Fear of the Fathers (14 page)

Kamal returned at 4pm. His face was grave. Annie feared the worst. He removed the gag from her mouth and untied her hands.

“What happened?” she asked solicitously. “Did you find anything? Do you know where he is?”

Kamal shook his head. “No, I do not know where he is.”

“What about my mum? Was she at the house?”

Kamal laid his gun down on the table. “No,” he said. “But I didn't expect her to be. She would have been taken at the same time as the boy.”

“So we're no further on then?” she said dejectedly.

He got a bottle of water out of the fridge and sat down on his bed. He took a deep draught, then said: “There is one thing. I have this.” He produced the phone from his pocket. “It belongs to a man I found at the house. I suspect that the last number he dialled will lead us to the kidnappers.”

Forgetting her injury Annie leapt off the bed. “Well, come on then! What are you waiting for? Let's ring it and get David and my mum back.”

“It may not be as simple as that,” said Kamal.

“Why not?” said Annie. “They've got no reason to hold them anymore have they? I tried to do my bit. I can't do anything more for them can I?”

“No. But the situation has now got out of hand. If I'm reading it correctly, then these men probably posed as policemen to your mother…”

“What do you mean ‘posed as policemen'?” Annie interjected. “They
were
policemen – they were Special Branch.”

“That is open to debate,” said Kamal. “False identifications are easy to come by in this day and age. It suited their purpose to look like Special Branch. Anyway, this is beside the point. Once they had gained your mother's confidence they would have come up with some story about her and your son being in danger, and taken her to a ‘safe house'.”

“My mum wouldn't leave the house,” Annie protested.

“Really,” said Kamal raising an eyebrow. “You would be surprised what people will go along with if you catch them off guard. A police badge is a very persuasive tool. These men would have been very convincing. After all, you were taken in.”

“I was not taken in,” Annie said flatly.

Kamal ignored her and continued. “Anyway, had you carried out your task successfully then your mother and son would have been returned none the wiser, and you would have been bought off with a bit of money, and forced to sign some phoney Official Secrets Act. And that would have been the end of it. But now they have two problems: I am very much alive and you know that they are not real police. We are at an impasse.”

“Maybe,” said Annie, “but if this theory of yours is right, why don't we just call the real police?”

“What do you think would happen?” he asked. “What would you say to them? That you had tried to kill a man?”

“I'd say anything, and go to prison if it meant David and my mum were safe,” she said emphatically.

Kamal smiled kindly. “Yes, I know you would. The problem is, if you go to the police, then I suspect the kidnappers will have no choice but to get rid of their captives. And by that, I mean kill them. But all the same, it is your decision. If you go to the police I cannot help you any longer. I will have to leave the country.”

“Do you really think that they'd kill them?”

“Yes, I do. Look at it this way – it would be far easier for me to let you go to the police. I could disappear back to India and retire quite comfortably. So it in no way benefits me to stop you going. I only do so because I am of the firm opinion that it is not a good option. Do you understand?”

Annie nodded. “Yes. But what are we going to do?”

“Like I said – we are at an impasse. It is catch-22 as they say. They cannot kill your son and mother because you will go the police. And you cannot go to the police because they will kill your son and mother. We must find a way to break the deadlock.”

Two men sat in an office. The one behind the desk wore a dark blue suit. The one in front wore a grey one. They both wore grim faces. Blue Suit left his chair and gazed out of the window. He lit a cigarette.

“What the hell is going on here?!” he barked. “It was a simple bloody task. All you had to do was kill the man. You knew where he was. Surely you could have come up with something better than sending a girl in?”

“But this wasn't just any girl sir. Do you recognize the name Tracy Tressel?”

“Yes, vaguely.” He thought for a moment. “Of course. Wasn't she the young girl who…”

“Exactly,” said Grey Suit. “So you can see why I thought her capable.”

Blue Suit continued to stare out of the window. “Perhaps. But it was still an almighty fuck up!”

Grey Suit shuffled nervously in his chair. “I appreciate your anger sir. But this guy is the best. He checks everything. If anything had deviated from the norm then he would have sussed it.”

“Oh, for Christ's sake! Don't give me that. Aren't you supposed to be one of the best?”

“Yes sir, I am. And I took the decision. You have to look at it from my point of view though. We only tracked the guy down on Sunday; he was leaving on Monday so we had to act quickly. Sending one of our boys up there would have been too dangerous. The girl had been taking his food all week, she was the only person who had access to him. It was simple: girl goes in; he turns his back; she sticks the patch on him; he drops dead. No mess, no fuss, no noise, no witnesses, no evidence. At the time it seemed like a good plan. In fact, it was a good plan, but she fucked it up – she probably wasn't that good an actress.” He paused. “Of course, if we'd just paid the man.”

Blue Suit turned back round and slammed the desk. “It wasn't an option! I didn't have it for a start. And secondly, we needed to get rid of him. We need to sever any links to us.” He stubbed out his cigarette and sat back down. “Anyway, that's all in the past. What are we going to do now? The whole thing's getting out of hand.”

“I know. There's only one way to contain the situation, and that's to get rid of them all: him and the girl, and her mother and son.”

Blue Suit nodded his approval. “You're right,” he said. “But how? If you get rid of the mother and son she will have nothing to lose, she will go to the police.”

“I know,” replied Grey Suit. “So we have to get them all at the same time. As long as the mother and son are alive we have bargaining tools. All we need to do is draw him and the girl out of hiding. We have to put the captives up as bait.”

“And what makes you think that he's going to bother? Why doesn't he just leave the country?”

“Because this afternoon, when he shot Gary, he said he wanted the boy. I don't know why, but he seems to have taken a personal interest in the situation. If we give him an opportunity to get the woman and the boy back then I think he'll take it.”

Blue Suit looked doubtful. “What? You mean lay a trap? You said he was the best – won't he smell it a mile away?”

“Probably. But his options are limited. We'll make it so that he has to take the chance.”

“But he's gone to ground now. How will you contact him?”

“We won't have to,” said Grey Suit. “He's got Gary's phone. He'll contact us.”

The Hefty Hare was an up-market restaurant that had recently opened just down the road from Stella's flat. It was, according to the
Evening Standard
, a ‘divine combination of neogastronomy and retro-cuisine'. Jennings sat looking at his paltry starter of scallop, pancetta and pea puree, and decided that it was a specious mixture of overpricing and tight portioning.

“That looks nice,” said Stella.

“Yes, it does,” he agreed. “I just hope I'll be able to manage it all.”

“There's no need to be like that,” she said. “Just enjoy it.”

Jennings took a mouthful and had to concede that it was quite superb. He sipped at his Chablis and relaxed. Although he loved food and cooking, he was always wary of ‘fine-dining experiences' and ‘nouvelle-cuisine'. He found that most of the time it was ‘emperor's new clothes' syndrome – people were told it was good, so they believed it was – and that the food rarely justified the high price tag that accompanied it. But this time he was more than happy, and besides, Stella was picking up the bill.

Stella finished her clam chowder with soda bread and took a sip of wine. “That was lovely,” she said. “I could eat it over again.”

Jennings was going to say “not at these prices”, but held his tongue. Instead he said: “Yeah, I have to admit, the food is exceptional. It's really nice of you to treat me.”

“Well, I thought you deserved it. You've been putting up with me and my miserable moods for ages. I just wanted to say thank you.”

Jennings smiled at her. “It's not a problem,” he said. “You've been through a lot. I'm just glad I've been some help.”

The waitress cleared their plates, and Stella stepped outside for a cigarette. Jennings took the opportunity to fill up on bread. He looked out of the window at Stella smoking and shivering in the street. She smiled back at him. She seemed happier than she had been for a long time. He was glad that at last her mood was lightening. Father Cronin, whatever his intentions, was having a good effect on her. The thunder clouds were beginning to lift.

Stella returned quickly. The cold of the night negating her desire for nicotine. Jennings watched her walk back to the table. She was dressed simply in a knee-length emerald green dress, with black court shoes, her shiny dark hair flowing over her shoulders. She looked stunning. He could see the other men in the restaurant sneaking surreptitious glances, trying not to get caught by their wives. He suspected that they envied him. Not that they had anything to be envious of, he thought ruefully.

“A bit cold out is it?” he said.

“Just a bit,” she replied. “I shouldn't really have bothered. But smoking and food go together so well.”

“I guess they do, from what I can remember,” said Jennings. He took a sip of wine then added: “You seemed to draw some admiring glances as you walked back in.”

“That's nice to know. To be honest, with all my recent lounging I feel like a bit of a frump. I even tried to go out running the other day. I collapsed after a mile.”

“Well, you don't need to worry – you're certainly not a frump. In fact you're the opposite of frumpy. You're…” His sentence tailed off in slight embarrassment. “Well, you look good, you know.”

“Thank you,” she said, and smiled.

Jennings waved the waitress and requested a bottle of claret to go with the main course. It arrived at the same time as the food. They had both ordered the Chateaubriand, served with a bone-marrow reduction. Jennings picked up a piece of steak with his fork and let it dissolve in his mouth. He washed it down with a sip of the claret and luxuriated in the moment.

“I take it you're enjoying that,” said Stella, who had noticed his ecstatic look.

Jennings gave an ethereal smile. “It's almost heavenly,” he said.

Stella took a bite herself and had to agree with Jennings' critique. It was quite possibly the best piece of beef she had ever tasted. And the wine complemented it perfectly.

“You're a bit of a foodie on the sly, aren't you?” she said.

“Well, I enjoy my food. I wouldn't say that I had a particularly refined palate, but I know what I like.”

They ate the rest in comparative silence, both lost in the wonder of the meal. Stella felt the weight of the previous three months rising from her shoulders. A chink of light appeared in her mind. There would be happier times ahead. She would be able to enjoy good times with good friends again. The shadow was still there, but she was starting to see it as the illusion it was.

After she had finished she popped outside for half a cigarette. When she returned the plates had been cleared. Jennings was studying the dessert menu. “Ooh, pudding,” she said. “What have they got?” She picked up the menu in front of her.

Jennings ordered the chocolate amaretto fondant and Stella went for the apple and rhubarb crumble. Both dishes proved to be excellent. Jennings finished and sat back in a contented arch. “Well, I have to say, that's probably the best meal I've ever had,” he said.

“It's not far off,” said Stella. “I'm glad you enjoyed it. Do you want to have a look at the cheese board?”

“Not for me thanks,” he said. “But you go ahead. I'll just have some coffee and brandy.”

Half an hour later they were ready to leave. Stella paid the bill without letting Jennings see it. A rough calculation in his head took it way over the two hundred pound mark, maybe pushing three. He said nothing and accepted the gesture in the manner in which it was given.

Outside it had started to rain again. Stella opened up her umbrella and they walked side by side sheltering from the wet gusts. She wrapped her arm inside his for warmth. He felt uncomfortable, not knowing how to take it.