Zero Option

'I can dig out some more negatives of the kid as well.'

'That would be grand.'

After little more than an hour the forensic team declared the kitchen clean — it had yielded no evidence, and the indications were that the intruders bad never gone in there — and the search moved to the hall and sitting room, allowing us at least to get a brew on in the kitchen.

The CID boss spent much of the time with the specialists, and every now and then I was needed to answer a question; but for the most part there was nothing I could do except sit around and feel anxiety eating into me. Where had Tracy and Tim been taken?

Were they being fed properly? Had th'ey got enough clothes? My mind was filled by a horrible image of them stuck in a blacked-out cellar with only a bucket for a toilet, food being thrown down to them, and rats running about the floor. Anger boiled up inside. I'd just love to get my hands on the bastards who'd taken them.

I'd never had any direct evidence that telepathy can work, but at that moment I exerted my will-power in an all-out attempt to send reassuring messages. Hang in there, I was telling them. Don't despair. We're on our way.

It was six o'clock when the team called it a day. Their leader promised a full report in the morning, but for the moment he let on that they had found signs of a struggle on the landing. Fibres from Tracy's pullover suggested that someone had grabbed her there and sat on her to hold her down before hustling her down the stairs.

Again I felt anger taking me over; the idea of other men getting their hands on her, bruising her fair skin, made me see red. I imagined Tim trying to scuttle away from the masked intruders but not getting far on his short legs, maybe yelling out as they seized him.

Different fibres they'd found told a more important story. One of the raiders had sat down and leant back in the chair that I'd perched on, resting his elbows on the arms. As soon as this fact reached Bates he lit up, and said that he knew of one well-known IRA player, Danny Aherne, who had a habit of sitting back in chairs to gloat over victims. Immediately the name went back over a secure phone to London.

With the search completed there was no reason why I shouldn't move back into the cottage. But did I want to? For a while I hesitated. It would make sense, obviously — if I was there I'd be able to take any message that came from the PIRA — but the idea of being there alone, with Tim and Tracy gone, seemed too depressing. On the other hand, the thought of spending another night in the mess pissed me offeven more. I had to drive back into camp in any case, because I'd left my bergen there, so I decided to have supper in the mess, then head back out.

In the dining-room my luck took a turn for the better.

There, eating on his own, sat Tony Lopez, the American SEAL Who'd joined D Squadron for a two- year tour. There was nobody I'd rather have fallen in with. Tony and I had been close ever since we'd been captured by the Iraqis during the Gulf War and spent six weeks together as guests ofSaddam Hussein. We hadn't been treated as badly as some other allied prisoners, but our spell in gaol had been tough enough, and it had forged a lasting friendship. On the operation in Colombia Tony had acted as our liaison officer and anchor-man. Being Puerto 1Kican by birth, and having Spanish as his first language, he'd proved an invaluable link with the natives.

'Hi there, Geordie!' He raised a knife in greeting.

'Any news?'

I shook my head. 'Nothing yet. All right if I come and join you?'

'Go right ahead.'

Thinking of Tony and his penchant for Mexican food, I chose chilli con carne, with a green salad on a separate plate.

'They've searched the house from top to bottom,' I told him as I sat down. 'A couple of small clues, but no fingerprints. They reckon the sods all wore gloves.'

'How many of them?'

'They think there were four. One to grab Tim, one for Tracy, one to take the picture, one to stand guard outside. Very brave of them — the twats.'

'Anything on their vehicle?'

'Nothing. Too many other tyre marks. One print of- a trainer in a mud patch behind the house. Otherwise, blank.'

'Geordie, I'm sorry. I wish to hell there was something I could do.'

'Thanks. Listen, why not come back and have a beer?

What I need most is company.'

'OK. I'd like that.'

As soon as I'd eaten I checked in at the incident room to see if anything was moving, and found a depressing lack of progress. The place was full of computer terminals, fax machines and newly-installed telephones, but activity had died down for a day and, like me, everybody was waiting — waiting for the word from the other side, waiting for a tip-off from an SB tout.

Tony picked up his car, an ancient red BMW that he had found going cheap in loss-on-Wye, and followed me out to the cottage. Driving down the lane, seeing the cottage's windows dark, I was hit by a wave of despair. All through our time in the jungle and during the marathon journey back, my expectations had built up: home, bed with Tracy, decent food, family life, picking up my relationship with Tim… now all this had turned to ashes.

Once inside the house, we gravitated to the kitchen.

For one thing, the Aga was ticking over and making the room warm; but somehow I didn't fancy being in the sitting room where the photo had been taken.

I got a couple of cans of lager out of the fridge and we sat, one either side of the pine table. 'Cheers!' I said.

'And God rot the PIRA.'

'Amen to that.' Tony's dark chestnut eyes were watching me steadily. 'Geordie,' he said, 'you look pretty much washed up.'

'I am. I didn't get my head down till after three.

Then I was up at five-thirty. I'll try and get a proper kip tonight.'

When the telephone rang, I jumped a mile. 'Jesus!' I exclaimed. 'This could be them.' I snatched the receiver up and snapped, 'Yes?'

Silence. I was on the point of saying something more when I realised what was happening. I listened a moment longer. Nothing. Then the line clicked and went dead.

'It was them,' I said. 'They just wanted to know if I was here. Nuisance calls — that's going to be their game.'

I dialled the incident room in camp. 'I had a call,' I reported. 'I'm sure it was them.'

'If it happens again, take the phone off the hook,' advised the SB officer on duty. 'In the morning we'll get the lines re-routed so that any calls they malce come in here.'

'OK, then.'

I sat down again and swallowed a mouthful of beer.

'Couldn't they trace it back?' Tony asked.

'Too brief. The line's tapped anyway, but what we need to do is keep them talking, to give the Special Branch a chance of DF-ing them. The trouble is, the fuckers are probably using a mobile and cruising around in a car.'

We sat, in silence for a while. Then Tony said, 'Know what? This reminds me of the first time I came here.

Remember? That was a low spot, too.'

Tony knew better than anyone how, in the aftermath of the Gulf War, Kath and I had become estranged, how I'd hit the booze, and how, when she had gone back to her parents in Belfast for a trial separation, I was really bumping along on the bottom.

For a few weeks he'd moved into the cottage, partly because it suited him, but also because he knew he could help me just by being around. Apart from any thing else he was an excellent cook, aiad with him in residence I'd started eating sensibly again. One way or another, I owed Tony a good deal.

Now he said, 'You just gotta take it easy. I know it sounds stupid if I say “C'mon, relax”, but there's nothing else for it. Sooner or later they'll come back on the air with a demand. Or the SB guys will get a lead.'

'Yeah, but what if they're maltreating Tim? He must be shit-scared, Tony. Poor little bugger — he's not even four and a half.'

'I know.'

'And what if somebody's molesting Tracy? Christ, I'd rip his bloody bollocks offwith my bare hands.'