.”

Tam gave a harsh bark of laughter. “And you think I am?”

“It's amazing what the human body's capable of when it comes to your bairns,” Andy said. “You'll do just fine, Tam.”

Tam held out his huge paw to Andy. They shook. “That's settled, then,” he said.

Lindsay and Rory exchanged a bewildered look. “Outflanked by the old man,” Lindsay said, shaking her head, half-amused and half-terrified at the thought of what her father had just let her in for.

“We should go back to the park, make sure we all know the ground,” Sasha said, swallowing the last of his whisky. “Andy, you must come too, give us an extra pair of eyes.”

As they walked back to Sasha's car, Lindsay managed to detach her father from the group and hung back with him. “Tam's really
wound up,” she said. “I think you need to get him off the boat. He's going stir crazy on there. Is there any chance that you and Sasha can take him out and get him pissed tonight? Maybe the two of you could stay at Sasha's?”

“What about the boat?” Andy asked, casting an apprehensive look back at the Bénéteau.

“I'll stay on board with Rory. We've checked out of the hotel, remember? We can't go back, it'll only draw attention to us. And after we snatch Jack, the cops will be looking for two British women behaving suspiciously. We need to keep a low profile.”

“And you two want the place to yourselves, eh?” Andy asked severely.

“It's a small boat, Dad. We're all going to be cooped up there for long enough as it is. But I'm not suggesting this for my sake. Tam needs to let off some steam before he blows up.”

Andy stopped and stared hard at his daughter. “That better be the real reason, Lindsay. I've seen the way that lassie looks at you.”

“Aye, well, Dad, if wishes were horses, beggars would ride,” Lindsay said, using anger to hide her guilt. “Please yourself.”

She began to walk away, but Andy put a hand on her arm. “I'll do what you suggest,” he said. “Don't let yourself down, Lindsay.”

 

Her father's words echoed in her head hours later as she made up the double berth in the forepeak cabin for her and Rory to share. Was she letting herself down, or was she finding the road back to herself, a road that had been obscured by the forces of habit and affection? It was a question that had no easy answer. She tucked the sheet in under the thin foam mattress as Rory called, “Dinner is served, madam.”

Lindsay finished off and joined Rory in the cockpit, where she'd arranged a picnic with the food they'd bought from a small grocery store near Sasha's apartment. There was ham and red caviare, a sweating block of yellow cheese, various flavoured yoghurts, black bread and, improbably, a baguette. They'd supplemented this with bananas, peaches and tomatoes from a nearby kiosk, and a couple of bottles of Georgian red wine recommended by Sasha.
“Looks good,” Lindsay said, leaning across to kiss Rory on the mouth.

“I don't know if I can eat much,” Rory said. “I never realised you could feel the boat moving even when you're tied up like this.”

“You'll get used to it.” Lindsay grinned. “Either that or you'll be seasick.”

“Gee, thanks,” Rory said, cutting off a chunk of bread and smearing it with caviare.

“Just remember it's always better up on deck,” Lindsay said. “Poor Sophie gets sick as a dog when she's below. That's why she never used to come on overnight trips with me.”

“Did you used to sail in California, then?”

“I learned to sail almost as soon as I could walk. When we were in America, I had a half-share in a thirty-six foot Baltic.”

Rory shook her head. “That means nothing to me.”

“It's a classic yacht. A colleague of Sophie's found her languishing in a boat yard and he persuaded me to go in with him. It took us the best part of a year to get her seaworthy, but it was worth it. I had some great sails in that boat. I really miss her, especially on a night like this, sitting on the water and just soaking up the peace and quiet.”

“So, are you going to get a boat back in Scotland?” Rory asked, uncorking the wine.

Lindsay shook her head. “I can't afford it.”

“That's a shame.”

“I'll just have to try and hitch a ride crewing for some of the rich bastards who keep their boats up in Invercross. They're always desperate for an extra pair of hands.”

Rory grinned. “Either that or we'll have to make lots of money selling stories.”

“Maybe.” Then a sudden thought stabbed her. “Except I might have another mouth to help feed.” She managed to remain in denial about the prospects of parenthood ever since the plane had taken off from Glasgow, but now it was there between them, a monkey on her back that wouldn't stay caged.

Rory reached across and squeezed Lindsay's hand. “Hey, maybe you should try the lottery.”

Lindsay burst out laughing. “I think you've used up enough luck for both of us there.”

Rory winked. “You mean, you don't think you'll get lucky tonight?”

Lindsay made herself a cheese and tomato sandwich. “I intend to take full advantage of tonight. It could be our last chance for a while.”

Rory frowned. “But we're going to be on the boat for another couple of nights, surely?”

“Yeah, but so will my Dad,” Lindsay pointed out. “Call me a coward, but that is not going to make me feel relaxed and sexy.”

“Duh, silly me. You think he'd tell Sophie?”

Lindsay sighed. “No, I don't think he would. I just don't want him to know that there's anything
to
tell Sophie. It's easier all round.”

Rory leaned against Lindsay. “Well, we'd better eat fast, then.”

 

“I thought yesterday was bad, but this is hell,” Lindsay muttered to Rory as Tam disappeared inside the bar in search of the toilet.

“If it gets any hotter, Tam's going to spontaneously combust,” Rory agreed. They were sitting at a pavement table at a bar on a side street between the international school and the play area. From the safety of his car, Sasha had watched Jack and his minder arrive at school a couple of hours before. He'd stayed put just in case they left early, but so far, Lindsay's mobile had remained silent.

The air was heavy with humidity, the sky coppery and oppressive. It was the sort of day when a thin sheen of sweat covered every exposed piece of flesh, making bodies adhesive. The weight of the weather served only to accentuate the discomfort and drag of hanging around.

Waiting alone with Rory would at least have held an element of pleasure. But with Tam added to the mix, it was grim. He couldn't keep still. When he wasn't smoking, his fingers danced incessantly on the table top. He made Lindsay check her phone every five minutes, just to make sure she hadn't missed a vital call. He kept running his hands over his newly naked chin and the half inch of
hair that was all that remained of his thick auburn mop, as if he couldn't quite believe he was still in his own skin.

What was worse was that his nervousness was contagious. Lindsay had started the day feeling fairly calm, but she was growing more and more edgy with every passing minute. “He's doing my head in,” she complained.

“He can't help it,” Rory said. “He's scared. And if there's one thing a macho Scottish male can't acknowledge, even to himself, it's being scared. So he's hiding it behind impatience. Try and relax, Lindsay.” She leaned across to massage Lindsay's neck between her fingers and thumb.

“Oh yeah, right. Relax. That'll work. How am I supposed to relax?”

Rory smirked. “Think of something pleasant. No, actually, skip that. Think of something wildly, extravagantly, sexily fabulous. You shouldn't have to search far back in your memory . . .”

In spite of herself, Lindsay smiled. Before she could reply, Tam came lumbering back to the table. With his new look and his blue Zenit shirt, nobody from Glasgow would have recognised him. Lindsay herself had had to do a double take when he'd appeared at the boat earlier with her father and Sasha. A bodyguard who'd only seen a photograph would have no chance.