Private Royals (Private 12.50)

He glanced at his watch – twenty seconds until the police arrived.

He frisked Waldron’s body, coming away with nothing.

The Range Rover’s horn blared.

‘They’re fifteen seconds away!’ he heard Cook call.

Time was up. Taking the blade and the bag, Morgan sprinted to the Range Rover, throwing himself into the passenger seat as Cook jumped onto the accelerator pedal.

The car roared away, leaving the carnage of the scene to the arriving sirens of the Metropolitan Police.

CHAPTER 38

‘SEE ANYONE FOLLOW us?’ Morgan asked. Cook shook her head. ‘OK. Pull over,’ he instructed.

She took the Range Rover to the kerb.

‘What about Knight?’ she asked.

‘We’ll find him,’ Morgan promised. He opened up the rucksack he’d taken from Waldron’s truck and peered inside.

‘What’s in it?’ she asked.

‘A disposal kit,’ he answered. ‘Hacksaw. Plastic sheeting. A hammer.’

‘Jesus.’ Cook shook her head. ‘You find anything on his body?’

‘Nothing. No wallet. No ID.’

‘Maybe the other kidnapper cleaned up. Took them with them.’

‘Maybe,’ Morgan allowed. ‘But I didn’t really expect to find anything. He was Recon. He’d know to go out into the field sterile.’

‘That may be,’ Cook thought aloud, ‘but you don’t get into Trooping the Colour without a ticket and ID.’

‘I don’t think he was going,’ Morgan explained. ‘The way he was dressed – scruffy jeans and a T-shirt – he would have drawn attention at the event.’

‘Then why say that? Why make those threats about Abbie?’

‘Misdirection. Trooping the Colour had been the Duke and Wilkinson’s plan. They would have been able to get Abbie in and release her. But you and I saw how tight the security was to get in there. Why would real kidnappers risk it?’

‘To prove a point?’

‘This was about money, not politics.’

‘God, you’re right,’ Cook realised, crestfallen. ‘Then the other kidnapper could be taking Peter and Abbie anywhere. Our only hope is that Waldron’s partner tries one more time to make the demand.’

‘He won’t.’ Morgan shook his head. ‘They were quick to kill before, just to prove a point. He won’t have any second thoughts about doing it now to clean up. I mean they killed the bodyguard before they’d even …’ He fell silent, his eyes growing wide.

‘What?’ Cook asked, looking at Morgan.

‘We’ve been working on assumptions, Jane,’ he told her. ‘We assumed the threat to kill Abbie and make it public at the parade was real. That was wrong. What else have we assumed?’

Cook had no answer.

Morgan hit speed dial. ‘Hooligan. Bring up the dead bodyguard’s records.’

‘Done,’ came the Londoner’s swift reply.