Stephen Leather: The Bombmaker

They drove in silence for a while. The passenger spoke first. 'What if… you know? What if they don't do what they're supposed to?'

The driver shrugged but didn't reply.

'Would you… you know?'

'Would I what?'

The passenger made a gun with his forefinger and thumb. 'Would you?'

'It won't come to that. The threat'll be enough.'

'Are you sure of that?'

The driver threw him a quick' look. 'Are you having second thoughts, Mick?'

'No, but

'There can't be any buts. Buts are what get people killed. We've been told what we've got to do and we do it.'

Another silence, longer this time. Again, it was the passenger who spoke first. 'George?'

'Aye?'

'Have you ever…?' He made the gun with his hand again. 'You know?'

'You know I have,' said George McEvoy.

'Nah, I mean a kid. Have you ever offed a kid?'

McEvoy shrugged. 'Man, woman, kid. A life's a life, Mick.'

Mick Canning nodded. He twisted around in his seat and lifted the blanket again. The little girl's mouth was wide open and a thin trickle of frothy dribble was running down her chin. Canning reached across and used a corner of the blanket to wipe the mess away.

'Stop fiddling with her,' said McEvoy tersely. 'You don't want to get too attached.'

Canning frowned and did as he was told.

– «»-«»-«»Andy opened her eyes and blinked. For a second or two she thought she'd been asleep, and then the horror of it all came rushing back and broke over her like an icy wave. Martin was dabbing at her forehead with a damp cloth. 'Easy, love, you had a nasty fall.' Andy tried to sit up, but as she did so her head swam and she felt consciousness slip away again. Martin helped her lie back on the sofa. 'Take it easy,' he said, pressing the cloth to the bridge of her nose.

'What happened?' she asked.

'You fainted.'

Andy took several deep breaths, trying to gather her thoughts. She'd been in Katie's bedroom. The letter. Oh my God, the letter. She pushed Martin away and forced herself up. 'The letter,' she whispered.

'I've got it,' said Martin.

Andy held out her hand. 'Give it to me.'

Martin gave her the sheet of paper and she read it quickly, even though she could remember it word for word.

WE HAVE YOUR DAUGHTER. SHE WILL NOT BE HARMED IF YOU DO EXACTLY AS WE SAY. YOU ARE TO TAKE FLIGHT EI 172 TO LONDON TOMORROW. A ROOM HAS BEEN BOOKED IN YOUR NAME AT THE STRAND PALACE HOTEL. WAIT THERE FOR FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS. IF YOU CONTACT THE POLICE YOU WILL NEVER SEE YOUR DAUGHTER AGAIN. YOUR HUSBAND IS TO CARRY ON HIS NORMAL ROUTINE. YOU WILL BOTH BE WATCHED. IF WE BELIEVE YOU HAVE CONTACTED THE POLICE YOUR DAUGHTER WILL DIE.

Andy blinked away tears. 'Why?' she asked. 'Why us?'

Martin took the letter from her. It was typed, all capital letters. It looked as if it had been done on a laser printer. The same typeface was on the envelope. Just two words there. ANDREA HAYES.

Martin read the letter again. 'It doesn't say how much,' he said.

'What?'

'It doesn't say how much they want us to pay.' Martin ran his hand through his hair, frowning. 'What sort of ransom demand doesn't mention money?'

'Maybe they'll phone,' said Andy.

'But then why do they want you to go to London? Our money's here, in Ireland. Everything we own is here. If they want paying in London we'd have to fly over with the money. This doesn't make sense.'

'Sense? Why should it make sense? They've kidnapped Katie, they came into our house and took her, why should anything they do make sense?' She could hear the hysteria in her voice and she fought to stay calm.

Martin took her hands in his. 'Don't worry, love. We'll get this sorted. We'll get Katie back. I promise.'

'You can't promise something like that, Martin.'

Martin shook his head. 'They've obviously planned this, Andy. They've thought it all out. They knew where Katie was, they knew where we were. They had the note ready. They've got the hotel room booked in London. It's all been well planned. Kidnapping is a straightforward business transaction. That's what I'm good at, business. We give them money. They give us Katie. That's business. There's no profit in either side trying to screw things up. Okay?'

Andy nodded. What he was saying made sense. It was horrible, it was frightening, but it was logical. It wasn't a pervert who'd stolen her child, it wasn't a sex killer or a paedophile, it was a kidnapper. It wasn't about sexual thrills or sadism, it was about money, and she could just about cope with that. 'What do we do?' she asked.

'We do what they say in the note. You go to London and I guess they'll contact you there to tell you how much they want.'

'Why us, Martin? Why us? We're not rich.'

'We're not short of money, Andy. There are plenty of scumbags out there who'd class us as wealthy. They don't take mortgages and loans and overdrafts into account. They see a couple of new cars and a four-bedroomed house and they think we're rolling in it.' He stood up and went into the kitchen, returning a short while later with two tumblers of whisky. He gave one to her. 'Drink this,' he said.

She swallowed the whisky in two gulps. Martin sat down and read the letter again. He sipped his own whisky thoughtfully. 'I don't understand why they haven't said how much they want. There are things that have to be arranged. We've got to get the money together, they've got to take the money from us. That's all got to be sorted out, and until they tell us what their demands are, there's nothing we can do.'

'We do have the money, don't we?' asked Andy.

Martin stroked her hair and brushed several stray strands away from her face. 'Whatever it takes, we'll get it. I can increase the mortgage, there's cash in the business, we've got friends. It'll be all right.'

Andy nodded through her tears, desperately wanting to believe him.

– «»-«»-«»Egan took off his headphones and leaned back in his chair. He stretched his arms up above his head and rolled his head from side to side, trying to ease the tension in his neck. On the desk in front of him were five digital tape recorders, each linked to radio receivers, one for each of the five listening devices in the Hayes house.

He'd planted the devices three weeks earlier while Andrea Hayes had been out walking her dog. There was one in the smoke detector in the upstairs hallway, one in the phone in the master bedroom, another in the phone in the sitting room. A fourth device was in an electric socket in the downstairs hall and a fifth in a light fitting in the kitchen. They gave him virtually complete coverage of the house.

Egan stood up and went through to the kitchen where he poured himself a mug of black coffee. The studio apartment was in a block just a half-mile away from the Hayes house and he'd rented it for a full twelve months, even though he only expected to be using it for another week. Once the Hayes woman was in place, Egan planned to fly to London to oversee the final phase of the operation. He took his mug back into the sitting room and sat down at the desk. So far everything had gone to plan. Martin and Andrea Hayes were reacting exactly as he'd anticipated.

George McEvoy drove the Mondeo down the rutted track that led to the cottage. The car bucked and swayed and they slowed to a walking pace. The single-storey building was in darkness, and he put the headlights on full beam. 'Home sweet home,' he muttered. 'How is she?'

Mick Canning leaned over and lifted the tartan blanket. Katie was still fast asleep. 'Out like a light,' he said.

McEvoy drove around the back of the cottage and parked by the side of a wooden garage. He climbed out and unlocked the back door of the cottage and switched on a light before waving at Canning to carry the girl in. The nearest house was a hundred yards away and they weren't overlooked at the back.