"Who with?"
"Dunno. He makes a call and someone picks him up. I used to follow him when Mum was around. Don't bother no more."
Bella eased him onto her lap inside the voluminous coat and rested her chin on his head. "You know what, darlin', I don't much like what's going on here. I'd take me and my girls away tomorrow… 'cept I'm worried about you. If I knew what your dad was up to…" She lapsed into a brief, thoughtful silence. "How 'bout I drive you to the coppers tomorrow and you tell 'em about your mum? It'll mean you'll probably be fostered for a while-but it'll get you away from Fox-'n' back to your mum 'n' Cub in the end. What d'you reckon?"
Wolfie shook his head violently. "Na. I'm scared of coppers."
"Why?"
"They look for bruises, 'n' if they find them they take you away."
"Are they gonna find them on you?" she asked.
"Reckon so. Then you get sent to hell."
His skinny body shivered, and Bella wondered angrily why he had been fed such crap. "Why would you go to hell for having bruises, darlin'? It ain't your fault. It's Fox's fault!"
"It's against the rules," he told her. "Doctors get right angry when they find bruises on kids. You don't wanna be around when that happens."
God almighty! It was a twisted mind that had come up with that disgusting piece of logic. Bella pulled him closer. "Trust me, darlin', you ain't got nothin' to worry about. You have to do somethin' really bad for doctors and coppers to get angry, 'n' you ain't done nothin' bad."
"You have," said Wolfie, who had listened to Bella's phone call from his hiding place under the blankets. "You didn't oughta tell Fox where Nancy is. All she ever did was untie the rope so she could make friends with you." He looked up at Bella's moon face. "You reckon he's gonna cut her with a razor?" he asked sadly.
"No chance, darlin'," she said comfortably, resting her chin on his head again. "I told him she was doing night ops on Salisbury Plain. It was crawling with soldiers three days ago-training for Afghanistan, I guess-so it'll be like looking for a needle in a haystack… 'ssuming the needle was ever there, of course."
Message from Mark
Emergency. Phone me ASAP
Mark had one last try to get through, then thrust his mobile into James's hand and spun the wheel to take the Lexus back onto the road. "Do you know how these things work?"
James looked at the tiny machine in his palm. The buttons glowed for a second or two in the darkness, then went out. "I'm afraid not," he confessed. "The only mobile telephone I ever used was the size of a shoe box."
"No problem. Give it back to me when it rings." Mark floored the accelerator and drove at high speed up the narrow lane, scraping the bank with his tires.
James braced himself against the dashboard. "Would you mind if I give you a few facts of my life?" he said.
"Go ahead."
"Apart from the problem of IRA terrorism-which is an ongoing alert-there is now the threat of al-Qaeda terrorism. Both these factors mean military camps are no-go areas to anyone without documents and authority… and that includes army personnel." He flinched as the hedgerow loomed dangerously close in the headlights. "The best you and I, as civilians, can hope for is that we can persuade the sergeant of the guard to phone through and ask Nancy to come to the gate. He will almost certainly refuse and suggest we apply through proper channels tomorrow. Under no circumstances will we be allowed to wander around the camp, looking for her. Our friend on the telephone will be subject to the same restrictions."
They screamed around a bend. "Are you saying there's no point going?"
"I'm certainly questioning the wisdom of dying in the attempt," the old man said dryly. "Even if we do decide to proceed, an extra fifteen minutes will make no difference to Nancy's safety."
"Sorry." Mark slowed to a manageable speed. "I just think she needs to know what's going on."
"We don't know ourselves."
"Warn her, then."
"You've already done that with your message." The old man's tone was apologetic. "We're not going to find out anything by running away, Mark. Headlong flight smacks of panic under fire. Standing our ground will at least tell us who and what we're up against."
"You've been doing that for weeks," Mark pointed out impatiently, "and it's got you precisely nowhere. Also, I don't see why you're suddenly so laid-back about him knowing her name and address. It's you who keeps describing him as a madman."
"Which is why I'd like to keep him in my sights," said James calmly. "If we know anything in this present situation, it's that he's at our door. Almost certainly with the travelers. He's obviously been watching us… may even have followed us to Mrs. Weldon's… and if he did, then he'll have seen which way we turned out of her drive. At the moment, the Manor is undefended and that may have been what his last call was intended to achieve."
Mark's headlights picked up a break in the hedgerow a hundred yards ahead where a gate led into a field. He drew into it and was preparing to do a three-point turn when James laid a gentle hand on his arm.
"You'll never make a soldier, my boy," he said with a smile in his voice, "not unless you learn to think before you act. We need to decide on some tactics before we roar back the other way. I'm no more inclined to walk into a trap than that little boy this afternoon,"
Wearily, Mark killed his engine and switched off his headlamps. "I'd be happier if we went to the police," he said. "You keep talking as if you're in a private little war that has no bearing on anyone else, but too many innocent people are being dragged into it. That woman-Bella-and the little boy. You said yourself they were probably being used, so what makes you think they aren't in danger as well?"
"Leo's not interested in them," said James. "They're just his excuse for being here."
"So Leo's this Fox character?"
"Not unless he had a child he's never told me about… or the child isn't his." He handed Mark the mobile. "The police won't be interested until somebody gets hurt," he said cynically. "These days you have to be dead or dying to get any attention, and then it's lip service only. Talk to Elizabeth. She won't pick up the receiver-calls go straight to her answer machine-but I'm fairly sure she listens. It's pointless my speaking… she hasn't answered since Ailsa died… but she might talk to you."
"What do I say to her?"
"Anything that will persuade her to give us information," said James harshly. "Find out where Leo is. You're the word-smith. Think of something. There must be some trigger point that will persuade my only daughter to behave decently for the first time in her life. Ask her about this meeting with Mrs. Bartlett. Ask her why she's been telling lies?"
Mark switched on the overhead light again, and reached into the back for his briefcase. "Is that the sort of tone you use to Elizabeth?" he asked without emphasis, pushing back his seat and opening the case on his lap. He retrieved his laptop and balanced it on the lid, booting up the screen.
"I never speak to her. She won't pick up."
"But you leave messages?"
James gave an irritable nod.
"Mm." Mark waited for the icons to appear, then brought up Elizabeth's file. "Right," he said, casting an eye over the details, most of which related to her monthly allowance. "I suggest we bribe her with another five hundred a month, and tell her it's your Christmas present to her."
The old man was outraged. "Absolutely not," he spluttered. "I shouldn't be paying anything. I certainly won't increase it. It's only a few months since she had fifty thousand from her mother's will."
Mark smiled slightly. "But that wasn't your gift, James, it was Ailsa's."