Torabi ignored the question. He was still pointing the gun at Kite, although his forearm was now shaking very slightly. Kite knew that his best chance was still to get both of them off the ship. It was too risky to try to overpower him.
‘We should move if you want to see your father,’ he said. ‘Somebody will have heard the gunshots. The police will be here at any moment. I’ll be dead, you’ll be arrested, and you’ll never get what you want. No answers, no contact.’
‘Maybe,’ Torabi replied.
‘I’m offering you a trade. My wife’s life and the life of my child for your freedom and a chance to see your father again.’
To Kite’s surprise, Torabi lowered the gun. ‘You know where he lives?’ he asked. ‘You know his address?’
‘I went to see him eight months ago. He lives in Marble Arch. That’s all I’m going to tell you.’ Torabi was never going to get the closure he craved. Kite’s lies would see to that. ‘No address, no details,’ he said. ‘We go together or we don’t go at all.’
‘How can I trust you? As soon as we step through the door, I will be arrested.’
‘Not if I tell them to leave you alone. Not if you contact Hossein and call off your dogs. I have that power. You know I do.’
Torabi beckoned Kite to his feet. He looked like a pharaoh bestowing forgiveness on an errant subject. As he stood up, Kite had a sudden flash memory of the bullet hitting Billy Peele in the chest. He saw the flower stall burst open, heard the children crying in the square. He briefly closed his eyes, remembering the long sickness of his grief.
‘Do we have a deal?’ he asked.
Inhaling deeply, as if suppressing the last of his doubts, Torabi appeared to calculate that his chances of survival were strong.
‘We have a deal,’ he replied, powerless to resist Kite’s inducement. He looked at his bloodstained clothes. ‘You will need to change your shirt,’ he said. ‘I have one inside. Then you’ll take me to him. If we reach my father’s house unharmed, I will call off Hossein.’
59
The chopper carrying Jason, Cara and two of the Special Forces soldiers had taken off from a field a quarter of a mile from the cottage. Rita had insisted on taking Isobel to hospital, telling Cara to do as she was instructed by Jason and not to get in his way. It was the first time that Cara had flown in a helicopter, weightless in the air with an electrifying, God’s-eye view of London. The chopper was over Greenwich within half an hour and they landed at City Airport soon after. Three cars were waiting for them on the tarmac. Less than fifteen minutes after touching down, Cara was in Canary Wharf.
It had been agreed that they would split into four. KAISER, now in civilian clothes and carrying only a small firearm, was to be dropped off at Millwall Outer Dock, the body of water closest to Spindrift Avenue. There were five vessels moored on the dock, three of which were believed to be possible locations for Kite. Jason, also out of battle rig, was to take West India Docks, closer to the centre of Canary Wharf, where seven boats had been identified. One of them was a multimillion-dollar superyacht belonging to a Lebanese industrialist which was available for private hire; Cara had suggested it might have been chartered by the Iranians. Jason instructed STONES to sweep West India Quay, the area immediately to the west of Billingsgate Market where other possible vessels had been identified.
‘What about me?’ Cara asked.
‘We can use your eyes,’ Jason replied, equipping her with an earpiece that linked her on comms to the rest of the team. ‘Take Heron Quays, make your way east towards me. You see anything, you holler.’
‘Right.’
‘Ever fired one of these?’
He held up a pistol. Cara almost laughed.
‘Fuck no,’ she said. ‘Only on a staff bonding weekend.’
‘But you know how they work, right? Safety catch, trigger, a bullet flies out one end and hits the other person?’
Cara wondered if he was flirting with her.
‘You Americans and your guns,’ she joked, slipping the weapon into her coat. ‘Fine. How many shots do I have?’
‘Enough to take out a couple of hedge-fund managers if you have any left over,’ Jason replied. ‘Just don’t shoot anywhere close to Lockie.’
They dropped her at a roundabout at the western edge of Heron Quays. From there, Cara made her way east, following the route of the Docklands Light Railway. She saw only three boats, none of which struck her as plausible locations for Kite. The first two were houseboats with hipsters on deck eating organic crisps and necking craft lager; the third was a ‘party boat’ hosting a corporate shindig. Music was booming out into the night and there were disco lights flashing in the windows.
She passed a Hilton hotel, heading for a small area beside South Quay station where satellite imaging had identified three possible vessels docked on either side of a narrow harbour. Jason was in her ear telling STONES and KAISER that the Lebanese superyacht was ‘a dead end’. KAISER said he was going to take a look at a large ship moored opposite a branch of Burger & Lobster in West India Quay.
Cara had reached the entrance to the station and crossed the road when her phone rang. She looked down and saw that Vosse was trying to reach her. She picked up, mentally preparing herself for a blast of invective.
‘Sir?’ she said tentatively.
That was when she saw Lachlan Kite.
60
Torabi had led Kite to
