The Bombmaker Read Free Page B

and lifted the corner of the tartan blanket.
    'Is she still out?' asked the driver.
    Katie lay on her back, snoring softly. 'Yeah. You think I should give her more chloroform?'
    'Nah. We're almost there.'
    'Do you think they'll have read the note yet?' He draped the blanket back over the child.
    The driver looked at the digital clock on the dashboard.
    'Maybe. They'll let the dog out first, then check on her.'
    The passenger settled back in his seat. 'I'm not sure about being so close to their house.'
    'Makes no odds,' said the driver. 'Here, the North, over the water -- they're not going to know where to look.'
    They drove in silence for a while. The passenger spoke first.
    'What if... you know? What if they don't do what they're supposed to?'
    The driver shrugged but didn't reply.
    'Would you . . . you know?'
    'Would I what?'
    The passenger made a gun with his forefinger and thumb.
    'Would you?'
    'It won't come to that. The threat'11 be enough.'
    'Are you sure of that?'
    The driver threw him a quick look. 'Are you having second thoughts, Mick?'
    'No, but ..."
    'There can't be any buts. Buts are what get people killed.
    We've been told what we've got to do and we do it.'
    Another silence, longer this time. Again, it was the passenger who spoke first. 'George?'
    'Aye?'
    'Have you ever . . .?' He made the gun with his hand again.
    'You know?'
    'You know I have,' said George McEvoy.
    'Nah, I mean a kid. Have you ever offed a kid?'
    McEvoy shrugged. 'Man, woman, kid. A life's a life, Mick.'
    Mick Canning nodded. He twisted around in his seat and lifted the blanket again. The little girl's mouth was wide open and a thin trickle of frothy dribble was running down her chin.
    Canning reached across and used a corner of the blanket to wipe the mess away.
    'Stop fiddling with her,' said McEvoy tersely. 'You don't want to get too attached.'
    Canning frowned and did as he was told.
    Andy opened her eyes and bunked. For a second or two she thought she'd been asleep, and then the horror of it all came rushing back and broke over her like an icy wave. Martin was dabbing at her forehead with a damp cloth. 'Easy, love, you had a nasty fall.' Andy tried to sit up, but as she did so her head swam and she felt consciousness slip away again. Martin helped her lie back on the sofa. 'Take it easy,' he said, pressing the cloth to the bridge of her nose.
    'What happened?' she asked.
    'You feinted.'
    Andy took several deep breaths, trying to gather her thoughts. She'd been in Katie's bedroom. The letter. Oh my God, the letter. She pushed Martin away and forced herself up.
    'The letter,' she whispered.
    'I've got it,' said Martin.
    Andy held out her hand. 'Give it to me.'
    Martin gave her the sheet of paper and she read it quickly,
    even though she could remember it word for word.
    ANDREA HAYES WE HAVE YOUR DAUGHTER. SHE WILL NOT BE HARMED IF YOU DO EXACTLY AS WE SAY. YOU ARE TO TAKE FLIGHT EI172 TO LONDON TOMORROW. A ROOM HAS BEEN BOOKED IN YOUR NAME AT THE STRAND PALACE HOTEL. WAIT THERE FOR FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS. IF YOU CONTACT THE POLICE YOU WILL NEVER SEE YOUR DAUGHTER AGAIN. YOUR HUSBAND IS TO CARRY ON HIS NORMAL ROUTINE. YOU WILL BOTH BE WATCHED. IF WE BELIEVE 15 STEPHEN LEATHER YOU HAVE CONTACTED THE POUCE YOUR DAUGHTER WILL DIE.
    Andy blinked away tears. 'Why?' she asked. 'Why us?'
    Martin took the letter from her. It was typed, all capital letters. It looked as if it had been done on a laser printer. The same typeface was on the envelope. Just two words there.
    ANDREA HAYES.
    Martin read the letter again. 'It doesn't say how much,' he said.
    'What?'
    'It doesn't say how much they want us to pay.' Martin ran his hand through his hair, frowning. 'What sort of ransom demand doesn't mention money?'
    'Maybe they'll phone,' said Andy.
    'But then why do they want you to go to London? Our money's here, in Ireland. Everything we own is here. If they want paying in London we'd have to fly over with the money.
    This doesn't make sense.'
    'Sense? Why