‘What is it?’
‘Your father’s books. Deliver them to us and you may become one of us.’
Gideon shakes his head. ‘I know what the initiation involves. I am willing to let you put a knife to my flesh and a hammer to my bones. Isn’t that enough?’
‘No. The books are the knife you hold to our flesh and your threats the hammer you raise above our bones.’
Gideon thinks of a way to break the stalemate. ‘I will give you a quarter of the books before my initiation and I will make the phone call that will ensure nothing is delivered to the police. After my initiation, I will give you another quarter of them. A year from now I will surrender another 25 per cent.’
‘That is only 75 per cent. When will we receive the final instalment?’
‘Perhaps never.’ Gideon smiles. ‘Or when I have learned enough of the Craft to please you. When you are ready for me to take over as Master.’
104
Caitlyn runs for her life. Sprints as fast as her bare feet can manage. She reaches the end of a short, dark passageway. It goes left and right. She chooses right. Barrels down the corridor, thankful for the looseness of the rough gown she’s wearing.
She’s fast. Gym sessions every day. Five kilometres on the treadmill. Five on the elliptical trainer. Now she is glad of every workout. They injured her, starved her and scared her, but she’s still strong and fit.
The passage curves and disappears into a dark haze. With any luck she’s following an outer wall. Outer walls mean exit doors. She glances over her shoulder. No sign of the men. The place is bigger than she imagined. Much bigger. The stones beneath her flying feet are inscribed with something. It looks like someone chiselled writing on to them. Gravestones. Caitlyn realises she’s running on graves. Her heartbeat kicks up another notch. She looks up and realises something else. The passage is circular.
Dead ahead are the two hooded men she fought off.
Only now there are more of them. Many more. All waiting for her.
PART FOUR
105
The only investigator not at the Chief Constable’s early morning all-agency briefing is Josh Goran. Not that he minds. He’s already made sure he’s never out of the information loop. His team have a range of journalists, police officers and civil servants on their payroll. The ten thousand bucks he pressed into the palm of field agent Alvez made sure he’s bang up to date on everything and anything of note.
Inside the overwarm conference room, Alan Hunt’s deputy, Greg Dockery, makes a plea to the seven men sat with him. ‘We need a full and confidential exchange of key intelligence. We have to bury our differences and work together. That’s why we’re here. Later today Chief Constable Hunt will personally reassure Vice President Lock of the resources that are being deployed to recover his daughter. Commander Gibson, please give us your update.’
Barney Gibson looks across the table and already sees operational fault lines. The two FBI agents have taken up one side, the Wiltshire officers the other and his own Met colleague is sat apart from either camp. Cultural schisms, unbridgeable divides during the course of only one operation. ‘In the early hours of this morning we received further communication from the group we believe are holding Caitlyn. The call was traced to France, but this time not Paris. It came from a public box in Cannes, in the south of the country.’
John Rowlands throws up his hands in despair. ‘I’m sorry, I just don’t buy it. They are no more in the south of France than we are.’
The Chief shoots his Head of CID a blistering look. ‘John, forget your own pet theories for a moment, we can speculate all we like afterwards. Let’s listen to the tape first.’ He takes a beat then readdresses the whole group. ‘From the timing and nature of the recording you’ll see that they’ve responded directly to Kylie Lock’s press conference.’
Barney Gibson presses play on the small digital recorder in the centre of the conference table. The room’s expectant silence is broken by a distorted male voice. ‘The price for the safe return of Caitlyn Lock is twenty million dollars. Her mother has promised ten, we expect her father to do the same. The conditions are as follows: the FBI, the British police and that bounty hunter will all state publicly that no surveillance will be mounted on an agreed exchange. And no attempt will be made to arrest any people involved in the exchange. Only when we have this guarantee of safe passage will we give further details of our conditions. Please understand this: we have the resources to hold Caitlyn Lock for as long as we wish. Years if necessary. Sooner or later our demands will be met.’ Caitlyn’s voice suddenly fills the room. She sounds calm but weak. ‘Mom, I’m in Cannes near the Carlton Hotel where I stayed with you and François before the film festival at the Palais des Festivals. It’s raining today on La Croisette and the Palais is hosting a video gaming conference. Pop, I’m being well looked after. No one has hurt me. Please do what they say.’ The distorted male voice returns. ‘Let me be clear, unless we see the televised guarantees, this will be our last communication with you.’
The tape hisses to a stop. The investigators sit in shocked silence. Barney Gibson knows they’re all imagining how Caitlyn’s parents are going to react when they hear it. He rises above the emotion and ploughs on. ‘The details given in the tape are correct. The weather in Cannes yesterday was as described and the exhibition mentioned is indeed taking place. Technicians both sides of the Atlantic have confirmed the call was made in Cannes and the background sounds are consistent with those of this particular spot on the Côte d’Azur. Todd, do you want to say something about it?’
‘It is a bitch of a recording,’ says the FBI man. ‘Our techies stripped it down while your guys were sleeping and they confirm that, like the first one, it was assembled on several different levels. The two voices were recorded separately. They spliced them together, then added a third track, a continuous background noise. We analysed the woman’s voice and we are certain it’s Caitlyn. The distorted male voice, we think is English, the same that we heard on the first tape.’
‘First Paris, now Cannes,’ observes the Deputy Chief. ‘They keep shifting her. Are probably moving again as we speak.’
‘It would explain why they are using phone boxes,’ says Gibson. ‘They don’t mind being traced because by the time we have a fix on it, they’re no longer there.’
‘Or they never were,’ says John Rowlands, still unconvinced that Caitlyn has crossed the Channel. ‘It could just be one guy on a motorcycle travelling around Europe sending these clips down the wire. I don’t necessarily buy that she is even out of the UK.’
‘We have to plan for either eventuality,’ says Hunt, ending the speculation. ‘Greg, keep me informed of how resources and emphasis is split on this one.’
The deputy nods. ‘Sir.’
‘What about their demands, their conditions?’ asks John Rowlands.
Hunt raises an eyebrow. ‘The British Government, police and people do not negotiate with kidnappers. It’s policy. We never have and never will.’
Danny Alvez nods in agreement. ‘Vice President Lock has said the same kind of thing. It may be different because this is his own daughter, but I doubt it.’