The last couple of weeks have flown by. I have moved in with Tolly and, in order to keep our respective parents reassured all is well in our world, we often dine with them.
Now standing on my parents’ drive in the Bramptons on a chilly Sunday afternoon, I look at them both, commenting light-heartedly, “Dinner was wonderful, but we have to go as I have an interview tomorrow and Tolly is back at work.”
Gripping my hand while replying in a manner that shows she is sorry to see us go, Mum asks, “Are you sure you don’t want to stay and leave first thing?”
Adamant that we must be on our way, but without wanting to causing offence, I reply, “No, it’s okay, Mum, but thanks for the offer.” After exchanging kisses, I join Tolly in his Range Rover for our journey to our apartment in Oxfordshire.
Alone in the car, Tolly speaks first. “Thank you.”
Touching his arm in a possessive manner, while smiling, I reply, “I picked up on the vibe that you didn’t want to stay. Our lovemaking can be a bit noisy, and it would be embarrassing for us both, especially when we face them in the morning.”
With the remark barely out of my mouth, he laughs before answering, “Oh, Ellie, you make me so happy. I think we should look for a place with thicker walls, maybe detached. And what’s all this about an interview tomorrow? You’ve been quiet on the subject.”
“Well, it’s a half truth. Sir George Khan wants to talk about my future. Thought my life was all mapped out for me as a doctor and then a surgeon, but after what has happened in the last couple of weeks, it’s all up in the air. Not sure which way to turn, cannot see a way through the fog.”
Our banter just took a serious turn. “Oh, Ellie, I didn’t realise; I’m so sorry.”
Surprised by his comment, I ask, “What are you sorry about?”
“Don’t know, just seemed like the right thing to say.”
I move my hand down to touch his leg.
He moves his left hand off the steering wheel to place it on top of mine. Then brings my hand up to his lips and kisses my fingers in a sensuous way. Speaking softly, trying not to break our emotional connection, he asks, “Do you want to talk it through? Might help to simplify the predicament you find yourself in.”
I muster a fuzzy response to go with my fuzzy head. “Oh! Yes, good idea, well, here goes. I must warn you that my thoughts are going to be a bit all over the place.” I don’t have time to say anything else as two large black BMWs, with pulsating blue lights, force us to stop. Hemming us in, barring our way.
*
Back at the Bramptons, Alpha looks up from his reading and is momentarily taken by surprise by his wife Trish walking into the room with Fred. “What are you doing here? Did a taxi drop you off?”
“No, able to drive Mum’s automatic until my leg and ankle are mended. Came to check up on Ellie as Smithy’s car is parked along the Holdenby Road and thought it might have broken down?”
Trish cannot keep the shock out of her voice. “What are you talking about? They left here just after lunch. Had a text saying they’re home.”
The commander, realising something is not right and needing to seek further clarification from Fred, asks, “You did say you saw Tolly’s car down the road just now?”
“Yes, it is definitely his car, been trying to pin a motoring offence on the bastard, so yes I do know it’s his.”
The commander looks from Fred to his wife with her mobile to an ear. She shakes her head worriedly. “It keeps going to voicemail.”
Turning back to Fred, he barks, “Show me,” as he flings his paper on the floor.
Kissing Trish before leaving the room, he tries to keep his voice calm, more for her sake. “I’ll be quick, just need to check. See if you can contact Mac? I know he is away, but I like to keep him in the loop.” She knows what he truly means: tell Mac to get back here – I need him.
Departing the house, he runs to his car parked on the drive. While trying to keep his mind open to all possibilities, the text message is filling him with the greatest concern.
After a very brief journey, they are now parked in the road where Fred saw Tolly’s car.
Swiftly alighting the car, even with a plastered leg and a booted foot, Fred points to a muddy area of the country lane. “It was here; I swear on all that is holy it was here and neither Ellie nor Smithy were with it. I came from my place in Long Buckby, through East Haddon and then onto the Holdenby Road. I stopped but didn’t get out the car, came straight to your place.” Inspecting the road surface, both men notice that freshly made tyre marks are visible. Fred is the first to break the silence. “Three large cars, by the marks.” He doesn’t have to say any more, as he knows the commander has already come to the same conclusion by the look on his face. Fred instinctively knows what to do and reaches into his jeans pocket for his mobile.
Alpha is doing likewise. Once the call connects, he says, “Pip, don’t fart arse about – the kids have been hijacked, kidnapped, taken.”
Stunned by the quickness of the message spoken, the duke, somewhat perplexed, asks, “Alpha, what are you on about?”
Still talking at a pace, Alpha continues, “Ellie and Tolly, I’m standing where the lad’s car was last seen, and there is no sign of either of them. Trish received a message to say they were home, but she cannot reach them. Pip, where are they?”
The duke had never known his friend to sound so panicky, fearful. “Alpha, I need to put you on hold but just for couple of minutes while I make a call. Stay calm, my friend, stay calm.” Picking up the landline telephone on his study desk, Pip shakes his head at his wife Brenda. She automatically knows the call he is about to make is grave. Instead of leaving, she goes to him as he is holding out his free hand for her to take. His need for her reassurance will no doubt become clear by his phone call.
With the call connected, the duke dives straight in. “Sophie is that you?” This is followed by a barely audible sound on the other end that Brenda cannot make out. He continues, as it’s his turn to speak. “Good, top priority – I want everyone working on this, now. It would appear that the commander’s daughter Eleanor and her boyfriend Tolly Smyth-Tompkins, my godchildren, have been kidnapped from the road going past Holdenby House, close to the family home in the Bramptons. You have two minutes to find out by whom. Get our forensics to the location now and report back to me. I will be on my mobile heading for the commander’s place. Tell Lewis and Harvey to meet me there, fully armed. Warn them to hope for the best but prepare for the worst.” With that, he puts down the phone.
Brenda looks at him, horrified, but knows what she must do. “I’ll get our things as Trish will need me. No doubt you and Alpha will be doing what you both do best?”
As she leaves the room, Pip realises that his friend is still hanging on. Taking the mobile off hold, he resumes the call. “Alpha, I’m on my way; two of my lads will join me at your place. Bringing Bren with me to help Trish. My forensic team is on the way – is someone with you, big man?”
In a state of shock, a condition that is a stranger to him, the commander replies half-heartedly, “Yes, Mac’s boy Fred, the local police officer.”
“Good, get him to block off the area as best he can. I will speak to the chief constable of Northamptonshire immediately and send officers to help with the blockade. What’s that noise?”
“Fred has already rung it in and is getting the Holdenby Road closed at both ends as we speak. He’s as concerned as I am, Pip – what is going on? I will swing for them if they harm my girl, I will.”
Sensing his friend’s growing anxiety but knowing the need for both of them to stay focused, he relays comprehensively what needs to happen next. “Okay, Alpha, we will be at your place in less than an hour. Your immediate task is to go home to Trish, leaving Fred and forensics to do their jobs.”
Holding a mobile with a now black screen, Alpha speaks to himself, not in any rush to move. Where are you both? Must ring Tommy; Tolly’s father needs to know. What do I say? Speed dialling Smyth-Tompkins senior, the phone is picked up by Katie, his wife. I can do without this. Trying to be upbeat, Alpha says, “Hi, Katie, is Tommy there?”
“Hello, Alpha, yes he is – I will pass you over. How were the kids at lunch, and did they get off home okay? I haven’t seen them since they had film night with us last Tuesday. Of course, Tommy sees Tolly in the office.”
Lying through his teeth, Alpha replies, “Fine, we enjoyed lunch very much, then they went on their way. See you both soon,” not wanting to prolong the dialogue any longer than necessary.
Tommy comes to the phone and takes up the conversation. “Good afternoon, Alpha, this is nice of you to ring. Is there something you would like me to do for you?”
“Tommy, take a walk out of earshot of Katie please?” The commander can hear his friend saying something to his wife, followed by the sound of footsteps and a closing door.
Now another bewildered friend asks, “Alpha are you there, what’s the problem?”
“Ellie and Tolly have been kidnapped. I don’t know any more than that. Rang Pip – he has taken charge; he is on his way to my house.” No response is received; Alpha starts to panic, as indicated by his tone. “Tommy, Tommy say something please?”
A solemn voice is heard. “How long ago? Who has taken our children, Alpha, and why?”
“The kids left us just after lunch at about 2:30pm. Fred, Mac’s boy, spotted their car at about 3pm, abandoned close by our village. When we went to look, the car had gone. Before you say anything, I must tell you that Trish received a message saying they were home. Tommy, it isn’t possible. Fred is waiting for Pip’s forensic team. I’m going home to wait. As for why, I have no idea, but once I find out who it is, I will kill them and nothing or nobody will be able to stop me. They will find out that they don’t want me as an enemy.”
“Get in line, Alpha, as I will tear them limb from limb if they touch one hair on their heads.”
The commander doesn’t reply straight away but can hear the low sound of his friend crying. Sensing the right moment to butt in on his friend’s grief, he says, “I will keep you and Katie in the loop at all times, and if you want to come to our house, then just turn up. I must go now, but I will be in touch. If I’m not able to, I will get Trish to ring you both on the hour until they are back with us. Will ring at 5pm.”
All that Tommy can muster is a downcast, “Okay.” Then silence as the connection goes dead.
*
Earlier – looking through the windscreen and then at the internal driver’s mirror at the scene playing out in front and behind them – a dazed Tolly enquires of me, “What’s going on? Do you know these people? Are they police?”
All I can muster is, “No, and they are not police for all their blue lights.”
Two men appear on either side of the car and attempt to open the locked doors of the Range Rover. Pulling out guns, they forcefully give orders, “You two out – I want your mobiles and the keys to the car.” Tolly deactivates the locks. Opening the door with purpose on the driver’s side, the man grabs Tolly’s mobile from his hand.
Rummaging through my bag, I find my mobile and hand it over to the brute on my side.
He then barks at me, “Stand there as I need to verify you haven’t sent any messages.” Tolly’s mobile is thrown over the car to also be checked. As one of the carjackers examines our phones and his partner, still on Tolly’s side of the car, looks out for traffic, it gives us the briefest opportunity to run.
Being manhandled, all I can muster is a whimpering, “Hey, you are hurting me,” for all the good it does me. Surely what they want is the car, not us. Nope, we don’t get any further than arm’s length as it would appear that we are the targets.
“Be thankful I don’t hit women,” the carjacker says while looking Tolly’s way, who is equally restrained by a thug.
Inwardly, I think, Tolly, he has no qualms about hitting men; it’s no time to be macho – wait and see what they want and don’t panic. Dragged to different cars, it would appear they don’t want us to travel together or in the same direction. Thrown roughly onto the back seat of one of the BMWs, I’m unable to see what is happening to Tolly as he is driven away.
I have to say to my captives, “When my dad finds me, because he will, he is going to stand back while I pulverise your bodies into the ground. Then we are going to have a barbeque to feast on your corpses.” Both the driver and the thug laugh. Passing through East Haddon and then dropping down onto the road which leads to Long Buckby, I’m surprised I’m not on my way to a derelict barn or a dilapidated old farmhouse. Both of which would see me hidden away from prying eyes. I calculate my journey has lasted less than ten minutes. It may be an unknown place to my kidnappers, but I know exactly where I am, Long Buckby wharf, less than two miles from a cottage I own in the village.
Saying calm, at least on the outside, I’m manhandled out the car, this time by a man who had been standing on the bridge over the canal. Why is there no traffic when you want some?
The driver turns the car round in the narrow road and heads back the way he came. A hand grips my arm more firmly, and its owner drags me down the stone steps leading to the water below. Waiting at the water’s edge is a boat, just one of many that travel up and down these arteries of the United Kingdom. I notice the name on the side: The Corvid Family. A striking piece of artwork shows a group of flying, predominately black, birds that I can only think are crows, get them mixed up with ravens, together with magpies and jays. Now the holiday season is well and truly over, the boating traffic has slowed to a trickle. So much so that this part of the waterway is empty of moving boats. Those moored are empty as, on a cold day like today, smoke would be emanating from their chimneystacks. Unceremoniously, I’m pulled on board by my hair and then pushed down through a small wooden hatch into the space below. Gaining my balance and trying to take in my predicament, I cannot fail to see how nice the cabin area is, clean and tidy.
My jailer says in a sarcastic way, “Hope you like your living quarters; you’re not staying long.” He enquires, as though I’ve just popped in for afternoon tea, “Would you like a drink, water, tea or coffee?”
I shake my head. May be drugged; I would rather become dehydrated.
“Oh dear, too bad.” And with that, I’m Tasered. The last words I hear as I slump down on the sofa are, “Sweet dreams.”
Waking in a funk, I have no idea how long I’ve been out, but it is dark outside. Lying on the sofa with a blanket over me, I can hear the lapping of water hitting the side of the narrowboat but no engine noise. It would appear that we are moored, as we are not permitted to navigate the canal in the dark. Hearing me stir, my jailer glances up from his reading. Well, as I’ve been spotted, no point in pretending.
Attempting to sound menacing, the jailer says, “Welcome back – did you have a nice sleep? Be good and I will not have to send you into dreamland again.”
Sorry, it just doesn’t work on me; I’ve met men that are truly bloodcurdling, who would have you shitting your pants. Right, I need to get a grip of the situation, come on, I need to ask; it would be rude not to. “So, who are you, and why am I here?”
Quick as a flash, the answer comes back, “I’m nobody, and I am not interested in you. I’m here to make sure you don’t come to any harm.”
Whose dirty work are you doing? Swinging my feet round in order to sit up, I ask, “So, who is interested in me? As, like you, I’m a nobody.” I can sense he has been travelling on his own for some time by his nervous demeanour and no doubt been told not to talk to anyone. Did you think I would be crying by now, wanting my mummy and daddy? Let’s see how a little bit of chit-chat goes while I take the measure of you. Trying to be unashamedly friendly, I continue, “Northamptonshire must be strange to you as I can tell you’re not from these parts; I would say London?”
No reply is forthcoming, so I soldier on. “Hear they have a lot of top-class football teams in London? I remember my sister, who is a doctor in London, telling me.” With that lie about having a sister, his face freezes for a brief moment. Blink and I would have missed it.
Astonished by this revelation, he speaks, unsure of what he just heard. “You have a sister?”
“Yep, she is a year older than me, but people think we are twins. She is really clever. I work in a shop, just come back from Ibiza. Popped in to see my parents to say I’m back, a friend gave me a lift. Had a great time, sleeping all day, partying at a different club every night. Have you ever been there? Can tell you all the best places to go, where the cheap booze is and the best music.”
Again, all he can say is, “You have a sister that looks like you?”
“Yep, same size, same colour hair and eyes. Do you like what I’m wearing? These are hers. Raided her wardrobe while I was at home. Couldn’t afford these on my wages. Don’t even get the living wage, stingy bastards.” Oh! I am so good at lying; do I see a fragment of doubt worming its way into your brain? Good, now let’s throw out the line and see what I can catch. “Do you have my bag?”
Confused, he replies, “No. Why?”
“Ladies problem, must go to the lav. You do have one on this boat, or is it a bucket? I don’t mean the boat is a bucket,” faking a laugh before getting back to the task in hand, “you know, or do I have to spell it out? I’m on my monthly.” Did I just see you squirm? Good, will keep you away from me, and now I need to find out if we have moved away from the wharf and how I’m going to get out of this hole. “Have you got anything I can use before I bleed all over this lovely seat?” I am happy to be as graphic as I need to make him drop his guard and let me move about this area freely.
Clearly knocked for six, he replies, “I’ll find you some cloths – will that be okay?”
Is that empathy I’m witnessing? “As long as they are clean. Do you have a pair of scissors if I need to cut them up?”
“Yes, then I must make a call,” he says, slightly distracted by events.
When I was last on the canal, I remember that the signal was very hit and miss, hope it’s miss or I’m in the mire. He passes over a couple of new tea towels and a pair of scissors, and I go about cutting the material up, with one eye shut. He goes outside to hopefully not make or receive any calls. When done with my handy craft, I shout to him that, “I’m going to use the lavatory.” Once in this tiniest of tiny rooms, I grab some water in cupped hands, doubt he has drugged his water tank. I open the closed eye, which is already adjusted to the darkness. Peering out of a porthole window, the size of a tea plate, into the night, I cannot tell if I’m still at the wharf. The view out the window is taken up with greenery, trees and bushes. So, you canny bastard, you have moved the boat to the opposite side of the towpath while I was asleep. No way am I going into freezing, muck-infested water. Remember, I am now my drippy sister, and I must get out before you get a mobile signal.
Coming back into the cabin, my captive closes the hatch behind him, swearing like a trooper.
I gather no signal, so it’s Plan A, entry level one – let’s party. Swaying slowly on the spot to the beat of unheard music and singing a song that I am making up the words to, I say, “Hey, if you are not going to give me your name, I’m going to call you Dave. I’m Sue. Do you have anything to drink in this place, not tea or coffee? How about some music? I want to dance.” I fling up my arms. Love the look on his face, one of pure horror. “Can hear the music from Ibiza if I close my eyes. Wow, I’m back there on the dance floor.”
He passes me a mug with some unknown spirit in it, which I have no intention of drinking, but he does not know that as long as he keeps drinking his fill.
“Come on, Dave, get down with the beat.”
Getting agitated, he says, “Sit down. I know what your game is.”
“Games, Dave, don’t play games. Leave that to my sister.” Let’s have a go at a crash course on Stockholm syndrome – I will play Beauty and you will be the Beast. Still carrying on with the dancing, I say, “Did I tell you she is my parents’ favourite? They don’t care about me. She went to medical school; I failed my A levels. Been in trouble with the police, bastards, it wasn’t even my stuff; it was my boyfriend’s. They didn’t believe me, pigs. Sun shine’s out Little Miss Wonderful’s backside; she may have her boring career, but I know how to party.”
Level one of Plan A can be ticked off, need to move to level two. “Come on, Dave, put the music on, and what do you have to eat? Can’t boogie on an empty stomach – haven’t eaten since lunch.” I can sense it – you don’t know how to deal with the situation – good.
Sounding befuddled, he says, “Sit down please, and I will get you some toast.”
Making full eye contact, and talking in a subservient way, with a drooping lower lip, I ask, “Toast with what, Dave?”
Moving to one side, he opens up one of the small cupboards in the equally little galley kitchen. As he does that, I dance swiftly around the cabin, checking the place out. Where is that Taser? Scissors are still on the side; if needs must, I will stab you. Hopefully, this will be in a place that will just maim you, who knows, who cares? But I am a doctor? Yes, but that is not going to save me from being killed.
He calls out over his shoulder, “Have beans or jam?”
“Beans sound great, if that’s okay with you? Thanks, Dave, you’re the best.” Dishing up the makeshift meal, he hands over the plate with only a fork to eat it with. With pouting lips, I ask like a child, “No knife, Dave, can you cut up my toast for me, please?”
He takes back my plate and proceeds to do my bidding. Placing my soldiers and beans in front of me, he sits down, his mug refreshed with another slug of spirit, and watches me eat, as though it’s a spectator sport.
Finishing off the last bean, putting down the fork, I give him one of my very best smiles, trying not to reach across the table and strangle him. I deliberately burp, laughing while saying behind a raised hand, “That hit the spot.”
With this, he smiles. Level three coming up.
I nod approvingly at my surroundings. “Nice boat.” This allows me to glance round even more without too many questions being asked. “And so neat and tidy. You look like a man that likes things orderly, Dave. I do like a man who looks after himself.” A small clock on the side shows 7:35pm. Is it right? Well, it’s dark. but it gets dark early this time of year – not sure how long Tasering knocks you out for. This, being blatantly nice to my captive, is hard work; I need a break. I think it’s time to tell you I need to pay another visit to the lav. Smiling flirtatiously, wondering how I’m doing this while keeping a straight face, I say, “Sorry, ladies’ problem, don’t touch my drink.” Once more into the littlest room, think, girl, think. Cupping my hands again, I drink some more water from the cold tap, in order to keep my fluid intake up. Coming out into the warm cabin, I notice that he has adjusted the hatch door so it is now slightly open to the elements.
Pleased that I like my prison by the compliment I just made, he acknowledges this with a, “Thanks, like to keep the place neat and tidy.” As though to demonstrate this, he sets about puffing up the cushions, then moves to the minuscule sink to wash my meal things up. I can tell this is more out of habit than the fact I am present.
Right, so the question that I need to ask, or should I say be expected to ask, as I still don’t have an escape route, is, “What is going to happen to me, Dave? You said that you are here to make sure I don’t come to any harm.” He does not answer, as I suspected. So, you are merely a cog in a much bigger wheel, and you need to be given directions; let’s hope you don’t get a signal, as I could find myself on very dangerous ground playing my not-needed sister. Faking a yawn, I say, “Sorry, Dave, would like to have a nap, if that’s okay with you? All that dancing has made me tired. Need all my strength to party tomorrow,” once again giving him a girlish smile. Yuck, I’m starting to hate Belle, or should I say Sue, with this playing up to the Beast.
Throwing another blanket at me, while trying to sound macho, he says, “You can sleep where you are sitting. Don’t do anything stupid, or I will have to Taser you again. I’m going out.”
Yawning again for show, I reply, “Goodnight, Dave, thanks for the beans on toast and for looking over me, keeping me safe. Can’t be easy?”
I can tell he is taken aback by my acquiescence by how he replies, “Yeah, goodnight, Sue, glad the food was okay.” With this, he strides up the couple of wooden steps to the deck above, no doubt to try and make that call again.
I deliberately don’t sleep but lie still, listening. I can feel the narrowboat move slightly down as though another person has stepped on board. I pull the blanket under my chin in a protective way, for all the good it will do me, moving my head slowly and silently towards the back of the craft. The hatch door opens to its full capacity and my jailer falls head first down into the cabin. His mobile hits the ground and slides along the wooden floor until it comes to a halt against the table leg. The boat then moves slightly upwards and, after the briefest of moments, travels sideways. The ropes must have been untied by someone, no time to contemplate by whom. Throwing off the blanket, I rush to check on the man; I have seen enough dead bodies in my short medical career to know that Dave is now another one to be added to that list. Right, move, Ellie, move, girl, this may be your only chance. I grab whatever I think I may need: one of Dave’s jackets – not worried that it swamps me – scissors, his unbroken mobile. Check his pockets – keys, wallet – take them. I keep the mobile in my hand but the other things I shove into the deep pockets. Glancing around, I still cannot see the Taser, so it’s quickly up and through the open hatch, without any regard for who might be on board.
Relieved I’m alone; I can only surmise whoever threw Dave through the hatch is gone, otherwise they would have come for me. As the craft is touching the towpath, I swiftly jump off the boat. Wanting to kiss the ground, I resist; however, I do push the boat off the bank so it floats in the middle of the canal. Momentarily, I start working out in my head which way I need to run. Standing looking at the canal, Long Buckby wharf is to the left. Looking up at the night sky, a large yellow and orange cloud hangs omnipresent, not too far in the distance. I speculate its light pollution is coming from Daventry. Doubt if we have travelled as far as Buckby Top Lock. So, my best bet is back towards the wharf and then on to Whilton Locks. I can do this on the same towpath. Easier to hide in an area that I’m more familiar with. So, start running down the path towards home and keep those eyes and ears open. I run along a flat, fairly dry and well-maintained towpath. The phone in Dave’s coat pocket starts pinging. Don’t have time to stop to look, keep going, girl. I ignore the green direction signs as I’m unsure of my ability to traverse fields without any light. Who to ring? Mac, ring Mac – he will know what to do, always does.
Not recognising the unfamiliar caller ID, a cautious voice answers, “Yes?”
Speaking quickly and hoping he recognises my voice, I say, “Mac, it’s me, Ellie, I’ve lost my bottle.”
Relieved at what the hidden message means, he answers carefully. “How long?”
I calculate and respond, “Two hours, maybe less. Come alone – don’t tell anyone please?”
“Okay.” He presses the red button to disconnect the call.
Mac notices that Alpha is still in deep conversation with Pip who, along with Brenda, Lewis and Harvey, is now based in his neighbour’s house. Keen to get going, Mac catches the eye of the lady of the house. “Trish, that was the wife; she has just made me something to eat. Will you tell Alpha I’m going next door to check up on her and maybe catch up on a couple of hours’ sleep, if I can. Will be back, but if you need me sooner, just call.” With that, he heads next door to grab his gear with a few extras, telling Mrs Mac his plan and then trekking across the back fields, keeping clear of people and cars. He knows the house must have been being watched all these weeks, waiting for the right moment to occur. That moment was this Sunday afternoon.
Getting back to the task in hand, the proverbial, can do this journey with my eyes closed, is very close to the truth when it comes to Mac’s trek from his home in the Bramptons to the old, disused shooting range outside the hamlet of Nobottle, the ‘lost my bottle’ of the message. In his mind, he can create a well-constructed argument as to the direction Ellie is coming from, based on their brief conversation, but not her precise route. One thing he is sure of is that his journey will be the quickest and safest. Leaving from the back of his garden has allowed him the ability to cut across the far-reaching fields and golf course to his destination, Nobottle. Taking a chance, he moves onto country lanes, this being a quicker route. With their twists and turns, he can easily dart into the adjoining woods to take cover. Although in a game bird shooting county, he doesn’t want to be questioned as to why he is carrying a high-velocity weapon, with silencer and night sight, hence one of the reasons for stealth.
Moving closer to the village, he is ever vigilant for the dog walkers. He glances at his watch, noting both the actual time and the time taken so far. He does a speedy calculation: estimated distance still to travel, two and a half miles; ETA twenty minutes but looking for eighteen, then you better get going. Finally coming into the blink-and-you-miss-it hamlet of Nobottle, he moves assuredly along its main road, hoping he doesn’t meet any traffic. Relieved, he darts down the lane to the old gun range. Reaching the abandoned buildings of the range, fully aware of its layout, he sets up camp in the most advantageous position at the site. Having already calculated the direction Ellie will be coming from, he waits, silently and without moving any more than necessary. He has his rifle, with night sight and silencer attached, and is happy to wait as long as it takes.
It is her movement that tells him that it is Eleanor, regardless of what she is wearing. Diligently, he continues to monitor the landscape. Good girl, come to your uncle Mac. No need to rush, gently, calmly, I have you in my sights. Although straining his ears in order to pick up every sound, he doesn’t lose sight of his target. Coming into range, he points his night sight to the ground in front of her and then moves the red dot in the direction he wants her to take. He is thankful that she obeys his signal and moves quietly to stand, as though glued to the wall of the bedraggled, disused building. Mac moves cat-like towards her, so as not to startle her. He cannot help himself, grabbing her and kissing the top of her head.
*
Drawing me no more than an arm’s length away, he quickly pats me down, checking I am whole.
Cupping his hands on my face, Mac enquires in a controlled but protective manner, “Okay, sweet pea? Come on, I’ll take you home.”
I cannot help but fall against him; however, I hesitate at his suggestion. “Mac, I’m not sure that is a good idea – can we talk this through before we, I, do anything hasty that may put others in danger? It’s bad enough that Tolly and I are in this predicament.” Realising what I have just said, I cannot stop panic worming its way into my voice. “Mac, tell me he’s safe, tell me?”
Before I can say any more, Mac stops me and agrees to my request, ever watchful of our surroundings. “Okay, start at the beginning, and don’t forget to eat and drink.” He gets a snack and a bottle of water out of his rucksack and hands them over to me.
Sliding down the wall into a sitting heap on the ground, I thirstily drink between bites of a healthy bar, while putting another one in my pocket. “So, Tolly and I left Mum and Dad’s after Sunday lunch. Is it still Sunday?”
“Yes, it is still Sunday, just. Go on with your report.”
“We took the Holdenby Road for a change as we were in no rush to get home. Before the entrance to Holdenby House, and therefore out of range of their CCTV, we were pinned in by two large black BMW cars. They took our mobiles, and I had to go in one car and Tolly in the other.” I close my eyes to replay the nightmare in my head so that I get everything right. “I was taken to Long Buckby wharf and put on a narrowboat named The Corvid Family, as in crows and ravens. There is a beautifully painted picture of crows, jays and magpies on its side. One man held me captive. He didn’t touch me; I think he was as frightened as me – he is dead.”
With this revelation, Mac grabs my arm tightly. “What? You killed him?”
Ignoring him, I continue telling my tale. “He went on deck to make a call; he had already said that the signal was bad. He zapped me with a Taser when I was first taken prisoner, and while I was out of it, he moved the boat to the opposite side of the towpath and further down the canal towards Daventry.” I pause to take another drink. Mac fishes in his bag for another bottle as I have nearly finished the first. “Alone in the cabin, I felt the boat drop down as though someone stepped onto the deck. Next thing I know, my jailer comes head first though the hatch, landing on the ground dead. The boat then floated towards the towpath. I grabbed his mobile and legged it. I came along the towpath to Whilton Locks up the hill, working my way here. Rang you rather than Dad. Not sure if I was followed but kept to the shadows as best I could, although I did have to go on the road for much of my journey.”
“Well, you were right to call me. I will take the mobile and give it to K, your geeky cousin, to analyse; he has set up shop at my house – yours is getting a tad crowded. What else did you take?”
Reaching into Dave’s coat pockets, I bring out his wallet, a set of keys and the scissors. Looking at the unimpressive bounty, Mac murmurs, “Is this it?”
“Yes.” I think for one brief moment he doesn’t believe me.
“Right, I’ll take the mobile, the keys and the wallet; you can keep the scissors.” He puts them all into a side pocket of his bag and then, reaching back into the main part, pulls out another mobile. “Take this – it has been programmed with a few numbers. Press any speed dial number from one to five; tell whoever answers your name and that you need help immediately. Help will come running. Now, what to do with you.”
Rising from his squatting position, he then lifts me up off the floor. Making sure his rifle and his rucksack, which now contain two empty water bottles and a couple of snack wrappers, are safely on his back, he enlightens me on what is to happen next. “Right, I need to arrange for the boat to be secured and get you somewhere safe. Then we have a one-mile run eyes and ears open, mouth closed. Keep on my shoulder – if I tell you to drop, you drop. Let’s get going back to Great Brington.” With the calls made, we move quickly and with purpose.
I find the ground under my feet well known to me, having jogged these paths and lanes many times, often with Mac. Not having to concentrate on the placing of my feet too much, my mind starts to drift, worrying about what is happening to Tolly. Once my family knows I’m safe then they can pool all their effort into finding Tolly. Okay, now keep up with Mac. Adrenaline is gushing through my body, giving me a high that makes me believe I can run to the moon and back without getting out of breath, even though I only need to make it to somewhere in Great Brington.
Stopping a little way from the back entrance to Althorp House, the home of the Spencer family, Mac takes out his phone and makes another call. Once finished, he turns his attention to me. “Right, keep in the shadows and wait, not long, trust me.” A proper Land Rover, not a Chelsea tractor, appears on the other side of the foreboding gates.
A man’s voice quietly calls out, “Mac, Mac.”
“Our ride is here – come with me.” While the vehicle slowly ticks over, its driver barely opens the gates to allow us access. Quickly moving into the grounds of this fine house, I shift once again into the shadows. I hear the heavy click of the lock and then watch as the driver retakes his seat. With passenger door open, Mac motions for me to join the two of them in the car. “This is Addy – you are going to stay with him and his wife Jo until I can get you safely relocated sometime tomorrow.” As we unhurriedly move within the walled grounds, Mac and Addy talk in an easy-going manner. “When I’ve settled Ellie with you and Jo, any chance of letting me out?”
Addy speaks with a very pleasant and reassuring voice, “Of course, Mac, can get you high up near to the main road; I take it that an old man like you can still climb our outer stone wall without doing it any damage? Once on the other side, then it’s not too far for you to run home.”