The Locker (29 page)

fifty-eight

Ruth experienced what it
felt like to be under the gaze of a hunter. Clarisse was coming straight at her, eyes focussed and shoulders squared, unwavering. She was walking quickly, brushing aside anyone who got in her way and making it look simple, almost graceful.

She was wearing a light anorak with patch pockets over a short
T-shirt
that gave a glimpse of bare stomach, and had one hand out of sight under her clothing.

A gun or a knife, Ruth guessed. She'd come ready for action.

She glanced past Clarisse and saw movement in the BMW. A small face topped by blonde hair was staring through the rear side window, which was down, eyeing the crowds.

Beth.

“Slik,” Ruth snapped. “The ambulance. Beth's in the back.”

“I'm on it. Watch the woman—she's deadly. Gina's on her way in.”

“Good to know.” She unclipped the tiny earpiece and stuffed it into her pocket, and moved into a clear space. As she did so she took a slim object from her pocket and held it concealed behind her leg. Whatever this woman was going to do, it would be fast and furious with no holds barred. She was undoubtedly disobeying orders by coming out after Ruth instead of staying with the vehicle and Beth, but maybe she'd got
stir-crazy
on this assignment and wanted to take it out on somebody the way she had with Andrew the luckless fitness instructor.

A woman of extremes. Normally ideal for this kind of mission, where orders had to be followed even at the risk to self, she was now making a mistake. Hopefully it would be to her detriment, not Ruth's.

Clarisse was six steps away when she drew her hand out from under her anorak and dropped it by her side. There was a brief flash of silver and Ruth's stomach flinched involuntarily. It was a blade of some kind—small and probably razor sharp, it would be ideal for
close-up
covert work. She would aim at inflicting the maximum damage on the way past before walking on as if nothing had happened, and be gone before the first cry of alarm.

Before the first drop of blood hit the ground.

Ruth took a deep breath, then settled, feet square, eyes fixed on the attacker. She was only vaguely aware of sightseers around her, all busy enjoying their day, most looking up at the various statues around the square, enjoying the play of light through the fountains or taking photos. They wouldn't see a thing.

Lucky them, she thought.

Four more steps and Clarisse would be on her. She already had her hand drawn back behind her leg, ready to strike. Ruth shook off the instinctive desire to turn and run. Running wouldn't work; she'd never been that fast and this woman looked like she could outrun Usain Bolt.

She took another deep breath and steeled herself, knowing she had just one chance. This had to be timed to the very last second.

“
Clarisse
!” She shrieked instead, and rushed to meet the woman, waving the magazine in the air to attract her attention. A few tourists turned and smiled, one or two glancing instinctively towards the object of Ruth's cry. If they noticed anything unusual in the greeting, they didn't react.

But Clarisse did.

She faltered, a frown touching her face at this sudden change of tactics; Ruth should have been frozen to the spot or running away, not coming to greet her like a
long-lost
friend. Her eyes flicked to the magazine, seeking the obvious threat as her training would have taught her. A rolled magazine can inflict painful damage or conceal another weapon.

But she recovered quickly and evidently dismissed the threat as minimal. She came on again, the distance between them closing faster.

Two more steps.

Ruth waited until the last moment, then
side-stepped
, turning her body to present the slimmest possible target. Hurling the magazine into Clarisse's face, she swept her right hand from behind her into the woman's stomach and squeezed.

Clarisse batted the magazine away with her free hand, a look of contempt on her face. Then she stopped dead, eyes wide in shock.

A low fizzing sound was coming from her unprotected middle, and she staggered sideways, her legs giving way. For a split second she remained upright, glancing down to see what had stopped her, before dropping to the ground like a dead weight.

“Someone get help!” Ruth shouted wildly. “This woman's having a heart attack!” She dropped the stun stick she'd used into her pocket then knelt and scooped up the fallen knife. It was four inches long and razor sharp, with a moulded rubberised handle that fitted snugly into the palm of the hand.

A killer's weapon.

She stared down into Clarisse's eyes, which were fluttering faintly as she tried to hold on to consciousness. She couldn't tell if the woman could see her through the pain, but allowed herself a brief smile just in case.

She hoped it would really piss her off.

Then she stood up and let others crowd around her before stepping back.

Two of the newcomers claimed to be doctors and began checking Clarisse for vital signs and telling others to stay clear and give them some room. Another was calling the emergency services and rattling off instructions about location and apparent symptoms.

Ruth glanced towards the ambulance. The driver was staring at her, shocked by the outcome. He began shouting into his phone, gesturing furiously at her position in the square. He was rallying his troops.

Ruth looked round. The two men in sports shirts must be close. And by the animation on the driver's face, their orders were simple: end it now.

When she looked back at the ambulance there was more movement. This time it was Vaslik framed in the window, standing behind the driver. The door opened and Vaslik moved fast.

The driver slumped over the wheel.

Ruth caught a flash of rapid movement off to one side. It was the tall, bulky man. He had made his way along the pavement up the side of the square, no doubt acting as a lookout and
back-up
. He must have spotted what was happening but had been unable to intervene before Clarisse went down. Now he was responding to the driver's call and closing in on the ambulance and Vaslik.

She began running. She left the square and ran along the pavement, pushing through the groups of sightseers. Beth. She had to get to Beth and get her out of that car.

But she'd forgotten about the second man. Just as she was closing in on the ambulance she was hit broadside and nearly knocked off her feet. She bounced off a lamppost, feeling her left shoulder give way with a horrible crunch followed by a vicious stab of pain. Something had gone, she was certain, but she didn't have time to react to the shock or worry about what had happened.

Survival. That was all.

She looked round and saw the man who'd hit her picking himself up. He'd sized up the situation and moved to take out the threat, and was feigning an accidental collision. But now he was moving towards her, his hand out towards her as if to apologise. But his other hand was clutching the strap of his camera bag, swinging it like a slingshot.

Ruth thrust her hand into her pocket, grabbing the stun stick. She had no idea if the stick had enough charge left to inflict more than a sting, but it was all she'd got and the camera bag looked heavy and dangerous. The knife against this man would be worse than useless.

She held the stick out in front of her. It was no more than six inches long and in spite of its colour, unobtrusive. She could hardly breathe with the pain in her shoulder; her left arm was useless but her right was still functioning. She had to give Vaslik a chance to get Beth out of the vehicle.

The man looked solid and had the confident stance of a professional. He almost smiled until he saw the stun stick, then appeared to have second thoughts and stepped back a pace. She felt a surge of relief. He'd recognised the stick for what it was and it was enough to put him off.

With a shrug, he turned and walked away, clearly deciding it was a
no-win
situation, and disappeared into the crowd.

Ruth hobbled along the pavement towards the ambulance, where Vaslik was talking to a traffic warden, trying to warn him off approaching. As she moved she pocketed the stun stick and took out her phone and hit
speed-dial
for a number Grant had given her.

“I see you.” It was Grant, sounding tense. He was clearly nearby and had got an eyeball on the situation.

“Situation critical,” she breathed. “One down, one gone, the ambulance is a fake and I'm just going for Beth.”

“We're on the way. Be careful.” The connection was cut.

Ruth looked around, wondering what had happened to the bulky man. Then she saw Gina. She'd intercepted him and was standing very close, dwarfed by his bulk but not the slightest bit intimidated. She saw why: Gina had her jacket wrapped round her hand which was pushed into the man's belly.

She was holding her gun on him, daring him to make a move.

Ruth shook her head. The woman was a danger to herself, but just what they needed right now.

She focussed on getting to the ambulance, reached the rear door and pulled it open. Leaned in and unclipped the buckle of the child's seat. Beth stared at her for a second, her face blank, and Ruth wondered if she'd been sedated to keep her quiet now Tiggi was gone.

She smiled. “Come on sweetie,” she whispered. “Let's get you back to mummy and Homesick, shall we?”

The child came willingly enough, sliding to the ground and grasping tight onto Ruth's hand. She seemed curiously innocent and trusting among strangers even after everything that had happened to her, and Ruth wondered at the resilience in one so young, and how it would hold up in the days and weeks ahead.

“Homesick,” Beth echoed. “I dropped him.”

Ruth said, “I know you did, Beth, but don't worry. He's fine—your mummy's looking after him and they're both waiting to see you.”

She led Beth away and seconds later Vaslik was on one side, holding her by the waist, with Gina close behind, watching their backs.

“Hi, Beth,” Vaslik said easily. “I'm Andy.”

“Hello, Andy,” Beth replied. “Are you taking me home now?”

“You bet.”

Vaslik looked at Ruth and said softly so the little girl couldn't hear, “Was that a stun stick you used? Aren't they illegal here?”

She nodded. “Only if you get caught. But I don't think Clarisse will be telling the cops, do you?” She was feeling nauseous but exultant, the pain in her shoulder dulled by the relief of getting Beth away safely. She was holding tight onto the little girl's hand and wouldn't let go until she was able to hand her over to Nancy.

“Sure. But it was pink.
Pink.
What were you thinking?”

She didn't really care for guns; they got people killed. So she'd asked for something else instead.

“Blame her,” she said, nodding towards Gina, who was grinning. “She got it for me.” She turned her head just enough to give the former bodyguard a silent thank you before the pain made her stop. “Anyway, it worked, didn't it? What are you complaining about?”

fifty-nine

The reunion proved bitter-sweet.
It was an emotional and tear-laden relief for mother and daughter, who went upstairs the moment Beth was carried across the doorstep. But having to explain later to Nancy about her husband was something Ruth wished she hadn't taken on. She felt dizzy with the pain of her injured shoulder, but she had to finish this. She swallowed a couple of painkillers and got on with it.

It didn't go well.

“I don't believe you.” Nancy said it again and again, a mantra helping her close in on herself at every attempt by Ruth to explain the unexplainable; that her daughter had been kidnapped by an unknown group seeking to capture her husband. She was talking quietly but with cold fury, with Beth fast asleep upstairs. The Cruxys doctor had examined her and found her well, other than suffering the lingering effects of a mild sedative.

“It's true, I promise you.”

“Is that why you wrecked the house? Took my passport? Show me the proof! You can't, can you?”

Ruth had no idea what Mitchell had told Nancy about why they were taking the house apart, and it wasn't her place to do so. Neither could she comment on the passport being confiscated, which might have been Mitchell's doing on instructions from her bosses. She had no authority to mention the kidnap group or who they were thought to work for, either, nor how the authorities had come by the information about Michael, since that was a matter of the highest secrecy. All she could say was that his activities had put them all in danger … and he still hadn't shown up, even though he must know by now what had happened to his daughter.

She dropped a copy of the spreadsheet for motorcycle parts on the table in front of Nancy, along with a decoded version which showed that the components were less likely to be used in any kind of transport but in a far more deadly array of equipment. It would probably do little to convince the woman, but it was all she had.

Nancy brushed it away without looking at it. “You've made this up—you've made it all up! And you're the ones who put my daughter's life in danger. Do you think I'm stupid—that I don't know this was a government operation? Who was it—the British MI6? The American White House? The Israeli Mossad?” She picked up the papers and flung them in Ruth's face, hitting her on the cheek, before subsiding on the settee, her face white with anger.

Ruth looked at Vaslik, who shrugged. He had said earlier that it was a
no-hoper
; that there was no way she would believe any of it. It seemed he was right.

Gina appeared in the doorway and gestured towards the stairs, where she had been watching over Beth. “She's awake. She wants her mum.”

Nancy jumped to her feet and glared at them all. “Yes, leave me with my daughter,” she hissed. “All of you. And don't come back.
Get out!
”

Ruth led the way outside and drove home. Gina and Vaslik went their separate ways. They had been told to take time off and kick back. A full debrief would come later.

Ruth felt bad for Nancy; whether she believed them or not, her husband had not shown up when he was most needed. It was the end of her world and she would have to pick up the pieces knowing that something in the story must be right; that her husband was not what he had pretended to be.

Unable to settle, she went to see how her father was coping with the death of George Paperas. He was
tight-lipped
but unwound sufficiently to wrap her in his arms. It was a welcome surprise after their last brief conversation.

“Not your fault, Ruthie,” he said softly. “No way you could have foreseen it. Don't dwell on it.”

Two days later, her shoulder heavily bandaged, Ruth entered the Cruxys building and was surprised to see Grant along the corridor in conversation with Aston. Aston beckoned them into his office and closed the door.

“Miss Gonzales,” Grant said. “I'm not obliged to tell you this, but I think you have a right to know, in view of your involvement with the Hardmans. Just over two hours ago, Nancy Hardman and her daughter were taken to Northolt airfield on their way to Washington, accompanied by three special agents from the FBI. She has agreed to accompany them to answer some questions in return for a safe location.”

“Questions?”

He seemed to be debating what to say, then took a deep breath. “This is for your ears only, although I suspect it might come out sooner or later, the news channels being what they are. There are strong indications that Nancy Hardman was—is—not quite the innocent she seems to have pretended.”

“What does that mean?”

“From evidence just uncovered, she not only knew what her husband was doing but might recently have become actively involved.”

“
What
?” Ruth felt her stomach flip. She couldn't believe it. Nancy Hardman, the apparently naive yet outwardly normal suburban housewife and mother?

“It's true. Her fingerprints are all over it. We checked the computer at her place of work. There are traces of deleted documents and emails going back several weeks, all connected to Hardman's activities in the Middle East. The trail leads to known money men with terrorist connections, and sources in Europe linking donations and collections within the Muslim community being channelled to banks overseas. Those same banks were listed on the Excel file you discovered, concealed in an encrypted
sub-folder
. We suspect she was processing and harbouring the information for him, but she probably knew what it was for.”

“Can you prove that?” Ruth recalled Nancy's reaction to the spreadsheet: she hadn't even given it a look. Was that genuine ignorance, or because she was frightened she might give herself away—that she didn't have to look because she knew exactly what it was?

“Not conclusively. She has already intimated that she was acting in innocence, merely providing a
back-up
storage facility at her husband's insistence. But that won't fly for long.”

She didn't know what to say. It turned everything on its head. “It was pretty careless, leaving that information lying around.”

“You'd be surprised. Most of the people we catch are delivered by their own hand. They firmly believe they'll never make a simple mistake … until they do. Hers was thinking we'd never have cause to check her work computer.” He shrugged. “We probably wouldn't, either … but then her daughter was kidnapped.”

She stared at the man. “And knowing this about her you let her go. Why?”

“Because the Americans have the resources and manpower to throw at her and unravel the network of accounts. Here in the UK we wouldn't even get to first base; she'd be in court and protected by Human Rights legislation and a gallery of lawyers. It would be months, possibly years before we got anywhere, by which time it would be too late. From the files on her work PC we found the name and details of a firebrand legal representative. She knew what was coming and was prepared for it. You shouldn't feel sorry for her.”

“I don't. It's Beth, poor kid.”

“She'll be looked after, don't worry. There's more, too, on the nanny. Tiggi Sgornik wasn't quite the innocent she seemed, either. She was recruited a couple of years ago as a potential operative by Mossad, Israeli Intelligence. They needed young,
good-looking
girls to work in the field. She dropped out during training and disappeared off the scene. Next thing she's here in London and getting friendly with Nancy Hardman. It was clearly part of the
set-up
: get close to the mother and daughter, then wait for the signal to go.”

“But she ended up dead.”

“Maybe she decided that when it came to the crunch she didn't want to go through with it. If so it was a threat to the others; they retired her to protect themselves.”

“How do you know all this? Were you involved?”

“No. The Americans discovered what was going on and sought to regain control of the situation. When it was obvious it was too late, they allowed the information to come out to see if we could help.”

“Were Greenville and Claas in any way connected?”

“No comment.”

“So what will happen to Beth and Nancy?”

“Nancy will be watched wherever she goes. She will know that, of course, and won't put a foot wrong—at first. But she's not a pro. When she slips up, they'll be waiting.”

“Playing the long game.”

“Yes. She has an added complication to deal with: we suspect her husband won't have revealed to anyone else where he kept the bulk of the money he used as his bank. A lot of the funds will have belonged to other money men or owed as collateral against deliveries of weapons. Sooner or later they'll start asking questions … and they're not a forgiving crowd.”

“So she'll be used as bait again.”

He frowned. “That's not my call—or yours. I think you should worry about yourself instead of her.”

“What do you mean?”

“You'll be pleased to hear we recovered three members of the kidnap team, and they are now in police custody.”

“Three? What happened to the fourth?” She remembered the man she'd threatened with the stun stick after knocking her off course. He must have got clear and left the others to their fate. Some colleague.

“She got away.”