Book XI: Part One

 

 

 

Fliss looked away, but Liam's image was already seared into her brain. It was obviously his intention. He would know after her breakdown a few days before, that this would turn the knife. His behaviour was disgraceful, flaunting another woman, a return to Liam the immature, spoiled child. Yet, who was she to talk? Damon was sitting across from her at the same table talking with a mutual friend, unaware of the presence of his rival. She doubted he would have cared anyway. He did not feel in competition with Liam in any way. In truth he appeared not to have much of an opinion about him at all. Liam's name rarely came up, and on the odd occasions when it did, Damon dismissed him as an 'arsehole'. Fliss never contradicted. Quite what Liam had done to him to deserve that title escaped her, other than it was how men refer to each other in such circumstances. Sometimes she wondered if one day soon Nina would overhear a derogatory comment about her father - and what affect that would have on her in time.

In many ways, Fliss did not really blame Liam for taking his moment of victory and using it to rub her nose in the dirt. What else had she done to him back then but force him to stand by while she conducted a clandestine affair with another man, holding his one fall from grace over his head like a sword of Damocles? It had been a form of cruelty; Liam's self-esteem had suffered badly. She deserved what he was giving out now, even if it seemed a tawdry, unworthy kind of triumph for a man like Liam. This should never have been about 'tit for tat' but she could hardly expect anyone to listen to her now. Her needs had assumed such a prominent position in their relationship that Liam and Nina had both been sacrificed purely to enable her to do whatever she wanted. Well, payback time was now. She couldn't really argue with that.

It was impossible not to worry about Liam all the same. He was so fragile emotionally, for all his robust good looks. Inside, his heart was vulnerable and soft; Fliss was afraid he would do something reckless at a time like this, something that would ultimately hurt him even more.  But that was a moot point now; she had handed over the right to care even if care she did.

Unable to stop herself, she cast another glance over in his direction; it appeared Jake was in his entourage tonight. The two men were now dancing with their girls, arms thrown around each other, clowning about.

Jake's presence reassured Fliss. She had always liked him and knew he meant a lot to Liam. If they were hanging together these days, it was a good sign. Jake was steady - witty, clever and charming - but a steady guy, serious-minded and mature for his age. He was a distinct improvement on the wasters Liam often chose to surround himself with, musicians from his band and other hangers on, who seemed to draw Liam down into their own sewer. He never really required much persuasion. Jake would see right through all that. He'd keep Liam on the straight and narrow.

When would she ever stop thinking of Liam as her property? As if drawn by a powerful magnet, Fliss watched the man in question. Before long, he would leave the club and probably end up in a hotel room with this young girl he had picked up. She struggled to banish images of him indulging in graphic sexual hi-jinks - but it was a tall order. She knew full well how the night would end for him. He was a pussy hound at the best of times; now he was probably uncontrollable. All she could hope for was that he was sensible and used protection; these girls were walking minefields of entrapment and bad press.

Maybe she should contact Annie? Liam listened to his mother. Annie might be able to encourage him to try again to rebuild his relationship. Or perhaps she would be the worst of people to approach? Although Annie was a very open and broadminded woman, a no-nonsense lady who understood her son's frailties all too well, she was also his most fervent supporter. Sense told Fliss that her own behaviour would not have impressed Annie at all and that Liam's mother would be very resistant to interfering this time. When it came down to it, Fliss was an outsider. Annie would protect her son at all costs.

Then, maybe Terry? They had always had a real bond. Fliss respected him, loved him, to be honest, missed him a lot. Over the years he had become a father figure for her, a rather more impressive specimen than her own browbeaten dad, who rarely uttered a single thought that hadn't been previously sanctioned by his wife. If she called Terry and asked him if he could just talk to Liam on her behalf, she felt sure progress would be made. Terry was such a fantastic person for smoothing ruffled feathers and getting to the heart of things - and surely he would want them back together?

"Drink?" Fliss's head shot up at the sound of Damon's voice. A pale rosy flush spread across her cheeks as though he was already able to read her thoughts and see that in her heart she was pondering betraying him. "You okay? You've hardly said a word all night. Missing Nina? We should have gone away as planned. Maybe tomorrow or the day after?"

Fliss held out her glass for a top-up of champagne. "I was just worried in case Liam had trouble with Nina..."

"Kay's there! Come on, Fliss. He's her father. Okay, he's not much of a candidate for fatherhood, but he loves the kid - and Kay will make sure she's all right..."

It was enough to make her flare up, raising her voice enough to draw some attention from those nearby. "Don't talk about him like that! He's a very good father! The best of fathers. It isn't his fault that I denied him access..."

Damon sighed, looked unconvinced, and leant on the rail. "Talk of the devil. Isn't that the father of the year down there acting like a drunken idiot? Yeah, any kid would be delighted to have him as her dad...Christ, you knew he was there, didn't you? Is that the problem? Listen, he's finished with you. You were the one who dumped him, remember? Fuck, Fliss...has the grass always got to be greener for you?"

She stood up, slamming down her glass. "Excuse me..."

"Where you going?"

"Home. This is just a bloody nightmare...I'll see you later..."

"It's New Year's Eve!"

"Hoo-bloody-ray...another fucked up year to look forward to..." she muttered as she pushed past him, and stumbled down the crowded stairway, ignoring the stares and smirks at her expense. There couldn't be many people there who wouldn't be fully well aware that a showdown between Liam Thorne and Fliss Henderson in a public place was imminent - and that her retreat would speak volumes.

Although given the usual wrong end of the stick that the press chose to take, she suspected that it would be Liam's name dragged through the mud again. He makes merry with a few bimbos on the dance floor while Fliss leaves in tears? Liam Thorne, bad boy, strikes again.

It didn't stop her charging for her waiting car, instructing the driver to take her straight home. Someone banged on the window; she jumped. The driver slowed. Damon opened the door and slipped inside. He was still holding the bottle of champagne. "Hey, it was a crap party anyway! We can do it better on our own. Here...Happy New Year, Fliss! I know it's hard seeing him and it's even harder watching him drive away with Nina. But we chose this, baby. Let's make it work, hey? We can't keep looking back. The past is the past...come on, have a drink...I love you, you know? I'll do anything for you. Let me make you happy, love..."

She hid her face against his chest, masking her emotions in a tearful hug. By the time he had prised her away and coaxed her into another sip of champagne, she seemed calmer. But inside she was close to a decision. This could not go on. If she was really wishing Liam back, then Damon was not the one she loved. No more pretence. She would have to finish this.

But not tonight. Tonight would be too cruel. Tonight, she did not wish to be alone. Tomorrow. She would do it tomorrow...

 

*

 

Tom achieved his aim of a relatively early start despite a subdued Zoe who stomped about the room packing while he went downstairs to pick up the hire car. When he returned, she was ready; they took a quick breakfast, checked out, and were soon on the road. Zoe said little throughout, giving mostly monosyllabic answers to his attempts to open her up.

As they drove out of Edinburgh, Tom looked over at her coolly. "Well? You going to tell me where you want me to go? Or should I just turn south and forget the whole deal?"

Zoe pouted, staring out of the opposite window as if there was something interesting on the dreary winter streets that required her attention.

"Inverness..." she muttered.

"Inverness? Nick Costello had a place in Inverness?" he repeated calmly.

Her head snapped round. "This is not about Nick! We are going to stay in a cottage that I own. For Christ's sake, stop making this some kind of competition between you and him!"

Tom grimaced. "I apologise if I phrased that wrongly. Let me start again. You have a place in Inverness?" he said with only a slight trace of sarcasm, and a scarcely concealed grin.

"You're laughing at me!" she burst out. 

"I am not. Well, actually I am. You remind me of Andreas when he couldn't get his own way..."

Zoe did her best to look annoyed but was beginning to find even her own petulance rather tedious and hard to maintain. She was no longer quite sure exactly what she was protesting about.

"You were so off with me last night...!"

"I was tired. And that was last night. I'm feeling great this morning. I apologise for my mood back then. Now, before I take the wrong road - Inverness?" 

She nodded. "Not actually Inverness, but head that way. We're going to Dornoch Firth. Portmahomack. I'm sorry I was such a pain this morning. Can we start again?"

He glanced across at her. "Good idea. We're both being prats. Dornoch, huh? Ross and Tain? Bloody hell, we'll take the high road, hey? That's a long way north..."

"About four hours' drive. Three if you're Nick Costello. Tom Quinn will probably take about five..."

He grinned. "Who's starting a pissing contest now? Four hours' should do it if we keep to speed limits. I don't have any penis issues, love. A car's just a car to me, not an extension of my virility..."

She pulled out her tongue but the atmosphere considerably relaxed. Reaching over, she played with the radio, found something to listen to and then dug in her bag, producing some mints and popping one in his mouth. Whilst still quiet, she seemed to have cheered up substantially, lying back with her feet on the dashboard singing along to some mindless song. He settled in, easing back, driving fast but carefully, changing lanes as the miles sped by, watching the rear mirror for anything that would suggest he had a tail.

By mid morning, they were well on into their drive. Zoe had made a long call to Andreas who had been just about to go spend his second day at Disneyland; he was completely wired on his experiences of the day before and wanted to tell her every detail. The call relaxed her further; she no longer seemed to be carrying a residual sense of guilt about having left him to spend time with a lover.

"He doing okay?"

"Brilliant. He's having the time of his life. Mum and Dad are totally spoiling him, of course, but that's as it should be. They're his grandparents. Mum is so delighted to have him all to herself again. Dad is ready to implode - imagine him and Mickey Mouse? I wish I could be a fly on the wall..."

Tom laughed, checked the road sign and slowed down. "Need a piss. Let's stop here..." He indicated a rest stop.

"God, yes. I want a coffee. And a wee. Good idea."

Moments later, they were drawing into a parking space. While he locked up, Zoe jumped out skipping on ahead, suddenly back to her euphoria of the past few days. He strode after her, his long legs soon catching her up, throwing an arm around her as he opened the door to the service station, ushering her in.

"Meet you out here," he muttered, before disappearing into the men's. 

Inside, he pulled out his phone. "Danny?"

"We saw you indicate. We're pulling in now. Any idea yet?"

"Dornoch Firth. Pormahomack. Get Ruth onto it. He owned a cottage there. By all accounts, it's pretty simple, rustic, not his usual excess. He must have had it at least ten years but it shouldn't be hard to trace any properties not owned by locals..."

"Copy. We've got a helicopter on stand by. We'll get up there but will leave a car on you. Black Rover 45, Registration ..."

"No sign of anyone else?"

"Nope."

"O'Brien must be listening in. She'll be carrying something with a bug. I doubt he has anything on me, though. The phone would have picked it up..."

"Then he knows where you're going?"

"I think we have to presume he does...Look, I've got to go...." He closed the phone, took a quick slash and then went back to the main concourse. She was nowhere to be seen. What did women find to do in restrooms? Unless she was making calls of her own?

Was she working O'Brien after all?

"Let's go and get that coffee...I'm parched..." Zoe wandered out of the ladies', breezing across to the café. Tom followed her obediently, checking the other motorists without appearing to do so. He could see nothing untoward. O'Brien was not stalking them. He didn't have to. He already knew where they were heading...

 

Ruth ran her hands back through her hair, frustrated by what should have been a fairly straightforward piece of detective work. The list of properties in a twenty mile radius of Portmahomack owned by 'Sassenachs' as holiday homes was long enough, but her computer programme could eliminate any unlikely candidates in seconds, reducing the list to...precisely zero. Every house they had before them was owned by someone whose story stood up. They were all bona fide, no false trails, no dubious identities, credit records checked out and all had a well documented and unsuspicious regular life.

Zoe Reynolds stood behind, reading through the findings. "Widen the scope of the search. Twenty miles is not enough...?"

"She said Portmahomack. It's a small place. She would have said somewhere else if it had been any further out..."

"Then she's lying. Tom's being led into a trap...She's onto him..." Zoe argued.

Ruth shrugged, unconvinced. "I think she's genuine. Zoe Thorne is in love with Tom Quinn. I don't buy this nonsense about her being a clever actress. She could never fool Tom anyway...And there is no doubt they are heading that way. "

Reynolds slumped down at a nearby station, logging on and tapping into the land office of Ross and Tain. 

"You got an idea?" Ruth asked, glancing over.

"Costello was the smartest operator there was. He covered his tracks and then some. What if we're looking in entirely the wrong direction? Let's look up locals, those on the electoral register for Portmahomack ward. Cross check them against occupancy of homes and then gas and electricity consumption. Any property whose power bills are negligible. It's a bloody freezing place even in the summer..."

Ruth frowned. "So you think his place is registered in the name of a local?"

"Could be. A local who resides somewhere else...? Check the community tax register..."

"That's going to take longer. Harry's not pleased as it is with a team idling away. If we don't come up with something soon, there won't be enough time to sweep the property before the lovebirds get there. For God's sake, we can't expect Tom to do it with her around..."

Zoe sighed. "Then we better get a move on..."

It was a messy job. Many of the usual methods of tracing were of little help in a community where few paid regular tax or declared income. Casual work in the fisheries industry, seasonal work at the distilleries, summer tourism jobs in hotels, restaurants and bars or boats on the loch, a whole host of itinerant and temporary cash in hand occupations. Even with the electronic methods of sifting through data, it took time. The clock was against them.

But in the end, they came up with a few possible locations. Harry despatched a man on the spot to make a few cursory inquiries beginning with the most likely - and finally they caught a break. Donal McCullough was leaving the neat little cottage in question, a quaint ramshackle property set on the hill overlooking the road into the town when he was accosted by a well dressed young black man.

 "I'm with the BBC, scouting locations for a new adventure series. Do you think I could have a look around your place with a view to using it as a future set? We pay well...here's my card..."

Danny Hunter handed over his BBC ID. The old man took it, gave it a close scrutiny, turned it over and over cautiously in his hands before handing it back.

"No."

"...Perhaps I could just have a few moments of your time to explain what we have in mind? We would respect your property and your privacy. Everything we touch would be restored as new...plus we pay hotel accommodation during filming as well as a very high rental..."

"No, laddie. Not interested. Try someone else..."

The old man turned to walk down the street, his collie falling in behind him. Danny ran after him. "It is Mr. McCullough, isn't it? You are the owner of the cottage?"

"Aye. Donal McCullough's my name. And how would you be knowing that?"

"I looked it up. Land registry..."

"Then you looked it up wrong. It isn't my house. I sold it eleven years ago...Good day..."

Danny persisted. "Who owns it now? Maybe you could give me the contact number?"

"Don't know them," McCullough muttered, shaking off Danny's hand. The dog growled a warning.

"Then why were you just coming out of the front door?" His question was plausible enough in the circumstances but only seemed to annoy McCullough further. His manner indicated he had said more than he intended.

 He was hiding something.

"Away with you and your blathering questions! I'll say no more..."

He didn't need to. Danny had what he had come for already. Somehow Nick Costello had bought this place from the curmudgeonly old McCullough without anything but money changing hands. McCullough had kept the secret, respected the sale agreement, and appeared to have retained some kind of stewardship over the property. His presence there today suggested he had been in the cottage to ready it for the arrival of the current owner. Smoke from a peat fire was curling skywards; the central heating boiler was on. Danny suspected a quick check on Donal's back account would indicate a regular sum of money from some oblique source for keeping an eye on the house. It seemed in a good state of repair, whitewashed and tended. Someone was taking care of the place on a regular basis.

He returned to his car, called Harry Pearce. "I've got it. It's not what you'd expect...should we move in?"

"No time. Quinn's about half an hour out. Pull back and get a team in place. Monitor for O'Brien's people. They have to be lying low somewhere in the area, waiting for Quinn to show and lead them home. It's up to Tom now. I'll send him a mail..."

 

 

 

Mid afternoon, they coasted to a stop outside the small supermarket in the high street. Tom got out, opened her door and then stood up to survey the rural setting, the little fishing community in the shadow of the mountains and the loch.

"Pretty wild? Cold as witch tit..." Zoe observed brightly as she slung her handbag over her shoulder, about to enter the village store to stock up on food.

"I was trying to picture Costello strolling down Main Street in a Fair Isle jumper..." he said wryly. She tutted but didn't rise to his bait.

"Come on, let's buy some food..."

"You go on. I want to look around," he replied, striding over to the other side of the road and the stone path that flanked the loch. She left him to it.

It gave him a chance to check his phone.

"Sir?" he made an immediate call. "Give me an hour. Please. One hour?"

There was a pause.

"They are on your tail. I'm not sure we have the time for fond farewells, Tom..."

The reply made Tom wince. His private life was being hung out to dry here. "I've done everything you asked of me and more. You want O'Brien and any other merry men Cuthbert and Phillips recruited? The longer this takes, the more chance you have of flushing them out. I'm not asking. I'm telling you. One hour..."

He hung up, thrusting the phone deep into his pocket, pacing relentlessly backwards and forwards on the promenade. One hour? What for? He would be better to get his over with immediately, get the hell out and save them all any more heartache.

But he was incapable of taking that action. He needed to touch her once more. Once more before the darkness descended. 

Cold blasts of wind blew over the dark waters; the surface was choppy and rippled with waves almost like a sea current. He shivered at the thought of the fathomless depths below them, ice cold at any time of year. On a whim he pulled out his phone again, making a second call, checking over his shoulder in case she was already on her way out. Running across back towards the shop as he waited for an answer, he noticed her toting a heavy basket towards the checkout. Pressed against the wall, he watched her, not wishing her to catch sight of him. She was so unawares of what was happening about her. He was glad for that. Soon enough she would know it all. Let her live in blissful ignorance a while longer, even if the countdown to hell had begun.

"Carter..."

"Where are you?"

"With Harry and the team."

"Listen. I haven't much time. There's something I want to you to do for me..."

 

Moments later, Tom entered the shop, joining Zoe as she packed up her purchases. He handed over the cash to the girl at the till who gave him a curious look. He smiled; she blushed and looked away. It occurred to him then that everyone here must have been familiar with Zoe and Costello as a couple. Small communities like this knew everything about everyone, especially attractive Sassenach lovers with an air of mystery about them. She was probably eager to spread the news that there was a new man on the scene at last.

It was plain fare Zoe had bought, a world away from the fine dining of the Scotsman hotel: Bread, eggs, sausages and bacon, cheese, milk, tea bags, toilet rolls - and some fruitcake. Plus a litre of malt.

"Essentials of life, my Dad would call this kind of shopping..." Zoe observed as they carried their bags back out. Tom loaded them into the boot: Zoe slipped inside the car, out of the blast of raw wind blowing across the bleak waters. He raised his eyes heavenward. A storm was breaking over the loch. It seemed prophetic.

Climbing back into the driver's seat, he looked at her for directions. "Well?"

She leaned across, hand sliding sensuously along his leg, up his thigh, close to his groin as she whispered in his ear. "Straight through town, turn right at the monument and then follow the road as it climbs above the water. My place is about half a mile down on the right...You can't miss it. A little stone cottage and bugger all else..."

 

*

 

"I am about to run amok, take a machine gun and cause untold death and destruction to innocent people. Thought I'd better call you to give you a chance to use those negotiating skills and talk me down..." Terry growled into his cell phone. Dino chuckled back merrily, breaking into song.

"It's a small world after all...!"

"Do you want to die?"

"Don't be such a miserable old fogey..."

"Get me out of here. I want a chopper. Armed extraction team and a very large bottle of your finest malt waiting for me. Christ Almighty, it's like one of those SAS interrogation camps here..."

His friend laughed. "You've lived a charmed life. Most men endure this every year as part of the family holiday. Annie and those kids spoiled you. It's only fitting your grandson should be the one to finally bring it home..."

"Bloody hell, imagine Costello here? He'd have fucked Snow White and wasted the Seven Dwarves for starters...Good God, Mickey's heading this way again. If I hear that damn voice of his again, I swear I will choke him with my bare hands. You know this is day two? I have actually spent two days of my life in this Disney concentration camp..."

"You are very over-excitable. Annie been giving you your vitamins? Where are they anyway?"

"On some unspeakably awful hairy caterpillar ride. Reminds me of an Iranian agent I once interrogated...The caterpillar, I mean. Very phallic and hairy..."

"...Spare me the visual. I really do not want to know what lies behind that image, Tio. Just pretend you're a senile old granddad and this sort of thing is your idea of heaven... How's the kid?"

"On some higher plane far above the world. I always thought he was a pretty smart boy. Yet he loves this place...?"

"He's four. Think of you twenty years ago and a whorehouse in Bangkok. You were a pretty smart guy but your eyes were still out on stalks when some little cutie giggled: "I wanna be you friend, big boy..."

"Thirty years ago. Twenty, I was married and not behaving like that..."

"Hey, this is Dino Lapenti. Your oldest friend. Do not lie to me...Deep breaths. Remember what they told us in black ops camp? Think of something else. Go deep within yourself.  And contemplate what Annie owes you now for being such a good boy for two whole days... I gotta go. You think you're badly treated? I've got to spend my afternoon at a fucking Strauss concert. Vienna is like my idea of hell in a chocolate box... I'm expecting total debauchery tonight as my reward..."

"Thought you got that every night. I still think I'm worse off. I'm outside and it's fucking cold..."

Terry hung up, stamped his feet a few times and watched the caterpillar wind down to a stop. Andreas' face made it worthwhile; his cheeks were red, his eyes shining and his mouth hadn't closed since seven that morning when he'd run in and dragged them out of bed. God, he loved that kid so bad, it hurt to look at him sometimes.  Then he caught sight of Annie's face, rolling her eyes in amusement.

"I am not doing another one of those baby rides. As much as I hate the big ones, I feel such a damn fool and they make me nauseous... He wants to go on that pirate ship. It's fairly rambunctious. Your turn, sweetheart...and no swearing..." she pulled out her tongue. He cursed under his breath.

"That's a bad word, Terry," Andreas muttered. "Can I have some ice cream?"

"It's forty below. Who wants ice cream?" Terry commented.

"Don't exaggerate. It's really quite mild today. You are such a weakling about cold weather..."

"I'm Australian. I was born to sweat in high temperatures..."

"Can I have some ice cream?"

"Here. Go and get yourself one. Single scoop..." Terry handed him a few euros and he dashed across to the kiosk opposite. Andreas loved to be grown up and buy things himself. They watched him go fondly.

"Had enough?" Annie asked with a smile.

"I'd had enough twenty four hours ago..." he snapped back but then caught her hand, returning her smile with a broad one of his own. "But, despite hating this place with an intensity bordering on paranoia, I am loving spending time with Andreas. He's so much fun. Such a beautiful child. Wish I'd done more of all this with Liam...and Henry...even if my tolerance for it would have been a lot less back then..."

Annie pulled away, her attention suddenly fixed on the kiosk. "Where is he? Where's Andreas?"

Terry's head snapped round. There was a small queue at the ice cream stall, but no sign of his grandson. He scanned the surrounding area; the crowds were milling but it ought to have been easy to pick out Andreas and his bright red coat. "Fuck..." he muttered, running over to the stall, asking had they seen a little boy.

"He's four. Could pass for five. Dark haired. Red jacket, blue wool hat and gloves...He was just buying an ice cream..."

The two young women shook their heads. No child had bought an ice cream from them. 

Annie shouted, already frantic now. "I saw him run over. He was on his tip toes looking at the display. You must have seen him...!"

Terry pulled on her arm. "They didn't see him. Don't waste time. Go to the security desk, get the police alerted. Show them the picture of him on your phone. They can download it and get it out. I'm going up higher, see if I can see anything... Stay by the police stand. I don't want to bloody lose you..."

"Terry! He's gone! We were supposed to be looking after him! There are hundreds of people here...say some pervert has him...? Oh my god, I can hardly breathe..."

"STOP!  Breathe. Do what I told you to do. You want him back? Then panicking is going to do bugger all but waste valuable time. Report him lost. NOW!"

 

It had only taken a second for Gil O'Brien to pick up the kid, although it had been after hours of patiently stalking the family group as they trailed around the theme park. Andreas was not a child given to wandering, it would seem, more than happy to hold his grandparents by the hands and stay close. Gil remembered the boy as being very easy around adults, eager to please them. Andreas was an intelligent and mature boy for his young age, friendly and trusting, articulate and thoughtful. Gil had liked the kid a lot, more than he usually did. Young children were not really of much interest to him as a rule.

Not that any affection he had felt for little Andreas Costello would interfere with his plans. The child was bait for information that was too valuable to waste. There was no place for sentiment in this game. Nor was there any room for regret. The boy would see his face, knew his name already and thus - whatever transpired over the next few hours - the end result was in no doubt. Gil was prepared to kill to save his own skin. It was as simple as that. No doubt his father would have done much the same and probably had. He was probably only redressing a much needed balance. It wouldn't take much to suffocate a little boy. It wasn't as though Gil intended to make him suffer. Andreas would never know what was happening. He would make sure of that.

When the chance finally came, Gil took it. Andreas had run over to the ice cream stall but was immediately distracted by the brightly illustrated pictures of all their flavours and concoctions painted on the walls of the concession. While the child was staring at them, following them over to the side of the hut, Gil moved up behind.

"Hey, if it isn't my mate Andreas Costello!"

Andreas had looked up, surprised to hear his name. With that innocent acceptance of the young child, however, he did not react with surprise to see an unexpected face in an unlikely setting "Hi, Uncle Gil! I'm buying an ice cream!"

"Where's your Mum?"

"Working. I'm with Terry and Nannie..." Andreas began.

"..No, she's not. Guess what? We finished up earlier than we expected so we got the next plane back to France...your Mum's over there...!" He pointed in the opposite direction to Terry and Annie. Andreas's head shot up.

"Where? I can't see her!"

"That's 'cause she's hiding, mate. She wants to give Terry and Annie a surprise. Come on, let's go and help her sneak up on them, hey?"

"What about my ice cream?" Andreas look back longingly at the stall.

"We'll be back in five minutes - and you can buy your Mum one. You know how she loves ice cream. What's her favourite flavour, then...?"

That was all it had taken. Andreas had dashed forward, letting Gil sneak him round the back of the stall, conspiring in his own kidnap, eager to play a trick on his grandparents - and see his mother again. Gil had taken him willingly by the hand, led him through the crowds and then down a passageway between two rides. There he picked Andreas up.

"She's standing over there...look! Say hi to your Mum..." Gil placed a cloth over Andreas' face; the boy's little body sagged against his shoulder. He was out for the count. In moments, he had taken off his coat, wrapped him in a blanket and carried him towards the car park, for all the world like a concerned father caring for an over-exhausted and sleepy son. By the time Terry had reached the vantage point and Annie the police kiosk, Gil O'Brien was already driving out of the main gate, heading for a small nearby field. There he transferred his cargo to a waiting helicopter which was soon banking over the amusement park and heading for the coast.

 

For a split second, Terry almost panicked as he stood on the raised walkway searching the crowds below for some sign of his grandson, gripped by that familiar gut-wrenching fear known at some point by every parent or carer when a child disappears, almost depriving him of the ability to breathe, his heart pounding so hard he thought it would burst. But experience born of years of crisis and danger took only moments to kick in; he shook himself of desperation and panic and forced himself to look dispassionately on what he knew - and what he must now do.

He was not going to find Andreas here. The child was gone. Nor was Andreas a boy inclined to wandering off. In fact, Andreas was a rather suspicious child with people he did not know, having been raised all his life on an estate with tight security and a fairly neurotic mother. The child had always accepted that caution and vigilance was necessary. Andreas was nothing like Liam at the same age who had seemed to make it his mission in life to get himself lost. A memory of a crowded department store at Christmas time came into his mind, an incident that had taken place years ago. Terry had taken Zoe and Liam to see Santa, while Annie had been spending a pre-Christmas indulgence at the spa. He had been distracted; Zoe had been talking his socks down as usual, Liam had been goggled-eyed at all the toy displays.

Suddenly the little boy had vanished. They hadn't found Liam for over an hour, probably one of the worst hours of his life.

Liam had been at the back of the store, sitting cross-legged behind a display case, playing with an action doll, smart enough to know he shouldn't open a gift box, so had hid himself away to do it. When Terry and a bawling Zoe had finally found him, Terry remembered relief so strong he had wanted to throw up.

 

"...Where the hell have you been? What were you playing at wandering off? Don't you know we've been looking for you for over an hour? "

"You were lost!!!!" Zoe had cried, tears streaming down her face. "I thought a bad man kidnapped you!"

Liam had looked up, confused. "I'm not lost. I'm here. You were lost...Mummy says if I can't find her, I've got to stay where I am..." In his childish logic, he had done the right thing. There had never been any shaking him.

 

But Andreas had never been like that. Andreas hung around adults all the time -and asked for permission. The child had wanted to buy an ice cream. That had been his goal. Had anyone come up talking to him, he would have run back over to the safety of his grandparents, to tell of a stranger approaching. As with bossily informing adults if they swore or committed any other breach of the rules his mother laid down for him, Andreas was insufferably dogged and opinionated, rather as Zoe herself had been when young, always eager to inform about someone's bad behaviour.

So, what did that tell him?

That Andreas had either been snatched against his will - or had gone with someone he knew. If snatched, he would undoubtedly have screamed blue murder. Someone would have heard.

Just then Terry's attention was taken by a helicopter banking over the park and heading westwards. He chewed on his lip thoughtfully. It was a total long shot but...Taking out his cell phone, he called Dino again.

"..Man, not more whining...?"

"Shut up and listen. Andreas has disappeared. I'm not buying wandering off. Something doesn't feel right. I need your help. A chopper just left this place, or from somewhere nearby. Call someone. You have to know someone. Find out who is out and about with a helicopter in this area now. Get me a fix on where it went. And I need some authentication to get hold of CCTV footage. There are cameras everywhere. One of them will have picked something up..."

 

*

 

Tom looked about him as he stepped into the cottage, setting down the shopping bags on the table in the tiny kitchen. Zoe hadn't been exaggerating. This place was as basic as it went: warm, comfortable but old fashioned rustic, just the essentials and no attempt to modernise or decorate the surroundings. But it was clean and neat, obviously regularly maintained. Someone had even switched on the central heating in advance.

While Zoe bustled about, stowing her purchases, Tom wandered through to the small parlour, with its chintzy curtains and fussy armchairs, replete with little lace antimacassars. It was like something his grandparents would have furnished.

Yet his eyes soon picked up the tell tale signs, the proof that this was indeed the hiding place of the wolf in disguise, no grandmother.  The walls, cupboards and surfaces were covered with family snap shots in frames and all sorts of other clutter and memorabilia. A closer look explained it. This was Nick Costello's life story, told in startling honesty from his earliest years, all laid out for anyone to see, an astonishing array of sentimentality, almost foolhardy in a man like Costello who had had to keep his identity and private life firmly under wraps. This place must have acted like his panic room, his safety valve - a security blanket for the cold blooded hit man to go and lick his wounds, let out his demons, find the man inside when his world was closing in. Who would have imagined Costello had felt the need for such a retreat?

It revealed a startling fragility in the man of steel, feared by so many around the world of intelligence on both sides of the fence. Yet, Tom knew it made its own brand of sense. No man operates at that level of intensity without the need for a bolt hole. Without that, a man would surely go insane. And Costello had been close enough at any given time.

Or had he?

Maybe Zoe was right. Perhaps the man the world knew was not the real Nicholas Dimitri Costello but the creation of his alter ego,  artfully crafted to keep the world at bay, and allow him his own sanity somewhere deep within. Is that what it took for a man in their world to keep his wits? It wasn't as if anyone had ever been able to locate this Achilles heel. It had taken them years to track it down. Even now they only knew of its existence because Zoe had taken him there, otherwise no one would ever have been the wiser.

The claustrophobic atmosphere of the tiny cottage hung heavily on Tom's soul. It was steeped in ghosts. The presence of Costello was everywhere. He had the urge to run as if hell itself was on his tail.

Maybe it was.

Storming back into the kitchen, he made up his mind. He could not run. But he could exorcise the demon. Taking Zoe by the hand, he pulled her towards the little spiral staircase, almost hidden in one nook of the tiny room.

"Later. You can do that later...let's find the bedroom...Up here?"

For the tiniest instant, it seemed that Zoe hesitated. Now that it came down to it, was proximity to the memory of her dead lover inhibiting her as well? No man had ever slept in that bed with her but Costello. Would she baulk now? Was she about to find out that after all, Tom Quinn was not man enough to replace her long lost love?

But her pause was only for an instant after all.  Zoe smiled up at him, allowing herself be pushed up the narrow curving stairwell to the small upper storey.

"You've been thinking about this all the drive, haven't you, you dirty bugger...!" she giggled.

He laughed, feigning amusement, though realising that in a sense she was absolutely right. Sex had been lurking on the fringes of his imagination all day: a loose, hungry craving that had been eating at him ever since the night before, made more acute by the sense of imminent loss that had settled over him. He had less than one hour. All he wanted to do was make love to her. But what the hell would she make of that parting short when she found out?  He had taken advantage of her body - and then handed her over? That's how it would always look to her. That's how it was.

And yet it wasn't. It was all he would ever have to remember for the rest of his life. It was impossible to stop himself.

He closed the bedroom door firmly; Zoe was already pulling off her jacket and wriggling out of her jumper. He stayed her hand, pulling her close, touching her beautiful face, suddenly serious. "Have you any idea what you mean to me? How much I love you? How I wish we hadn't fought last night?"

She smiled languidly, stroking his face, too. "That wasn't a fight, Tom! That was just a little niggling argument. You should see me when I'm really angry..." She rolled her eyes saucily.

He kissed her softly, tasting her mouth, committing every touch to memory, trying to imbue in each act of love the words he was unable to express so that when time had passed and she finally stopped hating him, she might find it in those memories to remember that he had once loved her - even if in the end, he had failed her miserably.

Slowly they divested each other of clothing, kissing every part of skin revealed. He murmured. "Whatever happens...don't forget...this is how we feel...I meant everything I said...I will always love you...Always..."

Zoe momentarily pulled away, his oblique comment reaching her love-soaked brain, striking an odd and strident chord - but his kiss stifling any response, distracting her again. They fell back to the bed and were soon lost in each other, writhing on the old mattress, oblivious to the creaking and the knocking of headboard against the wall, beating out its age-old rhythm of man and woman.

They never heard the front door below open nor the entry of the intelligence unit.

 

 

*

 

Terry had made his way back down to the police kiosk where he had found a frantic Annie, desperately trying to create a sense of urgency amongst the officers there who were painstakingly asking her questions and repeatedly putting out inadequate messages about a missing child over the tannoy system. He strode up and, in his passable French, insisted that he be allowed to have access to the CCTV room. Permission was refused. He quoted the name of a senior Interpol acquaintance, called his number, briefly explained his situation, and was moments later ushered into the monitor room.

Shortly afterwards, they located the feed that covered the area near the ice cream stand. In shocked horror, Annie watched again as they replayed the final moments leading up to Andreas' disappearance, looking over the innocence so soon to be shattered of a casual family scene, an exchange of every day conversation, Terry pulling out some notes, directing the little boy to the stall.

Terry asked them to enhance the image of the little boy in close up, to follow his exact movements and disregard the rest - and there it was, as clear as could be. A man had approached him standing to the side; the little boy had smiled up, replying in easy chatter; they had shortly run off hand in hand.

"Andreas seems as though he knows him!" Annie gasped.

Terry nodded grimly. "He did. He knew him well. Whoever he is, the guy's a player. He knows where the camera is located. Look how he keeps his head down and his hair covered..." The kidnapper was wearing nondescript grey hooded jacket, baggy blue worn jeans and trainers. He could have been any young man. There was nothing to indicate his identity, no distinctive markers or special features.

"What do we know?" Terry talked as if thinking aloud. "This is not a random act. In a sense we can be grateful for that. I doubt we're talking paedophile..." Terry's matter-of-fact observation drew a groan from Annie.

"How can you be so coldblooded?"

"You want him back?" Terry snapped harshly.

She closed her mouth and looked away, tears pricking at her eyes, aware her husband was right - but still stunned by his facility for tamping down the emotion he was so obviously feeling. In some ways, Annie knew that was probably a bad sign. Terry had gone far within himself to deal with this. He was afraid. Seriously afraid.

"I'm sorry. That was uncalled for..." Terry muttered, placing a hand on his wife's shoulder. It appeared as much as he was able to do in the way of relaxing the tense state of uber-control he had found.

"Just tell me what this means, Terry..." she whispered.

"I'm stabbing in the dark here, but my guess is this man is operational. This is an experienced lift. If Andreas knows the guy, then sense would tell us he has met him through Siphos. Either he's an employee or someone connected. Someone Andreas knows well enough to trust, who has the relevant skills..."

Turning back to the man at the computer screen, he asked: "Can you follow the route they took?"

The man nodded, splitting the screen into the camera feeds from the vicinity. While none showed the face of the man, the route taken was clearly visible until they disappeared between two rides. They were still trying to locate a further angle when out came the kidnapper again, this time carrying a sleeping Andreas, who was draped over his shoulder.

"He's out cold. Some kind of knock out drops..." Terry remarked.

Annie put her hand over her mouth to stifle the sob that threatened. Say the wrong dosage had been used? Andreas was just a little child. What if he never woke up? Terry's hand tightened on her shoulder; she reached up her own hand to hold his.

"This guy's a professional, love. Andreas is better off asleep..."

From then on, they watched as the target carried the boy to his car parked amongst thousands of others in the vast lot. However, at least they could pick up a licence plate. It didn't take long to check it. Hire car. Name obviously a fake. It would be possible to get some more information but it would take time.

Time they probably did not have as every second the trail grew colder.

Terry's phone bleeped. An incoming message from a number he did not recognise. Maybe Dino was using another phone. He pressed view:

 

 

His assumption appeared correct. The chopper he had observed had been the getaway. A quick glance at his watch showed him that the journey had not yet been completed.  He tried redialling the originating number of the SMS message. It was unobtainable. Swearing under his breath, he hit Dino's name in his contacts list.

"Whose phone you using?"

"Mine, who the fuck else's? Now get off the fucking line, I've almost got a trace on the chopper..."

"EXV 9997. Heading for London City Airport. I thought you just sent that to me?"

"What?"

"Different number but who the hell sent it then? Christ, who the fuck cares! Get someone waiting at the other end. I doubt it will land at LCA so have its flight path monitored. And get someone to check this number for me..." He read out the number from the SMS message. Dino hung up.

Taking Annie by the hand, he thanked the police and ran for the outside, on his phone again. Within moments he had arranged a private plane at Charles de Gaulle. "They've taken him to London. We'll be there in an hour and a half, less if the traffic is kind ..."

"How do you know all this?" Annie exclaimed.

"I know. And I think I might know who grabbed him as well."

"Who?"

"Gil O'Brien.  My bet is he hasn't turned in for work today...let's call Siphos, hey?"

"Gil O'Brien? Who's Gil O'Brien?" Annie asked, bewildered as they ran for their hire car.

"You know the young buck Farrow sent over to help Zoe set up the London office? He was in Tecala with us and before that with Farrow in LA. Andreas knows him from back then and must have seen him regularly of late in London..."

"But, he's one of their men! Why would you suspect him?"

"Hunch. He was always too perfect. I got a sense now and again in Tecala that he was listening and asking too many questions but I put it down to him being over-eager and hoping to get on fast. I trusted Farrow's judgment. Little shit pulled the wool over us all. I also thought he was after Zoe's panties...that sort of put me off the scent..."

"They are all after her panties, Terry...regardless..."

"I know. I should have worked out that...Christ, he's blindsided us all..."

"But...who is he working for then?" Annie asked.

"Christ knows. Everybody, maybe? Working both sides? I'll bet that fucking evil bastard Cuthbert is behind this...Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ...this was going on all the time!"

Annie frowned as Terry hit the car roof in frustration. "What was going on all the time?" she asked, now completely at a loss to follow his reasoning.

"The missing piece of the conundrum, the thing I never really understood all along. Why was Cuthbert so interested in Zoe in the first place? There had to be something he was after. And finally he's ready to move."

"After?"

Terry shrugged. "I have no fucking idea. Unless...unless the paranoia of the security forces was right on all along. Costello's dirty little secrets. Maybe they do exist after all...?"

They jumped into the car and drove off, tearing through the car park, scattering family parties. His phone rang again.

"Yeah?"

"Dino. The trace on the number. You are not going to believe this, Terry..."

 

*

 

Zoe got out of bed, leaving Tom lying staring at the ceiling, ominously quiet now that the frenzy of passion had passed. He had been noticeably affected, crying out as he came, hiding his face in her neck, moaning softly for long moments. Zoe idly wondered if there was something on his mind. She decided to try for lightness, blow away the melancholy shadows. No doubt the presence of Nick was making it hard for him, too. The tiny bedroom was full of memorabilia of their time together. No wonder he was creeped out now he had come back to his senses. Taking a quick freshen up in the pokey old bathroom, she ran back in shivering, throwing on warm clothes.

"Cup of tea?"

To her surprise, he was already up, half dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed bare-chested, tying his boot laces. Tom looked up, opened his mouth to say something but she didn't wait to hear it, already running for the small stairway. He jumped up, picked up his sweater and pulled it over his head, still rolling it down as he hit the stairs after her.  He wasn't sure what he was hoping to avoid.

Down below, as he slowly stepped off the last tread, he encountered Zoe frozen on the spot, staring blankly at the two men who were in the room below.  One, an older portly man was seated, assuming a position of some authority; he was dressed impeccably in an expensive wool overcoat with a velvet-lined collar, very traditional City-style. Behind his chair stood a handsome young black man, stylishly clothed in a soft cream leather jacket, black cashmere polo-neck sweater, charcoal wool tailored pants.

"What are you doing in my cottage?" Zoe eventually gasped out, turning back towards Tom for support as he came down the stairs. "Tom...someone's broken in...!"

"Please don't be alarmed, Miss Thorne. This is not what it seems. We are not here to cause you any harm..."

"Get out! Tom, tell them...!" Zoe stepped back towards him, waiting for him to say something. When she heard nothing in reply, she spun round on her heel. "Tom?"

His face told her all she needed to know. Tom Quinn stood impassive, his face grim and stony, standing to attention, his hands behind his back, giving her no emotional response.

"Tom?" she repeated vainly, her mouth falling open as realisation dawned on her. 

"Listen to what they have to say, Zoe. Please listen...!" Tom said steadily, his eyes avoiding hers, meeting Danny's.  Hunter did not seem impressed with his boss. She shrank away from Tom, withdrawing from the shelter of his space, finding a wall behind her and facing them all up defensively.

"...My name is Harry Pearce. I'm with the British intelligence service...This is Danny Hunter, one of my officers...and Tom Quinn...you already know...."

"MI5? Tom? These are your people? What the bloody hell are they here for...?"

Harry calmly resumed his speech. "...Some years ago, you had a relationship with a man called Nicholas Costello. I believe you were lovers..."

"...He was my fiancé!" Zoe rasped out the old protestation as if it made her affair with a dangerous contract killer somehow more acceptable. Her voice broke on the words, as sense told her that all along Tom had been playing her. This had been a classic piece of deep cover, a masterly double bluff. But she was not going to let them intimidate her all the same. They would never make her feel ashamed of Nick.

Harry cleared his throat. "My apologies, Miss Thorne.  Your fiancé, Nicholas Costello. I am sure you are aware that before he...resigned from his unit, Nicholas Costello was a very important intelligence agent for the western powers..."

"...He was your hit man. Tell me something I don't know..." Zoe countered dismissively, beginning to control her involuntary shaking. Tom willed her to hold it together. The last thing he wanted for her was to lose her cool before them all, break down, show them how much she had been hurt by all this. It seemed vital to him that Zoe hid her fragility until she was with those who could truly protect her.

"Indeed. Just so. However, if I may proceed? When he resigned, he made a serious threat that he had compiled a dossier which, if allowed to enter the wrong hands, would be catastrophic to our security, not to mention that of several of our allies..."

Zoe broke in tersely. "...I believe he called it his 'insurance' policy. Or someone would have had him blown away by way of a golden handshake... And you may have noticed, he never used it..."

"...So you admit it does exist?" Harry broke in sharply, ignoring her comments.

Zoe raised her chin aggressively. "I admit no such thing, so don't you try and twist my words! I never believed he had such a document. I would have found it. He's been dead five years, for God's sake...! Can't you bloody well let him lie in peace after all this time, you pack of vultures?"

"It exists, Zoe. And it must be here. This is the only place no one has ever looked..."

Zoe shot round at the sound of Tom's cool deep voice reasoning with her. She stepped forward, slapping his face hard. He never moved a muscle, the red welt spreading over his pale skin, a trickle of blood at his lip, indicating her ring had nicked him. "Don't you dare speak to me ever again! You foul creature! You wormed your way into my affections and used me all along in the most hideous way! Look at this place! Use your head! It's tiny! Where the fuck could he have hidden something without me finding it?"

Danny Hunter spoke up for the first time. "It could be as tiny as a microchip. So the answer to that is - almost anywhere. He could have hidden it almost anywhere and no one would ever have been the wiser..."

"Miss Thorne. We want to bring in a team to sweep this place clean. Do we have your permission?"

Zoe gave him a baleful stare. "What do you intend to do if I refuse? Politely withdraw?" she snapped back, her words laced with sarcasm.

Pearce shook his head. "I have a warrant to search the premises. But it would be much more pleasant if you simply co-operated with us."

"Go to hell," was her only answer.

There was a pause. Harry Pearce nodded. Danny spoke through his ear piece; the door opened. A team of three men, suited in black operational field gear, swarmed in with electronic devices and heavier tools obviously meant for opening up floorboards and masonry, if necessary.

Zoe winced. "You might as well dig up his grave and throw his bones to the dogs, you bastards! This is all I have left of him...!" She exclaimed hopelessly as photographs were pulled off walls and thrown in a heap, their frames ripped away for anything concealed beneath.

"We'll try to make this as easy as we can..."

"Fuck off...!" she swore.

"Tom...keep her quiet...!" Harry insisted coolly. Tom took a step towards her; Zoe jumped back.

"Don't you dare touch me! Keep him away from me!" Zoe screamed. Harry frowned and indicated that Danny Hunter should take her off into the kitchen instead.

"Maybe we should make that cup of tea, eh?" Danny asked, an attempt at cheerfulness.

"Maybe you could go fuck yourself..." she retorted coldly but went ahead into the outer room anyway.

At the kitchen table, Zoe sat listlessly, shuddering at each bang and crash as if reacting to an actual physical blow. Danny brewed up, for something to do. This was a pretty awful scene. None of them relished it. He was not surprised she was so angry. Who could blame her? Tom had shagged her before handing her over? Even to him, that seemed callous in the extreme.

Suddenly he heard her speak, voicing his own thoughts. "We just had sex, you know? Were you all listening while he stuck it up me?  Does that sort of sleazy stuff come as one of the perks of the business for you boys? What's the matter with people like you? Have you no moral compass?"

Danny didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry. That was unexpected..."

"Unexpected? You mean Tom managed to do something all on his own without his strings being pulled for once? That what you mean? Do you people go home and sleep easily at night? I was in love with him! I believed in him...! All along I have been a subject for discussion at your daily briefings? Why did you treat me this way? Why not come out and simply ask me?"

He did not reply. She faced him up. "You think I was planning to use this intelligence, don't you? Tom and your department think I'm some kind of Mata Hari...you stupid paranoid fools...!"

"You were the one acting like Mata Hari, Miss Thorne. Your suspect behaviour is what caused your case to be flagged. There are still many unanswered questions..."

"Then ask me the bloody questions! Why not try the fucking obvious first...?"

Their conversation was interrupted, however, by the silent entry of Pearce.  Both turned in the direction of his voice in surprise. "Miss Thorne? You need to see this..."

Zoe's blood ran cold at his words. His tone of voice told her immediately that they had found what they had come for. The secret document existed? Nick really had been holding this dangerous cache of information all the while?

Standing up slowly, she walked forward, her steps increasingly difficult to make as though she was steering her way through thick, viscous mud. She did not want confirmation that Nick had been prepared to barter the lives of hundreds of agents for his own.

But she knew instinctively that he always had been capable of such an act, if it had ever come down to it. The ethics of men like Nick did not quite jive with those of everyone else. He would do what he deemed necessary to survive. And the purpose of this information had not only been to safeguard him; it was intended to protect Zoe herself and any children they might have together in future against such reprisals. Nick would have sacrificed the whole world for them.

Inside the parlour, a section of the carpet and floorboards had been neatly removed to reveal a trap door that appeared to have been sealed electronically. A light still winked intermittently on a panel set in the wooden beam. She could see a stairway leading down into a cellar deep enough for the men beneath to walk fully upright. It was a sizeable chamber.

"Please?" Harry gestured for her to descend to the room below. She straightened her back and raised her head petulantly, internally steeled herself for what she was about to view.

Then she began the descent down the narrow wooden stairway to the vault beneath...

 

 

To Part Two

The featured song: Cannonball by Damien Rice from the album 'O'.

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