They hadn’t been on my flight, and the next one was four hours later. But they’d managed to pick me up outside my apartment after my meeting with Jules and followed me to Hereford. Frank really did take that knowledge-is-power shit seriously. He couldn’t just let me get on with the job.
I left Marks & Sparks behind me and followed the road round to the right, then went left onto Broad Street. I got online as I drove, checking for the default PIN code to access message services on O2 numbers. I found it on Google.
Once back in the hotel, I used the almost redundant payphone and called Jan’s mobile. It was still switched off. If she’d answered it, I would simply have said, ‘Hi,’ and tried again in the middle of the night.
I pressed the star button as soon as it went to voicemail. I was welcomed warmly to the O2 messaging service. I tapped in the 8705 PIN code Google had given me, and was inside in less time than it had taken to defeat the electronic lock at the Ararat Park Hyatt.
An infuriatingly cheerful female pre-record told me that there were three new messages and twenty-four old ones. The voice prompt then invited me to press 2 to listen to them.
The first was three days old: a pissed-off Jock, honking that none of his calls had been returned on either of her phones and that he had found this mobile in her bag — so she could fuck right off, and by the way, he also wanted his iPod speakers back. The next one was the same guy, a day earlier. He’d just got back to H and he’d love to meet up and, yes, he knew about this number but he had missed her.
I cancelled them. I didn’t want her to know they’d been accessed. This was the method a few journos had been using to hack into mobiles belonging to celebrities, royals and politicians over the last couple of years. And if you couldn’t be bothered to change your PIN, what grounds did you have to complain?
The next message was four days old. ‘Hello, Janet. Greetings. My name is Nadif. You must call me.’ The voice was deep, slow and resonant. ‘This is very important. Your sister, her child and her friend … they are in great danger. I can help you. Please, you must call me.’
I reached for the stub of hotel pencil on the bedside cabinet, scribbled the mobile number on the pad, and cancelled this message too.
Then I called Nadif.
11
The phone rang for ages. I was on the point of giving up when the deep voice suddenly answered. He was guarded, probably because I’d withheld my number. ‘Hello …’
I didn’t fuck about. ‘You left a message. I’m calling about Tracy — Janet’s sister. My name is Nick. Are they safe?’ I kept my tone even and respectful, not wanting to spark him up.
His, too, was measured. ‘I’m trying so hard to keep them alive. Why have you taken so long? Who are you?’
‘I’m a friend of Tracy’s. A very old friend. Is her little boy safe?’
‘They’re all safe. But they won’t be safe for long. Only I can save them. But I need your help. Please, you must help me. Will you help me?’
The world is full of chancers who pick up their phones after a kidnap, claiming to be the only ones who can get the hostage back. They collect a deposit, and then they’re never heard from again. I needed to know that Nadif wasn’t one of them.
‘Nadif, I want to help you, but before we can do anything I need proof that they’re alive. Can you provide that? Can you prove to me they’re alive?’
‘Yes, of course. But the people who are holding them, they demand three million dollars. Do you have that? Can you bring them this money? If you bring this money, I can help you get them released. Do you have this money?’
My tone changed from positive and obliging to scared and concerned. ‘No. I mean, yes, maybe — maybe, maybe. I don’t know. I’m not rich — we’re not rich people. But we will get the money together. I will try everything. I will do everything possible to get that money. I will get the money somehow. But, please, you must prove to me first that they’re alive. Can I talk to them? Please?’
There was a pause.
‘Nick, do you really, really want them to come home?’
‘Yes, I do. I really do. I’ll do anything I can to get them back.’
‘That is very good, Nick, because only I can keep them from being killed in a very terrible way. Remember that, my friend. I will prove that they’re alive. You will come to me tomorrow. You will do that, yes?’
I took up the pencil once more as he gave me his address in Bristol.
‘Listen, I’m less than two hours away. Why don’t I come now? We can start the process. Please, Nadif, I don’t know what we’d do without you.’
He agreed, and I powered down the phone. I grabbed my keys and started down to the car park.
The one thing you’ve got to do with these people is be subservient. You must show them at all times that they hold all the cards. Right now it wasn’t that difficult.
12
I drove past Ascari’s.
Maybe it would have made sense to sell the 911 a month ago, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I’d enjoyed fucking off the salesman when I bought it, and I still enjoyed the mere fact that I owned it. I’d wandered into the showroom in my stinking trainers and running kit and the fucker had sneered when I asked how much it cost. I’d pulled out my wallet and asked if he was OK with cash.
And, anyway, I wasn’t too sure what was going to happen with me and Anna. Maybe she’d seen the light and was ready to fuck me off already. After all, I was punching above my weight and she wasn’t in any rush to get back to Moscow. I wasn’t too sure how I felt about that, so I immediately told myself: Fuck it, so what? I didn’t own the woman.
But going back to a life of Saturday mornings on my own in a café? I suddenly realized I was too old for that shit.
At this time of night there wasn’t much traffic once I’d got out of town, especially on the route I was taking. Rather than use the main drags and the motorway, I was going to go via Pontralis, into Wales, and then on B roads to Chepstow, before crossing back into England on the Severn Bridge.
I knew I’d be able to get my foot down this way. The speed cameras had sprung up like dandelions over the last few years, but I had a detector. I could do this route blindfolded. I used to fast-drive it day in, day out, in another lifetime. Bristol was used as a training ground for covert operations in Northern Ireland. The little B roads were where we’d practised our fast-driving skills. Sometimes you could make it door-to-door in under an hour.
The roads were narrow and bendy, with high hedgerows each side. Ant and Dec were going to have their work cut out to keep up, though the geography would help them. Each time I went up a hill, they’d be able to see my full beams.
Now and again I saw headlights behind me as I hit a long stretch of straight. I didn’t blame Frank. I’d probably have had someone following me as well.
13
I reached the Chepstow ring road, and then the bridge approach. The traffic was a little heavier as I re-entered England for the princely toll of £5.70. I took the motorway to Bristol and headed for the town centre instead of Nadif’s address. I parked on the second floor of an NCP and took the stairs.
Leaving the car there had nothing to do with good antisurveillance skills. I just didn’t want to get Nadif all sparked up. A 911 outside his front door would say all the wrong things about the size of Tracy’s bank account. I also didn’t want to come out and find the thing up on bricks. If Frank’s boys were about, they’d get the message as soon as they saw where I was going.