The Hostage (37 page)

‘Okay,’ Hilliard said. ‘Can you take care of that, Stratton?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Hilliard checked his watch. ‘Right. I have to get going . . . I don’t need to tell you that the priority now is the biological weapon. It’s beyond the lives of anyone aboard that vessel.’

Hilliard looked at Stewart to see if his words had sunk in. Stewart nodded. It was clear to him. ‘We’ll still be going along with you, sir,’ he said.

Hilliard nodded to him, then left the room with Jardene.

Stewart and his two chiefs joined Captain Singen and Major Tanner at a table. Stratton went into a glass office cubicle in a corner of the room, which contained a bank of various phones and communications devices. He reached for a red receiver, picked it up and dialled a number.

 

The phone rang in the detachment operations room and Graham the bleep, sitting back in a chair reading a book, picked it up. ‘Ops room,’ he said lethargically, still reading.

‘That you, Graham?’ Stratton asked.

Graham sat up immediately on hearing the familiar voice. ‘Stratton?’

‘Yeah.’

‘How’s it going? Didn’t think I’d hear your voice again.’

‘Can’t tear myself away from you,’ Stratton said. ‘Is Mike there?’

‘Yeah. One sec.’

Stratton looked through the glass at the Yanks discussing weapons and equipment. Sumners was making notes in a file and looked up at Stratton. They stared at each other a moment; it was as if they knew something about each other that no one else in the room was privy to.

‘Mike here,’ came the voice over Stratton’s receiver.

‘Mike?’ Stratton said, turning his back on Sumners.

‘Stratton. How’s life treating you?’

‘Not so bad.’

‘This isn’t a social call, I take it?’

‘Go secure,’ Stratton said.

‘There was a strange sound over the line, then when Mike’s voice returned there was a very slight metallic ping in the background. ‘I’m secure. Go ahead.’

‘You guys busy?’

‘No.’

‘I need a team,’ Stratton said. ‘Four will do.’

‘When for?’

‘By the time you get them to the standby chopper it will be waiting to fly them to the mainland.’

‘Where they going?’

‘Poole first, but that could change at any time. It might involve water.Tell them to bring their own comms. Channel 4 will work in UK.’

‘Understood,’ Mike said.

‘I might need a female op,’ Stratton continued. ‘Is Aggy around?’

‘She should be in London. She volunteered to take a car over for exchange. Be back tomorrow.’

‘I’ll give her a call. Soon as you can, Mike.’

‘Will do. Can you tell me what it’s about?’

‘The Yank that was kidnapped. We may have an in. Your ears only.’

‘Understood. Good luck.’

‘You too,’ Stratton said and put down the phone. He couldn’t tell anyone about the bio threat. That was going to be top secret as long as they could keep it that way. As for his request for a female operative, he didn’t really think he’d need one. It was a spontaneous request.As soon as he thought of the det he had thought about her.

 

Kathryn climbed from a taxi outside the three-star Cumberland Hotel in Kensington and paid the driver. She read the instruction sheet Father Kinsella had given her, checked the address, pulled her bag on to her shoulder, and walked up the steps and into the hotel.

A receptionist greeted her at the main desk with a broad smile. ‘How can I help you?’ she said.

‘I believe I have a room booked.’

‘What’s the name please?’

‘Mrs Munro.’

‘One moment.’ The receptionist checked her computer screen. ‘What’s your first name?’

‘Kathryn.’

The receptionist’s smile disappeared as she tried several options to find the name without any luck. ‘I’m sorry, but you don’t seem to be booked. Oh. Mrs Kathryn Munro. There’s someone here to see you.’ The receptionist pointed to a quiet reading area the far side of the lobby.

Kathryn looked towards it; plants and a partition obscured much of the area.

‘There are rooms available. Would you like one?’ the receptionist said, the professional smile back on her face.

‘One moment,’ Kathryn said.

She picked up her bag and walked over to the reading area. Only one person occupied it, a man seated in an armchair reading a newspaper. She walked up and stood in front of him. He ignored her and turned a page.

‘You want to see me?’ she asked him.

The man looked over his paper and studied her, confirming who she was. He was a hard-looking individual with a face that appeared unused to smiling. He folded the newspaper methodically and indicated the seat beside him. ‘Sit down,’ he said in a soft Irish accent.

She obeyed. Kathryn had thought of little else on the journey than about whom she was going to meet. She wondered if this was the all-important terrorist leader. Father Kinsella had told her she was not to speak to her contact unless asked.

She had felt quite calm about the whole thing during the flight, although she hadn’t slept, but since climbing into the taxi at Heathrow she had started to feel nervous. During the drive into London it crossed her mind that what she was doing, meeting with terrorists, was illegal. She toyed with the pros and cons, and finally reasoned that she could not know if the person she was to meet was actually a terrorist. They could be a representative, which was like meeting a criminal’s lawyer. Not that it mattered. She would meet the devil himself on this matter, even if just to prove to herself that she was a good wife and mother.

Whenever she thought of Hank she pictured him stuck in a dark and dirty cell, but in truth she remained as confused as ever about her feelings for him. They were tested a few days before when her mother asked her what insurance Hank had and if it covered abduction by terrorists. Kathryn found herself thinking about it on and off the rest of that day. She was pleased to be able to at least say she never actually tried to find out if she was covered and for how much; to do that before Hank’s fate was known would have been very low in her estimation. Her mother had also said a good lawyer could sue the US Navy for millions. Kathryn had done her best to rid her mind of such thoughts, but despite her best efforts they had helped dull her misery. In fact for one moment she saw herself moving into a big beautiful house on the water. She tore the thoughts from her mind, but could not help acknowledging that they did bring into question her true feelings for her husband. She was determined to do everything physically possible to save Hank if for no other reason than were something bad to happen to him she could look herself in the face without feeling guilt.

The man handed her an envelope.

‘Listen to me carefully,’ he said. ‘Inside that envelope are train tickets and a hundred pounds. Open it and check it.’

She put down her bag and opened the envelope. The contents were as he described and included an itinerary and instruction sheet.

‘Read and follow the instructions to yourself as I explain them to you.’

She unfolded the piece of paper.

‘The hundred pounds is for taxis and general expenses. You’ll catch a taxi outside this hotel to King’s Cross railway station. You’ll go straight to platform 9 and catch the first train to King’s Lynn. Platform 9b to be exact.

‘Make sure you’re on the right train. Ask someone. King’s Lynn. Go to the far end of the platform. Make sure you’re in one of the front four coaches or you might get left in Cambridge. The journey takes about an hour and three-quarters. Do you understand so far?’

‘Yes,’ she said, intimidated. She could feel his strength, his resolve.

‘King’s Lynn is the end of the line. The train doesn’t go any further. Get off the train, go outside, and get a taxi. The station has a taxi rank. If there are none left, wait for one. Don’t go anywhere else. Do you understand?’

‘Yes.’

‘Tell the taxi driver you want to go to Burnham Market and a hotel called the Hoste Arms. He’ll know where it is. Read that back to me.’

‘The . . . Burn-ham Market, the Hoste Arms.’

‘Burnham. One word. The H is silent. Not burn ham.’

‘Burnham,’ she repeated correctly.

‘Go in the front door and find a seat in the bar. Someone will meet you there. They’ll say,
what’s the weather like in Boston, Kathryn?
Say that back to me.’

‘What’s the weather like in Boston, Kathryn?’

‘When your business is concluded, ask the hotel to call you a taxi and you will do the exact same journey in reverse. Is that clear?’

‘What business?’

‘Were you not told, don’t ask any questions?’

‘Yes. Sorry. It’s just that—’

‘I’m here to talk.You’re here to listen and do what you’re told. Do you understand?’

‘Yes.’

‘When you get back to King’s Cross, platform 9, you will walk directly out of the station. If the train does not stop at platform 9, you will walk to platform 9 as if it had, and then walk directly out of the station. When you are outside, that’s in the open air, as opposed to being under the roof of the station, you will turn right and move out of the flow of pedestrian traffic, just a few feet.That means you will still be by the entrance to platform 9. Do you understand?’

‘Yes.’

‘Someone will meet you there. At the bottom of the instruction sheet is a number. It’s a mobile phone number. You will call that in the event of an emergency only. Do you understand?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s it then.’

‘Can I ask you one question?’

He sighed. ‘What is it?’

‘Am I staying in this hotel?’

‘No.’

‘Do I have time to freshen up, I—?’

‘No.’

‘But I didn’t sleep on the plane.’

‘No. You’ll leave your bag with me. You’ll get it back when you return to London tonight. Now go. Outside. Catch a taxi to King’s Cross railway station . . . Go,’ he said with finality, staring into her eyes.

Kathryn stood, looked at her bag, changed her mind about asking to get something from it, and turned and walked away.

She stepped out of the hotel and looked up and down the road for a taxi. She saw one and waved, then realised she was waving with the envelope and money in her hand. She folded them and put them into her coat pocket as the taxi pulled over to the kerb. She paused to look at the hotel; there was no sign of the man - or her bag. The level of her nervousness went up a notch as she climbed into the cab.

‘King’s Lynn railway station, please.’

‘King’s Lynn? You sure, luv?’

Kathryn had a flash of panic and quickly took the envelope from her pocket and checked the instructions. ‘Sorry. I mean King’s Cross.’

‘That’s more like it,’ the driver said as he pulled away and headed up the road. ‘King’s Lynn is bloody miles away. Nice place though, parts of it. It’s on the coast. Me an’ the misses used to keep a caravan up there. Up the coast a bit. Nice place. Ain’t been there for years though.Yeah, don’t you get King’s Cross mixed up with King’s Lynn for Christ’s sake. Cost you a pretty penny by taxi that would . . . ’

Kathryn hardly listened to a word he said.

 

Aggy sat in her bedroom at her dresser, looking at herself in the mirror. She wanted to do something with her short hair but couldn’t think of anything she liked. Her eyes fell on the perfume bottle on the dresser. It was the only one she had. No one had ever bought her perfume before.

She picked it up, removed the top, sprayed a little on her hand and smelled it for the umpteenth time. What the hell, she thought. Got to start sometime. She sprayed some on her wrists and rubbed them together then gave a little squirt to either side of her neck. She then had a mischievous thought, hiked up her skirt and sprayed some on her inner thighs, high up and close to her panties. She went to her bed, where she had laid out a selection of possible clothes to wear. She held up two blouses, looked from one to the other several times, and settled for the tighter one. She picked a bra up off the bed and tossed it into an open drawer and pulled off her shirt. She inspected her breasts in the mirror from one side and then the other, cupped them in her hands and pushed them up and then smoothed them over, as if putting them back into place gently. She pulled on the blouse and adjusted it. Sexy was definitely the word that came to mind.

Her door opened and her mother leaned in holding a cordless phone.

‘Call for you,’ she said, then put her hand over the phone and mouthed playfully, ‘It’s a man.’

Aggy smiled and took the phone as her mother raised an eyebrow at the blouse, suggesting it was cheeky. Aggy playfully shooed her out and closed the door.

‘This is Melissa,’ she said. There was only one man she was expecting a call from, and he knew her as Melissa. She was happy that he’d called even though she was due to meet him late that afternoon to spend the rest of the evening with him - and perhaps the night too.

‘Aggy,’ the voice said.

All cheery images of her and Bill Lawton together fled from her mind. She knew who it was and he was the last person in the world she had expected to call, even though for a long time he was the only man she hoped would. She had long since given up that daydream. Now here he was.

‘Stratton?’ she said.

‘How you doing?’ he asked.

‘Fine. You?’

‘Not bad. I asked your mum for Melissa by the way.’

She’d thought Bill was the only person in NI who knew her real name. But then, nothing about Stratton surprised her, except a telephone call from him.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked.

She couldn’t believe it. Now that she was seeing someone he was calling her. Nevertheless, she was torn. Bill had started to win her heart the past few weeks, but it was obvious Stratton still had a place in it.