‘And exactly how is he?’
‘Really not too bad, Mrs Harrison, I’ll give you the details in my car on the way ‘
‘Oh, but mine…’
‘My car,’ Clodagh insisted. ‘There are a lot of roadworks and a new traffic system — it’s easy to get lost. We’ll drop you back here.’
For a moment Philippa’s wide and wary eyes stared directly into hers. Was she annoyed at Clodagh’s insistent tone? Or was there just a hint of doubt? Then: ‘Very well.’
Outside, McGirl stood with the front passenger door open and smiled as he helped Philippa inside. Clodagh joined Archie in the back. McGirl climbed in and pressed the central locking.
The vehicle jolted forward, heading up the drive.
‘This is fairly old for a Ministry car,’ Philippa observed sniffily.
‘Defence cuts,’ McGirl replied with a grin and swung into the road, heading north towards the M4.
‘Is that an Irish accent?’
‘Ah, to be sure,’ he joked. ‘We’re both Irish.’
Archie looked up at Clodagh. ‘You sound English.’
She laughed. ‘When I make the effort.’
McGirl glanced at Philippa and saw the transformation on her face, the cloud of concern in her eyes, the tightening of her jawline as she looked at the passing roadsign.
‘This isn’t the Aldershot road. That’s the other way.’
Clodagh reached into her bag on the floor and drew out the pistol. The muzzle was pressed against the back of Philippa’s neck. ‘One more word from either of you and you’re dead. Now shut up!’
McGirl kept to the country lanes, threading his way on a route that ran westwards, parallel with the M4.
To begin with, Philippa had attempted to bluster defiantly until McGirl was obliged to take one hand from the wheel and slap her hard across the cheek. Only then did she seem to accept her fate, sitting in shocked silence with tears dripping down her cheeks, muttering words of comfort to her son.
Harrison has been married to this woman, Clodagh thought, as she studied the slender neck beneath the gun muzzle. She could see the tiny hairs, each pore. How close and familiar had Harrison been to this same skin, smelled this same expensive perfume? Run his hands through this hair before her eyes? Made love to this same trim body; laughed with this woman, got angry with her?
Somehow it made Clodagh feel almost as if she knew the man she’d never met. It was being so close to those who were part of his life, sharing their intimate secrets. Was she any nearer to knowing the man for this? Probably not. More likely she’d see the nature of Harrison in the boy. The white frightened creature sitting rigidly next to her with his hands on his knees. A tearstained face, but not crying now. Eyes wide and alert and terrified and watching her every move. Being brave.
Yet somehow she rather liked the boy. Stupid really. This was Harrison’s boy. He’d screwed this woman with her neck so thin she was sure she could snap it with her bare hands. He and she had produced this child. Archie was Philippa’s and his flesh, part of him. And the funny thing was, she would have been proud to have a son like him herself.
Soon McGirl pulled over into a lay-by that was screened from the road by trees. Both mother and son were blindfolded before ‘ Philippa was ordered into the boot and Archie made to lie on the floor in the back before the journey resumed.
The old brewery building stood beside the Kennet river. A four-storey Edwardian structure, it had since been converted into a light-engineering factory until the company had apparently collapsed at the start of the last recession. A weather-tattered Land for Development sign stood beside the tall wiremesh gates, one of which was swung open by Muldoon as they approached. The car swept onto the weed-ridden concrete concourse and round to the rear of the building where the second car had been parked.
Philippa was shaking when she was released from the boot, unable to see the decrepit wall towering above her and the hundreds of broken windows like sightless eyes. She and her son were led through the back entrance and up several flights of steps to the top floor. There Muldoon and Doran had taken over the row of partitioned offices once used by the production manager and his staff.;
The hostages were taken into one of them and ordered to sit with their backs to the old-fashioned radiator to which one arm was handcuffed. Their shoes were removed and then the blindfolds. Two camping mattresses had been unrolled over the broken glass and smashed floor tiles. A yellow plastic bucket stood between them. By awkwardly stretching out an arm and sliding the handcuff along the radiator pipe they could either sleep or use the bucket. But nothing more.
Philippa glowered up at them. ‘What are you going to do with us?’
‘Nothing,’ Clodaghsaid. ‘Provided your husband cooperates, you and the boy will go free. We’ll take him in your place.’
‘And if he doesn’t?’
‘He will.’
McGirl said: ‘She should have his telephone number. Save us some calls.’
‘Whose?’ Philippa asked.
‘Your husband’s stupid,’ McGirl snarled.
Philippa felt suddenly, deeply nauseated as the true nature of the situation sank in. The feeling of relief that at least Tom hadn’t been hurt had long passed. Now she was being asked to betray him. Archie’s father. Inexplicably a vision of their wedding day flashed through her mind. Not like a photograph, but like virtual reality. The feel of the white satin cool on her skin, the scent of the rose bouquet, the warmth of the sun, Tom’s hand in hers. Warm, dry. A squeeze of reassurance to quell her nerves. She was being asked to weigh the value of her life and Archie’s against Tom’s. How could she make such a choice?
McGirl drew the heavy automatic and purposefully pumped a I round into the chamber. He didn’t need to point it at Archie’s head.
Philippa was flustered, tried to think logically. ‘I don’t know where Tom is. He’s on leave now, he could be anywhere.’
‘Where does he live?’
‘He’s with that…’ She nearly said tart. ‘He’s living with a i journalist.’
‘Have you got the number?’ ‘No,’ she lied. ‘What’s her name?’ ‘Casey Mullins.’
‘Her?’ McGirl was incredulous; but when he thought about it, it made sense. She was obviously one of his press contacts. Now he knew it was more. Explained a lot of things. ‘That was going to be our original route.’ He” put the gun away.
Clodagh left with him then, closing the door behind them. There was no key for the lock, but Doran had fined two heavy duty bolts. The remaining two offices were as empty and derelict as the makeshift cell, each with two more camping mattresses. A stock of provisions had been purchased — mostly boil-in-the-bag dishes, coffee and powdered milk — and a Trangia camping stove that ran on methylated spirit.
‘We’ve got to decide,’ McGirl said, glancing at his watch. They hadn’t known how long the abduction might take; already it was forty-five minutes later than planned. ‘It’s three thirty. Do we go ahead now or wait until tomorrow?’
‘Now.’ Clodagh was decisive. ‘The longer we wait, the sooner for someone to realise what’s happened or for something to go wrong. Surprise and shock tactics.’
‘If we can’t reach him?’
‘Then it’ll have to be tomorrow, but we must go for it now if we can.’ She looked at McGirl and waited for his agreement, wondered if he still thought of himself as running the show. ‘First we’ll tape-record the boy reading something from today’s newspaper. Then you must get well away from here before you call. An hour’s drive. Depending on where Harrison is, give him the minimum time to get here. He must have no time to think or to plan. No time to collude with the police or intelligence people. Pile on the pressure. Leave him in no doubt what will happen because, by Christ, it will if he doesn’t show.’