Lost - Michael Robotham [99]
“Listen very carefully. You get one chance at this. Disobey my instructions and I hang up. Argue with me and I hang up. You mess up and you won’t hear from me again. You know what that means?”
“Yes.”
“OK, let’s do this one more time.”
What does he mean by “one more time”? Has he done this before? Everything about his vocal tone and pace of his speech suggests he’s not a first-timer. A cold draft of fear settles over me. Mickey’s not coming home tonight. She’s never coming home. And these people won’t balk at killing Rachel. What was I thinking? It’s too dangerous!
“Where are you now?”
“Ah, um, I’m getting close to the roundabout. It’s just ahead of me.”
“Circle the roundabout three times and then go back the way you came.”
“Where to?”
“Prince Albert Road Roundabout near Regent’s Park.”
Roundabouts are open and hard to police. They’re making her circle so they can check that she’s not being followed. Hopefully, Aleksei will realize and hang back.
We’re returning toward the West End now. From my hiding place, below the level of the windshield, I can only see the upper floors of buildings and the globes of streetlights. Ahead of us, above the Post Office Tower a blinking red light moves across the sky; a helicopter perhaps or a plane.
The phone line is still open. I raise my hand and make a talking motion. Rachel taps once on the steering wheel.
“Is Mickey OK?” she asks tentatively.
“For now.”
“Can I speak to her?”
“No.”
“Why did you wait so long?”
He doesn’t answer. Then, “Where are you now?”
“Just passing the London Mosque.”
“Turn right onto Prince Albert Road. Follow it around Regent’s Park.”
There is something about the voice. Even with the distortion I detect a slight accent, possibly South London or farther east. Beads of perspiration shine on Rachel’s top lip. She licks them away and keeps her eyes fixed on the road.
“Get to Chalk Farm Road. Follow it north.”
Through the windows I see the faintest wisps of clouds, engraved against the night sky by a half-moon. We must be climbing Haverstock Hill toward Hampstead Heath.
The caller begins naming crossroads and counting them down. “Belsize Avenue … Ornan Road … Wedderburn Road …” And then suddenly, “Turn left now. Now!”
My knees bang against the gear stick. Fifty yards farther, he yells, “STOP! Get out of the car. Bring the pizza.”
“But where—?” pleads Rachel.
“Walk along the street and find the car that isn’t locked. The keys are in the ignition. Leave the phone. There’s another waiting for you.”
“No. I can’t—”
“DO AS YOU’RE TOLD OR SHE DIES!”
The phone goes dead. Rachel seems to be frozen in place, both hands still locked on the wheel.
“You OK?”
She taps the steering wheel once.
“You see anyone?”
She taps it twice.
“What about behind us?”
Two taps.
I ease myself upward, fighting the cramp in my legs. We’re on a tree-lined street, with major intersections at each end. Branches shield the parked cars from above.
Rachel reaches for the door handle.
“Wait!”
“I have to go. You heard him.”
He knew the crossroads. He was rattling off the distances. Either he’s nearby or everything has been planned in advance. Can I take the risk of going with her?
“OK, I want you to take the ransom and walk along the street. When you find the car unlock the trunk.”
She reaches into the backseat and retrieves the pizza box. The door opens. The interior light has been disconnected. Using a handheld periscope with a zoom lens, I watch her walk away from me, at the same time scanning the street for any movement. I punch the button on the two-way.
“Oscar Sierra this is Ruiz. Rachel is on foot. The target vehicle is changing. Be vigilant.”
Rachel tries each car door and then moves on. She’s getting farther and farther away from me. Far off I see the interior of a car light up. Rachel slips inside and picks up another cell phone. The door closes and the brake lights flare. It’s now or never.
I’m out of the car. Running. My legs are stiff and wracked with cramps, making it hard to stay on my feet. Meanwhile the pavement is uneven and broken by tree