Fifty-Nine
They reached Grizedale Reservoir with less than ten minutes to spare, just as it was beginning to get dark. Cheshire steered the van up on to a stony bank with a view across the black water and turned the engine off.
They sat in silence and stared around.
There was still the occasional vehicle passing in both directions and they could just make out the lights from a property across the fields on the far side of the reservoir.
A camper van was parked fifty yards ahead of them, but a public presence of any sort at this stage of the game was unimportant.
They all knew that their final destination, wherever Battersby had chosen that to be, would be a lot farther off the beaten track than this.
‘He’ll be hunkered down somewhere,’ Cheshire had said. ‘Wearing black make-up and full camouflage gear, most likely. Bloke still thinks he’s in the army.’
‘Battersby should be calling any time now,’ Chopra said, when the speaker crackled into life. ‘Work out exactly what you’re going to say to him while you’re waiting, Mr Cheshire, and all three of you make sure your stories are straight.’
‘No worries,’ McDougall said.
‘I’m still trying to choose an alias,’ Miller said. ‘I was just going to go with my porn name, you know … first pet and mother’s maiden name. I’m not sure Fluffy Rutter sounds awfully convincing, though. You got any thoughts?’
‘We want proof of life, too,’ Chopra said. ‘So, whatever happens, make sure you get that. We need to know that Justin is alive and well.’
Cheshire’s phone, which had been fixed into a holder on the dash, began to chirrup. An unknown number. ‘That’s him,’ Cheshire said.
‘Bang on time,’ Chopra said. ‘Put the call on speaker and I’ll send a text if I need to tell you anything.’
Cheshire did as he was told and answered the call.
‘Hey, Cheesy … all good?’
‘I wouldn’t go quite that far,’ Cheshire said. ‘But we’re at the reservoir, like you told us to be.’
‘That’s champion,’ Battersby said. ‘I like it when people do what they’re told.’
‘So, what now?’
‘Hang about, what do you mean we?’
‘Yeah … so I’ve got two other blokes with me.’
‘Ah, that’s a shame, because it really upsets me when people don’t do what they’re told.’
‘Listen, Neil—’
‘Which means that I’m going to have to do something unpleasant—’
‘Mrs Cutler insisted,’ Cheshire said quickly.
McDougall leaned towards the phone. ‘My name’s Malcolm McDougall,’ he said. ‘We spoke on the phone a while back. I work for Jacqui Cutler.’
‘So do I,’ Miller said. ‘I’ve worked for her for … oh, ages. I helped Malcolm put the ransom together, gave him a hand loading all those drugs into the van and that, so Mrs Cutler wanted us to be there when it’s handed over.’
‘Aye, and I’ve known Justin since he was a wee boy,’ McDougall added. ‘So I need to be there to make sure that he’s safely handed over. Fair enough?’
The three of them exchanged glances during the long silence that followed.
‘I suppose we’ll all just have to suck it and see,’ Battersby said eventually. ‘It won’t make a fat lot of difference at the end of the day, because I’ll be good and ready whether there’s three of you or thirty-three. So, bring it on.’
‘Bring it on where?’ Cheshire asked.
A text message from Chopra flashed up on Cheshire’s phone: PROOF OF LIFE.
‘Oh, yeah. So the thing is … I’ve been feeling a bit nostalgic, Cheesy. I know how much you miss your time in uniform, so let’s have a bit of fun and treat this like we’re back in Basrah or Helmand. Like this is a recce, yeah?’
‘Hang on, Neil. I need to know that the lad’s OK before I go anywhere.’
‘He’s beltin’, mate. Don’t worry.’
McDougall cut in. ‘We need to hear from him, Mr Battersby, or we’ll turn this van round right now.’
Battersby sighed, then shouted, ‘Get over here …’
There were a few seconds of unintelligible muttering before Justin Cutler came on the line. ‘Googs … ?’
‘Aye, I’m here. How’s yerself?’
The phone was snatched away and Battersby said, ‘There you go, he’s peachy. Now, are you listening, Cheesy? You still remember your MGRS?’
‘Yeah, I remember,’ Cheshire said.
‘Good stuff. So write this down …’
Another text from Chopra popped up: DON’T WORRY, WE’RE ON IT.
Miller listened as Battersby dictated a series of random letters and numbers of which he could make neither head nor tail. He looked at Cheshire, who nodded, like it all made perfect sense.
‘You got that?’ Battersby asked.
‘Got it, but I haven’t got a map.’
‘You’ve got a phone, though, right? Get with it, Grandad.’ Battersby chuckled and said, ‘I’ll give you half an hour,’ and then the line went dead.
Miller looked across at Cheshire again. ‘What was all that?’
‘Military Grid Reference System.’
Chopra came back on to the speaker. ‘We’ll pinpoint the -precise location and direct you, but I can already see that we’re looking at the Forest of Bowland, just north of somewhere called Sykes.’
‘Bugger all up there,’ Miller said. ‘A couple of isolated holiday cottages, maybe, and … lots of woods. Great if you’re into walking for miles without reaching a pub, or you want to feel like you’re in a horror film.’
‘You need to get going,’ Chopra said. ‘It’s only thirteen miles, but we’re not looking at decent roads, so half an hour might be pushing it.’
Cheshire started the van and drove on.
‘Well, I’m glad to hear that you know what they mean,’ Miller said. ‘All those letters and numbers. I just thought it sounded like a really difficult round on Countdown.’