Simon Kernick - Ultimatum

There were two grainy shots of a man in profile coming out of a house. They weren’t the best photos in the world but Tina felt her heart jump, because she recognized the man in them instantly.

It was the man she’d seen run over by a lorry only a few hours ago.

The terrorist who’d bombed the coffee shop.

16.25

Tina was still staring at the photo of the bomber when her mobile phone rang. It was Mike Bolt.

Briefly she explained to him what she’d found.

‘And are you absolutely sure it’s him?’ he asked when she’d finished.

‘I won’t forget his face as long as I live,’ Tina said, suddenly feeling vindicated. ‘So now we’ve got a direct link between Brozi and the bombers.’

‘That’s brilliant, Tina. Well done.’

‘You’re pleased with me now then, are you?’ she said, unable to resist having a dig.

He sighed down the other end of the phone. ‘It still doesn’t detract from the fact that your actions almost got us both killed, but it’s a great lead, there’s no question about that.’

‘We need to lean on Brozi fast.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘There’s only three and a half hours until the terrorists’ deadline, and I’d bet anything that he knows their identities.’

‘But we can’t. You know that. First of all, he’s going to deny the phone’s anything to do with him. We didn’t even see him drop it. And secondly, after what happened with him shooting at us, I’m not even allowed to see him in case it prejudices future proceedings. We’ve got a team from HQ coming over to interview him but they haven’t arrived yet, and nor has Brozi’s lawyer.’

‘So we’re just going to hang around until Brozi’s lawyer and the interview team decide to show their faces? Hoping that he might deign to cooperate with us?’

‘This isn’t 24 , Tina. We can’t torture the information out of him. Just like we can’t torture it out of Fox either.’ He sighed. ‘Listen, it’s obvious from all this that Fox knows what’s going on. I need you to talk to him again.’

‘You’re not going to send me back to the prison, are you?’

She could hear the smile in Bolt’s voice as he answered. ‘It wouldn’t do any harm to have you out of the way, but no, I’m not. We’re going to set up a secure line at Islington and you can call him from there.’

‘I need to offer him something. Otherwise he’s got no incentive to help us.’

Bolt was silent as he thought about this. ‘Tell him we’re organizing moving him to a secure safehouse, but that it’s going to take another day or so to sort the paperwork.’

‘He won’t fall for that, Mike. He’s no fool. Let’s try to be a bit creative here. It’s clear from what’s happened that his info’s good. This isn’t a set-up.’

‘Right now, I haven’t got the authority to offer him anything else. I’ll speak to the commander but I doubt they’ll even contemplate moving him. It would be political suicide. Use your charm, Tina. You’ve got a name out of him already. See if you can get something else.’

Politics, thought Tina. Policework, like everything else, was all politics, and covering your arse. She sighed. ‘OK, I’m on my way.’

16.35

Voorhess’s target, Azim Butt, was bound tightly with bungee rope to a leather armchair in his spacious first-floor living room, and wearing wrist and ankle chains. A ball gag had been placed in his mouth, making it impossible for him to talk, and a blindfold covered his eyes. He’d been conscious for several hours now and after a lot of initial moaning beneath the gag, he’d long ago fallen silent.

Voorhess sat down on a chair next to him with a bowl of hot noodles and removed the gag. ‘I’m going to feed you now, Mr Butt. Open your mouth.’

‘I’m not hungry. Please, can you not just take what you want and leave?’

‘I’m afraid not. I may need to stay for a little while.’

‘But why? What do you want? I haven’t done anything.’ There was a note of pleading in his voice.

‘I know it’s early to be having supper, Mr Butt, but there may be a delay until your next meal, and these are very tasty noodles. I’ve just eaten a bowl myself. I stir-fried some spring onions, ginger and chicken thighs in with them, then added soy sauce, rice wine and a splash of sesame oil. So I would appreciate it if you would do as you’re told.’

Mr Butt wisely decided to acquiesce, and allowed himself to be fed from the bowl, chewing in a manner that suggested that, actually, he was quite hungry. When he’d finished, Voorhess put a bottle of water to his mouth and let him drink.

‘Am I some kind of hostage?’ asked Mr Butt, looking up at him from behind the blindfold.

Voorhess put the bowl and the water down on the coffee table. ‘In a manner of speaking, yes. All I can say is that if you cooperate, you’ll come to no harm. As you can see from the fact that you’ve just been fed, I’m not here to hurt you.’

‘I don’t want to die,’ said Mr Butt quietly.

‘And you won’t,’ Voorhess told him, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. ‘Just sit tight, stay calm, and I’ll be gone later this evening. I promise.’ His words had a soothing effect, but then Voorhess was good at that. He’d once been told by a nurse he’d gone out with back in Cape Town that he would have made an excellent doctor, because he had the perfect bedside manner, his voice exuding a potent mixture of confidence and kindness. It was, he thought almost ruefully, ironic that he did the job that he did.

The downstairs buzzer sounded, reverberating round the whole house.

Voorhess saw Mr Butt stiffen.

‘Who could that be?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know.’

Mr Butt’s voice was quavering now, which made Voorhess suspicious.

‘Are you expecting anyone?’

‘It might be my girlfriend. What’s the time?’

‘It’s quarter to five.’

‘It’s a bit early, and I wasn’t expecting her. But it might be her.’

The buzzer sounded again.

‘Will she go away if there’s no answer?’

Mr Butt didn’t reply. He looked scared.

‘Mr Butt,’ said Voorhess slowly, the bedside manner gone now, replaced by a cold, businesslike tone, ‘will she go away?’

Mr Butt swallowed. ‘She has a key.’

Ach, thought Voorhess, always complications.

As if appearing to read his mind, Mr Butt looked up at him imploringly from behind the blindfold. ‘Please don’t hurt her. She’s everything to me. We’re getting married.’

He would have said more too but Voorhess replaced the ball gag in his mouth and tightened it, before leaning down so that he was close to the other man’s ear. ‘Don’t make a sound, Mr Butt, because if you do, you will put your girlfriend in mortal danger. Nod once if you understand.’

Mr Butt nodded once.

Voorhess had already taken possession of his phone, and he picked it up now. The phone vibrated and a text appeared. It was the girlfriend asking where he was, with lots of question marks. She finished the message by saying she was extremely horny and was coming in to wait for him.

Oh dear, thought Voorhess, walking out on to the first-floor landing.

Darkness was beginning to fall and he made his way through the unlit gloom to the bathroom, grabbed a towel, then started down the stairs as a key turned in the lock.

She had just closed the door behind her and switched on the lights when Voorhess reached the bottom of the staircase. It was the girl from the photo in the downstairs toilet. She turned round with a bright, sexy smile that vanished when she saw that it wasn’t her boyfriend but a big man in overalls, holding a gun in one hand and a towel in the other.