Piet gave the girls their orders. “This video will last a minute and not a second longer, so choose your words wisely. I will introduce you both and you will each tell your people that they must stop the police pursuing the blackmail case, first of all. The police must then come to an agreement with Lord Hickstead by Monday evening at six, or your families don’t see you again.”
Piet stood behind the camera and counted Gregor in.
“Three, two, one.” Gregor pressed record; both girls were in shot, sitting either side of the table, still chained as before. Their captor introduced them to the camera.
“As you can see, we have Lavender Fisher and Diane Fraser. We guarantee that they will both be returned safely, just as long as you have the police reach an agreement with Lord Hickstead by Monday at six in the evening.”
Piet fell silent and pointed to Lavender, who fell straight into her prepared speech, although her voice quavered with nerves.
“Dad, I’m so, so sorry. I caused all of this. I promise that if you make the police do as these men say, I’ll give up the celebrity lifestyle and take that office job on the first floor.”
Piet pointed at Dee, or Diane as he had called her. Her voice was much stronger.
“Josh, please don’t go into print with your statement. Press the police to agree to the terms these guys want. If you don’t, you’ll find your next opposition right here.”
Piet spoke from behind the camera again. “Remember, Monday, six o’clock, or you never see either of them again.”
The camera was switched off, and Piet announced sardonically, “That’s a wrap, folks.”
Chapter 6 7
Vastrick Security, No. 1 Poultry, London. Saturday, Midnight.
We all sat around the conference table waiting for the inevitable call, well aware that it might not come until tomorrow. I was still having trouble grasping the reality of the situation. The police were busy examining both crime scenes and each force had a representative in the room with us.
Around the table were Tom Vastrick, Inspector Boniface, DCI Coombes and an agitated Don Fisher. At the head of the table with a mass of electronics was a young man called Levi, whose Jewish heritage was not in question once one had seen him.
Both my BlackBerry and Fisher’s IPhone were plugged in to a speaker and we had been given headsets that we could don as soon as a call came in. The idea was that any calls be traced, recorded, decoded and analysed by voice stress analysts sitting at Scotland Yard.
In the end it was a waste of time, as two text messages came in simultaneously from a Dutch mobile phone number. The message was simple.
“Follow the link www.flickr.com/48hrs/Videos.”
Levi wasn’t fazed by the unexpected turn of events, and within a few seconds the photo storage and networking site was on our screen. There was one video in the collection and Levi clicked on it. A play arrow was displayed.
“Before we run this, I want full transcript, enhanced video stills and full analysis of any key words or signals. I suggest we conference call in 30 minutes to swap war stories,” Tom Vastrick said to the people in his office and to Scotland Yard via the open communication link.
Levi pressed play.
A man appeared on the video, which was reasonably good quality, and spoke. His voice was slightly muffled because of the ski mask, and he was trying to conceal his accent by exaggerating a British twang. He had chosen his background well, as on first look there were no clues as to where he was.
“Mr Fisher, Mr Hammond and associated representatives of the Police Force. There follows a message and I urge you take it seriously. I would not say this in front of the hostages but they will die if our demands are not met. I cannot help but notice they are both attractive women, the kind that men dream of having on their arm and in their bed.”
The video picture faded and a new scene faded in. On the screen we could see Lavender and Dee either side of a long table with chains on their wrists. A disembodied voice spoke, again muffled and this time affecting a Mid Atlantic accent.
“As you can see, we have Lavender Fisher and Diane Fraser. We guarantee that they will both be returned safely, just as long as you have the police reach an agreement with Lord Hickstead by Monday at six in the evening.”
I was taken aback. Who was Diane Fraser? The others looked puzzled, too. We couldn’t dwell on the anomaly at that moment, however, as a nervous Lavender began to speak to the camera.
“Dad, I’m so, so sorry. I caused all of this. I promise that if you make the police do as these men say, I’ll give up the celebrity lifestyle and take that office job on the first floor.”
“What job?” Don Fisher blurted.
But any conversation was curtailed as Dee spoke.
“Josh, please don’t go into print with your statement. Press the police to agree to the terms these guys want. If you don’t, you’ll find your next opposition right here.”
It was my turn to say “What?”
The second kidnapper spoke from behind the camera again.
“Remember, Monday, six o’clock, or you never see either of them again.”
***
As soon as the video ended there was a flurry of activity, and analysts were poring over every work spoken for clues.
“Mr Fisher, Josh, let me start by saying that at Vastrick we train all of our operatives in surviving hostage situations. Just like the military, we use certain key words and phrases that signal useful pieces of information. After that, it’s up to the ingenuity of the hostage, and Dee is ingenious, believe me. I know because I’ve watched her in action. Now, can I have your initial thoughts on what we just saw and heard?”
I spoke out first.
“The very first thing that puzzled me was the way the man called Dee, Diane Fraser. I can’t explain that. Why give a false name?”
“I think I know,” Levi said, staring at his screen where a picture of a young woman was prominent. “The Vastrick database has thrown up a reference to a former case where we recovered a cult member after her parents made a donation to ‘The new world order for tranquillity’.”
“I remember that case,” Tom Vastrick interrupted, frowning. Obviously it hadn’t ended well. “The cult leaders said if the parents paid half a million pounds in donations, they would excommunicate their daughter and expel her. The parents paid up, and our operatives were directed to an industrial unit where we found Diane Fraser fit and healthy and angry, having been chained up. Sad thing was, after a month she went straight back to the cult. It was probably a ploy. OK people, analysis please.”
A voice came over the speakers.
“Tom, this is Luke. As there is no cult involvement here, could it be that Dee is sending us a message that she is being held in an industrial unit?”
Tom looked around the table, and Boniface and Coombes both nodded their agreement with the analysis. We moved on to Lavender’s statement, and Don Fisher spoke up.
“I don’t know what the girl is on about. I’ve never offered her an office job and our offices don’t have a first floor, anyway.”
“I think she’s a clever girl,” Coombes commented. “Surely she means that they are being held in a first floor office. So far we have them in an industrial unit, with two storey offices, and they’re on the first floor.”
Boniface leaned over and squeezed the DCI’s shoulder. DCI Coombes beamed as the table accepted his analysis. The door opened and a full printed transcript was given to everyone. We were then told that the video stills were being printed. Boniface took the lead for a moment.
“Josh’s statement was taken days ago, and he signed it in Dee’s presence. It would seem to me that the first part, about going into print, must also be a coded message.”
We all pondered what it could mean, and the analysts set algorithms away that would analyse all possible meanings of the words.