He would fly into Edinburgh as instructed. He would follow further instructions to the letter and would hand over a memory card. It couldn’t be the card that Khan wanted so that’s when the big bluff would begin. There was no way of knowing how much time there would be before the deception was discovered but that, he acknowledged with a chill running down his spine, might well be irrelevant. On past performance, there would be no trade. Khan would accept the card and kill both he and Jenny. To give Jenny any chance at all against the bastard he would need help, the kind of help that could only come from one place.
It wouldn’t be the first time Steven had called on the SAS, known universally as the Regiment, for help but never before for personal reasons — Ironically, the last time had been to hitch a lift into Afghanistan to visit a field hospital in the course of an investigation. It wasn’t something he would do lightly but Jenny’s life was at stake and there was nothing on Earth he wouldn’t do to save her.
At this late stage there was no official way he could request army involvement. It would have to be a personal appeal. He would be relying on something front line soldiers knew but tended not to broadcast widely. When the chips were down, it wasn’t Queen and country they fought for and it wasn’t defence of the realm that was uppermost in their minds; they fought for each other. Simple as that.
The rest of it was high-sounding baloney, spouted by politicians as justification for pursuing goals that were becoming increasingly difficult to determine. The Regiment didn’t do bullshit. They didn’t march through towns with fixed bayonets; they didn’t have a royal in a soldier suit as their colonel-in-chief, they didn’t accept the freedom to shit in the street, as one wag put it. They didn’t need the image. They were the real deal.
Front line camaraderie forged a bond that survived long afterwards. It was the only card he had left to play. He called Hereford and presented his credentials as ex-Regiment.
‘Give me an hour,’ was the response when he’d finished making his appeal. ‘No promises but I’ll call you back.’
The minutes passed like proverbial hours with Steven itching to be doing something, not hanging around waiting. He knew he should be planning what to do if the answer from Hereford was no. He knew he should be… telling Tally what had happened. This brought on an extra frisson of anxiety. Tally had been right all along about his job. Normal people did not live like this.
The house phone rang and Steven snatched at it. It was Sue in Scotland.
‘He said not to phone the police,’ she said, her voice betraying the nightmare she was going through.
‘I know, I know,’ soothed Steven, making a supreme effort to keep his voice calm. We have to be strong; we have to keep calm. Tell me what happened.’ He heard Sue swallow in preparation.
‘I thought I heard a noise downstairs. I woke Richard and he said it was the wind. Then we both heard it and Richard went downstairs. There was a man with a gun in his hand, an Asian man: he’d broken in. He made Richard call me downstairs then… he hit Richard with the gun and knocked him out cold. He told me to go wake Jenny and bring her down or he’d shoot Richard… Poor love, she was terrified.’
Steven closed his eyes and heard Sue sob before regaining control and continuing. ‘The next bit you know. He phoned you and made Jenny speak to you. When he’d finished, he said that no one was going to get hurt. He told Jenny that she would see her Daddy later but she had to go with him… She clung to me… Oh God, I feel like I betrayed her… He told me to make coffee for him and hot milk for Jenny then he put something in the milk. When I tried to stop him, he pointed the gun at Richard on the floor and I shut up. He said it was just something to calm her down. After ten minutes or so, when she grew sleepy, he left, taking her with him. Oh God, this can’t be happening.’ Sue lost her struggle to maintain composure and broke down.
Steven tried his best to reassure her that things would work out. He’d give Khan what he wanted and Jenny would be back home safe and sound. In reality he wasn’t sure if he believed what he was saying or was writing a letter to Santa Claus. He checked with Sue that she hadn’t called the police. She hadn’t. ‘How’s Richard?’
‘A nasty gash and a sore head but apart from that I think he’s okay. I don’t know what we’re going to tell the children…’
‘Hang in there, Sue. Put all your lives on hold for the day. Keep the kids off school. Don’t answer the door. Don’t talk to anyone. As far as the world’s concerned, you’ve all got ‘flu.’
‘I feel so helpless,’ sobbed Sue. ‘We both do. A man just walked into our house and took away our…’
‘None of this is your fault,’ Steven assured her, wishing that the same could be said for him but knowing it couldn’t. It was all his fault. ‘We have to be practical; we have to stay strong for Jenny’s sake.’
Steven’s mobile rang and he had to end the call.
‘It’s an affirmative. Get yourself up to Hereford. When challenged, show your ID and tell them you’re with Blue Ranger 7.’
Steven’s Porsche could not travel faster than a speeding bullet but he coaxed it into doing its best as it ate up the miles between London and Hereford. Weather conditions were good and traffic at that time in the morning light. The anticipated appearance of a police traffic patrol at some point did not materialise so there was no need waste time showing ID and verifying his code red status. The journey was completed without incident.
The mention of Blue Ranger 7 at the gate resulted in him being shown into a small briefing room in a ground floor suite of three or four rooms where four men sat drinking coffee from mugs with cartoon characters on them, two on chairs and two perched on the edge of a table. They wore civilian clothes and introduced themselves by a single name, Nick, Lenny, Sparks and Stratocaster.
‘As in the guitar?’ asked Steven of the last one.
The man nodded with a smile but gave no explanation and Steven didn’t inquire further. You didn’t.
‘This never happened, Steven,’ said the one named Nick. ‘We’re about to go off piste as far as them upstairs are concerned.’
‘I thought as much,’ said Steven knowing full well that any action had to be unofficial. ‘Thanks you.’ The words sounded painfully inadequate but the fact that they came from the heart prompted an acknowledgement of nods all round.
‘To business,’ said Nick. ‘I take it he hasn’t been in touch again?’
Steven said not.
‘So all we know is that you have to be at Edinburgh Airport by noon tomorrow?’
Steven nodded.
‘So he might be there or he might phone you there with instructions. Did you bring the photo?’
Steven handed over the photograph of Khan Jean had come up with when investigating the participants at the Prague meeting. ‘Here you go, Dr Ranjit Khan, Pakistani Intelligence… but no longer. He’s gone private and he’s no mug.’
‘Good to know,’ said Nick. ‘Right, let’s talk communications: we’ll fit you up with some gear and we’ll sat-tag you in case you lose the wires early. We’ll do it twice just in case he’s content with finding one on you if there’s a search but we’re all going to have to play this very much by ear. We don’t even know if he’s doing this on his own, do we?’
‘My gut feeling is that it’s a solo effort but no guarantees.’
‘Something to bear in mind,’ said Nick. ‘We’ll travel up separately, you by air from Birmingham so you arrive off a scheduled flight just in case he or anyone else is watching. We’ll travel up by road… with our gear. ‘Are you carrying?’
Steven said not. The prospect of having to go through flight security at some point had made him leave the Glock at home.’