Crunch Time (15 page)

Other than being off work sick because he had been shot, Karl Donaldson was proud of his record that, whatever the knocks, however ill he felt, he had never had a day of sick leave in all his working life. But when he woke up that morning, alone in the FBI owned apartment, he did not feel he had the ability to drag himself into the office.

He was feeling sorry for himself, depressed and angry, desperately missing Karen, the kids, his home.

There had been a brief, frosty conversation with Karen when she made it clear he was not wanted at home and it would be better for all concerned if he just kept away, at least for the short term.

She put the kids on the phone and they seemed completely unfazed by the situation, which had clearly not sunk in. Daddy was often away. It was a fact of life, so there was nothing different today. When he asked for the phone to be handed back to their mother, it went dead. Message received, loud, clear and understood.

He sat on the edge of the bed, naked, for a long time after that, his brain full of thoughts, yet empty of anything at the same time.

Eventually he picked up his mobile phone and tabbed through to the number of Alex, the young lady from Facilities who had made her intentions quite clear. It was a number he had looked at a few times, his thumb hovering over the call button. He pressed it this time – then immediately panicked and cancelled the call.

‘That will achieve nothing.' He tossed the phone away.

He slapped his muscular thighs and stood up. He had thought of punishing Karen by cheating on her, but that wasn't what their separation was about. He was the one who had done bad things to her in the first place, but it had been the job that was his mistress.

He needed to sort his life out.

He found his running gear scrunched up in one of his holdalls, pulled it on and decided there were things he needed to put right in his life, get his priorities right.

As he jogged out on the pavement to begin a three-mile jog around London, he thought he would try and tackle one thing at a time. The first of those was 250 miles north. Then he would return in a few days, when the dust had settled, and take on the most important challenge – his family.

He settled into an easy pace, just on the edge of pain.

They seemed pleased with themselves, chatting and laughing like old mates.

‘OK, Frank?' Costain winked, grinning like a fool.

Henry nodded doubtfully.

Ingram slapped Costain on the back. ‘See you around, then.'

‘Sooner rather than later, I hope.'

‘Absolutely.'

Costain gave them a short wave and crossed to where his BMW was parked up. It had smoked glass windows, racing stripes, fat wheels. All that was missing was a huge hand hovering over it with a sign saying, ‘Drug Dealer on Board'.

Ingram watched him through narrowed eyes, then turned to Henry.

‘I think we're in business, Frank.'

‘What exactly have you worked out?'

Ingram sniffed. ‘Not your concern … all you need to know is that you can forget the debt.' He leaned towards Henry, aggressively invading his personal space. ‘And I now own you.'

‘I'
ll be in touch, day or two at most. Got something to set up and I might be able to use you on it.' Ingram was saying this whilst leaning through the passenger door of Henry's Nissan. They were back in Manchester and Henry had been instructed to drive to the NCP car park at the bottom end of Deansgate where Ingram had arranged to meet Mitch, the heavy, heavy.

‘OK.'

‘And don't go getting into more debt,' he admonished Henry with a wag of his finger.

‘I won't,' he said, like a chastised child.

Mitch drew in behind the Nissan, seated at the wheel of the Peugeot 607. Ingram slammed the door without another word and jumped in beside his henchman who screeched away, leaving Henry behind. Henry waited a few minutes to allow them to disappear, did a U-turn, drove under the railway bridge, did a left then headed towards Salford Quays, his hands dithering on the wheel as he exhaled the tension out of his body. His grimace turned to an expression of satisfaction, then his head began to nod to a beat only he could hear.

‘Got you, you bastard,' he said gleefully.

Unsettlingly, a police car followed him for about a quarter of a mile along Trinity Way. He thought he was about to get pulled over when the car suddenly veered off up a side street, allowing him a sigh of relief. That could have put a spanner in the works, because he wouldn't have been able to claim to be who he really was and, under the guise of Frank Jagger, he would have ended up in court, in custody and probably in prison.

Fifteen minutes later he was in the Salford Quays apartment, kettle on, relaxing. His own mobile phone had been hidden away, taped behind a radiator just on the off-chance someone might have broken in. He peeled it free and switched it on.

Two texts were waiting to be read and there were several missed calls logged.

The first text was from Andrea Makin, who he hadn't seen since her last proposition to him. She was telling him she had to go back to London, but would be back later that day.

The second text sent him cold.

‘Hi – nice shag at County? Kate enjoy it?'

He gasped, not realizing he had been holding his breath. He tabbed quickly to the number of the sender, but it wasn't one he recognized. He dialled it immediately but it went through to voice mail. Next he phoned Kate, who would be at work.

‘Hello, lover,' she giggled in a whisper.

‘Hi, sweetie.' His voice was clipped.

‘What's the matter, love?' she asked, instantly picking up on his tone.

‘Are you OK?'

‘Fine … why?' she asked.

‘Oh, nothing …' He was almost going to say nothing about the text, but changed his mind. It was probably better she knew. ‘Look, I've had a strange text …' He explained it to her and heard her intake of breath.

‘Someone's following you,' she said.

‘I'm pretty sure I wasn't followed.'

‘That means …'

‘Someone followed you.'

The door buzzer sounded. ‘I'll call you back shortly,' he said, and crossed to the door. Through the spyhole he saw Andrea Makin on the other side.

‘Shit,' he breathed, and opened the door for her.

‘Henry,' she said in a crisp, businesslike manner. He stepped aside and she brushed past him, no eye contact, just a chill factor. She was carrying a briefcase which she heaved on to the coffee table, before peeling off her jacket and draping it over the back of the couch and facing him.

‘I thought you were in London.'

‘Been there and back,' she said. ‘Progress?'

‘He's taken the bait. It went well with Costain, and I'm in if I want to be, I reckon. But he wants to own me.'

A smile cracked across her face. ‘Seriously?'

He nodded. ‘But the question of the debt is a problem.' He moved into the kitchen, separated from the living area by a drawer unit. He flicked the kettle to re-boil, took out a coffee jug and placed a filter on it, spooning some fresh ground coffee into it, which smelled wonderful. ‘Where do we stand if he pays the money over? It could be looked on as fraud on our part – a very grey area.'

She screwed up her face. Henry came back and handed her a mug of coffee. ‘Let's just put it on hold for a moment and see what happens. Tell me in detail how today went.'

He filled her in.

‘So Costain did a good job?'

‘On the face of it. I've yet to speak to him. He needs a proper debrief.'

Andrea perched on the edge of the sofa, cupping her mug in two hands, contemplating things.

‘Ingram said he might be able to use you?'

‘Un-huh.'

‘Wonder what that means.'

Henry shrugged. ‘Hate to think.'

He looked at her and experienced a twinge of sexual regret. He'd had the chance – two chances, actually, the first blown because of mechanical reasons, the second because of guilt. He thought he had probably taken the best course of action, even if he hadn't actually had a choice on the first occasion when Mr Stiffy had failed to materialize.

‘However,' Henry began slowly, ‘I want to pull out.'

The words seemed to fell Andrea like a tree. Stunned, she stared at Henry, completely lost for words. Her lips popped soundlessly. She placed her mug on the table, then found her voice.

‘You are fucking joking?'

‘No.' Henry set hard. ‘Something's come up.'

‘And …?' she said with a sneer. ‘Like what? You can't just drop out when you feel like it. Has Kate got something to do with this?' she demanded. ‘Does she know about us?'

‘Us? There is no “us”, Andrea.'

She glared at him, then deflated ever so slightly. ‘What is it then?'

‘Remember I mentioned the prowler? It's kind of moved up a gear, got really scary, and I think it might compromise this job, so I'd rather bow out before there's anything to be spoiled. The fact is, I need to be at home, or at least within striking distance.'

‘Why, what's changed?'

‘I think Kate may be in danger.' He then went on to reveal all – the ex-car and the road rage, the prowler and the text message. ‘I'm a hundred per it's not connected with Ingram … but I'm sorry,' he concluded weakly.

A deep, thoughtful sigh racked her body, her chest rising and falling quite mesmerizingly. ‘I'm very, very disappointed.'

‘Me, too.'

She consulted her nails.

‘You have to understand that it's my place to be at home.'

‘Yeah, I do … but I need to explain something about Ingram, too.' She raised her face again. This time the aura of the good-looking, brusque, professional woman was replaced by a moist-eyed, vulnerable one. At first Henry thought she had dropped into another role, one designed to manipulate his heart strings. This view changed dramatically when she spoke.

‘I have a sister,' she said, almost inaudibly. ‘She lives in London, married to a doctor, two daughters. She's a midwife, by the way. Her daughters are ten and twelve, Laura and Shona.' She broke off, chin quivering.

She slithered down on to the sofa and Henry sat next to her. He took her hands and held them on his knee.

‘Which one?' he probed gently.

‘Laura, the ten-year-old.' Andrea swallowed. Her chin continued to shake. ‘Same old story, disappears on a trip to the local shop, less than two hundred yards from home. Not been seen since. That's six months ago, six fucking months!' she said furiously. She pulled her hands away from Henry's grip and rubbed her eyes with the palms. When they came away, the mascara had been completely spoiled. ‘Ingram was, is, the only suspect, but can I prove it? Like hell, the snivelling, slimy bastard. A car belonging to him was seen in the vicinity. A man fitting his description, too.' She made eye contact and a genuine tear rolled down her cheek, which she wiped away with the back of her hand. ‘Nothing else.'

‘I'm sorry.'

‘She was an angel,' Andrea said, choking back further sobs. ‘I was very close to her and she was like the daughter I never had, nor will have … the whole family is devastated.'

Henry nodded sagely. He had seen and lived with families affected by similar tragedies.

‘I promised my sister I would get him one way or the other.' She looked squarely at Henry. ‘Then he moved north with his running mate and I thought that would be the best chance of getting someone undercover whilst he was meeting new faces … that's where you came in.'

Henry stood up, took his coffee, crossed to the window and looked at the building that was the Imperial War Museum. He had two daughters and, thankfully, touch wood, no harm had ever befallen them. They were now young ladies on the verge of adulthood, both on the cusp of moving away and forging their own lives, something Laura would never have the opportunity of doing. He turned back to Andrea after a little consideration.

She waited expectantly.

‘It doesn't change anything,' he said. ‘I'm worried about what's going on at home. I don't understand where it's coming from and I need to find out …' Andrea opened her mouth to protest. ‘However, I'll give it a few more days with Ingram, see what he wants me to do, see if I can worm anything out of him, or uncover some evidence and then I hand it back and pull out.'

A big sigh of relief rose and fell in her.

‘Thank you,' she said gratefully. ‘Er, now I need to clean myself up. I must look a terrible mess.' She got to her feet and they found themselves standing close to each other. Henry was holding his mug in front of his chest, a barrier. Andrea took it from him and placed it on the coffee table, stepped in close, slid a hand around the back of his neck and drew him towards her. They kissed, then abruptly she pulled him away and gave him a sad look.

‘It'll never be, will it?'

He shook his head. ‘I'm trying to go straight.'

‘Then good luck.'

She went into the bathroom, leaving Henry at the window, deep in thought and knowing he needed to phone Kate back. It would have to wait until Andrea had departed.

A few minutes later a freshened version of Andrea Makin emerged, make-up – eyeliner and mascara – back in immaculate place. She opened her briefcase and took out a thick file which she laid on the coffee table. Henry sat beside her, leaving a gap of a couple of inches.

‘This is why I went to London,' she said. ‘I know you don't want to know too much about Ingram, lest you drop yourself in it by giving something away you shouldn't know …'

‘True.'

‘However, I thought this might be of interest. I have an intelligence cell constantly working on him and we've found out that he's actually sold, or is selling, all the property we know he owned in and around London. He had lots – houses, flats, warehouses, a farm – all owned indirectly by him through third parties. The estimate is that he's got about three million sloshing about somewhere by now …'