They walked on in silence, subdued, each with their own thoughts but, strangely, bonded now more than ever.
Jess couldn’t shake off a new sense of impotence, a powerlessness she’d known in the past and now felt all over again, something she thought had been banished, supplanted by a nascent determination in the aftermath of Peter’s death. During the few years she had known him, he had nurtured her into maturity, cultivating her self-awareness while secretly cementing the foundations of a secure and happy life for her and her children. Yet now, her new-found confidence had been undermined, her independence compromised unwittingly by people whose only motivation was to help.
On first hearing of the enigmatic former SAS soldiers who had rescued and returned her precious Leila, she’d simply assumed they were mercenaries, and although thankful for their efforts and keen to show her gratitude, she was equally content they remain in the shadows. But her encounter with Simon had been unexpectedly terrifying and violent. She’d been catapulted instantly into a dark, alien world, one in which, despite her own tribulations, she couldn’t possibly survive alone. That the same person who could, without hesitation, initiate and administer such casual and gruesome violence to two vile criminals had also shown such compassion and commitment towards finding and shepherding a lost nine-year-old back into the arms of her grieving mother, was still something she couldn’t rationalise. It wasn’t just a job for him; it was a quest.
She remained in awe of his capabilities, and although constantly unnerved and wary of another demonstration of his apparently bipolar behaviour, couldn’t think of anyone she would rather have by her side.
Simon Rutherford was in a new place. He watched this young woman, jaw set, head forward, striding out with renewed vigour and determination, and couldn’t help but admire her spirit. He thought he had alluded to it by indirectly complimenting her through Leila.
Kidnapping and transporting a nine-year-old across Asia and great swathes of the Himalayas had been outside his normal comfort zone, but the kid had been a cutie. She’d been no trouble, once she’d begun to understand that not only was he harmless, but he was taking her home to see her mum. He‘d been struck by her composure and her cooperation; there had been no tantrums, no tears, no resistance and, as far as he’d been concerned, the kid was great. He hoped he might see her again one day.
He didn’t need or want to be praised for what he’d done. It was his job and it came naturally to him. He’d seen and experienced so many horrific things in his lifetime; the despatch of a couple of bandit scum was not worthy of a second thought. Maybe I’ve been doing this for too long. Lost a sense of perspective.
Jess’s attitude to discovering who he really was had taken him by surprise. He’d said it was no big deal and he meant it, but he could see how far removed she was from his own dark, sinister world and how, having had the door to it opened, it might have been frightening for her. He tried to put himself in her shoes, imagine how he might have felt in her circumstances, but he had no conception. He had no family, no one who relied on him and no one to rely on. He had no obligations beyond delivering his latest assignment and that was the way he liked it. He knew no other way.
He’d been moved to hear about the death of Peter Jeffries. He’d been looking forward to seeing him again, but no sooner had the kid been successfully delivered to Kathmandu after four years of trying, the old boy had checked out. He had learnt long before of Janica’s death, and it had affected him greatly. So young and so beautiful. But he had no knowledge of the disappearance of Lisa, whom he’d only known when she was a child. The colonel had been a giant. He’d heard about his exploits in the Falklands; and then in the Balkans he’d been a towering figure, a commanding presence eliciting absolute loyalty and commitment from his troops, guys like himself and that reprobate Jackson. The colonel hadn’t deserved such heartache and trauma, especially after all he’d done for others.
And then, this woman. Jess. How did she know the colonel and how did she get hooked up with that scumbag from Karachi? And why was she busting her ass to meet up with the colonel’s daughter, someone she’d never met, so far from home? He was not naturally curious, at least not about things that didn’t concern him. Irrelevant facts clouded the mind, inhibited objective judgement, compromised attention and focus on the task at hand.
Nevertheless, and despite his instincts, he did want to know. He wanted to know because it involved the colonel and the people connected to him, and even if little else in life mattered to him, that did. Also, she intrigued him. He thought he’d sussed her out immediately, put her in a slot and moved on. But he knew now she was more than that; enigmatic, unpredictable and determined. He liked that.
***
The metropolis that was Chumtang hove into view. It started with a single farmhouse, not dissimilar to the ones they’d stayed in before, then became a steady succession of houses, barns, fences, huts, fields and rice terraces that, after a while, stretched out before them, spreading up and down each side of the mountain.
Metropolis was, of course, a relative term. This was no large city or conurbation, simply a small town that nonetheless stood out as significantly busier and more densely populated than any of the other places they’d seen along the trail.
A border post with one foot virtually in the People’s Republic, Chumtang did most of its trade with its northern neighbours. This was supplemented by that in the opposite direction, serviced by the monthly mule train which ferried goods and supplies back and forth to the myriad villages in and around the Langtang Valley. The same mule train that had, five years earlier, carried the seriously injured and dying Lisa Jeffries to safety and ultimate obscurity.
Clouds had gathered over Chumtang and along with the inevitable aroma of wood smoke that hung over the town like incense in a monastery, the air felt thick, cool and clawing.
Footfall along the trail increased steadily as Jess and Simon walked the last kilometre to their destination, and although she nodded and smiled and said “Namaste” to many of the locals, she was surprised to find they were largely ignored. She’d not expected indifference from the townsfolk to the presumably rare sight of Caucasian trekkers.
“It’s bigger than I imagined,” she said. “It seems to go on for miles and it’s quite spread out. I thought it was just going to be the odd hut or two.”
“Yeah, well, you think it’s a remote backstop but I guess the whole area becomes more populated the further you go into China.”
“So, where’s the Hilton?” She smiled at him and he looked at her, relieved that the silence between them was over.
“Ah, well. There’s something I forgot to mention.”
“What you mean is, there’s another thing you forgot to mention. How many more are there?” She enjoyed ribbing him but he didn’t seem to mind and joined in the joke.
“It was bought out by the Chumtang Hoteliers Co-operative and turned into a skanky row of huts with long-drop loos and cold showers.”
“And what about the swimming pool?”
“Duck pond.”
“So at least I can expect some crispy duck?”
“I wouldn’t bank on it.” They laughed and walked on up a stepped path criss-crossed on either side by side streets that led to more houses with barns, and cows, pigs and goats, standing around chewing in fenced fields and yards. Chickens ran around their feet, oblivious to the foreign visitors, pecking haphazardly at the stony ground for seed morsels, and dogs lay about dozing, yawning and eyeing them with disdain.
“Seriously. There is a hotel here, isn’t there?”
“Leave it to your travel guide. Would I let you down?”
“Why do I get a bad feeling about this?” When he winked she wanted to slap him again.
They walked on until they came across two women sitting at the side of the path, huge bundles of straw trussed up like sheaves of thatch beside them. Simon addressed them and the three babbled on amongst themselves while Jess stood by watching. Finally, the women waved up the path ahead of them, ending the conversation with a toothless grin.
“It’s up here, about two hundred yards. Traders Lodge. Come on.” He set off with Jess scurrying behind, trying to keep up. She was pleased to be back in some form of civilisation, but given the less than hospitable reception they’d had so far from the locals, she wanted to stick close to him.
They arrived at a substantial two-storey building, a curved archway in the centre leading to an open courtyard at the rear, the building extending to two wings, the upper floors, accessible by a wooden staircase, featuring exposed walkways and railings.
They found the reception desk through a door in the right wing, the ground floor of which also opened out to a large dining area. A few surly looking men sat drinking tea and playing cards. A large brown dog of indeterminate mixed parentage, lying stretched out on the floor, eyes closed, twitched periodically. An elderly man with two days’ stubble, wearing a black padded jacket and woolly hat, stood behind the desk, flipping through flimsy paper receipts and tapping on a battered old calculator. He looked up and scowled at them as they approached the desk, and then went back to his work.
Simon said something to him and after a moment, the old man sniffed, wiped his nose and grunted. Simon fished some rupees out of his jacket pocket, laid them on the counter and the man swept them up and reached under the desk before slapping two keys on the top, along with some grubby limp change.
“Come, madam. May I show you to your room? Do you have any luggage?” She took pleasure in slapping his arm and then followed him outside and up the stairs to the wing opposite. “I asked him for rooms away from the restaurant. I reckon once these trader boys start on the rice wine, it’ll get a bit boisterous after dinner. Don’t want them disrupting our beauty sleep, do we?” She shook her head. But she was inwardly calm and felt a comfortable serenity. They’d arrived at last. The place, although basic, looked better than anything else she’d seen since Kathmandu, and she prayed there was hot water to be had so she could finally shower and wash some clothes.
They reached the landing and walked along the wooden boards. Halfway along he stopped and handed her a key.
“Number seven for you, and” – he took a few more steps – “I’m here in eight.” Another problem solved. They weren’t sharing but he was next door. “Look. I think we’ve missed lunch but, to be honest, I could do with a bit of a lie down and then we can have an early dinner. Does that suit?”
“That suits me fine,” she said, turning the rusty key in the lock and pushing open the door.
“I’ll give you a knock at about five thirty.”
“I don’t have a phone or a watch so I’ve no idea what time it is.”
“It’s two fifteen. Does that give you enough time?”
“Plenty.”
***
The room smelt damp and beige paint was peeling from the wall opposite, but she was astonished and delighted to find a door to an en-suite bathroom. Water had penetrated some rather haphazard wall tiling and the bathroom floor was awash, but that was a small price to pay for luxury such as this, and she wondered whether this was the sort of place for which the term “wet room” had been originally coined.
A cracked white basin boasted both hot and cold taps but no sink plug and was topped with a mirror and glass shelf supporting a used bar of soap and half a bottle of green detergent. The showerhead, inexplicably, was mounted on the wall above the toilet pan, next to a white plastic box that featured various pipes, hoses and unshielded electrical wires. She lifted the toilet lid tentatively and, although stained, she was relieved to find it contained only water and exuded a strong smell of bleach. The floor sloped down to a drain hole in the middle that lay submerged in a grimy puddle of grey water.
She turned on the hot water tap and was dismayed to find it freezing cold, but she let it run and after a few moments it started to warm up and she shivered with excitement and anticipation.
She found an incense stick in the bedroom and used it to lift the bathroom drain hole cover, poking it around in the hole until she lifted out a large clump of matted, slimy black hair, the remaining water bubbling and gurgling as it rapidly drained away. She grimaced at the stench and dropped the clump into the toilet, relieved that the flush worked first time.
She felt the desperate need to sleep but she resisted, deciding instead there was work to do, so she got up and pulled everything out of her rucksack. She found one clean shirt buried at the bottom and her spare trousers, which were creased but less dirty than the ones she had on, so she laid them on the bed.
She stripped off and had a shower. The pressure was poor but the water hot and it felt like the best shower in the world. She washed her hair with the green liquid and then dried herself on a small towel that was thin, scratchy and smelt vaguely of bleach. Reinvigorated, she dressed and fell onto the bed, stretching out on the top cover, hearing only the occasional shout, snippet of local banter and barking dog. Within a moment she dozed off.
***
The banging on the door startled her and she sat up, confused. “Jess!” It was Simon. She leapt up and opened the door. He had a white plastic bag in his hand and wore a different shirt. He looked like he’d at least made an effort to smarten up. “Time for dinner.”
“God, is it that time already?” she said, flustered, trying to straighten her tangled hair. He leant against the doorjamb and held out a clenched fist. “What’s that?”
“Present.” She held her hand out and a gold-coloured shiny watch dropped into it. She looked at it, puzzled.
“Gucci?”
“Yep – only the best will do. Four quid’s worth, that is.”
“Thank you,” she laughed, genuinely touched.
“Thought it might come in useful.”
“Where did you get it?”
“Oh, some old bird out there on the street. Had to haggle, though. She wanted a fiver!” He held up the plastic bag. “Got your laundry?”
“They do laundry too?” she asked, amazed.
“Yeah. Twelve-hour turnaround. There’s a bag in the bedside cabinet.” She found the bag and stuffed all her clothes in apart from her jacket and fleece. “Right – time for that crispy duck!”
They dropped their laundry bags off at reception, paid a surly woman who had obviously taken over from the surly man and seated themselves in the restaurant area.
Even though it wasn’t yet six, it was already busy and most of the tables were occupied, but they found a place opposite each other at the end of a long table flanked by a wooden bench on either side, near the kitchen door. Eight men, heads bent over steaming bowls, shovelled food into their mouths with chopsticks, stopping now and again to come up for air or make some debatable comment about something or other. The table was littered with beer cans, bottles of soy sauce and flimsy paper napkins a mere four inches square. She noticed most of the other tables were similarly populated and the canteen echoed noisily with the sound of robust chatter and continuous clanging from the kitchen.
“Fancy a beer?” She wasn’t normally a beer drinker but looking around, there seemed little else on offer, so Simon hailed a man he presumed was a waiter and within minutes he’d brought them two small glasses, two large green cans bearing the name “Tuborg” and a couple of cardboard menus.
“Gosh,” she said, looking at the beer, “I’ll never get through all that.”
“I’ll help you.” They chinked glasses, took a large swig and looked at the menus. They were greasy and stained and totally unintelligible. She looked up at him, seeking guidance.
“Ah!” he said.
“You speak the lingo, don’t you?”
“Yes – I just can’t read it. Never mind, what do you fancy: chicken, pork, curry, rice, noodles? I’m sure they’ve got pretty much anything back there.”
“I’ll have what you’re having.” She examined her watch. “Can I use your phone?”
“Sure, you can use your phone.” He smiled, reaching into his inside pocket.
She dialled carefully, and as he ordered their food, he watched her eyes betraying a mixture of nervousness and eager anticipation, pressing the phone to one ear, a finger in the other to block out some of the extraneous noise. She spoke to home, five thousand miles away
“Sandy? ... Sandy? ... Hi! How are you? … didn’t expect to find you home … Saturday? ... is it? ... no idea what day it is … how’s everyone?” He watched her eyes light up and she nodded as if in understanding as she spoke. “Really? ... that’s nice. Well, give them my love and tell them I’ll be back soon. Can you give Michael a message for me? ... Tell him I’ve met Simon,” and as she mentioned his name, she looked up at him and he winked at her, “and he’s looking after me very well … yes ... I know … no ... maybe the day after tomorrow. Okay? ... try and call you on the way back … love to everyone. Bye.” She handed the phone back to him.
“Everything all right?” he asked and felt uncomfortable at being disingenuous, because he already knew. He’d made a couple of calls earlier, one of them to Michael. He’d given him a thorough briefing on their situation and Michael had confirmed the girls were fine. He’d also called his man at the Army Air Service and then the hospital to find out about Sujay.
“Yes, thanks,” she said, “everything’s okay. Can’t wait to get back.”
“I can understand that.” As if reading his mind, she said.
“I wonder how Sujay is.”
“I rang the hospital and checked. He’s going to be fine. He’ll be out by the time we get back. A few pints of the red stuff and some antibiotics is all it took.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” she said and took a swig of beer.
The food arrived. Jess could only guess what it was but she didn’t care. She hadn’t realised how hungry she was. They ate and chewed and chatted for a moment and then she caught him off guard.
“Tell me how you found Leila.” He stopped shovelling and swallowed.
“Are you sure you want to know?”
“Of course I want to know. I want to know everything.”
“Jess—”
“Please.” She looked at him with a solemn expression. “It’s important.”
***
Major Colin “Jack” Jackson sat at a corner table in The Old Swan in Maida Vale, nursing three quarters of a pint of London Pride, watching the door. He looked at his watch with mild irritation and tapped the table with his fingers, then picked up his phone for about the tenth time in twenty minutes to check it for activity. No more texts since the last one ten minutes ago. “Running late, X.” Prick! He sensed movement by the door and looked up.
“Where the hell have you been?” He didn’t like to be kept waiting. Not for anything or by anybody.
“I’ll have what you’re having,” grinned Captain Simon Rutherford, plonking himself down on a stool opposite. Jackson glared at him. “Er, okay, I’ll get my own. Are you all right there?” Getting no response from his friend, he trotted off to the bar and returned a minute or two later with his pint, sipping the froth as he sat down again. “Sorry I’m late. Northern Line was buggered up.”
“I knew there’d be a good excuse.”
“It’s not an excuse! It’s a reason.”
“Whatever,” Jackson sighed. Si was always late and there was always a “reason”.
“How are you, you old sod?” said Rutherford.
Jackson smiled at him. Forgiven as ever, he held out a hand which Rutherford shook heartily.
“I’m good. Keeping fit? Looks like it,” Jackson said, nodding at his friend’s middle. Rutherford looked down and patted his shirt front.
“Oh, working out now and then. Ready for the next big push. What’s up?”
“How do you fancy Pakistan?”
Rutherford’s face fell.
“Oh, please,” he moaned, “tell me you’re kidding. Tell me it’s the South of France, or a Greek island, or maybe even Bangkok.”
“Islamabad.”
“Bollocks!” Rutherford took a swig of beer in protest.
“I knew you’d be pleased. It’s for Peter Jeffries.”
“The colonel?”
Jackson nodded.
“Remember that job we did a couple of years back, those two goons, little and large?”
“Oh yeah. The debt collectors. That was a hoot. Wonder if they ever got over it?” Rutherford flashed a mischievous grin at his colleague, who ignored him.
“Well, turns out it’s all connected.”
“What? With Colonel Jeffries? How?”
Jackson shook his head
“Too complicated to explain, but he needs us.”
“How is he?”
“Not well, by all accounts. I haven’t seen him myself, not for many years. Last time was his retirement do.”
“Is he still with the gorgeous Janica? They had a kid too, didn’t they?”
“They’re dead.”
“What?”
“They’re both dead. His wife died of leukaemia and his daughter was killed in Nepal; that earthquake a few years back.” Rutherford’s jaw dropped open and he stared at his friend opposite.
“Oh fuck! That’s terrible.”
“Which is why we need to help him. We’re looking for a six-year-old girl taken from her mother by her scumbag husband who’s run off with her to Pakistan.”
“So what’s that got to do with the colonel?”
“Don’t know. All I know is it’s important to him.”
“So the kid’s Pakistani?”
“The father is, the mother’s white.” Jackson handed him a brown manila envelope. “Not much in there. A crumpled photo, well out of date, some names and addresses … bugger all, really. And they’ve been at it for two years already, got nowhere, so the trail’s gone cold.”
“Who has?”
“Local amateurs. I reckon they’ve just been letting it run and coining it in. No expense spared, you know.”
“I don’t give a shit. I’d do it for nothing.”
“I know you would. We both would. I got the call from Brigadier Anders. The colonel got a bit fed up with the lack of progress and asked him to find us.”
“He asked for us?”
“That’s what he said.”
“When are we off?”
“Friday.”
***
“Michael said a lot of time had been wasted in the early days,” said Jess, fingering her half glass of beer.
“Yeah, well, the first thing we did was pay a visit to the local boys in Islamabad. Turns out they were just bullshitting. Happy to fabricate reports to keep the client on the hook, always on the brink of a breakthrough, just needed a few more expenses, a bit more time, you know. They didn’t even know whether they were looking in the right city. They spun it out for as long as they could. Jack and I put them right.”
“What do you mean?”
“Fired them.” He saw she was looking at him strangely. “We just told them politely to desist. We’d take over from there. Honest!”
“Okay. So then what?”
“Well, we knew his name, but that was it. Do you know how many Mohammed Khalids there are in Pakistan?”
“Lots?”
He nodded.
“But we had no idea where he was. Those goons were looking in Islamabad, but he could have been anywhere. So after a few weeks traipsing around the city, quizzing all the taxi firms, getting nowhere, Jack flew back home. To Wellingford.”
“I lived there!” she blurted out, but then it sunk in. “Oh, sorry. You probably knew that.” He nodded.
“We figured that his family probably knew where he’d gone, so we’d go ask them.”
“You just knocked on the door?” He could see she was a little dubious.
“No! What do you think we are? Idiots?” She raised her eyebrows.
“No, Jack just staked them out for a while, watched them come and go, saw who was who, and he noticed there was an older kid, about seventeen or so, probably a brother. Figured he’d be the one who might keep in touch. Was always wandering around glued to his phone. So he nicked it off him.”
“What?”
“Well, he didn’t. He sub-contracted it to two guys on a moped. You know, the type who cruise around whipping phones out of people’s hands while they’re standing around in the street? Gave them two hundred quid to get the lad’s phone. Took them a few days but they managed it.”
“So you’re well in with a bunch of thieves?”
“Hardly.” He put on his best pained expression. “Are you complaining?” She shook her head.
“Had to get it hacked to get around the password, but once we’d done that, it didn’t take long to find out who he’d been texting. And it wasn’t big brother Mo.”
“Oh,” she said, suddenly deflated.
“But we got a few names and numbers and started to track them down.”
“How?”
“It’s very technical.” She leant forward, interested. “Jack rang them up.” She slapped his arm. “Oi!”
“Here, have some of my beer,” she said, emptying the remains of her can into his glass.
“Well, one of the mobiles was foreign – you could tell by the ringtone – but Jack always hung up before anyone answered.”
“Why?”
“Why do you think?” She shook her head.
“Because he wouldn’t have sounded like Mo’s brother and whoever it was he had rung would see they’d had a missed call, and if it was Mo, he’d probably call back.”
“And ...?”
“Bingo. The call came straight back and he left a voicemail. It was him.”
“Wow!” But she looked puzzled. “Did that tell you where he was?”
“Not exactly, but at least now we had a number. And not only that; because we had his brother’s phone, we had a picture.”
***
Simon Rutherford stood by the window in his studio apartment in Islamabad and studied the photo and contact details Jackson had sent from Mo’s brother’s phone. The selfie was at least four years old, showing a teenager with one arm around the shoulders of an older boy, white shirt open at the neck, gold medallion and watch, big white teeth, coiffed hair. Mohammed Khalid. His thoughts were interrupted by a crunching noise followed by blaring horns, and he looked out of the open window down at the street below.
There’d been a minor collision between a taxi and a van, and the drivers were on the street shouting and gesticulating at each other while the cacophony of horns around them increased in intensity. The taxi had a generic illuminated sign on the roof but on the driver’s door it bore the name of the company, Awami Taxi. He mulled a strategy over in his head for a moment and then picked up his phone.
He dialled the number Jackson had given him and it was answered in two rings.
“Assalam u alaikum!” Rutherford’s Urdu was good and he knew that meant “Hello” but he needed to play the dumb tourist.
“Oh, hi. Er, is that Awami Taxi?” He could hear it was a car on the move.
“No, mate. Never heard of them. This is White Cab.” White Cab. The voice was English, unaccented.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Must have misread the guidebook. Your English is very good.”
“Ha! That’s cos I am English. Sort of. Where are you going?”
“I need to go from the Serena Hotel to the airport.” There was a pause.
“Say again?”
“Serena Hotel. The five-star?”
“Er, sorry mate, don’t know it. Which city you in?”<