Chastened, Farley started off as Braun entered the closet.
“Who are you?” Cassie asked.
“Call me ‘Uncle Karl.’”
“Please. I have to go to the bathroom really, really bad.”
Braun fished out a pocketknife to slice her restraints. He helped her stand as Farley entered and set the pot and toilet paper in the corner.
“I can’t use that,” Cassie whined.
Braun twisted her arm.
“You’re hurting me. OK, I’ll do it,” she said, staggering to the pot.
“Go on,” Braun said as she hesitated.
“No. You both leave.”
Braun suppressed his anger and motioned for Farley to follow him.
“Goin’ soft, are we?” Farley asked outside.
“Slapping a retard with a full bladder is ill-advised, Farley. I’ll attend to her before I go.”
“I’ll do it, guv.” Farley rubbed his groin. “I need some fun.”
“Forget it, Farley. If you’re randy, have a wank.”
“But you said—”
“I lied. Live with it.”
Farley’s nostrils flared. Braun mollified him. He needed Farley. For now.
“Look, Farley, she wasn’t part of your original deal. I went along later because your interest terrified Kairouz, but the wogs will pay a fortune for a blond virgin. We’ll split it. And if she gets too hot to move, we’ll both have a go, then kill her. Fair enough?”
Farley nodded, and Braun beat on the closet door.
“Get a bloody move on, princess. Sixty seconds.”
Cassie swayed as she rose on stiff legs. She steadied herself on the wall, shifting a strip of film. She watched, terrified, as it curled down from the ceiling in a growing triangle. They’d hurt her again even though it was an accident. She pushed at the tape, smoothing it as far up as she could reach. It looked OK, then the unattached corner resumed its slow crawl downward.
She jumped at the pounding on the door, then calmed herself. A proper young lady did not go flibbertigibbet at setbacks. A young lady rose above difficulties. She slipped out of one shoe, grasped it by the toe, and squatted to explode upward, stretching to push the errant corner in place with the shoe heel. She was slipping back into the shoe as the door opened.
Braun pushed her down.
“Tape wrists and ankles again, Farley, wrists in front,” Braun said, nodding as Farley complied.
“That’s good. Now stand her up and hold her from behind. And pay attention, Farley. You might learn something.”
Braun got in her face. “You did a very bad thing, Cassie.”
She shook her head, wide-eyed. How did he know?
“You defied me, Cassie. Told me to leave. Now I must punish you.”
She was trembling. Farley chuckled.
“Now Farley,” Braun said, “with market value a factor, avoid knuckle damage. Use a flatty.” He slapped her with his open hand, snapping her head to the side. He went on, ignoring her sobs. “An alternative is the backhand flatty, but it requires care. Jewelry that might leave scars should be removed and nails well trimmed.” He pocketed a ring and wiggled manicured fingers.
“The backhand flatty is delivered thus.”
He snapped Cassie’s head to the opposite side, then pinched her chin between thumb and forefinger, turning her face from side to side.
“Observe, Farley. Only soft-tissue damage. Painful but fast healing. The only scars are mental. The most useful sort.
“Now Cassie,” Braun said, “do you understand you must never be bad again?”
She squeezed her eyes shut and nodded.
“Say it.”
“I… I wo… won’t b… be ba… bad.”
“Good, Cassie. But” — he feigned regret — ”I’m not sure you’re sincere.” He slapped her again, twice to each side of her face, and signaled Farley to drop her.
“I’ll be back in an hour or so. Leave her in the dark and stay in the bedroom.”
“How’s it coming?” Ward asked, passing Dugan a cup of coffee.
“Just peachy. Too many prospects already.”
Dugan sighed and looked around. Reyes sat nearby, sipping coffee and watching. Technicians manned terminals. Harry was on the phone with London Metro’s Specialist Fire Arms Command, also known as CO19, the hostage rescue unit. Anna and Lou sat, heads together, in the corner.
His phone rang, and Dugan saw Gillian Farnsworth’s number on the caller ID. He considered letting it go to voice mail again. He answered on the fifth ring.
“Mr. Dugan. At last. What news?”
“Ahh, there have been… setbacks.”
“Setbacks?”
“We lost her signal. We… we’ve lost her.”
Anna hurried over and motioned Dugan to put the call on speaker.
Gillian’s voice exploded into the room. “… failed to keep me informed, and those fools with whom you’re associated lost Cassie as well. This on top of the lies about Mr. Kairouz in the media—”
“Gillian, this is Anna Walsh. Where are you?”
“On my way to New Scotland Yard. I am—”
“Gillian, I think—”
“I bloody well don’t care what you think. I’ve had quite enough of you all. After I speak with the police, I’m going to the media. With everything in the open, Braun may see there’s no advantage in—”
“Gillian, stop behaving like a bloody twit. Your anger’s justified, but don’t be rash. Come here to Thames House. See what we’re doing. Then go to the media if you wish.”
“Very well. Daniel is driving me. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“I’ll have you met in the lobby.”
“See that you do.” The speaker hummed with a dial tone.
“Anna, you can’t be serious?” Ward said.
“Hopefully she’ll understand,” Anna said. “But if not, we’ll have to detain her.”
“I’m here, Ms. Walsh. Just what am I to see?” Gillian Farnsworth asked.
“The resources we’re devoting to Cassie’s recovery. Suggestions are appreciated.”
“Really? After you ignored my suggestion to move Cassie out of harm’s way?”
Anna’s response was cut off by a loud beeping.
“Hit on the implant!” a technician screamed.
Anna rushed to his side.
“East. In Kent,” he continued. “Yes, North Kent. Let’s zero in.”
The screen refreshed with agonizing slowness.
“There. Gravesend. Now the address… damn… lost it.”
Anna turned. “Sarah. Filter rentals and hookups. Gravesend only. John. Search on Sutton and Farley with Gravesend as primary filter.”
“Over a hundred recent hookups,” Sarah said quickly.
“Damn. Still too many,” Anna said as John hooted.
“Bingo. An obit, two years ago.” He read, “’Margaret Sutton. Survived by son, Joel Sutton, of London, and sister, Mary Lampkin, seventy-eight, of Gravesend, Kent.”
“Address?”
“Checking… got it,” John said. “Seventeen Saxon Way, Gravesend. Taxes current. But National Health shows her widowed and resident at a nursing home with senile dementia.”
“But planning a recovery,” Sarah added. “A new cable hookup at that address was paid for by Joel Sutton.”
“Brilliant,” Anna said. “Nearest police station?”
Sarah pulled up a map. “There. The North Kent Station.”
“Helipad?” Anna asked.
“No,” Sarah said. “But there’s a car park.”
“Lou,” Anna said. “Ring North Kent Police to cordon off their car park. They should expect a landing in fifteen minutes.”
“On it,” Lou said.
“Harry. Ring the CO19 lads with the site. Request a chopper for us as well.”