Private Royals

Chapter 35

The air inside the Range Rover was thick, and it had little to do with the weather of a warm and muggy June morning.

‘I hate this,’ Morgan growled. ‘Where the hell is Peter, Hooligan? How far from them are we now?’

‘Three minutes.’

‘And the police?’

‘Maybe a minute behind you.’

Beside Morgan, Cook was silent, her hands tight on the wheel.

‘What’s up?’ he asked her.

‘The same as you,’ she replied, not taking her eyes from the road.

‘No,’ Morgan insisted calmly. ‘We’ve been on the back foot for a long time. It’s only in the past few minutes you’ve started gripping the wheel like you’re trying to choke it.’

Cook said nothing.

‘Talk it out,’ he pressed gently.

‘Something has set me off,’ she admitted. ‘A trigger. I don’t know what it is, but I feel like there’s a piece of the puzzle right in front of my eyes.’

‘You just need to take your mind off it. If you try and focus too hard on it, you’ll never get it. Keep busy with something else. Here.’ Morgan handed over a radio and headset. ‘Monitor this channel.’

‘What is it?’

‘It’s the police frequencies. The more open ones, anyway.’

Cook’s mouth dropped open. ‘The police, Jack! The police!’

‘What about them?’ he said.

‘The kidnapper — he called them the filth! He called the police the filth!’

‘So what?’

‘So, you didn’t know what that means!’ she said. ‘You didn’t know what that means, because you’re an American!’

‘And so is Waldron,’ Morgan said, his stomach turning sour as he came to the inevitable conclusion. ‘Our kidnapper’s not alone.’