Raul's Revenge

ck. Someone somewhere might see it and recognise the photograph of James and know where he was. Or even the kidnapper might see the broadcast and, recognising the extent of Penny's suffering, restore the child un­harmed. Anything was possible!

The tall dark man glanced uninterestedly around the familiar room and headed straight for the bar. Dropping a black hide briefcase on the floor, he poured himself a large whisky and, glass in hand, crossed to the sofa and collapsed on it.

He took a long swallow of the amber liquid and, with his other hand, idly picked up the television remote control from the sofa table and pressed it on. He watched the flickering images on the screen without really paying much attention, tired from the early-morning flight from Spain.

Suddenly he jerked upright, instantly alert, his hand increasing the volume on the television. The announcer had mentioned the name Penelope Gold... He saw a picture of a chubby, dark, curly-haired, brown-eyed baby boy, sitting on his mother's knee and laughing up at the beautiful, flaxen-haired woman. He drained the whisky in one swallow, his hand tightening involuntarily around the glass as the voice continued.

'The abduction of James, a sixteen-month-old baby boy, from a Cornish medical centre yesterday afternoon has shocked the whole nation. The police have issued the following identikit picture of the bogus nurse thought responsible for the kidnapping, in the hope that someone somewhere might have seen or have information that will lead to the return of Baby James to his distraught mother.

‘There will now follow a short interview and a per­sonal appeal for the baby's return by Miss Penelope Gold, the mother of Baby James.'

The female interviewer was all sympathy. ‘I believe, Penelope, you are an orphan and a single parent. James s the only family you have. Is that correct?'

'Yes, James is everything to me, and I beg whoever has taken him to please, please be kind to him and please rive him back to me. We have never been apart for a single night since he was born. Please, I beg whoever has taken him, whatever agony you have suffered to make you do something like this, please give James back. He is my life.'

The panic, the pain in the woman's impassioned plea was heart-wrenching, and to the shocked horror of the man watching the television the interviewer took full ad­vantage of her distress.

'I know it's hard for you, Penelope, but I have to ask you this. Statistically, the police say, in most such cases the father is behind the kidnapping. Can you be absol­utely sure that does not apply with James?'

'James does not have a father; he only has me...' And with rising hysteria evident in her voice she continued, 'He never had a father.' She was shivering, her arms folded defensively over her chest, lost in misery and fear for her child. 'No, no, no, there is no father, I tell you. Only me. A woman stole my baby, my James...' And the recording ended with a small, ginger-haired woman walking into shot and putting her arm around the sobbing Penelope Gold.

The image on the screen vanished as the man clenched his hands. The sound of shattering glass echoed in the sudden silence of the room. The man didn't notice the blood oozing between his fingers. He was numb, frozen in disbelief...

A long while later he rose to his feet and crossed to the telephone. A casual observer would have seen that his saturnine features were set in an impenetrable mask, betraying not a flicker of emotion as he dialled a number and cancelled his appointments for the next few days. But, to a more discerning observer, looking into the dark eyes would have been like looking into the depths of hell itself. The red-hot fury, the monumental rage, was im­possible to disguise.

'Penny. Penny.'

Someone was shaking her shoulder; she tried to open her eyes but they felt as if they were glued shut.

'James—they've found him.'

She heard the voice through a drug-induced daze, but at the mention of her son's name she battled through muffled layers of consciousness and finally opened her eyes. Amy was at the bedside, her small face lit up like a Christmas tree, her red hair standing out as though she had had an electric shock.

'Did you hear me, Penny? That was the police on the phone. James is safe...'

Penny dragged herself up the bed, great big tears rolling silently down her hollow cheeks. 'James—they've found him.' Her heart expanded in her chest till she thought it would burst; she grabbed Amy's hand.

'Where? Where is he? Is he well? You're sure?' The words tumbled out as she forced her legs over the side of the bed and tried to stand. She silently cursed the doctor who, after her breakdown during the television interview, had given her an injection that had knocked her out. She shook her head to try and clear her mind. 'Please, Amy, where is he? I must go to him.' And, struggling to her feet, she swayed slightly.

'Steady, pet,' Amy said, grinning from ear to ear, and placing an arm around Penny's waist, she led her to­wards the bathroom, talking all the time.

'Your television appearance did the trick. Apparently the woman who took James did it on the spur of the moment. She actually was a nurse, but not at that hos­pital. Tragically her child died of leukaemia three months ago in the same hospital.

'She was wandering around, simply because it was the last place she had seen her child alive, when she saw you and James.

'Her husband works night-shifts and knew nothing about it. On returning from work this morning he went straight to bed. He got up at lunch time and turned on the television to watch the news, and then strolled into the kitchen, expecting his wife to be at work. Instead be found her in the kitchen with James. He immediately rang the police.'

'Oh, Amy.' Penny turned into her friend's arms and they hugged each other for a long moment, too overcome with emotion to speak but both crying tears of joy. V

'One more shot, please, Penny,' a dozen different voices shouted.

Penny was too happy to argue. Hugging James in her arms, her smile as wide as the Pacific Ocean, she posed for the assembled photographers, her eyes glistening with tears of joy and relief.

'It's all right, baby,' she murmured, nuzzling the dark, silky curls on her son's head, and he responded by chortling and grabbing her loosely pinned hair in a tiny fist. Pulling hard, he dislodged the pale silk mass which fell around her shoulders.

Penny laughed out loud with delight and, squeezing James to her breast, said, 'Thank you,' to the reporters and turned to go back into the shop. An involuntary shiver shuddered through her and she hesitated at the door, glancing warily back over her shoulder.

But James had caught sight of Amy in the store and wriggled to be put down, saying, 'Auntie Amy.' So Penny did not notice the long black Jaguar parked on the op­posite side of the village square, or the stony-faced man sitting behind the wheel. If she had she might not have dismissed her flash of foreboding as nothing more than someone walking over her grave.