Stephen Leather - The Bombmaker

'You promise?'

Canning made the sign of the cross on his chest. 'Swear to die.'

– «»-«»-«»Andy Hayes put down the phone. 'They'll hold the ticket for me at the airport,' she said.

Martin nodded. 'I'll drive you.'

'You can't,' she said. 'You have to carry on as normal, that's what the letter said. You have to go to work.' She looked at her watch.

'I think I should stay by the phone. They might call.'

Andy shook her head fiercely. 'They said you had to carry out your normal routine. That means going to work, Martin. We mustn't do anything that makes them think we're not co-operating.'

Martin shrugged. 'I guess so.'

Andy's face hardened. 'No, there's no I-guess-so about this. I want you to promise me that you won't call the police.'

'Oh, come on, do you think I'd do anything that would put Katie in danger?'

'Promise me, Martin. Promise me that you won't do anything out of the ordinary.'

Martin took her in his arms and kissed her hair. 'I promise.'

She hugged him tightly. 'I'll call you from London. They didn't say that I couldn't do that.'

Martin stroked the back of her neck. 'It's going to be all right, Andy. I promise.'

– «»-«»-«»McEvoy put on his ski mask and picked up the tray. On it was a paper plate of spaghetti hoops, a slice of bread, and a plastic fork.

'I'll take it,' said Canning. He was sitting at the table working on the crossword in the Irish Times. Like McEvoy he'd changed out of his track suit and was wearing a sweatshirt and jeans.

'That's all right, Mick. I'll handle it. Where are the scissors?'

Canning gestured with his chin. 'By the sink. You should give her some milk.'

'Milk?'

'To drink. She'll need something to drink.'

McEvoy put the tray down. He picked up the scissors and slipped them into the back pocket of his jeans.

'You haven't got kids, have you, George?' said Canning, looking up from his crossword.

'Not that I know of,' said McEvoy. 'Your point being?'

He chuckled, went over to the fridge, opened it and took out a carton of milk. He poured some into a plastic cup and then put the carton back in the fridge. 'Anything else I should take her ladyship?' he asked.

Canning ignored him and concentrated on the crossword.

McEvoy went over to the door that led to the basement and juggled the tray as he slipped the bolts. He eased the door open with his foot and peered down the stairs. Katie was sitting on the camp bed, her Garfield in her lap. She looked up and watched him walk down the stairs. He put the tray on the bed next to her and she looked at it disdainfully. 'Spaghetti hoops?'

'Leave it if you don't want it,' said McEvoy curtly.

'What else is there to eat?'

'Nothing. It's spaghetti hoops or nothing.'

Katie sniffed and rested her head on top of Garfield.

McEvoy took the scissors from his back pocket. Katie looked at him fearfully.

'Please don't,' said Katie, clasping Garfield tightly.

'It won't hurt if you don't move,' said McEvoy.

– «»-«»-«»Andy opened the suitcase and stared at its interior. What was she supposed to pack? She didn't even know how long she was going to be away. She closed the suitcase again and went over to the wardrobe. The front was mirrored and she stared at her reflection. Fly to London and wait, the letter said. Wait for further instructions. Did that mean they would send her somewhere else? Or would she collect Katie in London? Should she pack for Katie, too? She opened the wardrobe and ran a hand along the dresses and jackets hanging there. Maybe she shouldn't take anything with her. If anyone saw her leaving the house with a suitcase, they'd wonder where she was going. What would she say? That she was going away for a holiday? On her own? What if she met anyone she knew at the airport?

She heard Martin climbing the stairs, a heavy footfall as if every step was an effort. He walked up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. 'I don't know what to take with me,' she said.

'Pack for a couple of days,' he said.

'Pack what?'

'Jeans. Shirts. Underwear. Hell, Andy, I don't know.' His fingers moved around her neck and he massaged her slowly.

'Why me, Martin? Why do they want me in London and you here? Why haven't they told us what they want?'

She felt her husband shrug. 'Maybe Katie's already in London. Maybe they took her over the water and that's where they'll give her back to us.'

Andy turned to face him. 'Do you think that's it?'

'It's possible. Dublin's a small city – it'd be easier to hide her in London. They could have taken her over on the ferry, in a car. Hidden her in the boot or…' His mouth snapped shut when he saw the look of horror on her face.

'Boot? Oh my God…' Tears welled up in her eyes and Martin hugged her.

'Oh, Jesus, Andy, I don't know what I'm saying. I'm just guessing. I don't know where she is or what they're doing. Don't get upset. Please.' He wiped away her tears with his thumbs, smearing them across her cheeks. 'I'll drive you to the airport.'

Andy shook her head. 'You can't,' she said. 'You have to go to work.'

'The airport's on the way.'

Andy reached up and held his wrists. 'We talked about this last night. You have to do everything as normal, Martin.'

'This is different,' said Martin. 'They know you're going to the airport – they'll expect me to take you.'

'I don't know

'I want to,' said Martin.

Andy sat down on the bed, too tired to argue. She'd barely slept, and it was as if she was thinking in slow motion. 'Okay,' she said.

Martin sat next to her and put his arm around her. 'Look, I'll drop you at the airport, then I'll go straight to the office. I'll talk to the bank, see how much we've got on deposit.'

'I hope it's enough,' she said.

'If it isn't, we can raise more,' said Martin. 'We've got the cash flow, we've got assets. The house alone is worth twice the mortgage. We can raise a hundred grand on a phone call.'

Tears began to stream down Andy's cheeks. 'Why us, Martin?' she asked. 'Why our Katie?'

'I don't know. I really don't know.'

She put her arms around his waist and buried her face in his neck, her body racked by silent sobs. Martin held her, feeling more helpless than he'd ever felt in his life.

– «»-«»-«»Canning walked through the arrivals area, tapping the copy of the Irish Times against his leg. He bought a coffee, sat on a stool and surveyed the terminal. Eager faces watched the sliding doors that kept opening and closing, disgorging a stream of passengers. Canning cast his eyes over the paper's headlines. Government figures showing the Irish economy was booming. Rumours that the American President might make a flying visit to Dublin during his trip to Europe. A supermodel overdosed on heroin. Canning sipped his coffee. He flicked through the pages to the crossword. Only six clues to finish.

A woman pulled out the stool on the other side of his table. 'Do you mind?' she asked. She was slim in a pale grey business suit, carrying a burgundy briefcase and a mobile telephone. Her shoulder-length hair was blond, but the dark roots suggested that it had been dyed. There was something unnatural about her eyes, too. They were almost too green, as if she were wearing contact lenses.

Canning waved at the stool. 'Help yourself,' he said. He took a small padded envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket and slipped it between the pages of the newspaper, which he then folded and placed on the table.

The woman ripped the corner off a pack of sweetener and poured it into her coffee. Canning slid off his stool, nodded at the woman, and walked away. He didn't see her take the newspaper and put it in her briefcase.

– «»-«»-«»Andy couldn't bear to say goodbye to her husband. She forced a smile and then walked away from the car. She could feel Martin watching her but she didn't turn around. She walked through the doors into the departure area. There was a queue of half a dozen people ahead of her having their luggage checked. A uniformed policeman ran some sort of detector over her suitcase. He was in his fifties with the sunburned skin and broken veins of a sailor. He smiled at her and waved her through. Andy wondered what he'd been checking for. Guns? Explosives? Drugs? The check had seemed cursory at best, as if he wasn't expecting to find anything.