Private London (Private 4)

‘Keep me posted. And tell her to dig into a meatball by the name of Ashleigh Roughton while she’s down there. Captain of the rugby team. Make him a priority.’

‘On it!’ She snatched up the phone.

Maybe we’d make a field agent out of her yet. I walked across the office to the water cooler, pulled a cup out of the dispenser and poured myself some.

Sipping on the water, I strolled over to Adrian Tuttle’s workstation. He had three computers on it, a big Apple cinema display screen and two laptops. The footage of Hannah bound and reading the message that her captors had given her was freeze-framed. Adrian looked up from the laptop he was working on as I approached.

‘You got any good news for me, Adrian?’ I asked.

He shook his head apologetically. ‘The email address is a hotmail account, as you know. Use it and lose it kind of thing.’

‘And the YouTube account?’

‘Linked to that address. I’m trying to get the computer signature but I’m not having any luck.’

‘YouTube won’t release it?’

‘Not short of a warrant. And the original film has been taken down.’

‘You can’t trace the ISP remotely?’

Adrian shook his head. ‘Sponge might have been able to but …’ He shrugged. ‘Outside of my pay grade.’

I nodded. Nothing I didn’t expect. ‘Keep on it.’

The phone rang. Lucy answered it and waved me across.

‘It’s them,’ she said.

‘Put it through to my office, Lucy, I’ll take it there.’

I gestured to Sam to follow me and headed into my office. As Sam closed the door behind me I hit my speakerphone button.

‘It’s Dan Carter. Talk to me.’

‘There’s a trade on the table if you’re interested.’

‘Of course we’re interested.’

‘Good. Ten o’clock tomorrow morning. Parliament Square. There is a statue of Sir Robert Peel on the south-west corner of it.’

‘I know it.’

‘Good again. Be there then. Be alone. And have one million pounds’ worth of cut diamonds with you.’

I looked at my watch. ‘That might be tricky to arrange in time.’

‘Your problem, not mine. And make sure they are perfect. No flaws. After all … neither of us want to be left with damaged goods when this trade is completed, do we?’

‘No,’ I said. Picturing Hannah Shapiro dressed in her underwear, terrified. I gripped the phone tighter.

‘Then we have an understanding?’

‘I’ll be there,’ I agreed.

‘Any …’ there was a slight hesitation ‘… woodentops, as you call them, show up … and it’s on your head, Mister Carter. Don’t let her down. She’s counting on you.’

‘I want to hear her voice.’