Deadline

didn't acknowledge it. Instead, he stared at a fixed point high on the ceiling, his jaw set hard.

There was a click at the other end of the phone, and then the familiar disguised voice came on the line.

'Do you have the money yet, Mrs Devern?'

'Yes.' Delivered firmly.

'Good. And have you spoken to the police?'

'No.' Delivered just as firmly.

'We have someone with your daughter. He has instructions to kill her at ten p.m. exactly if he hasn't heard from us, so I would advise you strongly to do the right thing this time.'

Bolt flinched at his words, and for a moment Andrea appeared unsteady on her feet; then she began to speak confidently into the phone.

'I told you, I haven't,' she said. 'I just want to get this thing over with.'

'Good. You have sat-nav in your car, don't you?'

'Yes.'

'Munroe Drive in N7 is a six-minute drive away from you in normal traffic. You've got four minutes to get there or the deal's off. Drive to the end and await my call.'

'But—'

The line went dead. Andrea let the receiver drop to the floor.

'Jesus, where are my keys? I've only got four minutes.'

'Don't panic, Andrea,' Bolt told her sharply. 'He's bluffing. Remember, he wants the money. Just stay calm and get to Munroe Drive as soon as you can.' He looked at Turner. 'Trace?'

'Mobile, north London. That's all I've got. If he's following the same MO as yesterday, he'll have switched the phone off by now.'

But Bolt was no longer listening. Pressing his mobile to his ear, he put a call in to Barry in the control room. 'It's on,' was all he said. Then, as he followed Andrea out of the room, he called the surveillance team leader outside.

'It's clear,' came the reply.

'We're on the move,' Bolt told him.

'Good luck.'

I'm going to need more than that, Bolt thought as he hung up. But for the first time in over twenty-four hours he felt better. He was taking charge of a well-rehearsed operation. The stakes were higher than he'd ever known, but at least it was now up to him.

'The mobile he called on was a different one from yesterday,' said Turner, coming out of the study, 'and it is already switched off. Somewhere in N17, not far from yesterday's.'

'Good work, Matt.'

'I want to come with you.'

Bolt looked at him.

'Please, boss. I don't want to stay here.'

There was no time to argue.

'All right, you can come with me and Mo.'

Bolt grabbed the holdall containing the money, and once Andrea had retrieved her keys from the kitchen, they left the house together. The money was heavy and he struggled to keep up with her as she ran down the street to her car. He pulled open the door and dropped it into the passenger seat as Andrea switched on the engine and hurriedly fed Munroe Drive N7 into her sat-nav. She looked terrified, but focused. He wished her luck but she didn't even glance his way. Instead she leaned over, shut his door and pulled away from the kerb.

One minute had passed.

'I'll drive,' Bolt announced, jumping in the Jag with Mo and Turner.

He shoved in his earpiece, switched on the loop mike he was wearing round his neck, and then they were away, doing a rapid three-point turn in the middle of the street. A middle-aged couple walking arm in arm stopped and watched them curiously. Lucky sods, Bolt thought. Not a care in the world.

There were five surveillance cars and two motorbikes involved in the convoy. As with all surveillance ops, they would switch position constantly so that no one vehicle stood out, just in case the kidnappers had decided to tail Andrea themselves. All communication would now be done by radio, using call signs, so that every person involved could hear what was being said and be able to act accordingly.

Bolt got into position behind a Toyota Auris with Tina Boyd and Kris Obanje inside.

'I think our targets are getting paranoid,' said Mo. 'Munroe Drive's a dead end.'

'Shit. They're obviously checking for tails. We're going to have to be very, very careful here.'

He turned right out of Andrea's road, pulled over while another of the surveillance cars overtook him, then accelerated, his fingers drumming on the wheel as the tension coursed through him. He looked at his watch.

Two minutes.