The Bombmaker (5 page)

Martin looked up as the quick double knock was followed almost immediately by the office door opening. It was his partner, Padraig, his coat on and carrying his briefcase. 'Are you up for a drink?' he asked. Padraig was red-haired with a sprinkling of freckles across his nose, broad-shouldered from long sessions in the gym.

'Nah, I want to get back,' said Martin.

'What about you and Andy coming around for dinner tomorrow? Louise wants to try out her fondue set. Upmarket cheese dip.'

'Tomorrow's not good, mate. Maybe next week. I'll check with Andy and let you know, okay?'

Padraig gave him a thumbs-up. 'Okay, I'm off, then. I'm sure I'll find somebody to drink with at the golf club.'

The telephone rang as Padraig closed the door. It was Jamie O'Connor, confirming that the entire portfolio had been sold. A total of two hundred and sixty-eight thousand pounds, which had been wired to Martin's current account in Dublin.

Martin thanked him and put the phone down. He had the money, but why hadn't he heard from the kidnappers? He'd checked with Jill several times but there had been no calls that she hadn't put through. Maybe they were going to phone him at home. Maybe they'd already phoned Andy in London.

Martin had called directory enquiries and asked for the telephone number of the Strand Palace Hotel. He hadn't called,

though several times he'd started to dial the number. He was supposed to behave as normal, but did that mean that it was okay to telephone his wife?

The intercom on his desk buzzed, startling him. It was Jill,

telling him that she was going home. He said goodnight. It was six o'clock. What was he supposed to do now? He was normally in the office until seven, but did the kidnappers know that the switchboard closed when Jill went home? Would they try to phone the office number? What would they do if they couldn't get through?

He stood up and paced around the office. It was the not knowing that was driving him crazy. Not knowing the time scale, not knowing how much they wanted, not knowing how they intended to collect the money. And worst of all, not knowing what they had done to his dear, darling daughter.

He kicked the door to his office and then punched it, so hard that he bruised his knuckles. He licked the bleeding flesh as tears pricked his eyes.

Andy sat on the hotel bed, staring at the telephone. All she had to do was to pick it up and within seconds she could be talking to her husband. Or the police. She shook her head. What could the police do?

She heard a whispering sound at the door and she went over to it. There was a white envelope on the floor. She picked it up and reached for the door handle, then hesitated. What would happen if she opened the door and saw whoever had delivered the envelope? What if she saw his face? She felt helpless - she didn't know how she was supposed to react or what she was supposed to do. All control had been taken from her. She went back to the bed and sat down again. The envelope had been sealed and she used a fingernail to slit it open. Her mind was whirling. Forensic evidence, she thought.

Fingerprints. Saliva. DNA. She had to keep the envelope - the police would be able to get information about the kidnappers from it.

There was a single sheet of paper inside. Andy unfolded it. It was hotel notepaper and the letter was typed. Capital letters again. Andy read it with shaking hands.

YOUR DAUGHTER IS QUITE SAFE AND SO LONG AS YOU FOLLOW OUR INSTRUCTIONS SHE WILL NOT BE HARMED.

AT NINE O'CLOCK TOMORROW MORNING YOU ARE TO CHECK OUT. TAKE ALL YOUR THINGS WITH YOU.

TURN RIGHT OUT OF THE HOTEL AND WALK DOWN THE STRAND. TURN RIGHT INTO BEDFORD STREET, AND LEFT INTO BEDFORD COURT. YOU WILL SEE A MULTISTOREY CARPARK ON YOUR LEFT.

GO INSIDE THE CARPARK. GO UP TO THE THIRD FLOOR. THERE YOU WILL SEE A DARK BLUE TRANSIT VAN. ON THE SIDE OF THE VAN IS THE NAME OF A LANDSCAPING FIRM.

MAKE SURE NO ONE IS WATCHING YOU.

OPEN THE REAR DOOR OF THE VAN AND GET IN. CLOSE THE DOOR BEHIND YOU.

INSIDE THE VAN YOU WILL FIND A BLACK HOOD. PUT IT OVER YOUR HEAD AND WAIT.

WE DO NOT INTEND TO CAUSE YOU ANY HARM. BUT MAKE NO MISTAKE. IF YOU DISOBEY OR IF YOU MAKE ANY ATTEMPT TO CONTACT THE POUCE, YOUR DAUGHTER WILL DIE.

Andy reread the letter several times. A van? A hood? What did these people want from her? She looked at her watch. It was six o'clock in the evening. Fifteen hours before she was supposed to check out. What was she supposed to do for fifteen hours? She read the letter again. It didn't say. Why the delay? Was it because they were watching her, checking that she wasn't being followed?

She stood up and began pacing up and down the room. Was she allowed to contact Martin? The letter said only that she wasn't to talk to the police. Would they consider a phone call to Martin a breach of the conditions? Had they tapped the phone in Dublin? Could she risk it?

She stopped at the window and looked out on to the busy street below. Who was doing this to her? Who had turned her life upside down? And why?

Martin Hayes lay staring up at the ceiling. There was no way he'd be able to sleep, but he knew he had to make the effort. It wouldn't help anyone if he collapsed from exhaustion.

He'd got back home just after seven and had sat next to the telephone for most of the evening, willing it to ring. It had,

once, but it was only Padraig checking that Martin had seen a letter from one of their suppliers, raising prices by twenty per cent and blaming the strong pound. They'd chatted for a while, but Martin had been fairly abrupt with his partner, not wanting to tie up the phone line. He had the 'call waiting'

facility, but he didn't want to do anything that might spook the kidnappers.

He rolled over and curled up into a ball. His stomach ached,

but it wasn't hunger. He'd forced himself to eat a ham sandwich 39 STEPHEN LEATHER in the office, and he'd eaten a can of soup when he got home,

though he hadn't tasted anything. What he really wanted was a drink, but the way he felt he doubted that he'd be able to stop at one. It would be so easy to use alcohol to take the edge off his panic, but he knew it'd be a big mistake. He had to keep a clear head, he had to remain totally focused on what he had to do.

The telephone rang and Martin sat bolt upright. He grabbed for the receiver. 'Yes?'

'Martin?' It was Andy, her voice little more than a whisper.

'Hiya, love. Are you okay?'

'Can't sleep. I'm just lying here. Martin . . .'

Martin could hear the despair in her voice. 'I'm still here,

love.'

'Have they called you?'

'No. Nothing. I've spoken to the bank, and I've sold our shares and stuff. The money's in the bank and there's no problem in raising more. All we need now is to know how much they want.'

'Martin . . .'

She was close to crying, and Martin wished with all his heart that she was in the bed with him arid that he could reach over and cuddle her.

'Martin . . . I'm not sure if this is about money.'

'What do you mean?'

'They want me to go somewhere tomorrow.'

'Where?'

'A van. I have to go to a van in a carpark around the corner. I guess they're going to take me somewhere.' There was a long pause, and Martin thought they'd lost the connection until he heard her breathe. 'I'm not sure if we should even be talking,'

she said. 'Maybe they're listening.'

'If they're listening, love, they know that we haven't gone to the police. They know that we're doing everything they've asked. They know that there's no reason not to give Katie back to us. Okay?'

'I suppose so,' she said, but he could tell from her tone that she wasn't convinced.

'It's going to be all right, love,' said Martin. 'Do you know where they want to take you?'

'They didn't say. It was a note, like before. They haven't called you?'

'No.'

'Martin, if it was money they wanted, they'd have called by now, wouldn't they?'

'I don't know what they're playing at, love.'

There was another long silence. 'It couldn't be to do with the business, could it?' she said eventually.

'In what way?'

'You haven't been doing business with anybody you shouldn't have? Have you?'

'Jesus, Andy, what a thing to say.' Martin was stunned. It was as if she were trying to find some way of blaming him for what had happened. 'What would make you think that?'

'Well, why else could this be happening? Why would anyone take Katie and then make me do this? Check into a hotel. Get into a van. It's as if they want you on your own.

Isolated. That's why I thought maybe it wasn't about money.'

There was another pause.

'We don't have any choice, Andy. We have to do what they say. They've obviously got something planned.'

'I know that. Look, are you sure it's not connected to the business, Martin? You haven't crossed somebody? Do you owe somebody money?'

'The company's never been better,' said Martin. 'Our overdraft is well under control, orders are coming in, we've a few problems with suppliers, but we're well ahead of where we were this time last year.'

'I know you've always kept problems from me,' said Andy.

'The times the business was going through a rough patch, you never let on. I knew, but you never told me. I just thought. . .'

'It's late at night and the demons are out, that's all. You're thinking too much. I'm the same. I've been lying here imagining all sorts of things, but that's all it is. Imagination. And if it was to do with the business, there'd have been some lead-up to it. They 4i STEPHEN LEATHER wouldn't just snatch Katie. There'd be threats, there'd be other pressures they'd apply. And Andy, love, the sort of people I do business with wouldn't dream of hurting a child. Or a wife.

They're men and they behave like men.' There was no answer from his wife. 'Andy, did you hear what I said?'

'Yes.' There was a tearful sniff. 'I'm sorry, Martin. I just feel . . . alone, you know.'

'I know exactly what you mean, love. This bed has never felt so bloody big. What's your room like there?'

'It's okay. I wish I was there with you.'

'Mutual. Times a million.'

'I just wish it was over.'

'I know,' said Martin. 'It won't be much longer, I'm sure.

They must want to get this over with as quickly as we do.'

'Oh God, I hope so.'

'Try to get some sleep, okay?'

'I'll try.' She sniffed again. 'I wonder how they're treating Katie. She'll be so scared.'

'I'm sure they'll be taking good care of her. They won't hurt her. Everything they're doing depends on us getting her back safely. Try not to worry. I know that's an impossible thing to ask,

but try.'

'I'll try. I have to check out at nine. I'll try to call you later in the day.'

Martin said goodbye and replaced the receiver. A van? What the hell did they want her to get into a van for? Martin had been doing his best to keep his wife's spirits up, but he knew that she was right. This was about more than money. But what?

Egan replayed the tape of the conversation between Andrea Hayes and her husband. He frowned as he listened, but by the time he had played it through to the end he was smiling to himself. Andrea had said nothing that could jeopardise the operation. If anything, the conversation would make the Hayes woman more compliant. Her husband had been reassuring.

Soothing, even.

Egan had half expected the Hayes woman to call her husband. At this stage, he wanted their full co-operation, and that meant keeping their stress levels as low as possible. If the notes had insisted that there be no contact, there was a chance that one or the other might panic and call in the police. The phone call also gave Egan an insight into how they were thinking. They were scared for their daughter, but it was clear that they were going to do everything that was asked of them.

They still believed that the kidnapping was money-motivated.

By the time they realised what was really going on, it would be too late.

43

Andy stood in the middle of the hotel room, looking around.

She had to do something. She had to let Martin know what was happening. She'd wanted to say more to him on the phone the previous night, but couldn't take the risk that someone had been listening in. But now she was preparing to check out of the hotel, and she realised that it might be the last opportunity she had to get a message to her husband. She had to let him know where she was going, because if anything went wrong it might be the only way he could find out where Katie was. She thought of leaving a message in the room, but even if she addressed it to Martin the chambermaid might open it, and if she realised its significance she'd probably pass it on to the police. And there was a possibility that the people who had kidnapped Katie might be preparing to search her room after she checked out. If they found a letter, there was no saying what they might do to Katie.

Above the writing desk was a framed watercolour of a gondola on a canal, the colours all hazy as if viewed through a mist. Andy stared at the picture. There had to be something she could do to let Martin know where she was going. Suddenly she knew exactly what she had to do. She sat down at the desk and opened the leather writing folder that was embossed with the hotel's name. There were several sheets of writing paper, and a .;3> ballpoint pen. She began to write furiously.

;?£ It was just after nine when she walked up to the cashier's desk. A blonde receptionist with shocking-pink lipstick and 45 STEPHEN LEATHER matching nail varnish took her credit card and printed o.ut a copy of the bill. 'Anything from the mini-bar?' she asked, and Andy shook her head. She pretended to check the print-out while she had a quick look around to see if anyone was looking at her. An old couple were sitting on a sofa close to the door, and half a dozen Japanese tourists were pulling brochures off a rack. A businessman in a dark blue suit was checking in, his briefcase at his feet like an attentive Labrador, and a woman in a fur coat was using one of the house phones. No one appeared to be paying Andy any attention. She slid an envelope from inside her jacket,

put it on top of the print-out and slid them both across the counter to the receptionist.

'Could you do me a favour?' asked Andy. 'If my husband should pop by in the next few days, could you give this to him?'

The receptionist looked at the envelope. Andy had written 'MARTIN HAYES' in capital letters. 'I could post it, if you like?'

Andy shook her head. 'He's not at home. He's travelling. He had hoped to meet me here but I've got to go up to my parents'.

She nodded at the envelope. 'It's not really that important. If he doesn't call for it, you can throw it away.'

'No problem,' said the receptionist. She gave Andy a credit card slip to sign and put the envelope in a drawer. Andy left the hotel. She followed the instructions she'd been given the previous evening and carried her suitcase into the multi storey carpark. The blue Transit van was on the third floor. There was a sign on the side that said 'CITY LANDSCAPING', and underneath it an 0181 telephone number. Andy put her suitcase on the floor by the rear doors. A man in a blue suit and a red tie drove by in a BMW. Andy wondered if she was being watched, if someone had followed her from the hotel. She'd looked around a couple of times but the streets were too crowded for her to have picked anyone out.

Another car drove by, a grey Volvo hatchback. Then there was silence. Andy reached out and turned the door handle.

She'd half expected, hoped maybe, that it would be locked, but it turned easily and she pulled open the door and threw her THE BOMBMAKER suitcase in. She took a last look around the carpark and then climbed in after the suitcase.

She sat down and scanned the metal floor of the van. There was no sign of a hood. She took the typed letter out of her jacket pocket and reread it. A black hood. There should be a black hood. She got down on her hands and knees and checked the corners, right up to the seats at the front. There was no hood.

Had she got the wrong van? No, of course not. It was blue, it was a Transit, and it was on the third floor. And it had the name of a landscaping firm on the side. It had to be the right van. She crawled over to the suitcase and lifted it up. The hood was underneath it. She felt a sudden surge of relief. So long as everything went as planned, then she'd get her daughter back. It was like a long line of dominoes, standing on end -- they all had to be in the right place so that when they were pushed, they'd all fall down. The hood was one of the dominoes, and the feet that it was there reassured her. It was going to be all right. Katie was safe.

She pulled the door closed behind her and locked it. The hood was made of some sort of woollen material with a drawstring around the open end, like a bag that might be used to hold shoes. She held it to her nose and sniffed. It smelt like a new cardigan. It didn't feel particularly thick, but even so she was worried about how easy it would be to breathe through. The kidnappers had planned everything down to the last detail, but she doubted that they'd have put the bag over their own heads to try it out. She slowly pulled it on, then put her hands on the drawstring. She couldn't bring herself to tighten the bag around the neck. After taking a few deep breaths to steady her nerves,

she sat back against the side of the van and drew her knees up to her chest.

Time seemed to crawl by. Andy tried counting off the seconds, then the minutes, but after a while her mind began to wander. She started counting again, but soon lost interest. It didn't matter whether they made her sit in the van for minutes,

hours or days, she had no alternative but to wait. She was in their hands. She tried to think of happier times. Birthdays. Christ 47 STEPHEN LEATHER masses. Just lying on the bed, Martin next to her, Katie curled up between them, smiling in her sleep. Martin giving Katie horsey rides, prowling around the sitting room on his hands and knees,

Katie lying on his back, her arms around his neck.

Andy stiffened at the sound of a key being inserted into the driver's side door, then a double click as the door locks opened.

There was a pause, then the driver's door opened.

'Have you got the hood on?' A man's voice. Deep. Guttural,

as if he were trying to disguise it.

'Yes,' said Andy, hesitantly.

'Lie down on the floor, face down.'

Andy did as she was told, folding her arms and resting her chin on her hands. She felt the van lurch as the man climbed in.

The passenger side door opened and another man got in. Two clunks as the doors closed, then the engine started.

They drove out of the carpark and made a series of turns in quick succession. Andy had no idea in which direction they were heading. More turns. Lots of traffic, the loud hiss of air brakes, a far-off siren. They stopped. A minute later and they were off again. More turns, then a sudden acceleration. They drove in a straight line for a long time, so Andy figured they were on a motorway. They seemed to be travelling for hours,

but as she didn't know how fast they were going she had no way of knowing how far from London they were. She wanted to go to the toilet and cursed herself for not using the lavatory before she left the hotel.

The hood made it difficult to breathe, but she found that by turning her head to the side and pushing her cheek along the floor, she could create enough space around her chin to suck in fresher air.

Eventually she heard the sound of the indicator, and they turned off the motorway. More turns, a curve that felt like a right turn at a roundabout, then a series of further turns. The driver changed down through the gears. Third. Second. First.

Then a sharp turn to the left and the tyres were crunching over a rough surface. She jumped as the driver sounded the horn, then there was a loud metallic rattling noise from somewhere in front 48 THE BOMBMAKER of the van. They edged forward and the rattling noise was repeated, this time from, behind them. A gate maybe? Andy lay still, not daring to move. She didn't know if the men were looking at her or not.

The van doors opened and the two men got out, and a few seconds later they opened the rear doors. 'Out you come,' said one. Andy didn't think it was the driver who'd spoken earlier.

She crawled towards the sound of his voice and then hands reached for her, holding her arms and pulling her out. Her knees banged against the ground, making her wince, and she scrambled to her feet. The men gave her no time to regain her balance and frogmarched her away from the van. Their footsteps echoed,

making Andy think that they might be inside a large building.

The two men holding her came to a sudden stop and they both tightened their grip on her arms. They turned her to the side, then forced her down. She thought they were pushing her to the floor, but then she felt something on the back of her legs and realised that they were making her sit on a chair. They let go of her arms and she heard them move a few steps away from her.

She strained to hear through the hood. Two men, breathing heavily. But she was sure there was someone else near by. It wasn't so much that she could hear the third person, it was more as if she could sense his presence. Andy waited, her hands in her lap, her head down, her eyes closed, breathing steadily. She had to stay calm.

She tilted her head as she heard one of the men move, then she felt a tug at the hood. She blinked as the bag was ripped off her head. A man sat in front of her, a man wearing a ski mask and baggy blue overalls. In front of him, were a notepad and a cheap plastic Biro. Andy already had her speech rehearsed -- she'd been going over it in her mind all the time she'd been in the van.

'Look, please don't harm Katie. We'll give you whatever you want. Just let her go and we'll do exactly as you say. You have me now, my husband will give you just as much for me as he will for Katie, so you might as well let her go.'

The man in the ski mask stared at her with unblinking green eyes, saying nothing.

'He will, you know. He's already told me that he's got the money ready, and he'll pay. However much you want. So you might as well let Katie go. You can keep me here for as long as you want. Okay?' Andy heard the words tumbling out of her mouth as if they belonged to somebody else.

The green eyes stared back at her. Andy suddenly realised that there was mascara on the lashes. It wasn't a man, it was a woman. She heard a chuckling over her shoulder and she looked around. A large man with a wrestler's build was laughing at her.

Like the woman, he had on a black ski mask that revealed nothing other than his eyes and part of his mouth, and was wearing similar blue overalls which were strained tight against his barrel-like chest. Next to the burly man was a taller, gangly man, also in a black ski mask and overalls. He was wearing pristine white Nike training shoes.

'Have you finished?' asked Green-eyes.

Andy whirled around to face her. 'What?'

'Have you said all you want to say?' said the woman. A Scottish accent, but there was a hint of Northern Irish, too. 'Are you ready to listen?'

Andy swallowed and nodded.

'You're free to go if you want, Andrea. We're armed but we're not going to hurt you. The guns are in case . . . well, let's just say they're insurance. If you stay, it's going to be your choice. But if you go, you'll never see your daughter again.'

'Katie's okay?'

'Katie's just fine. And so long as you do as we say, she'll stay that way. If everything goes to plan, you'll be back with her and your husband within a week or so.' Her voice was soft and persuasive, as if she were selling life insurance and not threatening the life of Andy's only child.

'How much do you want?' asked Katie.

Green-eyes shook her head slowly. 'Hasn't the penny dropped yet, Andrea? Haven't you figured it out?'

Andy looked at her, not understanding. 'What is you want?

If it's not money, what do you want?'

Green-eyes put her gloved hands flat on the table, either side 5O THE BOMBMAKER of the notepad and pen. 'Why, Andrea, we want you to do what you do best. We want you to build us a bomb. A very large bomb.'

Martin sat at his desk, staring at his computer screen. He barely noticed the spreadsheet in front of him. All he could think about was his wife and daughter. He'd arrived at the office at eight o'clock, thinking that Andy might telephone him before she checked out of the hotel. She didn't. The kidnappers hadn't called either. His phone rang and he picked it up. It was Jill, his secretary. 'Martin, it's a Mrs O'Mara,' she said. 'She's from Katie's school.'

'Okay, Jill, put her through.' There was a click, then the woman was on the line. She was the headmistress's secretary,

calling to see why Katie wasn't at school.

Martin thought quickly. If he said Katie was sick, the woman might ask for a doctor's note. An unexpected holiday wouldn't be an acceptable excuse. Besides, it would be very unlikely that Andy and Katie would have gone on holiday without him. 'It's my wife's mother, Mrs O'Mara. I'm afraid she's had a bit of a fall and my wife has had to go up to Belfast and see her. We didn't have anyone to take care of Katie because I'm up to my eyes in work here. We thought it best if Katie went with my wife. It'll only be for a few days.'

He regretted the lie immediately. It was just about possible that the school had Andy's mother's name and address on file,

and all it would take would be one phone call to prove him a liar.

'It's very irregular, Mr Hayes,' said the woman frostily.

'I know, and I apologise for that,' said Martin. 'I should have called you yesterday.'

'Do you know when we can expect to see Katie again?'

Martin wished that he did know. 'I would think three days.

Maybe four. If it's any longer, I'll be sure to let you know, Mrs O'Mara.'

'And your mother-in-law, how is she?'

5i STEPHEN LEATHER 'Poorly. She's in her seventies, so any sort of fall is dangerous.' Martin was surprised at how easily the lies were coming.

'Well, I hope she gets better soon,' said Mrs O'Mara.