“Are they okay, boss? I got all the writing for you, like you wanted.”
“How –?” Dracup couldn’t find the words.
“They weren’t looking at me, boss – when the long man got the real deal out of the box.”
“You stole my camera,” Dracup said at last. He went up to Bek and embraced him, ruffling the wiry hair vigorously. “You marvellous child.” He laughed in sheer amazement. “You stole my wretched camera!”
Red Earth
Chapter 29
The cool air hit Dracup’s cheeks like a balm. The sky was a horizon-hugging grey, and as he descended the airliner steps to board the courtesy bus it began to rain. He hailed a taxi and was soon crawling through the evening rush hour exodus from London towards Junction 10 of the M4. He was debating whether to go straight to Charles’ house or phone ahead when the minicab driver turned around and said, “Sorry to bother you, sir, but I thought you’d like to know we’re being followed.”
“Are you sure? This is a motorway.” Dracup turned and peered through the back window.
“Quite sure, sir. He pulled out just as we left the airport. Nearly shunted another car, he was so keen to get on our tail.”
Dracup wasn’t surprised. He’d been expecting trouble. Another no-brainer. One of three possibilities: Moran, Potzner, or Kadesh. Of these, Dracup favoured Moran. Potzner would have been more direct, and representatives of the Korumak more subtle.
“Okay. Just keep going.” Dracup had no intention of leading Moran to Charles, although a nagging intuition told him that the DCI would probably have paid his friend a visit already. The campus was a small place and his circle of friends even smaller. They would have to lose the tail.
The traffic began to thin and soon they were speeding along the A329M towards Reading town centre. “He’s still with us, sir.”
Dracup sat back and closed his eyes. “Well, then. Time to earn your money.”
“Right you are, sir,” the driver said, and floored the accelerator.
A few minutes later Dracup asked: “Any sign?”
“No sir. I’ve lost him for now.”
They were close to Dracup’s road. He didn’t want to waste any time at his flat, but a change of clothes was a necessity. “Okay – next left and stop just under the first street lamp.”
“Right you are, sir.”
Dracup fumbled for his house keys. “Just up here on the –” Dracup’s words dried up. His front door was a heavy replacement blank, the stained glass a missing image on his retina. The building was in total darkness. As they drew up he saw the signs. Dangerous structure. Keep out.
“Don’t stop,” Dracup told the driver. “You know the University?”
“Course I do,” the driver chirped brightly.
Dracup sighed. “Let’s go.” He grabbed the seat belt as the car accelerated. “Take it steady.” He twisted and looked out of the back window. A green BMW was doing its best to replicate their Le Mans-style departure. Dracup rapped on the seat in front of him. “Our friend is back.”
“Just hold tight, sir.”
The car careered around the next corner. Better let Charles know that trouble was on the way. He fished out his mobile and keyed the ‘on’ button. The car lurched into another turn and he nearly dropped the phone as the LED lit up with the familiar network logo. Dracup thumbed ‘contacts’ but was interrupted by a beep. You have a new message. The car straightened and hurtled on down the inner distribution road.
“Hey – be careful! You’ll have the entire Thames Valley force on our tail,” Dracup yelled at the driver.
“Don’t worry, sir. I’ll lose ’em all.”
Dracup turned his attention back to the mobile. He pressed ‘view media message’ and fell back in shock. It was Natasha. She was standing by a river, or pool. There was a waterfall and... sirens began wailing somewhere behind; blue lights were flicking against the cream upholstery of the taxi. They were heading up to the University, negotiating the narrow roads circling the campus. Natasha’s face looked out at him from the mobile. She was alive. She looked all right. His heart was thudding in his ribcage as he opened the accompanying text message. And then it almost stopped altogether. He read and reread the text, with its final, mocking statement.
Up to now you have shown creditable resourcefulness. Please don’t disappoint me
He thumbed at the phone’s buttons and found one of Bek’s images he’d backed up from the camera. His fingers moved urgently over the keypad. Create message. He wrote: I’ll be with you shortly. Directions helpful. He pressed the ‘send’ key with as much vehemence as he could muster. Forty-eight hours? But when had the text been sent? Presumably at dawn on the twenty-sixth. Today was the twenty-sixth. Less than thirty-six hours, then. Dracup pocketed the phone and leaned forward.