Private London (Private 4)

‘Thanks, Sci.’

‘De nada. We’re here twenty-four seven till we get the scientist home.’

A monkey scampered into view and jumped onto his lap. He patted its head affectionately.

He clicked on the keyboard and the screen went blank again. That’s another thing about the Americans that I like. They just hang up on you. No need for goodbyes. There’s a job to be done. Get on with it.

I pulled up the data he had sent. Mary Angela certainly was a striking woman.

‘“Sister of her heart”, Mary Angela said. Her brother was Annabelle’s heart. It was him she loved.’

I scrolled through the data on the screen. ‘The delegation’s based in Hampstead.’

‘Is it an embassy?’ asked Sam.

I shook my head. ‘Kind of. But Palestine isn’t an independent state. So it has the same kind of functions but without any real clout. It basically represents the interests of the PLO and the PNA.’

‘No diplomatic immunity,’ said Del Rio, getting to the heart of the matter.

‘So what do we do?’ asked Suzy.

I scrolled through the data. ‘Mary Angela’s husband – Youssef Saad Al-Massri – he’s a translator working for the delegation.’

‘Translator?’

‘Officially, anyway. Who knows? Could be Hamas.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Del Rio.

‘Go on,’ I prompted him.

‘The way this whole thing has been conducted. Opportunistic. Reactive. Shifting goalposts as the situation changed.’

‘Yes?’

‘If Hamas are behind this or Palestine Islamic Jihad, or the Al-Aqsa Martyrs’ Brigade or any of those other groups – then do you really think Hannah would still be sitting here?’ said Del Rio.

I looked across at Hannah, still shell-shocked, closed in on herself, her arms wrapped around her body, and realised that Del Rio had a point. She’d never have been found. Certainly not alive.

‘So we’re not dealing with one of the mainstream outfits?’

Del Rio shook his head.

‘Which is good, right?’ asked Lucy, speaking for the first time.

I looked at her and forced a half-smile, remembering what had happened when freelancers operating out of their area of expertise had kidnapped the girl and her mother before, and lied.

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘It’s good.’

Maybe it was. Maybe there was still time.

I turned back to the monitor and scrolled through the data. ‘Mary Angela’s husband lives out of the city.’

‘Where?’

‘Moor Park. West of London – a small estate between Northwood and Rickmansworth. One of the richest concentrations of real estate in the country.’ The translation game clearly paid more than I would have guessed. ‘They don’t know we’re onto them yet. But they must be figuring it’s a matter of time so I suggest we take the house in Moor Park.’

‘What about the delegation building?’ asked Sam.