The Secret (Dr Steven Dunbar 10) (18 page)

Breathlessly, Steven explained to Nick why he couldn’t let go of Khan’s hand until he had control of the triggering device. He told him quickly about Jenny and the unknown car park and Nick used his radio to call in the others in his group. At that moment the airport police arrived on the scene – two burly officers carrying submachine guns.

‘Shut up and listen,’ snapped Steven they launched into their routine. ‘You’ll find my ID in my pocket when I stand up. I’m a Sci-Med investigator on a code red. Verify this with your superiors then get chummy here to somewhere a bit more private. He’s dead but let’s pretend he isn’t for the benefit of onlookers.’

He hoped that the people in the café wouldn’t be too sure what to make of the scene they’d just witnessed. With any luck they might conclude it was an unseemly squabble over coffee spilt over a laptop with a third man wading in to break up the resulting melee. The police were now on the scene; order would soon be restored. No need to panic, no need to get involved.

Steven succeeded in transferring the trigger device from the dead man’s hand to his own without releasing the spring. ‘I need some tape,’ he said to Nick as he got to his feet.

One of the police officers extracted Steven’s ID and held his lapel radio to the corner of his mouth to relay details while the other looked on suspiciously, his finger loosely curled round the trigger of his weapon. He turned to Nick who had just returned with a roll of tape from one of the flight desks. ‘And you are?’

‘I’m with him.’

Steven held down the lever of the device while Nick taped it tightly so that it couldn’t release.

‘Yes sir, understood sir,’ said the policeman into his radio before returning Steven’s ID and saying, ‘Apparently we’ve to do whatever you say, Doctor until the brass arrive.’

‘Close the airport to all traffic,’ Steven said. ‘All car parks have to be cleared of people and remain closed. There isn’t time to clear the terminal buildings so keep people inside. One of the cars in one of the car parks is going to explode in . . .’ Steven looked at the time. ‘Eleven minutes.’

‘Jesus,’ said the policeman.

‘There’s a little girl trapped inside the car. I need . . . volunteer officers to help look for her. If they should come across her, they should report back before they touch anything. She may be wired . . . She’s my daughter.’

‘Christ almighty . . .’

‘Get to it.’

Steven turned to Nick, ‘My impulse is to start running round the car parks at a hundred miles an hour like a headless chicken but we haven’t a hope in hell of covering them all . . . so it has to be best guess time.’

‘I don’t see him using any of the outlying ones,’ said Nick.

‘Agreed,’ said Steven. ‘And I’m going to guess he’s been using a hire car, probably from one of the big boys like Avis or Hertz so that’ll cut out a few makes and models. We can forget Range Rovers, sports cars and top-end marques. We’re looking for an anonymous run-of-the-mill model in . . . I think he’d go for the nearest car park to the terminal: he had no reason not to. That means the multi-storey across the road. ‘Agreed?’

Nick nodded. ‘I’ll get my guys to start from the top – one floor each. You and I can start from the ground up. How are we doing for time?

‘Nine minutes.’

Steven and Nick ran from the terminal building just as police vans, cars and fire appliances arrived. ‘Maybe you could liaise with the police and bring them up to speed?’ said Steven. ‘I’ve got to look for her myself.’

‘Sure,’ said Nick with an understanding nod. ‘Good luck.’

Steven started running round the deserted ground floor of the multi-storey, the fact that he was now alone allowing a tide of despair to encroach on him. Nick’s final ‘good luck’ wish now seemed to carry the same inflection it would have had he announced that he was going to jump over the moon. ‘C’mon, c’mon,’ he murmured. ‘Give me a break . . . just one lousy break . . .’

He had just about completed his circuit of the ground floor when he heard shouting come from somewhere above him. He stopped running and strained to hear what was being said but, at that very moment, a police loud hailer started warning personnel to withdraw from the area surrounding the car parks and drowned everything else out. It was a five minute warning. An explosion was imminent: police on duty outside the car parks were being ordered to withdraw. Jenny had five minutes to live. Steven’s angst was interrupted when Nick called to reveal what the shouting had been about. ‘She’s on level three in a blue Ford Focus.’

Steven sprinted up the winding ramps like a man possessed. There was no need to look for the car: the three SAS men were already there. One was looking under the vehicle, the other two were examining the seams round the doors. One of them gestured to the back of the car and Steven looked in the rear window to see Jenny lying on the floor. Her eyes were closed and she wasn’t moving. The fact that she wasn’t gagged and didn’t appear restrained in any way flagged up the nightmare that she was already dead. This threatened to overwhelm any sense of caution in him, especially when he noticed two electric wires wrapped round her ankle.

One of the SAS men had to stop him pulling the door open. ‘Leave it to Stratocaster, mate. He knows what he’s doing.’

Steven stepped back to be joined by Nick who had now arrived on the scene.’

‘Well done, guys. How are we doing . . . with three minutes to go?’

‘Door’s okay,’ said the soldier nicknamed Stratocaster, ‘but I’d stand over there if I was you.’

‘Nobody moved. Stratocaster opened the rear door of the Ford slowly, feeling gingerly with his right hand round all the edges. ‘So far so good . . .’ He opened the door fully and, getting down on his hands and knees, started examining the floor of the interior with the aid of a torch. ‘Here we go . . .’ The soldier had discovered the explosive device lodged under the front passenger seat. ‘Another offering from IED Central . . .’

‘There are a couple of wires round Jenny’s ankle,’ said Steven.

‘Got them,’ replied the soldier calmly.

Of course, he’d bloody seen them, Steven admonished himself; he wasn’t helping matters. He should move back but couldn’t take his eyes off Jenny’s lifeless face.

Stratocaster got on with the job while the others were left with their thoughts. ‘Oh, I see . . . clever bastard . . .nearly had me there . . . let’s see, blue for a boy connects to . . . nope, I tell a lie . . . it doesn’t! It goes to the fu . . . Oh, very nice. Some bugger’s been to the Afghan Academy for very naughty boys . . .’

The others exchanged nervous smiles as they listened to the muttering coming from inside the car until a snipping sound was followed by two others in quick succession and Stratocaster turned over on to his back to slide half out the car and look up at them with a big smile on his face. ‘Bang,’ he said.

‘Oh, you beauty,’ exclaimed Nick as the tension evaporated from everyone bar Steven who was now anxiously bending over Jenny in the rear of the car. He touched her cheek and found it warm, causing him to give silent thanks.

‘How is she?’ asked Nick behind him.

‘I think . . . she’s going to be okay,’ said Steven, struggling to get the words out against the wave of relief that flooded through him as he found the strong pulse in Jenny’s neck. ‘Fingers crossed she’s just been kept sedated but I’ll have to get her to the sickbay in the terminal to check her out properly . . . but her pulse is strong and there’s no sign of injury.’

‘Great,’ said Nick. ‘Do you think we can tell the police the excitement’s over?’

‘Yep,’ said Steven, allowing himself to relax with a heartfelt sigh. ‘All over.’

‘Good. Time for us to melt away then, before questions start being asked,’ said Nick. ‘We’ll take all traces of the bomb with us but I hope your people can deal with the “clean-up” across the road?’

Steven nodded. ‘Of course.’ He laid Jenny gently along the back seat in the car and shook the hand of each man in turn. ‘I’m not sure I have the words to tell you what I feel right now,’ he said. ‘But I think you can guess. Thank you will have to do.’

‘You would have done the same,’ said Nick. ‘That’s the way we do things. We look after our own.’

Steven nodded, his throat tight. ‘Damn right.’

Steven moved Jenny to the sick bay in the airport where he and the airport nurse were happy to conclude that she was just sleeping under the sedation Khan had given her. He called Tally’s mobile to give her the news and heard her almost explode with joy before seemingly turning away to give others the news.

This puzzled Steven. ‘Where are you?’ he asked.

‘In
Glenvane. I flew up to Glasgow this morning after your call and got the bus down. I’m with Peter and Sue and the kids. I thought we should all go through this together. God, what a relief. And Khan?’

‘Gone from our lives.’

‘Good. Sue’s asking when we’ll see you?’

‘I’ll wait here until Jenny comes round and then decide whether she needs a hospital check or not. If not – and I don’t think she will – I’ll bring her straight home.’

‘I take it there was no official police involvement . . . I mean, no formal kidnap report filed?’

‘No, there wasn’t time. In the end it was down to just me and a few very . . . very good friends.’

‘Must make the paperwork easier,’ Tally joked uncertainly as if dealing with conflicting emotions.

‘Love you, Tally. See you later.’

‘That has a nice ring to it.’

With Jenny still sleeping, Steven contacted Macmillan and told him all that had happened, apologising for not having kept him in the loop but time had been so tight.

In the circumstances, Macmillan was understanding. ‘Anything I can do to help?’

Steven told him that he had agreed with the soldiers that
Sci-Med would make the necessary arrangements to remove Khan’s body from the airport as their operation had been ‘unofficial’. Macmillan assured him that he would take care of this and also seek the Home Secretary’s assistance in smoothing things over with Lothian and Borders Police, offering them Sci-Med’s sincere thanks for their help and professionalism in the situation that arose. The airport bomb incident could be dismissed as a false alarm.

‘That should cover it,’ agreed Steven. ‘I’m going to hire a car to take Jenny home. I’ll stay the night in
Glenvane and be back in London tomorrow.’

‘Did you get the disk?’ asked Macmillan.

‘Affirmative.’

‘Good, I think the computer people have just about done everything they can so we should have a meeting as soon as possible to see if we can now unravel just what the
hell this has all been about,’ said Macmillan.

Jenny regained consciousness some thirty minutes later, giving a big yawn which made the airport nurse smile and Steven feel like a million dollars. ‘Daddy what are you doing here?’ she asked followed by a sleepy, ‘Where am I?’

‘You’ve been having rather a long snooze, nutkin,’ said Steven. ‘and you’re in Edinburgh Airport although we’re not going anywhere. What do you remember, pussy cat?’

‘A man . . . there was a bad man . . . he came to the house and hurt Uncle Richard . . . we were frightened . . . and . . . and then . . . nothing. I can’t remember anything, Daddy.’

‘He tried to steal you away, nutkin but we wouldn’t let him. He’s gone now and he’s never coming back,’ said Steven giving her a big hug.

Steven was overjoyed that Khan appeared to have kept Jenny sedated the whole time. Working alone, he must have seen that as the easy option. From Jenny’s point of view, there was no terror for her to remember except of course, the trauma of the break-in at the house in
Glenvane. But even there, she’d been sedated through the doctoring of the warm milk. She wouldn’t even remember being taken from the house. This was better than he could ever have hoped for. With any luck, the scars should be minimal.

‘Gosh, I’m thirsty,’ said Jenny.

‘And hungry too, I bet,’ said the nurse. ‘And I think we can fix both.’

Steven took a call from Macmillan. Arrangements had been made for an unmarked vehicle to pick up Khan’s body and take it to the city mortuary for the night. It would then be taken to East Fortune Aerodrome, a small airfield outside Edinburgh in East Lothian, used mainly for recreational flying but occasionally by the military for flights they would rather remain unobserved, where it would be picked up for return to London and disposal as befitting an enemy of the state.

‘Are we going home in Tarty, Daddy?’ asked Jenny hopefully. The name had been given to Steven’s Porsche Boxster after a comment Sue had made when she’d first laid eyes on it – ‘A bit tarty isn’t it?’ The children had overheard and the name had stuck.

‘No, she’s back in
London, nutkin. I flew up this morning. I’ve hired a car from the airport people for us to go home in.’

‘Pity, I like
Tarty.’

‘Me too,’ said Steven, thinking it was so good to see his daughter behaving as if nothing had ever happened. ‘I’ll bring her up soon and we’ll zip around in her. Promise.’

With all three children upstairs in bed, Sue, Richard, Tally and Steven sat in front of the fire quietly acknowledging the departure of almost unbearable anxiety from their lives. It had been such an emotional time for all of them that adrenaline was now in very short supply and no one felt inclined to do anything other than sit and enjoy the warmth – both physical and mental, not to mention the malt whisky that Richard had opened.

‘I’m so glad Tally thought to come up and join us, Steven,’ said Sue. ‘She put us right about a few things.’

Richard nodded his agreement but Steven looked at her questioningly.

‘I think it fair to say that Richard and I were pretty angry with you and your job and the fact that it had brought us so much gut-wrenching worry – a classic case of needing something or someone to blame in times of crisis but Tally pointed out something that made us think again. You do a very special job and you’re good at it. We have no right to remain detached from that and you have the right to expect support from the people around you not whingeing and blame. As some politician said recently, “we’re all in this together” only, in our case, it’s true.’

‘Thank you,’ murmured Steven. ‘Believe me, I was only too aware of what you must be thinking . . . Thank you so much.’ He gave Tally a special look of affection before closing his eyes and resting his head on the back of the chair. The hell of the past twenty four hours was finally over.

Steven and Tally left early next morning, driving to
Glasgow Airport where Steven returned the car to the hire company before arranging flights as soon as possible for himself to London and for Tally to East Midlands Airport. He’d hoped that she might return with him to London but it was not to be: she had to get back on duty at the hospital where her colleagues had been covering for her.

‘Call you later,’ said Steven as his flight was called first.

Tally gave him a hug and said, ‘Whoever said, parting was such sweet sorrow was talking rubbish. It isn’t.’

Steven went to his flat in
Marlborough Court to change before going in to the Home Office where he found John Macmillan discussing with Jean where they should have the final meeting with the computer experts who’d reported that they had deciphered as much as they could. Both turned as Steven entered Jean’s office and welcomed him back with sympathy and concern over what had happened

‘It must have been an absolute nightmare for all of you,’ said Jean. ‘How is Jenny?’

Steven assured her that she was fine and how she’d missed most of the trauma by being kept under sedation.’

‘A blessing,’ said Jean.

‘I was just discussing with Jean where we should have the meeting,’ said Macmillan.

‘I’ve just seen that seminar room twelve is free all afternoon,’ offered Jean.

‘Book it,’ said Macmillan. ‘And get hold of Scott Jamieson; he should be there. I’ve already asked Lukas Neubauer to come in now that we have the disk and Jean and I have lodged a formal request for the release of the memory card. Let’s try for three o’clock.’

‘Very well, Sir John, I’ll let everyone know.’

Macmillan ushered Steven through into his office where he sat him down and asked, ‘So, how are you? The last couple of days must have been pretty awful.’

‘A fair summation,’ agreed Steven, ‘but it’s over now. We were all very lucky and . . . yes thank you sir, I really am all right.’

Macmillan smiled ‘Good, because there’s something I have to ask you.’

Steven noted the change in demeanour that had come over Macmillan: he was no longer smiling. ‘What would that be?’

‘Khan’s death. Who killed him?’

Steven thought for a moment before saying, ‘What you’re really asking is did I kill him. Did I execute
Ranjit Khan because he killed my friend? The answer is no, I did not and I have no further comment to make on the subject of his death.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Macmillan. The suggestion of a smile had returned.

Steven declined Macmillan’s offer of lunch, not for any reason other than the fact he wanted to be alone with his thoughts. He bought sandwiches and shared them with the ducks in the park as he wondered with more than a little trepidation what the rest of the day would bring. His determination to see justice done for his friend had led him deeper and deeper into an investigation that had put him at loggerheads with what felt like half the governments of the western world and put his own daughter’s life in mortal danger. The question he now had to wrestle with was . . . had it been worth it? Had it been an unswerving search for truth and justice or just a single-minded display of obstinacy on his part?

‘A toughie,’ Steven murmured as he threw the last of the crusts to the ducks and got up to go.

‘Change of plan,’ announced Macmillan when Steven returned to the Home Office, ‘the meeting is cancelled.’

Steven’s puzzlement showed. Jean Roberts was no help; she just diverted her eyes when he looked at her.

‘I had a private debriefing with our computer experts and I’ve been able to make sense of their findings. I’ve thanked them and informed them that their services are no longer required. I’ve also reminded them that they are subject to the Official Secrets Act and, in their own interests, I am removing them from our retained consultants list. I’ve also suggested that it might be wise to omit their association with Sci-Med from their CVs.’

‘Sounds like you’re expecting some sort of backlash,’ said Steven.

‘If there is, I’m just trying to make sure that I’m the one to take it. I’m the one nearest retirement. I’ve cancelled our little get together this afternoon because I’ve called a bigger one. You may remember that we were summoned to the Foreign Office a few weeks ago to meet with the great and the good who warned us off probing into the deaths of Simone Ricard and Aline Lagarde?’

‘I do,’ agreed Steven.

‘I have requested that the same people come here tomorrow at ten o’clock to hear what I have to say.’

‘All of them?’ exclaimed Steven remembering the high-powered attendance at the last meeting.

‘All of them. I’d like you, Scott Jamieson and Lukas Neubauer to be present.’

‘Of course,’ said Steven.’

Macmillan disappeared into his office leaving Steven to expel his breath in a low whistle. He turned to Jean and asked, ‘How on Earth did he manage to get them all to agree?’

Jean smiled and whispered, ‘Between you and me, he said they could either come and hear what he had to say . . . or read it in The Telegraph.’

‘Wow,’ said Steven. ‘Respect.’