The Secret (Dr Steven Dunbar 10) (17 page)

Steven was beside himself. Khan had got inside the house at
Glenvane and was holding Jenny hostage. Right now it didn’t matter where he had obtained the information. What mattered was that he was holding his daughter and was demanding the memory card in exchange for her life – a card he no longer had. In what now seemed like some hellish irony, he had handed it over to be held under secure conditions and stop it falling into the wrong hands.

There had to be a way round this. He would get in touch with
Jean Roberts who had put the card into secure safe-keeping. He would explain what had happened and she would . . . no, she wouldn’t. She couldn’t! That’s not how the system worked. Having worked out that the card was really the thing Khan was after in his murderous rampage, he and Macmillan had agreed that it be put into the government’s secure system that would keep it safe from any kind of coercion or blackmail attempt being applied to individuals. Nothing he or Macmillan said would make any difference right now. HMG did not pay ransoms, give in to blackmail or make deals with criminals. Steven was in the very position the system was designed to guard against.

He felt as if he were being crucified slowly, one nail at a time. Every idea he came up with seemed to end in a negative. He found himself fighting his way through successive waves of fear and anger which overwhelmed his ability to think clearly. Experience insisted on reminding him that these emotions were his enemy. However difficult it was, he must calm down. He must accept that he couldn’t get his hands on the card: there was just no way to do it, therefore there was no point in considering it further. He had to save Jenny by other means. What other means?

There was no point in waking Macmillan. They would just end up going over the same ground and time was of the essence. Calling up the police in Scotland was also a non-starter and would almost certainly lead to disaster. Explanations would be required, referrals, approvals, permissions and God knows what before anyone actually did anything. There wasn’t time.

He would fly into
Edinburgh as instructed. He would follow further instructions to the letter and would hand over a memory card. It couldn’t be the card that Khan wanted so that’s when the big bluff would begin. There was no way of knowing how much time there would be before the deception was discovered but that, he acknowledged with a chill running down his spine, might well be irrelevant. On past performance, there would be no trade. Khan would accept the card and kill both he and Jenny. To give Jenny any chance at all against the bastard he would need help, the kind of help that could only come from one place.

It wouldn’t be the first time Steven had called on the SAS, known universally as the Regiment, for help but never before for personal reasons – Ironically, the
last time had been to hitch a lift into Afghanistan to visit a field hospital in the course of an investigation. It wasn’t something he would do lightly but Jenny’s life was at stake and there was nothing on Earth he wouldn’t do to save her.

At this late stage there was no official way he could request army involvement. It would have to be a personal appeal. He would be relying on something front line soldiers knew but tended not to broadcast widely. When the chips were down, it wasn’t Queen and country they fought for and it wasn’t defence of the realm that was uppermost in their minds; they fought for each other. Simple as that.

The rest of it was high-sounding baloney, spouted by politicians as justification for pursuing goals that were becoming increasingly difficult to determine. The Regiment didn’t do bullshit. They didn’t march through towns with fixed bayonets; they didn’t have a royal in a soldier suit as their colonel-in-chief, they didn’t accept the freedom to shit in the street, as one wag put it. They didn’t need the image. They were the real deal.

Front line camaraderie forged a bond that survived long afterwards. It was the only card he had left to play. He called
Hereford and presented his credentials as ex-Regiment.

‘Give me an hour,’ was the response when he’d finished making his appeal. ‘No promises but I’ll call you back.’

The minutes passed like proverbial hours with Steven itching to be doing something, not hanging around waiting. He knew he should be planning what to do if the answer from Hereford was no. He knew he should be . . . telling Tally what had happened. This brought on an extra frisson of anxiety. Tally had been right all along about his job. Normal people did not live like this.

The house phone rang and Steven snatched at it. It was Sue in
Scotland.

‘He said not to phone the police,’ she said, her voice betraying the nightmare she was going through.

‘I know, I know,’ soothed Steven, making a supreme effort to keep his voice calm. We have to be strong; we have to keep calm. Tell me what happened.’ He heard Sue swallow in preparation.

‘I thought I heard a noise downstairs. I woke Richard and he said it was the wind. Then we both heard it and Richard went downstairs. There was a man with a gun in his hand, an Asian man: he’d broken in. He made Richard call me downstairs then . . . he hit Richard with the gun and knocked him out cold. He told me to go wake Jenny and bring her down or he’d shoot Richard . . . Poor love, she was terrified.’

Steven closed his eyes and heard Sue sob before regaining control and continuing. ‘The next bit you know. He phoned you and made Jenny speak to you. When he’d finished, he said that no one was going to get hurt. He told Jenny that she would see her Daddy later but she had to go with him . . . She clung to me . . . Oh God, I feel like I betrayed her . . . He told me to make coffee for him and hot milk for Jenny then he put something in the milk. When I tried to stop him, he pointed the gun at Richard on the floor and I shut up. He said it was just something to calm her down. After ten minutes or so, when she grew sleepy, he left, taking her with him. Oh God, this can’t be happening.’ Sue lost her struggle to maintain composure and broke down.

Steven tried his best to reassure her that things would work out. He’d give Khan what he wanted and Jenny would be back home safe and sound. In reality he wasn’t sure if he believed what he was saying or was writing a letter to Santa Claus. He checked with Sue that she hadn’t called the police. She hadn’t. ‘How’s Richard?’

‘A nasty gash and a sore head but apart from that I think he’s okay. I don’t know what we’re going to tell the children . . .’

‘Hang in there, Sue. Put all your lives on hold for the day. Keep the kids off school. Don’t answer the door. Don’t talk to anyone. As far as the world’s concerned, you’ve all got ‘flu.’

‘I feel so helpless,’ sobbed Sue. ‘We both do. A man just walked into our house and took away our . . .’

‘None of this is your fault,’ Steven assured her, wishing that the same c
ould be said for him but knowing it couldn’t. It
was
all his fault. ‘We have to be practical; we have to stay strong for Jenny’s sake.’

Steven’s mobile rang and he had to end the call.

‘It’s an affirmative. Get yourself up to Hereford. When challenged, show your ID and tell them you’re with Blue Ranger 7.’

Steven’s Porsche could not travel faster than a speeding bullet but he coaxed it into doing its best as it ate up the miles between
London and Hereford. Weather conditions were good and traffic at that time in the morning light. The anticipated appearance of a police traffic patrol at some point did not materialise so there was no need waste time showing ID and verifying his code red status. The journey was completed without incident.

The mention of Blue Ranger 7 at the gate resulted in him being shown into a small briefing room in a ground floor suite of three or four rooms where four men sat drinking coffee from mugs with cartoon characters on them, two on chairs and two perched on the edge of a table. They wore civilian clothes and introduced themselves by a single name, Nick, Lenny,
Sparks and Stratocaster.

‘As in the guitar?’ asked Steven of the last one.

The man nodded with a smile but gave no explanation and Steven didn’t inquire further. You didn’t.

‘This never happened, Steven,’ said the one named Nick. ‘We’re about to go
off piste
as far as them upstairs are concerned.’

‘I thought as much,’ said Steven knowing full well that any action had to be unofficial. ‘Thanks you.’ The words sounded painfully inadequate but the fact that they came from the heart prompted an acknowledgement of nods all round.

‘To business,’ said Nick. ‘I take it he hasn’t been in touch again?’

Steven said not.

‘So all we know is that you have to be at Edinburgh Airport by noon tomorrow?’

Steven nodded.

‘So he might be there or he might phone you there with instructions. Did you bring the photo?’

Steven handed over the photograph of Khan Jean had come up with when investigating the participants at the
Prague meeting. ‘Here you go, Dr Ranjit Khan, Pakistani Intelligence . . . but no longer. He’s gone private and he’s no mug.’

‘Good to know,’ said Nick. ‘Right, let’s talk communications: we’ll fit you up with some gear and we’ll sat-tag you in case you lose the wires early. We’ll do it twice just in case he’s content with finding one on you if there’s a search but we’re all going to have to play this very much by ear. We don’t even know if he’s doing this on his own, do we?’

‘My gut feeling is that it’s a solo effort but no guarantees.’

‘Something to bear in mind,’ said Nick. ‘We’ll travel up separately, you by air from
Birmingham so you arrive off a scheduled flight just in case he or anyone else is watching. We’ll travel up by road . . . with our gear. ‘Are you carrying?’

Steven said not. The prospect of having to go through flight security at some point had made him leave the
Glock at home.’

Nick handed Steven a small vial of pills. ‘To help you stay awake.’

Two of the soldiers left the room to load and check over their vehicle, a Land Rover Defender, while Steven and the remaining two, including Nick, went over every possible scenario they could imagine and how they would deal with it should it arise. Coffee and Benzedrine kept tiredness at bay.

Steven showered and changed into the suit he’d brought with him. He removed the memory card he was going to use from his briefcase and slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket, pausing briefly to reflect on the enormity of the bluff he was planning. It had been decided that they would all leave at the same time, the soldiers heading directly to
Scotland and he to Birmingham Airport. He would arrive there early but would use the time call Tally and tell her what was going on. He deliberately kept his speed down on the motorway in order to concentrate on what he was going to say but, as he entered the car park at the airport, he still wasn’t sure.

There was no escaping the fact that the next few hours were going to change everything in his life regardless of the outcome. If the worst should happen to Jenny and he should survive, he knew that he would slip all the anchors he had in society. He would walk away from his job, his relationship, his friends and single-mindedly hunt down Khan and kill him . . . or die in the attempt. There would be no waiting for the wheels of justice to turn. He wasn’t civilised to the degree required to lift him above seeking revenge. That’s just the way it was.

If, please God, Jenny were to come out of this unscathed in the physical sense he couldn’t see how she could achieve this mentally. True, she was a child and children were remarkably resilient but the question must be how deep would the scars run? Sue and Richard too would be traumatised and it was impossible to think that things could ever be the same again between them all. As for Tally . . . he was just about to find out whether their relationship could possibly survive the latest challenge.

Steven bought a ticket on the
Edinburgh flight, politely declining the offer of a seat on an earlier flight as there was still time as the smiling girl behind the desk pointed out. He bought black coffee and found a quiet spot in the airport lounge where he settled by a window to look out at the grey morning light before calling Tally.

Steven? I expected you to call last night. I was worried.’

‘I’m sorry . . . rather a lot’s been happening.’

‘Something’s the matter,’ said Tally, alarmed at the nuance she was picking up in Steven’s voice.

‘I don’t know how Khan found out about Jenny and where she lived but he did. He’s kidnapped her and wants to trade her for the memory card Simone enclosed with her letter. Right now I’m at Birmingham Airport waiting to go up to Edinburgh . . . to await his instructions.’

‘Oh my God, Steven . . . Oh, Steven this is awful . . . poor little love . . . Oh God, is there anything I can do? Anything at all?’

‘No, it’s all up to me right now,’ said Steven. ‘I . . . just thought you should know what’s going on . . .’

There was a pause before Tally said quietly, ‘Of course I should know what’s going on; we love each other, don’t we? Jenny’s part of us, as in the two of us, isn’t she?’

‘Sorry, I put it badly. I’m not thinking straight. Of course, she is. It’s just that . . . I suppose I’ve suddenly become very aware of just how much my job affects the people around me, the people I love. You were much more aware of it than me. You spelt it out for me more than once and I kept pushing it to the back of my mind.’

‘Stop it, Steven,’ said Tally but not unkindly. ‘What I said in the past was based on my own selfishness. I thought I had a right to demand a safe and secure life and you should comply with that and fall into line but I was wrong and I remember all the unhappiness you went through for me before I insisted you return. You’re a special person doing a special job, a job that needs doing and it’s the rest of us who should fall into line. Every wife of every soldier serving in
Afghanistan has to do this. I’ve come to realise there’s a great army of unsung heroines out there who go through hell every day but accept it without complaint. I’m now one of them. I love you; I’ll always be there for you and so will all the people you love so stop talking nonsense and go get Jenny back.’

Steven managed a smile for the first time in a while. ‘Will do.’

The flight north only served to increase Steven’s anxiety. He’d never been fond of the enforced proximity to strangers that air travel imposed but today it was the sheer normality of his fellow passengers’ behaviour that seemed to get to him; the very things that would normally confer anonymity on people were today doing the opposite. Filling in crossword puzzles, tapping laptop keys, reading newspapers, even the sipping of coffee seemed to imply a complete disregard for the personal agony he was going through.

The seatbelt sign went on as the aircraft crossed over the
Lammermuir Hills on its long descent and banked steeply to the left to follow the Firth of Forth to make its final approach into Edinburgh airport. It was a journey Steven had often made in the past and he’d always enjoyed the moment when the two mighty bridges spanning the Forth came into view but today he had too many other things on his mind to offer more than a grunt when the man in the seat beside him pointed out that all the scaffolding and sheeting had been removed from the mighty Victorian rail bridge for the first time in years. ‘They’ve finished painting it,’ he said. ‘New kind of paint, should last twenty-five years.’

Steven could only think that Jenny would be thirty-five years old when they would paint the bridge again. She’d probably be married, probably have children – his grandchildren. He was wondering if she’d invite him for Christmas dinner when that image was interrupted by another, that of a group of mourners standing around a small white coffin. The hollow feeling in his stomach grew by the minute. The bump of the landing wheels didn’t help.

His fellow passengers stood in readiness for the aircraft doors to open, an impatient file all looking remarkably the same in his eyes, about to spend their day maintaining their role in the great scheme of things, negotiating contracts, securing orders, jockeying for position on the career ladder, but at the end of the day, it was odds on they’d all be going home to their families . . .

Steven turned his phone on as he made his way to the arrivals hall, walking past the row of name cards being held up along the route. He’d never had to pay these any attention before but today he did, simply because his actions were now to be determined entirely by somebody else. There was a ‘Clarkson’, written in green marker pen on cardboard, ‘Fenton – North Sea Gas’, presented as a smudged computer print-out, even a rather grand card bearing the name, Sir Peter Cross, being held up by a man in chauffeur’s uniform but no Dunbar.

With no real sense of purpose or direction to guide him, Steven imagined he was getting an inkling of what it must be like to be excluded from society; an unpleasant feeling but another human cameo to add to his collection. He restored purpose by gravitating towards the nearest café and buying coffee, the assistant’s inquisition about size and type irritating him more than usual. He sat down, placed his mobile on the table and waited for it to ring. It didn’t.

At fifteen minutes past ten Steven bought more coffee but didn’t drink it. He needed neither the caffeine nor the attention of the woman whose task it was to clear away empty cups and sponge the table top with a cloth that smelt bad. At half past the hour his mind was going into overdrive, imagin
ing all the awful things that could have happened when he saw Ranjit Khan walk towards him. He was dressed in a smart suit that had not come off the peg and carried a laptop slung over his right shoulder. He was clean-shaven and his black hair was cut and styled to perfection. He looked every inch the successful lawyer or business executive. He smiled as he sat down beside Steven, shrugging his laptop strap off his shoulder to place the computer on the floor between himself and Steven. It was a gesture Steven found slightly strange.

‘Good Morning, Doctor. I apologise for my lateness. I’ve been watching you for the past forty minutes. You appear to be alone and you’ve just come off a flight so I know you’re not armed: you wouldn’t have risked it and there wasn’t time to sort out permission. I take it you’ve brought what I asked for?’

‘Where’s my daughter, Khan?’

‘All in good time,’ replied Khan with the smug smile of a man who knew he was in charge.

‘You’re getting nothing until I see my daughter,’ said Steven, his hands gripping the table edge as he struggled to keep them off Khan.’

The smile faded from Khan’s face. He placed his left hand on the table; it was clenched and holding something. Steven now understood why he hadn’t used this hand to free the laptop strap.

‘We don’t have any time to waste. I have a flight to catch. Your daughter is in a car in the car park. When you turn on my laptop and put in the memory card to demonstrate decryption of the disk that’s already in there, I will give you this.’

Khan raised his left hand but kept it clenched. ‘This is a transmitter. As long as I keep the contacts open by maintaining pressure on a spring, nothing will happen. Should I let go . . . for any reason . . .’ Khan watched to see that Steven had got the message, ‘the circuit will complete and the car your daughter is currently locked inside will explode. If the card is genuine, I will transfer the transmitter to you very carefully and you can keep the contacts open until your daughter is found and freed . . . or until,’ Khan glanced at the clock, ‘twenty three minutes have passed.’ After that, the car will explode anyway.

‘What car park is she in?’ demanded Steven. ‘This is an airport. There are lots of car parks, damn it.’

‘One of them.’

‘You bast . . .’

‘Time is passing. I suggest you turn on the computer.’

Steven opened the case and slid out a Sony Vaio laptop. He pressed the on button, finding it hard to take his eyes away from Khan’s clenched left fist as the machine powered up.

As the Windows jingle heralded the start of the session, Steven caught sight of Nick, the SAS man moving in the background. He sensed that he was looking for an angle that might give him the opportunity to shoot Khan without risk of hitting any
one else. This only added to Steven’s rising sense of panic as he neared the moment when he must insert the fake card. Nick couldn’t know about the triggering device in Khan’s hand. He wanted to make eye contact and shake his head but recognised that that could be equally fatal, causing Khan to release the trigger arm of the device and start shooting his way out in the aftermath of an explosion which would cause widespread panic. The fact that the café was busy was however, working in his favour. Nick couldn’t risk it. He brought out the card from his inside pocket. ‘How do we do this?’ he asked.

‘Start the disk then insert the card . . .’

Steven highlighted the disk drive and opened it to display gobbledegook on the screen.

‘Now the card.’

All the anxiety of the past hours, the fear for Jenny’s life, the regrets, the self-criticism, all disappeared in an instant to be replaced by cold, calm resolve. The ability to act under extreme pressure had kicked in, the quality that Macmillan had seen in him a long time ago, the very reason he worked for Sci-Med. It was now or never.

Steven pretended to have difficulty looking for the memory card slot in a machine strange to him. He examined both sides of the laptop with exaggerated head movement, the second of these involving moving his elbow to deliberately knock over the full mug of coffee that was sitting on the table untouched. It flooded the keyboard causing an immediate short circuit and blacking out of the screen.

In the tiny space of time that Steven anticipated he would have between shock registering on Khan’s face and his taking any action, Steven threw himself at Khan, having eyes for nothing but his left hand. He closed both his hands round it and held it shut. He was now hopelessly vulnerable, unable to stop Khan using his right hand to probe for his eyes. Steven was relying on Nick to put a stop to that.

Nick duly obliged. He arrived beside the two struggling men on the floor as if contriving to break up a fight but making sure he had his back to those in the café when he brought out his silenced pistol and ended Khan’s life with a solitary body shot which Steven noticed he even covered the sound of with a cough.