Hot Blood (26 page)

‘And is that true? Do we have nothing to worry about?’

Shortt tapped her on the shoulder with his Glock. ‘Worry about me,’ he said. ‘Now, get in there and do as you’re told.’

‘Don’t you touch me!’ she hissed. ‘You touch me again and I’ll kill you.’

‘Feisty, huh?’ said Shortt.

‘She’s okay,’ said Shepherd. ‘Leave her alone. Please, Fatima, we don’t want to upset your daughter, do we?’

‘And you can stop patronising me,’ she said.

‘I’m not patronising you, I’m just telling you the way things are,’ said Shepherd. ‘If you want, we can storm in there and grab her but this way will be a lot less stressful.’

‘Then untie me,’ she said.

‘Like fuck we will,’ said Shortt scornfully.

Fatima ignored him and continued to look at Shepherd. ‘Seeing me tied up like this will upset her,’ she said. ‘It’s going to be bad enough with you wearing those masks and carrying guns. Please, untie me so that I can comfort her.’

‘After all the trouble I took to get the tape around your wrists?’

‘That was then,’ she said. ‘Now I’m asking you. Please. Untie me so that I can hold my daughter.’

‘You’ll scratch my eyes out,’ said Shepherd, only half joking.

She smiled sadly. ‘I want to comfort my daughter,’ she said quietly. ‘You have my word that if you untie me I will do nothing to provoke you.’

‘You can’t believe a word she says,’ said Shortt.

‘We’ve got guns, and she knows her husband is back there,’ said Shepherd. He took a small Swiss Army knife from his pocket, pulled out a blade and gently cut the tape.

‘Thank you,’ she said, massaging her wrists.

‘Just explain to her that she has to come with us, and not to make a noise,’ said Shepherd. He opened the door and let her go in first.

The little girl was asleep on her back, her mouth open, her left arm round a toy leopard. Fatima walked to the bed and sat down next to her daughter. She put a hand on her arm and whispered in her ear. The little girl’s eyes fluttered and she turned away. ‘
Anaa na’ saan
,’ she muttered sleepily.

‘I know you are, little one,’ said Fatima. ‘But you must wake up.’

The child opened her eyes. Fatima put her face close to her daughter’s, then kissed her nose. ‘Now, listen to me, little one. There are some men here. They are visiting us for a while.’

‘
Maa l-mushkila
?’ asked the girl.

‘No, there’s nothing wrong,’ said Fatima, ‘but while they’re here, let’s be polite to them and speak in English so that they can understand. Okay?’

‘Okay,’ said the child. ‘Where are they?’

‘They’re outside,’ said Fatima. ‘They’re wearing masks, but you mustn’t be frightened. It’s no different from when I wear the burkha when I go out sometimes. They just want to cover their faces. Now, sit up.’

The little girl brushed her hair from her face. ‘I’m sleepy,’ she said.

‘I know you are,’ she said. ‘We’re going to see Mr and Mrs Yazid.’

The child slid her legs out of bed and saw Shepherd standing at the door. He had put his gun back into its nylon holster and he waved both hands at her. ‘Hi,’ he said.

‘This is ridiculous,’ said Shortt. ‘We’re not bloody child-minders.’

‘Why don’t you go downstairs while I get this sorted?’ said Shepherd.

‘We don’t have to treat them with kid gloves.’

‘They haven’t done anything wrong,’ said Shepherd. ‘They’re not the enemy.’

‘No, but they’re related to the enemy,’ said Shortt.

Fatima put her arm around her little girl. ‘
Laa tkhaaf
,’ she said. ‘Don’t be scared.’

Shortt headed downstairs. Shepherd took a step inside the room. ‘Everything’s going to be all right,’ he said.

The little girl buried her face in her mother’s hair. ‘That mask isn’t helping,’ said Fatima.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Shepherd, ‘but there’s nothing I can do about that.’

‘You should be ashamed of yourself, frightening a child.’

‘I’m not proud of this, believe me. You’re just in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

‘I’m in my home,’ she said. ‘You’re the one in the wrong place.’

Shepherd pointed at the hallway. ‘Come on,’ he said.

‘Where are we going?’ said the little girl.

‘To see Mr Yazid.’ Fatima scooped up her daughter.

‘My leopard!’ cried the little girl.

Shepherd picked it up and gave it to her. Fatima walked slowly to the door, stroking the child’s hair. Shepherd followed them down the stairs, along the hallway and into the kitchen. O’Brien was standing by the sink, holding his Glock. Fatima flashed Shortt a baleful look as she walked across the marble floor. She whispered something in her daughter’s ear as she carried her into the servants’ quarters, which consisted of a sitting room with a small dining-table and two sofas, and a bedroom with two single beds and two wardrobes. Armstrong had taken the old couple into the bedroom and bound and gagged them. They lay on their backs on the beds, gazing up at him fearfully. He was standing by the door, Taser in hand. ‘How did it go?’ he asked.

‘No problems,’ said Shepherd. He nodded at Fariq’s wife. ‘The kid’s a bit upset.’

‘Of course she’s upset,’ snapped Fatima. ‘We’re all upset.’

‘Do you want something from the kitchen?’ asked Shepherd.

‘I want you all out of my house,’ she said.

‘Shall I gag her?’ asked Armstrong.

Fatima glared at him over the top of her daughter’s head. ‘You so much as touch me and I’ll kill you!’ she said. Her daughter began to sob. ‘Now see what you’ve done,’ she hissed at Armstrong.

‘If anyone’s upsetting your daughter, it’s you,’ said Shepherd. ‘Can we calm down? Nobody’s going to hurt you. Now, please, sit on the sofa.’

Fatima looked as if she might refuse but her daughter was still sobbing so she sat.

‘We’re going to have to tie your hands again now,’ said Shepherd.

‘No,’ she said.

‘I’m sorry, but we have no choice,’ said Shepherd.

‘You are scared of a woman?’ she said.

‘Not scared, just careful,’ said Shepherd. ‘If your hands are tied you’re less likely to try something. And my colleague over there is a lot less understanding than I am.’ He pulled the roll of insulation tape from his pocket.

‘You’re not tying my daughter up, are you?’

‘We have to.’

Fatima laid her on the sofa, and the little girl curled up with her leopard. Fatima stroked her hair. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I won’t let them hurt you.’ She held out her hands and Shepherd bound her wrists together.

‘If I was you, I’d do them behind her back,’ said Armstrong. He took out a cigarette and lit it.

‘Put that out!’ snapped Fatima.

‘Go screw yourself,’ said Armstrong. He took a long pull on his cigarette and blew smoke at her.

‘You do not smoke in my house,’ she said.

‘I’ll do what the hell I want,’ said Armstrong.

‘Put it out,’ said Shepherd, quietly.

‘What?’ said Armstrong.

‘Let’s not annoy them more than we have to.’

‘You’re getting soft in your old age,’ said Armstrong, but he stubbed the cigarette out on the sole of his trainer.

‘And take the butt with you,’ said Shepherd. ‘DNA.’ He checked that the tape wasn’t too tight around the woman’s wrists, then put the roll back into his pocket. ‘Now, do you want me to bring you anything from the kitchen?’ he asked.

‘A knife,’ she said drily. ‘A big knife.’

Shepherd grinned. He left Shortt in the sitting room with Armstrong. He reflected wryly that one man on his own probably wouldn’t be able to keep Fatima under control.

The Major was waiting for him in the master bedroom. ‘Okay?’ he said.

‘All under control,’ said Shepherd, ‘but she’s a handful.’

The Major waved his Glock at Fariq and told him to sit on a chair beside a large gilt mirror. He was wearing yellow silk pyjamas, and his belly wobbled as he sat down. ‘Right, Fariq, we can end this quickly and painlessly,’ he said. ‘If you tell us what we want to know, we’ll be out of here.’

‘Who are you?’ asked Fariq.

‘I suggest you listen carefully to what I’m saying,’ continued the Major. ‘This isn’t about you, it’s about your brother. We need to contact him, and once we have, we’ll leave you and your family alone.’

‘What have you done with my wife?’

‘She’s fine, and so is your daughter. We’re not here to cause anyone any harm. We just want to talk to your brother.’

‘I have four brothers,’ said Fariq.

‘Wafeeq.’

‘I haven’t seen Wafeeq for three years,’ said Fariq.

‘Where is he?’

‘I just said, I don’t know.’

‘No, you said you hadn’t seen him. That doesn’t mean you don’t know where he is.’

‘You are playing with words,’ said Fariq. ‘I’m telling you the truth. I do not know where he is. If I knew, I’d tell you. I swear.’

The Major prodded Fariq in the chest with the Glock. ‘We’re not playing anything,’ he said menacingly. ‘Now, where is Wafeeq?’

‘Iraq, I assume.’

‘Where in Iraq?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Does he have a house there?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘You don’t think so?’

‘We are not close. I see him at family functions, that’s all. Three years ago there was a funeral for an uncle. That was when I saw him last.’

‘Do you have a phone number for him?’

Fariq shook his head.

‘What about other family members? Do you have the number of anyone who would know how to contact him?’

‘We are not a close family.’

‘Where’s your mobile?’ asked the Major.

‘My what?’

‘Your mobile phone – your cellphone.’ The Major mimed putting a phone to his ear.

‘It’s there.’ Fariq nodded at the bedside table.

The Major gestured to Shepherd, who went to the table where a new-model Motorola lay next to a diamond-encrusted gold Rolex watch. Shepherd picked up the sleek black phone and flipped it open, examined the screen, then shook his head.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked the Major.

‘It’s Arabic,’ said Shepherd. ‘Everything’s Arabic, even the menu.’

‘Can’t you change the language?’

‘Sure, but that won’t convert the data in the phone book. That’ll stay Arabic.’

‘You’re wasting your time,’ said Fariq. ‘I don’t have Wafeeq’s number.’

‘I’d prefer that we check that for ourselves,’ said the Major. ‘Where’s your Filofax? Your business diary – whatever you use to keep track of your movements?’

‘You’re wasting your time,’ repeated Fariq.

The Major stuck the barrel of his Glock under Fariq’s chin. ‘It’s our time to waste,’ he hissed. ‘Now, tell me where your Filofax is.’

‘The study. Downstairs. On my desk.’

Shepherd hurried out and down the stairs. The study was to the left of the main hallway, a book-lined room with leather chairs and a large oak desk with an IBM laptop computer. The leatherbound Filofax was next to the laptop. Shepherd picked it up and flicked through the pages. All the writing was Arabic. He sat down at the desk and switched on the laptop. Once it had booted up he scanned the icons. All were in English. He clicked on the Outlook Express icon and smiled when he saw that everything was in English. He went through the address book, but there was nothing for Wafeeq, then the inbox and the messages-sent folder. There was nothing to or from Fariq’s brother.

He closed Outlook Express and found a folder containing letters that Fariq had written. Half were in Arabic, the others in English. The latter were business-related and none were to anyone called Wafeeq. Shepherd left the computer and went back upstairs.

‘What took you so long?’ said the Major, when Shepherd walked into the master bedroom.

‘I was checking his computer,’ said Shepherd. ‘His emails are in English. There was nothing from his brother that I can see.’ He showed the Filofax to the Major. ‘This is all Arabic, too.’

‘Take it outside with the phone. See if he can make sense of it.’

Shepherd knew that ‘he’ meant Halim. He was the only one in the group who could read Arabic. Shortt spoke a bit and understood some, but he couldn’t read or write it. Shepherd took off his ski mask, headed downstairs and walked along the main drive to the gate. There was a large gate for vehicles and a smaller one set into the wall. It was bolted but not locked. Shepherd drew back the bolt and stepped on to the pavement. A top-of-the-range Mercedes with heavily tinted windows drove by and Shepherd turned his face away. He walked briskly along the pavement, then down the side-road where Muller had parked the Land Cruiser. Muller was sitting in the front passenger seat, Halim next to him, both hands on the steering-wheel.

‘Everything okay?’ asked Muller, as Shepherd climbed in.

‘The house is secure, but we’re not getting anywhere yet,’ said Shepherd. He gave the Filofax and mobile phone to Halim and asked him to check if there was any entry for Wafeeq.

‘How’s Fariq taking it?’

‘Not happy, but co-operating. His wife’s a hard nut.’

‘Just one kid?’

‘The daughter,’ said Shepherd. ‘Fariq says he’s had no contact with his brother.’

Halim handed back the phone. ‘All the Iraq numbers are business-related except three, which are women’s names,’ he said.

‘He could be using a coded name,’ said Muller.

‘That’s possible,’ agreed Shepherd. ‘Or he could have memorised the number. Either way, we’ll have to get pretty heavy to get the truth out of him.’

Halim flicked through the pages of the Filofax.

‘If he’s lying, he’ll probably come up with the number when we record the video,’ said Shepherd. ‘We’ve made it clear that all we want is a contact number for his brother. Once we make the video we move it up a notch.’

Halim gave Shepherd the Filofax. ‘There is nothing in there for Wafeeq,’ he said.