The Devil's Landscape

Twenty-Six

Steven thought about what the policeman had said as he made his way to the Home Office. The man had just lost two of his close colleagues, probably friends, who had died suddenly and horribly, but somewhere among the grief would be the fact that they had failed to do their job. The had failed to protect Tally and that would add discomfort to the mix. The DI would want to minimise any damage to their reputation if he could. Could Barrowman really not have been alone? It seemed unthinkable to imagine he’d had an accomplice to murder, but the fact that he was still at large seemed ridiculous too. A wave of anger aimed at the police and MI5 threatened to challenge his judgement, but he rose above it. Any kind of emotion in the current situation would be counter-productive. He needed to be at his cool, calculating best — so why was a tear running down his cheek?

‘Have you heard anything?’ Macmillan asked as Steven entered the office to find everyone there except Lukas.

Steven said not.

‘Time enough yet,’ said Macmillan, making everyone wonder what that meant.

‘The trace is on your phone,’ said Jean before she handed him a new one with a new number. ‘Everyone has a note of it. No one will call you on the old one.’

Lukas arrived, apologising for being last. He handed over the packages they had intercepted at the sorting office. ‘I’ve done my best to re-pack everything the way it was. Maybe he’ll think we haven’t had a chance to look at anything yet. Not a lot of time has passed.’

Steven didn’t believe that for a moment, but thanked him.

‘I suspect what he’s really after is the one disk that is protected by encryption. I’m sorry, I haven’t been able to crack it,’ said Lukas.

Steven nodded, adding, ‘Can’t be helped.’ This was for the benefit of anyone who was about to suggest they should give Barrowman a false one in place of it. That was a non-starter.

He let the police and intelligence services representatives have their say about what should happen before saying, ‘There are a number of agendas present here. We all want Barrowman for our own reasons: a dead MI5 agent and two dead policemen have to be avenged, but the bastard has my lady and I want her back alive. That takes priority.’

There were no dissenting voices.

‘Barrowman is a psychopath and a very clever man. I don’t want anyone coming up with cunning plans designed to trap him — think what happened at the sorting office. He’s been running rings round us so we will respect that while I do whatever he says to get Tally back. There will be no interference from anyone, absolutely none. I will keep Sir John and Jean advised and call on the Sci-Med back-up service if I need anything. Everyone else should stay out of it.’

‘I understand how you must feel, doctor, but kidnap is really a matter for the police...’ said the senior policeman present, but Macmillan shut him up with a look and the words, ‘Not this time.’

Steven went home to his flat. He sat in his chair by the window, watching as the sky darkened. He held his phone lightly in his hand willing it to ring and he had pen and paper at his side ready to jot down instructions. The phone call when it came wasn’t going to last long enough for anyone to trace the origin. He expected a simple directive, probably to call another number from another phone. He would comply.

The minutes passed... the hours passed... the stars came out and the call didn’t come. Steven’s angst was becoming unbearable... and then he worked it out. Barrowman was orchestrating his misery. He was torturing him by deliberately not calling, letting his own imagination do the job for him. ‘Oh, Tally my love, he sighed... where are you...’

By two in the morning Steven had drunk so much coffee that his nerves were jangling. He paced up and down for close to thirty minutes before going through to the bedroom and throwing himself flat on the bed to lie in the darkness, allowing thoughts to come and go and reappear again in a varying order to form a changing mental tapestry which rivalled the flickering shadows on the ceiling as occasional car headlights passed along the street below... Macmillan’s assertion that Barrowman had found somewhere secure... somewhere he wasn’t alone... somewhere he felt so secure that he had started to think about science again. He wanted his data disks and a batch of chemicals... The forensics mix-up over Lucy Barrowman and the police failure to find her attacker, the disappearance of Lillian Leadbetter... and their current failure to find her either... the policeman’s assertion that Barrowman hadn’t been alone in carrying out the murder of his officers.

Steven suddenly sat bolt upright; his breathing had quickened to shallow, short breaths. He knew what was going on. He knew where Tally was.

He was surprised at how quickly Macmillan answered his home phone at that hour in the morning. ‘Has he rung?’ Macmillan asked.

‘No, but I know where she is and I know where Barrowman is. They’re in Moorlock Hall.’

‘How on earth...’

‘Barrowman must have gone there after killing the MI5 officer. Groves, the medical superintendent, wouldn’t have known anything about that so he allowed him in, assuming it must have something to do with his research project. Barrowman was armed with the gun he had taken from the MI5 man and had the element of surprise on his side; he probably forced Grove to free Lawler and the pair of them took over the place after doing God knows what... Since then, they’ve been enjoying trips up to town in a staff car to leave business cards, pick up parcels... and assault Lucy Barrowman!’ Steven exclaimed as he suddenly realised it could really have been Lawler who attacked her; it wasn’t a forensic mistake. ‘Oh my God.’

‘Some other things make sense now,’ said Macmillan. ‘The Post Office box system must have been used by Moorlock Hall when it was still a secret. Groves must have told Barrowman and Lawler about it under duress and they’ve been using it to order in what they wanted.’

‘I can only imagine what they did to Groves to get the information,’ Steven murmured. ‘Oh, God, Tally’s their prisoner too.’

‘You say he hasn’t phoned?’ asked Macmillan quickly.

Steven told him why he thought he hadn’t. ‘He’s got me dangling on a hook; he’s enjoying my suffering.’

‘If you’re right about all this we have the advantage,’ said Macmillan. ‘We have the time between now and when he phones to get organised.’

‘We can’t risk a full-frontal assault,’ said Steven. ‘These animals have nothing to lose, they’re already serving life. There will be no possibility of negotiation either.’

‘I’m thinking anti-terrorist squad.’

‘I’m thinking the Regiment, said Steven, using the nickname of the SAS, but Moorlock is not an ordinary building, it’s a high security prison. There are no windows, no openings for stun grenades, no weak doors.’

‘And on top of that we don’t know how much time we have to set up anything at all,’ said Macmillan. ‘It all depends on how long Sonny Jim gets pleasure from making you sweat.’

‘He’s doing well,’ said Steven bitterly.

‘We have to regard this as a full hostage situation, but not necessarily one the police can handle. I’m going to call the Home Secretary and brief her along with our recommendation. I’ll get back to you as soon as I hear from her, but, rest assured, I’m very much aware that Barrowman could call at any moment.’

‘The moment he does we revert immediately to the original plan,’ insisted Steven. ‘I do whatever he says and make the exchange without interference from anyone.’

‘Of course, but in the meantime, there’s no harm in getting things moving. We can get SFO police officers in position at a safe distance. They could at least report on anyone leaving the building and perhaps even intercept when they’re well away.’

‘The priority right now is Tally,’ insisted Steven.

‘I absolutely agree,’ said Macmillan, ‘but the longer he keeps you dangling the more it works in our favour. It will take a while to get an SAS troop there from Credenhill assuming permission is given.’

‘I want to be near Moorlock Hall,’ said Steven.

‘Not a good idea,’ said Macmillan. ‘Barrowman will assume you are waiting for instructions at home. You don’t want to be a two-hour drive away when he gives you details of the exchange.’

‘You’re right. God, I just need to be doing something.’

‘I know, but sit tight and I’ll get on with the organising things. Let me know as soon as you get the phone call and I’ll freeze everything until Dr Simmons is safe.’

‘If Barrowman suspects for a moment that we know he’s at Moorlock Hall...’

‘I’ll make it crystal clear that that mustn’t happen.’

Steven called Sci-Med support and requested an old car be made available. ‘Anything as long as it goes.’ He didn’t want to use a high-profile car like his Porsche. If there were to be a rendezvous, he would rather he spotted what the opposition was driving rather than the other way around. The old car was to be left in Maple Street, neighbouring Marlborough Court: the keys should be left under the passenger seat.

‘Understood.’

The hours continued to pass but, at least, Steven’s anguish was now mitigated by the knowledge that Barrowman’s tactic might be working against him. At a quarter to four the phone rang but it was his new mobile. Macmillan reported that permission had been given for members of 22 SAS regiment to be deployed from their base at Credenhill in Herefordshire. An initial team of six were already on their way to appraise the situation, Police Specialist Firearms Officers were already in position at a discreet distance. No one had left Moorlock Hall.

Steven drifted off into an uneasy sleep in his chair around five thirty but woke with a start an hour later. The dawn of a new day demanded that he get himself into gear. He still had some Benzedrine tablets in the bathroom cabinet from an occasion in the past when it had been essential that he keep awake and alert for long periods. He took two, put on some coffee and made himself two slices of toast to give an impression of breakfast.

Macmillan called at seven. ‘No phone call?’

‘No,’ Steven replied, irritated that he’d been asked.

‘Strange.’

Steven had to edit his reply. He knew he was incredibly on edge. ‘Yes.’

‘No one has left Moorlock. Any thoughts?’

‘I’ll get back to you, John.’

Steven needed to end the call because the stimulant he’d taken was allowing a succession of nightmare thoughts to enter his head. One emerged as a clear favourite. Barrowman hadn’t called because... Barrowman wasn’t going to call... Barrowman had never intended to call. He just wanted to torture him for as long as possible... maybe until he had worked this out for himself and... now that he had... there was worse to come. Barrowman didn’t want his data back because he didn’t need it. The proposed exchange for Tally had been an elaborate hoax. There never was going to be an exchange... Tally could be dead.

Steven struggled to face the big question. Was he going to gamble everything on what he’d just imagined to be the case and give up on waiting for a phone call that he now believed wasn’t coming... or should he concede that he could be wrong and wait for the call, leaving the others to mount an inevitable assault on Moorlock Hall when time and their patience ran out?

Steven called Macmillan to say he was on his way to Moorlock. He cut off any argument by asking where Macmillan actually was.

‘We’ve set up headquarters about two miles past the entrance to the lane leading to Moorlock. There’s an old abandoned farm building off the main road to the left. You’ll find a police mobile unit round the back.’

Steven grabbed the keys for the Porsche then thought better of it. He didn’t want a Porsche being seen anywhere near Moorlock in case it aroused suspicion — unlikely, but he would take no chances. He ran round to where he’d asked for an old car to be left and saw the Land Rover Defender. It was old, filthy and ideal. Defenders were as anonymous as grass in the countryside. Every farmer and his dog had one. Steven smiled at the noise of the engine — no sound-proofing, no concession to comfort, the only thing Defenders had going for them was that they could go absolutely anywhere and keep going. Steven permitted himself a small smile before turning his attention to just how they were going to break in to a maximum-security prison. By the time he’d found what looked like a large black horsebox at the back of the farm building and noted that there was another Land Rover parked beside it, he’d had an idea.