The Bombmaker (3 page)

'We do what they say in the note. You go to London and I guess they'll contact you there to tell you how much they want.'

'Why us, Martin? Why us? We're not rich.'

'We're not short of money, Andy. There are plenty of scumbags out there who'd class us as wealthy. They don't take mortgages and loans and overdrafts into account. They see a couple of new cars and a four-bedroomed house and they think we're rolling in it.' He stood up and went into the kitchen,

returning a short while later with two tumblers of whisky. He gave one to her. 'Drink this,' he said.

She swallowed the whisky in two gulps. Martin sat down and read the letter again. He sipped his own whisky thoughtfully.

'I don't understand why they haven't said how much they want. There are things that have to be arranged. We've got to get the money together, they've got to take the money from us.

That's all got to be sorted out, and until they tell us what their demands are, there's nothing we can do.'

'We do have the money, don't we?' asked Andy.

Martin stroked her hair and brushed several stray strands away from her face. 'Whatever it takes, we'll get it. I can increase the mortgage, there's cash in the business, we've got friends. It'll be all right.'

Andy nodded through her tears, desperately wanting to believe him.

Egan took off his headphones and leaned back in his chair. He stretched his arms up above his head and rolled his head from side to side, trying to ease the tension in his neck. On the desk in front of him were five digital tape recorders, each linked to radio receivers, one for each of the five listening devices in the Hayes house.

He'd planted the devices three weeks earlier while Andrea Hayes had been out walking her dog. There was one in the smoke detector in the upstairs hallway, one in the phone in the master bedroom, another in the phone in the sitting room. A fourth device was in an electric socket in the downstairs hall and a fifth in a light fitting in the kitchen. They gave him virtually complete coverage of the house.

Egan stood up and went through to the kitchen where he poured himself a mug of black coffee. The studio apartment was in a block just a half-mile away from the Hayes house and he'd rented it for a full twelve months, even though he only expected to be using it for another week. Once the Hayes woman was in place, Egan planned to fly to London to oversee the final phase of the operation. He took his mug back into the sitting room and sat down at the desk. So far everything had gone to plan.

Martin and Andrea Hayes were reacting exactly as he'd anticipated.

George McEvoy drove the Mondeo down the rutted track that led to the cottage. The car bucked and swayed and they slowed to a walking pace. The single-storey building was in darkness,

and he put the headlights on full beam. 'Home sweet home,' he muttered. 'How is she?'

Mick Canning leaned over and lifted the tartan blanket.

Katie was still fast asleep. 'Out like a light,' he said.

McEvoy drove around the back of the cottage and parked by the side of a wooden garage. He climbed out and unlocked the back door of the cottage and switched on a light before waving at Canning to carry the girl in. The nearest house was a hundred yards away and they weren't overlooked at the back.

Canning gathered up Katie, still covered with the blanket,

and took her through the kitchen to a white-painted hallway. A wooden door warped with age opened on to a flight of concrete steps that went down into the basement. The underground room had been sparsely furnished with a small camp bed, two wooden chairs and a small Formica-covered table. On the floor was a wool rug that had originally been in front of the fireplace in the sitting room, and in one corner was a bucket, covered with a towel. Canning placed Katie on the bed, then turned her so that she was lying on her side. Still asleep, Katie murmured and put her thumb in her mouth. Canning gently took her thumb out.

'You all right, Mick?' asked McEvoy. He was standing at the door, looking down into the basement, an expression of barely concealed contempt on his face.

'Yeah, no problem. Do you think we should be with her when she wakes up? She'll be scared, she might start yelling.'

'No one'11 hear her,' said McEvoy.

Canning went up the stairs. 'Do you think we should leave the light on?' he asked.

'For fuck's sake, this isn't a hotel,' snapped McEvoy. He closed the door and slid the bolts across.

©

Martin Hayes awoke with a start. It took him a few seconds to realise where he was. He was in the sitting room, sprawled on the sofa. He rubbed his face. He was exhausted. How long had he been asleep? He looked at his watch. It was just after seven.

'Andy?' No answer.

He stood up and his knees cracked. He felt stiff and his shoulders ached. He didn't remember coming down to the sitting room. He'd been upstairs with Andy, lying on their bed,

propped up with pillows, hoping that the phone would ring.

Martin went upstairs. Their bedroom was empty. Martin was still half asleep. Part of him didn't want to wake up, didn't want to accept the reality of his situation. At least when he was asleep he didn't have to think about Katie and what she was going through. Martin just wanted it all to be over, for the kidnappers to tell him how much they wanted and for them to give him back his little girl.

Andy wasn't in the bathroom, either. The door to Katie's room was closed, and even before Martin pushed it open he knew that he'd find his wife sitting on their daughter's bed. She didn't look up as he went over to her. She was clutching a pillow to her chest and was resting her chin on top of it, her eyes closed.

Martin sat down next to her.

'They've taken Garfield,' she said.

'What?'

'Garfield. They've kidnapped Garfield, too.'

Andy kept her eyes closed. Tears glistened on her cheeks.

Martin looked around the room. Katie's collection of soft toys lined the shelves on the wall that faced the end of the bed, and others were crammed on to the windowsill. Martin knew that Katie had given them all names, but he knew only a few of them. Bunny. Babe. Foxy. Wilkinson the badger.

Andy was right. There was no Garfield, and Garfield was the favourite of late -- he was the one she cuddled when she went to sleep. There were two gaps on the windowsill, too,

but he wasn't able to remember which toys, if any, were missing.

Martin knelt down beside the single bed and peered under it.

No Garfield.

'There's a teddy bear missing, too. The one my father got her two Christmasses ago. And the monkey. The one we got at Regent's Park Zoo. In April. The one with the silly grin and the banana.' Andy's voice was flat and emotionless.

'That's a good sign, Andy,' said Martin.

She looked up at him and opened her eyes. They were as devoid of emotion as her voice. 'A good sign?' she repeated.

He sat down on the bed and put his arm around her.

'They wouldn't have taken her toys if they were going to hurt her,' he said. 'They want her to be happy so they took along some toys. Trust me, it's a good sign. We'll have her back soon.'

She nodded but her eyes were still vacant. She was in shock,

Martin realised. 'Come on downstairs, you need a cup of tea,' he said.

Andy nodded. 'I guess,' she said, but she made no move to stand up.

Mick Canning was breaking eggs into a frying pan when Katie started shouting and banging on the basement door. 'Help!' she yelled. 'Let me out!'

George McEvoy looked up from his copy of the Irish Times and scowled at the door. 'Her ladyship's awake,' he said.

'I'll see to her,' said Canning, handing a spatula to McEvoy.

'You look after the eggs, yeah?'

'Don't forget your . . .'

'Balaclava, yeah, I know,' interrupted Canning. He picked up his rucksack and went down the hall. From the pocket of his track-suit top he pulled out a rolled-up ski mask and put it on before unbolting the door. 'Katie, stand away from the door,' he said.

There was a short silence. 'Who is that? I want my mummy.'

'Your mummy's not here, Katie. I'm a friend of hers. Look,

I'm opening the door now, be careful.'

Katie was standing four steps down, staring wide-eyed up at Canning. The basement was in darkness. Canning unfastened the neck of the rucksack and took out the Garfield toy. 'I brought this for you,' he said, holding it out to her.

She looked at the soft toy, then back at him. 'I want to go home,' she said.

'You can't. Not right now.'

She glared at him and put her hands on her hips, her chin thrust up defiantly. 'You can't tell me what to do.'

'Yes I can,' he said patiently. 'And I'm telling you that you have to stay here for a few days.' He held out the soft toy again.

Katie looked as if she was going to argue, then she reached for Garfield. 'Thank you,' she said.

Canning was about to say 'You're welcome' when she hurled the toy at his face and scrambled up the stairs,

slipping by his legs before he had the chance to stop her. Canning cursed and tried to grab her, but she was too quick for him. Her bare feet padded down the hallway towards the kitchen.

Canning ran after her, cursing. He caught up with her in three strides and grabbed her by the scruff of her nightie. He yanked her off her feet, then scooped her up. She began to wriggle and scream.

McEvoy opened the kitchen door with the frying pan in his hand. Canning span around so that Katie couldn't see McEvoy's face. 'What the fuck are you playing at?' McEvoy shouted.

'Nothing,' said Canning. 'It's not a problem.'

'It looks like a fucking problem to me,' said McEvoy. 'Put her in the basement and make sure she shuts up.' He slammed the kitchen door.

Katie continued to struggle as Canning carried her down the basement steps. 'I want my mummy!' she screamed. 'I want my mummy and I want my dad.'

'Please, be quiet,' hissed Canning.

'I'll be quiet if you let me go,' she said.

'I can't let you go . . .' Canning began, but he'd barely got the words out of his mouth before she began screaming again.

He dropped her down on the camp bed and put his hand over her mouth. It smothered her screams, but Canning had a sudden flash about what he was doing and jerked his hand away as if he'd been burnt. Jesus Christ. He'd had his hand over a child's mouth. He could have killed her. Smothered her. He took a step back, his hands up as if surrendering. Katie seemed as shocked as he was.

'What?' she said.

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I didn't mean to ... you know . . .'

'What?'

'I didn't mean to put my hand over your mouth. I wasn't trying to ... I wasn't trying to hurt you.'

Katie swung her legs over the side of the camp bed and sat looking at him curiously. 'Why are you wearing a mask?' she asked.

'So you won't know who I am,' he said. 'That way,

when we send you back to your parents, you won't be able to tell the police what I look like.' Canning crouched down so that his head was on a level with hers. 'Look, I'm sorry if I scared you. But you have to do as we say, okay? You have to stay down here for a few days, then you can go home.'

'You promise?'

Canning made the sign of the cross on his chest. 'Swear to die.'

Andy Hayes put down the phone. 'They'll hold the ticket for me at the airport,' she said.

Martin nodded. 'I'll drive you.'

'You can't,' she said. 'You have to carry on as normal, that's what the letter said. You have to go to work.' She looked at her watch.

'I think I should stay by the phone. They might call.'

Andy shook her head fiercely. 'They said you had to carry out your normal routine. That means going to work, Martin.

We mustn't do anything that makes them think we're not cooperating.'

Martin shrugged. 'I guess so.'

Andy's face hardened. 'No, there's no I-guess-so about this. I want you to promise me that you won't call the police.'

'Oh, come on, do you think I'd do anything that would put Katie in danger?'

'Promise me, Martin. Promise me that you won't do anything out of the ordinary.'

Martin took her in his arms and kissed her hair. 'I promise.'

She hugged him tightly. 'I'll call you from London. They didn't say that I couldn't do that.'

Martin stroked the back of her neck. 'It's going to be all right, Andy. I promise.'

McEvoy put on his ski mask and picked up the tray. On it was a paper plate of spaghetti hoops, a slice of bread, and a plastic fork.

'I'll take it,' said Canning. He was sitting at the table working on the crossword in the Irish Times. Like McEvoy he'd changed out of his track suit and was wearing a sweatshirt and jeans.

'That's all right, Mick. I'll handle it. Where are the scissors?'

Canning gestured with his chin. 'By the sink. You should give her some milk.'

'Milk?'

'To drink. She'll need something to drink.'

McEvoy put the tray down. He picked up the scissors and slipped them into the back pocket of his jeans.

'You haven't got kids, have you, George?' said Canning,

looking up from his crossword.

'Not that I know of,' said McEvoy. 'Your point being?'

He chuckled, went over to the fridge, opened it and took out a carton of milk. He poured some into a plastic cup and then put the carton back in the fridge. 'Anything else I should take her ladyship?' he asked.

Canning ignored him and concentrated on the crossword.

McEvoy went over to the door that led to the basement and juggled the tray as he slipped the bolts. He eased the door open with his foot and peered down the stairs. Katie was sitting on the camp bed, her Garfield in her lap. She looked up and watched him walk down the stairs. He put the tray on the bed next to her and she looked at it disdainfully. 'Spaghetti hoops?'

'Leave it if you don't want it,' said McEvoy curtly.

'What else is there to eat?'

'Nothing. It's spaghetti hoops or nothing.'

Katie sniffed and rested her head on top of Garfield,

McEvoy took the scissors from his back pocket. Katie looked at him fearfully.

'Please don't,' said Katie, clasping Garfield tightly.

'It won't hurt if you don't move,' said McEvoy.

Andy opened the suitcase and stared at its interior. What was she supposed to pack? She didn't even know how long she was going to be away. She closed the suitcase again and went over to the wardrobe. The front was mirrored and she stared at her reflection. Fly to London and wait, the letter said. Wait for further instructions. Did that mean they would send her somewhere else? Or would she collect Katie in London?

Should she pack for Katie, too? She opened the wardrobe and ran a hand along the dresses and jackets hanging there.

Maybe she shouldn't take anything with her. If anyone saw her leaving the house with a suitcase, they'd wonder where she was going. What would she say? That she was going away for a holiday? On her own? What if she met anyone she knew at the airport?

She heard Martin climbing the stairs, a heavy footfall as if every step was an effort. He walked up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. 'I don't know what to take with me,'

she said.

'Pack for a couple of days,' he said.

'Pack what?'

'Jeans. Shirts. Underwear. Hell, Andy, I don't know.'

His fingers moved around her neck and he massaged her slowly.

'Why me, Martin? Why do they want me in London and you here? Why haven't they told us what they want?'

She felt her husband shrug. 'Maybe Katie's already in London. Maybe they took her over the water and that's where they'll give her back to us.'

Andy turned to face him. 'Do you think that's it?'

'It's possible. Dublin's a small city - it'd be easier to hide her in London. They could have taken her over on the ferry, in a car. Hidden her in the boot or . . .' His mouth snapped shut when he saw the look of horror on her face.

'Boot? Oh my God . . .' Tears welled up in her eyes and Martin hugged her.

'Oh, Jesus, Andy, I don't know what I'm saying. I'm just guessing. I don't know where she is or what they're doing.

Don't get upset. Please.' He wiped away her tears with his thumbs, smearing them across her cheeks. 'I'll drive you to the airport.'

Andy shook her head. 'You can't,' she said. 'You have to go to work.'

'The airport's on the way.'

Andy reached up and held his wrists. 'We talked about this last night. You have to do everything as normal, Martin.'

'This is different,' said Martin. 'They know you're going to the airport -- they'll expect me to take you.'

'I don't know . . .'

'I want to,' said Martin.

Andy sat down on the bed, too tired to argue. She'd barely slept, and it was as if she was thinking in slow motion. 'Okay,'

she said.

Martin sat next to her and put his arm around her. 'Look, I'll drop you at the airport, then I'll go straight to the office. I'll talk to the bank, see how much we've got on deposit.'

'I hope it's enough,' she said.

'If it isn't, we can raise more,' said Martin. 'We've got the cash flow, we've got assets. The house alone is worth twice the mortgage. We can raise a hundred grand on a phone call.'

Tears began to stream down Andy's cheeks. 'Why us,

Martin?' she asked. 'Why our Katie?'

'I don't know. I really don't know.'

She put her arms around his waist and buried her face in his neck, her body racked by silent sobs. Martin held her, feeling more helpless than he'd ever felt in his life.

Canning walked through the arrivals area, tapping the copy of the Irish Times against his leg. He bought a coffee, sat on a stool and surveyed the terminal. Eager faces watched the sliding doors that kept opening and closing, disgorging a stream of passengers. Canning cast his eyes over the paper's headlines. Government figures showing the Irish economy was booming. Rumours that the American President might make a flying visit to Dublin during his trip to Europe. A supermodel overdosed on heroin. Canning sipped his coffee.

He flicked through the pages to the crossword. Only six clues to finish.

A woman pulled out the stool on the other side of his table.

'Do you mind?' she asked. She was sum in a pale grey business suit, carrying a burgundy briefcase and a mobile telephone. Her shoulder-length hair was blond, but the dark roots suggested that it had been dyed. There was something unnatural about her eyes, too. They were almost too green, as if she were wearing contact lenses.