Jess and Simon ate dinner in the hotel canteen amidst the same cacophony of clanging woks, excitable Chinese traders and general ribaldry they had experienced the previous night.
“You sounded just like Peter.” She was still laughing at the memory of Simon’s return to Alisha’s house. She guided a bundle of hot noodles into her mouth with her disposable chopsticks.
“Did I? When?”
“When you said ‘Excellent’.” She snorted again at the memory.
“Oh. I’m always saying that. Maybe that’s where I got it from.”
“It was his favourite answer to just about everything.”
Two guys on the opposite table were having a major argument over a game of mah-jong and their mates were doing nothing to discourage the aggression.
“Did you and Alisha say your goodbyes?” asked Simon. She shook her head while she swallowed.
“She’s got a class tomorrow. Eight o’clock. I said we’d drop by on our way. The school’s that orange thatched building with the yard out front and the basketball net. We passed it on the way in.”
Simon studied her closely.
“And did you find what you were looking for?”
“I found much more than that. I’m really glad I came. I would have spent the rest of my life hating her for something she didn’t do.”
“I can’t get over the resemblance,” he said, chewing on some pork belly. “You two are identical twins. Apart from the scar, of course. Without that I bet she’d scrub up really well.” The comment brought her up short. She stopped shovelling and looked up at him but his head was turned away, doing his best to appear nonchalant, although his best wasn’t very good. She narrowed her eyes and smiled at him and he caught her stare.
“What?” he shrugged. She hit him with her chopsticks. “Ow!”
“Don’t get clever with me, Rutherford.” She pointed her chopsticks at him threateningly and they both laughed.
“So, if we get a good start tomorrow morning, we may be able to get back to Langtang by the time it’s dark and avoid another night in the shed.”
“Bliss.”
“After that, it’s the usual ups and downs but on average it’s down, so we should get back a lot quicker than on the way out.”
“I can’t wait to get home. It seems a lifetime ago I left Chalton. Can I call home?”
“You don’t have to ask.”
“It’s only polite.” She smiled at him as he handed her the phone and she dialled the number and waited, her eyes darting around in expectation.
Simon finished his meal and flagged down a waiter who brought him another Tuborg, while Jess chatted to the children and then Keira. “We’re heading back tomorrow. I’ll call you when I get to Kathmandu. Bye.” She handed him the phone.
“Everything okay?”
“Usual chaos, but the adults seem to be bearing up under the strain.”
“And are you coping okay?”
“It was difficult at first. I mean, when Leila came back. I was used to the twins but Leila was only four when Mo took her, and getting her back after five years away, well, she was a very different little girl, and we’re both still coming to terms with it. And then no sooner is she back then I go off and leave her again.” Simon sighed.
“There you go again. Beating yourself up. I don’t think you came out here on a whim or because you fancied a bit of altitude sickness.”
“No. I didn’t. But I’m ready to get back.” Jess handed the remains of her beer to Simon. Part of her was reluctant to revisit the subject, but she felt she needed to know. “You didn’t tell me what happened after, you know, the business with Mo.”
“Do you want dessert?”
“Go on, Day-Glo custard and all. Better get my strength up for the trek.” He flagged down a waiter and mumbled something incoherent.
“Well, we regrouped back at the hotel. We didn’t have much confidence that Mo was telling the truth, but we were pretty certain that he’d have exchanged Leila for the money if he had her, and making up a story about Kayani and his driver on the spur of the moment wasn’t likely. It sounded plausible, but we didn’t have Mo anymore and frankly we weren’t sure whether we’d ever see him again.”
Jess nodded. It sounded like Mo had finally reaped what he had sown. She couldn’t help feeling some sadness, but reminding herself of all he had done to her and others, and what he had continued to do back in Pakistan, left little room for sympathy.
“But we did some checks on Kayani and quickly found out he was a big noise and, yes, indeed, he was resident in the UK. I went back to London to check it out and Jack stayed on in Karachi to keep his eye on the cab company. Faisal kept feeding him reports, but there was no sign of Mo, nor was there any sign of the bad guys in suits who’d been looking for him, so we figured it was a dead end. Faisal stayed on there for another couple of months and then we pulled him out.”
The waiter dumped two plates of the unprepossessing orange doughnut concoction and they looked at each other like two people about to jump into the unknown.
***
Rutherford walked purposefully along the pavement opposite the Kayani residence, passing innumerable cars parked in the residents’ bays along Tudor Avenue. He’d noticed the gates were closed, as usual, and there were always at least two cars in the driveway, meaning that the residents were coming and going, but so far he hadn’t seen any movement.
He didn’t stop. It would have looked suspicious, and he was sure that the cameras either side of the gate would pick up all movement within a wide arc, so he’d limited his viewings to one in the morning and one at night; a commuter going to and from work. After a week of no activity, he decided he’d have to find a more permanent place for a stakeout. The difficulty would be finding somewhere that was available to rent and afforded a good view of the house.
He’d already discovered the houses in and around the area started at five million pounds, so buying was clearly out of the question. Renting was also eye-wateringly expensive, and even if he could get clearance from Michael Goodman for the cost, the chances of a suitable place turning up in the near future were slim.
He’d been back in the UK for four months now and had got nowhere, and it bothered him. He still didn’t know for certain whether they even had the girl as Mo had claimed, and although there was the odd reference to Kayani in the press, there was no evidence that he had any family with him, let alone some daughter he had bought as a plaything for his wife. But Jack had no more information from his end, so they relied on the fact that Mo was not interested in Leila, had simply wanted their money, and if he had chosen to lie about her location, he would have picked somewhere far less ostentatious to lie about.
In the absence of a suitable property from which to conduct surveillance, he sat, as he did most days, in his small hire car, parked in a side street around the corner from the house, fake resident’s parking permit in the car window. He couldn’t see the gates, but would see any car coming in or out and, if going out, see which way it had headed. He had followed the Range Rover two or three times, but it always had four guys in it, one of them Kayani, and they’d usually gone into the City or to a West End restaurant. The Porsche too had gone out, making the occasional visit to Knightsbridge, and had been driven by an expensively dressed woman whom he took to be Mrs Kayani, always with a woman companion. There was never any sign of children.
At around 11 a.m. the nose of a black Mercedes S Class appeared, driven by a woman, this time with two men in the back. He let it go and within a minute or two the Range Rover edged out and turned left, with only the driver on board. Rutherford fired up the Focus and set off behind it.
He followed the Range Rover from three cars back, lost it twice at traffic lights and then picked it up again as it headed up Finchley Road and onto Hendon Way. It pulled into the Brent Cross Shopping Centre car park and parked in a disabled bay. The driver got out and walked towards the centre.
Rutherford found a space, parked and jumped out. He’d lost sight of the driver but had already clocked the shaved head, dark suit and the black and gold aviators, and thought it would be relatively easy to find him again. It took him only five minutes. He was sitting in the window of a Caffè Nero, coffee on the table in front of him next to a folded-up Daily Mail, studying his smartphone.
Rutherford went inside, bought an Americano and sat at a table twelve feet behind, from where he could watch but remain out of sight. He pulled out his own phone and flicked the screen with a thumb to make himself look busy. He strained his eyes to try and see what the guy was looking at but he was too far away to see anything clearly. After about ten minutes a young white guy turned up, leather jacket, jeans and trainers, a pink streak in his blonde, slicked-back hair, carefully crafted sideburns, moustache and goatee. Approaching the table, he smiled broadly and went to embrace the driver as he stood up, who then looked immediately uncomfortable and gestured to his friend to sit.
The young man was unperturbed, leaning forward, eyes wide and smiling, chatting animatedly, although he kept his voice low and Rutherford couldn’t hear anything. At one point he reached out and touched the back of the driver’s hand and there was a second’s hesitation before the driver drew his hand away and looked around nervously. The one-sided conversation carried on for another ten minutes or so until the driver looked at his watch, said something and the young guy sat back, smirking, doe-eyed. The driver stood up and put a hand on the young guy’s shoulder. He reached up and squeezed it, and the driver walked out of the coffee shop. Rutherford followed. Out in the car park, the driver approached the Range Rover and, following ten feet behind him, Rutherford decided it was time.
“Ahmed!” he called, and the driver turned. Bingo. He could see the driver eyeing him suspiciously as he approached, one hand on the door handle of the Range Rover. Rutherford put a hand up as if he were greeting a long-lost friend.
“Who the fuck are you?” said the driver, taking off his aviators. Rutherford maintained his smile, careful not to react to the implied threat.
“We’ve got a mutual friend, Ahmed.” He took another chance. “Mohammed Khalid?” Ahmed hesitated, just enough, a fraction of a second betraying the recognition. Bingo.
“Go fuck yourself.” He turned back to the Range Rover.
“Who’s your boyfriend?” Ahmed stopped and turned around slowly. Rutherford was still smiling, amicable, despite the aggression. “Must be really good working for someone as liberal-minded as Mr Kayani,” he said. He wanted to wink but thought that might be overdoing the irony. He pressed home his advantage. “I mean, back home, that sort of thing’s, you know, not really allowed, is it?”
He could see Ahmed weighing up the options. Could he take me out? Here? In a public place? We’re both big guys. Not likely.
“What do you want, fuckface?” Bullseye. Rutherford put his hands up.
“Hey, a friend of Mo’s is a friend of mine,” he said with mock sincerity. “He just wanted me to find out how Leila was.”
“Who?”
“Leila. His daughter. The one Mr and Mrs Kayani adopted?” He sounded earnest, keen to explain who he was talking about even though they both knew.
“Why?” No denial. Ker-ching.
“Because he’s concerned.”
“Well, you tell him not to be concerned. She’s fine.”
“Ah, well that’s good. I’m sure Mo will be very relieved. Well, nice to meet you. Ahmed,” he said, placing special emphasis on the name. Rutherford turned his back towards the shopping centre, hands in pockets. He heard the slam of a car door, the roar of the V8 and a squeal of tyres behind him.
***
Simon licked the spoon and put it back in the bowl with a flourish.
“Delicious!”
“So you knew she was there?”
“Ahmed pretty much confirmed it. But that was only one more box ticked. We guessed he wouldn’t say anything to Kayani, not now his little secret was out, but we had no idea how we were going to get at Leila. I just thought now we had a foot in the door, we could work out a way of prising it open.”
“Did you not think of going to the police? Telling them you had suspicions about an illegal adoption?” Simon gave her a look and she realised she was being naïve.
“Well, that wasn’t our brief. That was for others to decide, although I think it would have been a waste of time. But we knew we were looking in the right place. We just needed an opportunity. And two months later, we got one. I’d been sitting there for days without seeing anyone coming or going, when Jack called me.”
***
“They’re back! The Kayanis. They’re back in Islamabad.”
“Oh, great,” said Rutherford, cold, bored and thoroughly pissed off.
“No. It’s good, Si.”
“How?”
“Kayani’s come back to make a bid for prime minister. I saw him and his wife on the telly meeting the press and a small crowd at the airport. He said how pleased he and his family were to be back home again.” Rutherford was still confused.
“Why’s that good?”
“Think about it. We know exactly where she is now, and if we’re going to snatch her back, then it’s better we do it out here than in London.” Rutherford had to admit he hadn’t worked out how he was going to snatch Leila in the UK and get away with it.
“You make it sound so easy.”
“Yeah, well, at least it’s progress.”
“So where have they gone?”
“They’ve got a big place in Rawalpindi, beside the lake. That’s his official residence.”
“And how long are they going to be there?”
“Don’t know. But the election’s not for a couple of months, and if he wins, they’ll stay here for good.”
“And you think it’s going to be a doddle kidnapping the Pakistani prime minister’s daughter?” The phone went silent for a moment.
“Okay. I know it’s a long shot. One step at a time.”
“I’d better get back over there then.” Deep joy.
“As soon as you can. See you in Rawalpindi.”