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  'I told you, I haven't,' she said. 'I just want to get this thing over with.'

  'Good. You have sat-nav in your car, don't you?'

  'Yes.'

  'Munroe Drive in N7 is a six-minute drive away from you in normal traffic. You've got four minutes to get there or the deal's off. Drive to the end and await my call.'

  'But—'

  The line went dead. Andrea let the receiver drop to the floor.

  'Jesus, where are my keys? I've only got four minutes.'

  'Don't panic, Andrea,' Bolt told her sharply. 'He's bluffing. Remember, he wants the money. Just stay calm and get to Munroe Drive as soon as you can.' He looked at Turner. 'Trace?'

  'Mobile, north London. That's all I've got. If he's following the same MO as yesterday, he'll have switched the phone off by now.'

  But Bolt was no longer listening. Pressing his mobile to his ear, he put a call in to Barry in the control room. 'It's on,' was all he said. Then, as he followed Andrea out of the room, he called the surveillance team leader outside.

  'It's clear,' came the reply.

  'We're on the move,' Bolt told him.

  'Good luck.'

  I'm going to need more than that, Bolt thought as he hung up. But for the first time in over twenty-four hours he felt better. He was taking charge of a well-rehearsed operation. The stakes were higher than he'd ever known, but at least it was now up to him.

  'The mobile he called on was a different one from yesterday,' said Turner, coming out of the study, 'and it is already switched off. Somewhere in N17, not far from yesterday's.'

  'Good work, Matt.'

  'I want to come with you.'

  Bolt looked at him.

  'Please, boss. I don't want to stay here.'

  There was no time to argue.

  'All right, you can come with me and Mo.'

  Bolt grabbed the holdall containing the money, and once Andrea had retrieved her keys from the kitchen, they left the house together. The money was heavy and he struggled to keep up with her as she ran down the street to her car. He pulled open the door and dropped it into the passenger seat as Andrea switched on the engine and hurriedly fed Munroe Drive N7 into her sat-nav. She looked terrified, but focused. He wished her luck but she didn't even glance his way. Instead she leaned over, shut his door and pulled away from the kerb.

  One minute had passed.

  'I'll drive,' Bolt announced, jumping in the Jag with Mo and Turner.

  He shoved in his earpiece, switched on the loop mike he was wearing round his neck, and then they were away, doing a rapid three-point turn in the middle of the street. A middle-aged couple walking arm in arm stopped and watched them curiously. Lucky sods, Bolt thought. Not a care in the world.

  There were five surveillance cars and two motorbikes involved in the convoy. As with all surveillance ops, they would switch position constantly so that no one vehicle stood out, just in case the kidnappers had decided to tail Andrea themselves. All communication would now be done by radio, using call signs, so that every person involved could hear what was being said and be able to act accordingly.

  Bolt got into position behind a Toyota Auris with Tina Boyd and Kris Obanje inside.

  'I think our targets are getting paranoid,' said Mo. 'Munroe Drive's a dead end.'

  'Shit. They're obviously checking for tails. We're going to have to be very, very careful here.'

  He turned right out of Andrea's road, pulled over while another of the surveillance cars overtook him, then accelerated, his fingers drumming on the wheel as the tension coursed through him. He looked at his watch.

  Two minutes.

  They turned again, this time on to the Finchley Road, heading north in the direction of the North Circular. Traffic was steady rather than heavy and one of the surveillance bikes roared past them, disappearing into the distance and tucking in behind Andrea's Mercedes, which was fifty yards ahead and weaving in and out of the lanes, moving fast. The surveillance vehicles would be travelling both behind and in front of her, so she could be kept under the eyeball at all times, but her speed and the erratic nature of her driving were making it difficult for them.

  Bolt leaned against the window looking skywards, hoping that Barry was being true to his word and keeping the helicopter back and out of sight. Even in a sprawling city like London, where helicopters are a common sight, it would stick out a mile to the kidnappers. But today the sky was clear.

  Three minutes.

  Up ahead, the lights went amber. Andrea accelerated through them, just as they went red, the surveillance bike going through just behind her. The two cars in front of Bolt stopped, giving him no choice but to do the same. He cursed, and his finger-tapping on the seat intensified as he counted the seconds in his head as Andrea's car disappeared from sight.

  One, two, three . . . thirteen, fourteen, fifteen . . . twenty-two, twenty-three . . .

  'Come on, come on,' he hissed.

  As the lights turned green again, there was a crackle of static in Bolt's earpiece and a voice came on the line amid a lot of background noise.

  'Bike two to all cars, target has just turned into Clearland Road, leading to Munroe Drive. Am taking the next road along, Boothby Avenue. Have lost eyeball.'

  Tina's voice broke in. 'Car two to bike two, we're thirty seconds behind. Will turn into Clearland and take the eyeball.'

  Four minutes.

  Bolt accelerated, cutting inside to overtake the two cars in front before pulling back into the outside lane. He was making up ground fast but they were still way behind.

  And then from inside their car they heard the sound of Andrea's mobile ringing, the mike on her blouse picking it up. They heard her say 'hello' and then the kidnapper's voice came on the line, faint but audible.

  'Where are you?' he demanded, the voice warped by the suppressor.

  'I'm just turning into Munroe Drive now.'

  'Drive to the end. Stop outside number twenty on the left. There's a green Renault Scenic parked directly outside. In the driver's-side wheel arch, on top of the tyre, is a package. Pick it up and leave this phone in its place, making sure you switch it off. Then get back in your car and open the package. There'll be two items inside, one of which is another mobile phone. Turn it on, and you'll be called on it with further instructions. In the meantime, drive up to the North Circular and turn right, heading east.'

  The line went dead.

  'Christ, these guys aren't taking any chances, are they?' said Turner in the back.

  Bolt shook his head angrily. 'The bastards know something. They must do.'

  'How?' asked Mo. 'We've kept everything under wraps.'

  'God knows. But they know. I'm sure of it.'

  Tina's voice came over the airwaves, interrupting them. 'Car two to all cars. Target has stopped near bottom of Munroe Drive. She's picked up the package, and she's getting back in. She's turning round and coming back up Munroe Drive. Now turning left and heading back towards Finchley Road.'

  'We'll take the eyeball,' said Bolt as he pulled over just before the entrance to Clearland Road, waiting for Andrea's Mercedes to emerge.

  Seconds later, she pulled out of the junction, heading north, her driving even more erratic than it had been earlier.

  'Car one to all cars,' announced Bolt, 'we're following the target north on Finchley Road, three cars back. She's driving fast. I can't get a good view, but it looks like she's on the phone. Her mike's not picking anything up so she can't be speaking.'

  'Shit,' cursed Mo. 'What the hell's she doing?'

  'Oh no,' said Bolt.

  Barry's voice came over the radio, urgent. 'What's going on?'

  'Target is opening the window and throwing something out.'

  'That's her mike,' yelled Barry. 'And the tracker she's wearing.'

  'She's just chucked something else out,' said Mo.

  'I know!' Barry yelled. He sounded almost apoplectic now. 'It's the bloody trackers in the bag lining. How's she finding these things, and what
on earth does she think she's doing?'

  It was Bolt who answered the question. 'That package she just picked up. It doesn't just contain a phone, there's a bug finder in there as well. The bastards know we're on to them. That's what's happening.'

  He couldn't believe it. The kidnappers had been tipped off. But by whom?

  Forty-one

  Andrea hit the North Circular at exactly 6.26 p.m. and proceeded east, driving fast. No longer able to hear what she was saying, the surveillance cars simply had to do their best to keep up, throwing all hopes of remaining inconspicuous out of the window. Not that that was such a priority now that it was obvious the kidnappers were assuming the police were involved.

  In the control room, Big Barry Freud sounded as if he was fighting a losing battle to stay calm. As he sat grim-faced at the wheel of his car, conscious for the first time of the helicopter overhead, Bolt knew how he was feeling. This was no longer a surveillance job, it was a chase, and once again he cursed Andrea. He knew the kidnappers were telling her to get rid of anything which made it possible to trace the money, and knew too that they'd be lacing their instructions with murderous threats to ensure her obedience. Alone in the car with only her thoughts and fears for company, it would have been incredibly difficult for her to say no, but the fact remained, cold and hard, that her actions could also be costing her any chance of seeing Emma alive again. These guys were frighteningly ahead of the game. They were doing everything to make sure they got this money while at the same time minimizing their risk of getting caught. It would be a simple matter to put a knife through Emma's heart when they'd finished with her, just like they'd done to Andrea's cleaner. Bolt cursed himself, too, for going through with this charade. They should have gone the negotiation route from the start, laid their cards on the table, used trained people to get her back, instead of trying to come up with a sexy, headline-grabbing success story that was in danger of falling apart only minutes after it had started.

  For twenty-four minutes Andrea drove along the North Circular. Traffic was busy but moving both ways, and though she continued to weave between lanes, there was never any danger that they were going to lose her. At 6.50, she turned on to the A10 going south, taking advantage of the lighter traffic to speed up.

  'I can't understand why she's not trying to get rid of the trackers in the ransom money,' said Mo as they accelerated after her. 'They've obviously told her to remove anything that could trace them, and she seems to be cooperating.'

  'Maybe she hasn't had a chance to look for them while she's driving,' answered Bolt.

  'Or maybe she's only pretending to cooperate,' suggested Turner.

  Bolt shook his head. 'No, she's definitely doing what they're telling her.' He took a deep breath. 'They're planning something,' he added quietly. 'God knows what. But they're planning something.'

  Ten minutes later, Andrea turned again, this time into Lordship Lane, heading east into Tottenham. Then a strange thing happened. She slowed right down, managing barely fifteen miles per hour in the nearside lane. By this time Bolt and Mo were only twenty yards behind her.

  'Car one to control,' said Bolt as he stared straight ahead.

  Barry came back in the earpiece. 'Control receiving. What is it, car one?'

  'Target driving very slowly. Now down to approximately fifteen miles an hour. Still looks to be on the phone. What do you want us to do? Over.'

  'Stay behind her, car one. Just stay behind her. Important thing is not to lose her. Over.'

  'Don't worry, there's no chance of that. We're more likely to crash into the back of her. Over.'

  They were coming up to the junction with Tottenham High Road. Andrea slowed down still further and the lights went red.

  Bolt stared out of the windscreen. To his right were Tina and Kris Obanje in the Toyota, while one of the motorbike outriders was flanking them. He couldn't see the helicopter any more but knew it wouldn't be far away. There was no way Andrea was going to get out of their sight, so he couldn't see how the kidnappers would be able to pull off getting hold of the money without being spotted. Yet these guys were pros. So far they hadn't made a single slip-up. They had something up their sleeves. He was sure of it.

  The lights seemed to stay red for a long time. Bolt desperately wanted to get out of the car, walk up to Andrea's Mercedes and ask her what the hell she thought she was doing, but he knew it would do no good. If they aborted the ransom drop now, their hopes of getting Emma back alive would diminish still further. They simply had to follow her.

  He tried to second-guess the kidnappers. Clearly they suspected something was up. They'd originally tried to get Andrea to outrun the police, but had now changed tack, getting her to slow right down. Why? They were waiting for something. But what?

  And then it hit him. 'Shit.'

  Mo turned to him. 'What?'

  'Are Tottenham playing today?'

  The lights ahead went green, and the cars started pulling away.

  'I'm not sure. I haven't had the time to check. You don't think—'

  'Christ, they are,' said Turner, leaning forward between the front seats. 'Five fifteen kick-off.'

  Bolt smacked the steering wheel. 'So they'll be finishing up about now. I bet the final whistle's just gone. It makes perfect sense.'

  Before he had a chance to say another word, Barry's voice came over the airwaves, his tone frantic, his words immediately confirming Bolt's suspicions.

  'Control to all cars, we have a situation. Football fans beginning to exit White Hart Lane on to Tottenham High Road in large numbers due north of target. This could be possible location for ransom exchange.'

  Bolt felt a shot of adrenalin go through him. Possible location? It was damn near inevitable.

  'Give me current target location.'

  'Car one to control, she's turning left into Tottenham High Road, and she's accelerating fast.'

  'Keep her in sight!' Barry howled. 'All cars, keep her and the money in sight! Over.'

  But Andrea wasn't stopping for anyone. She weaved between the two lanes, driving like crazy, even though the traffic was slowing in front of her as, up ahead, a wave of close to forty thousand white-shirted football fans poured on to the street.

  Bolt cursed loudly as they tried to keep pace, squeezing between two cars in a manoeuvre that smacked both wing mirrors out of position, and accelerating through the gap. Andrea's initial burst of pace had put thirty yards between them. No more than a hundred and sixty yards in front of them mounted police were in the road, stopping the traffic as the road became a sea of white. Already fans were crowding the pavements, coming towards them on both sides of the road, their raucous shouts filling the air.

  Andrea suddenly pulled up on the kerb and stopped. A second later she was out of the car, the phone no longer to her ear. She ran round to the passenger door, pulled out the holdall, heaved it over her shoulder and started walking as fast as she could manage under its weight.

  Bolt's earpiece was suddenly filled with every surveillance car and bike trying to talk.

  'Car three to all cars, she's on the move. What do you want us to do? Over.'

  'Bike one to control, I'm ten yards behind her vehicle. I have the eyeball. Do you want me to intercept? Over.'

  'Control to bike one, does she have the bag? Over.'

  'Yes, she has it. Over.'

  'Shit. The money trackers say the damn thing's still in the car. The stupid bitch has removed them too. Control to all vehicles, follow on foot. Now. Do not lose her. Or the bag. Go! Go! Go!'

  Bolt, Mo and Turner were out of the car like a shot, leaving it in the middle of the road as they ran to where Andrea was already being swallowed up by the advancing crowd. Bike one was ahead of them, pulling off his helmet as he ran, but Bolt was faster, overtaking him and dodging through the fans, his gaze fixed firmly on the back of Andrea's head.

  Only fifteen yards and closing.

  The explosion came out of nowhere, followed by a flash of very bright light some
where in the crowd up ahead. Bolt shut his eyes and covered his head instinctively, but the moment he opened them again there was a second blast, coming from roughly the same direction. Panicked shouts broke out and there was a sudden surge of people barging and shoving into him as they attempted to get away from the explosion's source. He was knocked backwards and had to fight to keep his balance as he struggled through them, looking round frantically for Andrea but unable to see her among the mass of humanity blocking his view.

  And then he was choking and his eyes began to water. It felt like someone had squirted ammonia in his face before dumping a load more down his throat. Tear gas. The bastards had let off tear gas grenades. The panic suddenly grew vastly worse as people began to experience its noxious effects, most of them doubtless fearing that this was some kind of terrorist attack. Bolt was battered like a ship in a storm as he tried to hold his ground amid the choking stampede, eyes squinting against the pain, his shirt pulled up to cover the lower half of his face.

  Then a large empty space opened up in front of him. A handful of members of the public were on the ground, one with a cut on his head. Right in the middle, barely ten yards away, was Andrea. She was kneeling on the pavement, hands clutching her face. There was no sign of the holdall. Sirens were starting up now, and mounted police were galloping towards the scene, but they were still too far away to be of any immediate help.

  Eyes still streaming, Bolt tried to focus on the backs of the fleeing people, his eyes scanning wildly in all directions. He saw Mo and Turner only a few yards away, standing close together. Mo's face was in his hands, while Turner had a handkerchief to his and was also looking around desperately.

  And then he caught a glimpse of the holdall, slung over the shoulder of a guy in a black baseball cap. He was rounding the corner into an adjacent street, moving fast as he was carried along by the fleeing crowd, already disappearing from sight.

  Still choking, Bolt leaned into the mike and spoke rapidly. 'Suspect fleeing with bag into . . .' He looked for a street sign, couldn't see one. 'Into one of the streets off the high road, heading due west.'