Hostage to Murder (24 page)

“Lindsay?” It was Tam.

“You're OK, I'm decent.”

The door to the tiny V-shaped cabin opened and Tam leaned in. “Andy wants you up on deck, just to run through what we've got to do at Kronstadt.”

She followed him up to the cockpit, where Jack perched on a bench, dwarfed by a scarlet lifejacket that was clipped on to the boat. Andy Gordon never took chances on board. Tam sat down next to the boy, who immediately snuggled under his encircling arm. Neither seemed any the worse for their nail-biting escape, Lindsay thought.

Her analysis was interrupted by Jack. “When will I see my mum?” he asked plaintively.

“In a couple of days. We've got to sail all the way to Finland first. But we'll phone her just as soon as we get you smuggled through the customs,” Lindsay said.

Jack looked apprehensive. “What's ‘smuggled', Dad?”

“It's like hide and seek. You have to hide and stay really, really quiet for ages. Not a whisper. Because if you make a noise and we get caught, they might put me and Captain Andy and Lindsay in the jail. And we don't want that, do we?”

Jack's grin said he didn't quite believe what he was being told. “Then I wouldn't have anybody to take me back to my mum.”

“Correct,” Tam said. “So you have to listen to what Captain Andy tells you and do exactly what he says.”

“Where are we going to stow him?” Lindsay asked her father quietly.

Andy tugged at the brim of his salt-stained San Francisco 49ers cap. “A wee boat like this, there's not an awful lot of choice. There's not even a sail locker. About the only option is to put him in the under-berth storage and cover him up with clothes. I hope the wee bugger doesnae suffer from claustrophobia.”

“And that the Russian customs aren't having a bad day,” Lindsay added darkly.

“Aye, well, there's still a couple of bottles of decent brandy to cheer them up a wee bit,” Andy said. “Do you want to take the helm while Tam and I get things sorted down below?”

Lindsay couldn't help the thrum of excitement that ran through her as she took the wheel and felt the pull of the boat under her hands. There was nothing quite like sailing, she thought, scanning the set of the sails and glancing at the chart to check her course. Even in a swell like this, there was a tranquillity that was irresistible. No sounds other than the hiss of the hull through the water, the occasional slap of a wave and the crack of a sail.

These steely northern waters couldn't be more different from the blue dazzle of the Pacific. The rain had stopped and the sky was clearing now, but the weather here could turn on a sixpence, and there were treacherous currents aplenty to confuse the unwary sailor. Lindsay inspected chart and compass again, making sure she was sticking to the course her father had pencilled in. Kronstadt was fast approaching. Another fifteen minutes, she reckoned, though she'd have to change tack.

Andy's head appeared in the hatch. “How are we doing?”

“Ten, fifteen minutes. Do you want her back?”

Andy shook his head. “I think it might be better if you bring her in.”

“Why?” Lindsay asked, slightly apprehensive about berthing an unfamiliar boat on a mooring pontoon.

“Well, see, Sasha explained this to me. The stamp in your passport says you came in on a plane. They might get a wee bit funny about you going out on a boat, but if you're actually sailing her, it looks more natural.” Andy climbed up the companionway. “I'll do the sails when you're ready.”

“Did you get Jack hidden away?” she asked.

“He's crawled right into the forepeak. He's a brave wee bugger, I'll give him that. Tam's just arranging your bag and your clothes so he cannot be seen.”

For the rest of the journey into Kronstadt, anxiety kept all three adults locked in their own thoughts. The silence was only broken by Lindsay's instructions to her father. Eventually, they tied up and sat waiting for the customs inspectors. This time, it was a long half hour before they finally appeared.

As Andy had warned, they were suspicious of the fact that Lindsay had flown in and was leaving by boat three days before her visa ran out. And when they saw the contrast between Tam's passport photo and his current appearance, it was clear this wasn't going to be a straightforward passage. Neither of the officials spoke English, so there was another delay while an English speaker could be tracked down and brought to the boat.

First, he demanded an explanation for Lindsay's behaviour. “Why are you coming by plane and going by boat?”

“I wanted a little longer in St Petersburg than I would have had if I'd come both ways on the boat.” She smiled, attempting innocent reassurance. “I wanted to see the Hermitage and the Russian Museum. And Pushkin's House. Too much for a couple of days.”

He pored over her papers. “But you have return flight from St Petersburg,” he pointed out.

“I know. It's silly really, but it worked out cheaper that way. A single fare would have ended up costing me more than the return. It was a special deal from the airline.” It was bullshit, but it was
the kind of bullshit that might just be true, she thought.

“Why are you with these men?” the official asked.

“The older man, he's my father. And the other one is my boyfriend.” Lindsay hoped they wouldn't start asking her leading questions about Tam. It was a risky line to take, but one that made more sense than any other.

The official studied her papers again and finally nodded. “OK. But your boyfriend, he doesn't look like his picture.”

Lindsay gave an exasperated sigh. “He looks ridiculous, doesn't he? It was so hot in St Petersburg, he decided to have his hair cut and his beard trimmed. But the barber didn't understand what he wanted, and he ended up looking like this.”

Tam tried to look sheepish. “I said I wanted to get rid of my hair because it was too long in the heat, and before I knew it, the guy was shaving me as well. I tell you, I'm going to suffer when I get back to Glasgow.”

The official frowned. “You will suffer? How will you suffer?”

“How do you think? Everybody's going to laugh their heads off when they see me looking like this,” he said. He shook his head. “I can't believe I let this happen to me.”

“You can't believe it?” Lindsay said. “I can't believe I've got to walk around with somebody who looks like a moronic thug.”

The customs official gave a thin smile. “Please do not tell anyone this is happening in Russia. It is not good for our reputation. Now, I must look at boat.”

Eventually, an hour and a half after they had moored, they were free to go, two bottles of cognac and a carton of Marlboros lighter.

Lindsay almost wept with relief. It was only as they hoisted sail, leaving Kronstadt behind, that she realised how taut she had been holding herself. Tam hurried below decks, and she could hear him calling to Jack. The pair of them emerged on deck a few minutes later, the boy giggling in delight at being released from his damp and uncomfortable prison. They all hugged each other, grinning like fools. Andy reached into the chart locker and produced a flat half-bottle of whisky, taking a swig himself before passing it round.

“Christ, I wouldnae like to go through that again in a hurry,” he said, hugging his daughter. “See you, Lindsay? You're nothing but trouble.”

Tam took his mobile out of his pocket and suggested to Jack that they ring Bernie. The boy agreed eagerly.

“You'll maybe be wanting to phone Sophie before your mobile goes out of range.” Andy said to Lindsay.

She shook her head. “I'll wait till we're safe on dry land.”

 

Kevin was snoring softly in the camping chair when Michael dug him in the ribs. “Looks like we've got some action,” he said, already on his feet and heading for the door. Kevin stumbled to his feet and hurried out of the flat after Michael, who was taking the stairs two at a time.

By the time they hit the street, the taxi that had pulled up outside Bernie's flat was driving off. “Shit,” Michael cursed, running for the car he'd hired using the false driving licence Patrick had supplied him with. Kevin was barely aboard when they screeched out of their parking space and raced after the taxi. “She was carrying a suitcase,” Michael said as he turned right in the wake of the cab, earning a blast of the horn from the car he'd cut across.

The taxi had stopped at the traffic lights, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Michael slowed down, allowing another car to slip in between them. They turned in convoy on to Great Western Road and headed out towards Dumbarton. “Where the hell is she going?” he wondered aloud.

“You think she's doing a runner?” Kevin asked apprehensively.

“Who the fuck knows? Maybe they've found the kid and she's going to fetch him? Either way, we better not lose her.” He concentrated on keeping a safe distance between them and the taxi. They drove on out through Drumchapel and Clydebank, then turned off towards the Erskine Bridge.

“Isn't this the way to the airport?” Kevin asked. Surprised that he knew that much, Michael nodded. “I think so.”

Kevin's guess proved correct. The taxi dropped Bernie off at the
departures entrance. “Get out and follow her,” Michael said. “I'll park the car.”

Five minutes later, he hurried into the terminal, apprehensively scanning the check-in queues. He spotted Kevin first, leaning against a wall, pretending to read the paper. “Where is she?” he demanded.

Kevin indicated the direction with a jerk of his head. “KLM. She's in the queue for the Amsterdam flight.”

“She could be going anywhere,” Michael said through clenched teeth as he clocked Bernie. There were only a couple of people in front of her now. Somehow, he had to find out her destination. It wasn't going to be easy; she was looking around constantly, her face a mirror of his own anxiety. But he didn't have a choice. Patrick wasn't a man to whom you could say, “I bottled out.” He watched for a little longer, until the man ahead of Bernie handed over his passport and tickets.

“Wait here,” Michael said. He noticed a stand containing film developing envelopes and grabbed one in passing. The counter next to the one where Bernie was waiting was empty and he ambled over there without a sideways glance. He leaned on the counter and began slowly filling in the required details on the envelope.

He'd timed it well. Bernie stepped up to the counter, placing her bag on the luggage belt. “Good afternoon,” the man on the check-in desk said, reaching for her paperwork. He looked at the tickets, then added, “Your bags will be checked right through to Helsinki, you don't have to worry about them in Amsterdam.”

It was all he needed to hear. Michael walked off towards the destination board. The KLM Amsterdam flight was due to leave in a little over an hour. He crossed to the KLM ticket counter and smiled at the woman tapping something into her computer keyboard. “Excuse me,” he said. “Is there any chance of me getting to Helsinki this afternoon?”

“I'll just check for you, sir.” She hit a few keys then frowned at the screen. “I'm sorry, sir. The connecting flight to Amsterdam is full.” She clicked her mouse. “I can get you there first thing in the morning, but this afternoon's impossible.”

“There's nothing at all? Not even business class?”

She shook her head. “I'm sorry. The flight's full and I've already got three people on standby.”

He wanted to smash her stupid computer over her empty head, but instead, Michael simply turned on his heel and walked away. He pulled his mobile out of his pocket and called the familiar number. “It's me,” he said when Patrick answered. “We've got a problem. Our target is at Glasgow Airport. She's going to Helsinki. And I can't get on the flight.”

“Why didn't we know about this already?” Patrick demanded.

“She must have gone to the travel agent or something?”

“She's not been near a travel agent. I've been on the bitch's tail every time she's been out of the house. She could have booked it on the internet or over the phone or anything,” Michael protested.

“Well, this is a fine mess,” Patrick said, his voice poisonous. Michael had never heard him show his anger so obviously and it was unnerving.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked.

“There's fuck all you can do, is there?” Patrick sighed.

“We could meet every flight from Helsinki into Glasgow,” Michael said. “She's got to come back sometime.”

“You think so?”

“Well, either her or the husband. You don't just walk away from a house full of furniture and stuff.” As he spoke, Michael knew there was a hole in his logic. If he had a vengeful Patrick Coughlan on his tail, he might be tempted just to walk away from his life and everything in it.

“See what you can do, then,” Patrick said grudgingly. Michael's ear tingled as the phone was slammed down at the other end. With a deep sigh, he headed back towards Kevin. He'd already had enough of Glasgow Airport. But it looked like he'd be seeing a lot more of it over the next few days.

 

Rory stared out of the window of the St Petersburg-Helsinki train. She'd caught the Sibelius express with scant minutes to spare, rushing aboard with scarcely time to thank Sasha for all he'd done
for them. He stood on the platform of the Finland Station, waving as the train shrugged into motion.

Rory settled into her seat and took a paperback from her bag. It sat in front of her, unopened, as she looked out across the landscape, seeing nothing. All she could think of was the confusion of feelings that had rampaged through her since she'd said her unexpected farewell to Lindsay. She felt bereft. There really was no other word for it, she realised with painful clarity. She'd never felt that about a lover before. Always, she'd been in charge of the comings and goings; always, she'd been in command of her feelings.