Ken McClure: The Secret

There was no escaping the fact that the next few hours were going to change everything in his life regardless of the outcome. If the worst should happen to Jenny and he should survive, he knew that he would slip all the anchors he had in society. He would walk away from his job, his relationship, his friends and single-mindedly hunt down Khan and kill him... or die in the attempt. There would be no waiting for the wheels of justice to turn. He wasn’t civilised to the degree required to lift him above seeking revenge. That’s just the way it was.

If, please God, Jenny were to come out of this unscathed in the physical sense he couldn’t see how she could achieve this mentally. True, she was a child and children were remarkably resilient but the question must be how deep would the scars run? Sue and Richard too would be traumatised and it was impossible to think that things could ever be the same again between them all. As for Tally... he was just about to find out whether their relationship could possibly survive the latest challenge.

Steven bought a ticket on the Edinburgh flight, politely declining the offer of a seat on an earlier flight as there was still time as the smiling girl behind the desk pointed out. He bought black coffee and found a quiet spot in the airport lounge where he settled by a window to look out at the grey morning light before calling Tally.

Steven? I expected you to call last night. I was worried.’

‘I’m sorry... rather a lot’s been happening.’

‘Something’s the matter,’ said Tally, alarmed at the nuance she was picking up in Steven’s voice.

‘I don’t know how Khan found out about Jenny and where she lived but he did. He’s kidnapped her and wants to trade her for the memory card Simone enclosed with her letter. Right now I’m at Birmingham Airport waiting to go up to Edinburgh... to await his instructions.’

‘Oh my God, Steven... Oh, Steven this is awful... poor little love... Oh God, is there anything I can do? Anything at all?’

‘No, it’s all up to me right now,’ said Steven. ‘I... just thought you should know what’s going on...’

There was a pause before Tally said quietly, ‘Of course I should know what’s going on; we love each other, don’t we? Jenny’s part of us, as in the two of us, isn’t she?’

‘Sorry, I put it badly. I’m not thinking straight. Of course, she is. It’s just that... I suppose I’ve suddenly become very aware of just how much my job affects the people around me, the people I love. You were much more aware of it than me. You spelt it out for me more than once and I kept pushing it to the back of my mind.’

‘Stop it, Steven,’ said Tally but not unkindly. ‘What I said in the past was based on my own selfishness. I thought I had a right to demand a safe and secure life and you should comply with that and fall into line but I was wrong and I remember all the unhappiness you went through for me before I insisted you return. You’re a special person doing a special job, a job that needs doing and it’s the rest of us who should fall into line. Every wife of every soldier serving in Afghanistan has to do this. I’ve come to realise there’s a great army of unsung heroines out there who go through hell every day but accept it without complaint. I’m now one of them. I love you; I’ll always be there for you and so will all the people you love so stop talking nonsense and go get Jenny back.’

Steven managed a smile for the first time in a while. ‘Will do.’

The flight north only served to increase Steven’s anxiety. He’d never been fond of the enforced proximity to strangers that air travel imposed but today it was the sheer normality of his fellow passengers’ behaviour that seemed to get to him; the very things that would normally confer anonymity on people were today doing the opposite. Filling in crossword puzzles, tapping laptop keys, reading newspapers, even the sipping of coffee seemed to imply a complete disregard for the personal agony he was going through.

The seatbelt sign went on as the aircraft crossed over the Lammermuir Hills on its long descent and banked steeply to the left to follow the Firth of Forth to make its final approach into Edinburgh airport. It was a journey Steven had often made in the past and he’d always enjoyed the moment when the two mighty bridges spanning the Forth came into view but today he had too many other things on his mind to offer more than a grunt when the man in the seat beside him pointed out that all the scaffolding and sheeting had been removed from the mighty Victorian rail bridge for the first time in years. ‘They’ve finished painting it,’ he said. ‘New kind of paint, should last twenty-five years.’

Steven could only think that Jenny would be thirty-five years old when they would paint the bridge again. She’d probably be married, probably have children — his grandchildren. He was wondering if she’d invite him for Christmas dinner when that image was interrupted by another, that of a group of mourners standing around a small white coffin. The hollow feeling in his stomach grew by the minute. The bump of the landing wheels didn’t help.

His fellow passengers stood in readiness for the aircraft doors to open, an impatient file all looking remarkably the same in his eyes, about to spend their day maintaining their role in the great scheme of things, negotiating contracts, securing orders, jockeying for position on the career ladder, but at the end of the day, it was odds on they’d all be going home to their families...

Steven turned his phone on as he made his way to the arrivals hall, walking past the row of name cards being held up along the route. He’d never had to pay these any attention before but today he did, simply because his actions were now to be determined entirely by somebody else. There was a ‘Clarkson’, written in green marker pen on cardboard, ‘Fenton — North Sea Gas’, presented as a smudged computer print-out, even a rather grand card bearing the name, Sir Peter Cross, being held up by a man in chauffeur’s uniform but no Dunbar.

With no real sense of purpose or direction to guide him, Steven imagined he was getting an inkling of what it must be like to be excluded from society; an unpleasant feeling but another human cameo to add to his collection. He restored purpose by gravitating towards the nearest café and buying coffee, the assistant’s inquisition about size and type irritating him more than usual. He sat down, placed his mobile on the table and waited for it to ring. It didn’t.

At fifteen minutes past ten Steven bought more coffee but didn’t drink it. He needed neither the caffeine nor the attention of the woman whose task it was to clear away empty cups and sponge the table top with a cloth that smelt bad. At half past the hour his mind was going into overdrive, imagining all the awful things that could have happened when he saw Ranjit Khan walk towards him. He was dressed in a smart suit that had not come off the peg and carried a laptop slung over his right shoulder. He was clean-shaven and his black hair was cut and styled to perfection. He looked every inch the successful lawyer or business executive. He smiled as he sat down beside Steven, shrugging his laptop strap off his shoulder to place the computer on the floor between himself and Steven. It was a gesture Steven found slightly strange.

‘Good Morning, Doctor. I apologise for my lateness. I’ve been watching you for the past forty minutes. You appear to be alone and you’ve just come off a flight so I know you’re not armed: you wouldn’t have risked it and there wasn’t time to sort out permission. I take it you’ve brought what I asked for?’

‘Where’s my daughter, Khan?’

‘All in good time,’ replied Khan with the smug smile of a man who knew he was in charge.