Of course, Dee realised, it was probably Champions League. She remembered Josh talking about it to one of his friends at the match this afternoon. If only she could remember which team had drawn today and was also playing again on Wednesday.

Dee quite liked football, but didn’t know a great deal about it. She would certainly not have considered herself a fan, but some football news was hard to miss. She knew that Arsenal, Spurs and Chelsea were the London teams in the Champions League, so it had to be one of those three. She had seen Chelsea beat West Ham today, and Chelsea had been away, not at home, so it couldn’t be them. The ground Lavender had passed was not Chelsea’s.

So that left the two North London clubs, Arsenal and Tottenham. She couldn’t recall what their scores had been today, or whether either one had been at home, but she did know that Spurs’ next home match was against West Ham. Tickets had been advertised for sale on the hoardings dozens of times during the match.

She had narrowed their position down to North London, which was something. The trouble was that the Emirates Stadium, the home of Arsenal, was close to the A1, and White Hart Lane, where Spurs played, was close to the A10, both quite fast roads and both easily accessible from the river.

Something else popped into her mind. She looked at her new friend.

“Lavender, did you mention someone called Harry?”

Lavender nodded. “Yes, they said Harry would have their guts for garters if they didn’t play better.”

“Harry could be their manager. I think Arsene Venger is the manager at Arsenal, but I don’t know if Tottenham’s manager is called Harry,” Dee mused out loud.

“Of course he is,” Lavender almost shouted. “Harry Redknapp. He’s Louise Redknapp’s father in law. I’ve done modelling with Louise a few times. She’s married to Jamie Redknapp. He’s really quite nice.”

“Lavender, I could kiss you!” Dee said as she realised that they were within a few hundred yards of White Hart Lane, in Tottenham, North London. She knew approximately where they were, and what kind of building they were in. Now all she had to do was work out how they were going to get out of there.

Chapter 6 6

Commercial Road, Tottenham, North London. Saturday, 10pm.

Lavender had been talking for a while and Dee had explained why she was dressed in a jumpsuit. Lavender didn’t need to explain why she was dressed the way she was.

The last hour had been something of a confessional, where Dee had listened to a little girl lost who thought she was an adult and so behaved like one. When Lavender listened to Dee and heard about her experiences, she suddenly realised that here was a substantive woman who was beautiful and tough and who felt no desire for celebrity.

Was her shrink right, she wondered for the first time? Was Lavender Fisher a lost soul seeking fame through notoriety, just as her mother and father had done? They had settled down eventually, and no doubt Lavender would, too, one day, but they had both enjoyed successful careers in the full glare of celebrity. Lavender had hosted a few TV shows because she was Don Fisher’s daughter, but she hadn’t actually achieved anything in her own right.

Lavender confided in Dee that when they eventually got out of this mess, she would go into rehab and come off alcohol and drugs.

Dee spoke to her like a kindly older sister. “Lavender, that’s the wrong move. All you would be doing is making someone else responsible for getting you sober and clean. Even if it works, because you didn’t do it yourself, you’ll slip back. You need to do something constructive, something to give your life direction. Why don’t you come and work with me for two months as an intern? Live at home. Get yourself sorted out and I’ll show you what a real job looks like.”

“You would do that for me?” Lavender asked, surprised.

“Yes, I would. Believe me when I say that I’ve helped girls in a much worse state than you. Girls who have been trafficked for sex and exploited by evil people in the name of profit or cult religion. It worked for them, and it can work for you, too, if you really want it to. Now, remember the plan. We have to stick with it, OK?”

***

From the first minute she had been taken, Dee had expected that this moment would come, and so she had prepared herself and coached Lavender.

Two of the masked men stood at the end of the table with a video camera. They were the two whom Dee had injured. They were clearly still suffering, judging by their fidgeting and complaining.

Piet gave the girls their orders. “This video will last a minute and not a second longer, so choose your words wisely. I will introduce you both and you will each tell your people that they must stop the police pursuing the blackmail case, first of all. The police must then come to an agreement with Lord Hickstead by Monday evening at six, or your families don’t see you again.”

Piet stood behind the camera and counted Gregor in.

“Three, two, one.” Gregor pressed record; both girls were in shot, sitting either side of the table, still chained as before. Their captor introduced them to the camera.

“As you can see, we have Lavender Fisher and Diane Fraser. We guarantee that they will both be returned safely, just as long as you have the police reach an agreement with Lord Hickstead by Monday at six in the evening.”

Piet fell silent and pointed to Lavender, who fell straight into her prepared speech, although her voice quavered with nerves.

“Dad, I’m so, so sorry. I caused all of this. I promise that if you make the police do as these men say, I’ll give up the celebrity lifestyle and take that office job on the first floor.”

Piet pointed at Dee, or Diane as he had called her. Her voice was much stronger.

“Josh, please don’t go into print with your statement. Press the police to agree to the terms these guys want. If you don’t, you’ll find your next opposition right here.”

Piet spoke from behind the camera again. “Remember, Monday, six o’clock, or you never see either of them again.”

The camera was switched off, and Piet announced sardonically, “That’s a wrap, folks.”

Chapter 6 7

Vastrick Security, No. 1 Poultry, London. Saturday, Midnight.

We all sat around the conference table waiting for the inevitable call, well aware that it might not come until tomorrow. I was still having trouble grasping the reality of the situation. The police were busy examining both crime scenes and each force had a representative in the room with us.

Around the table were Tom Vastrick, Inspector Boniface, DCI Coombes and an agitated Don Fisher. At the head of the table with a mass of electronics was a young man called Levi, whose Jewish heritage was not in question once one had seen him.

Both my BlackBerry and Fisher’s IPhone were plugged in to a speaker and we had been given headsets that we could don as soon as a call came in. The idea was that any calls be traced, recorded, decoded and analysed by voice stress analysts sitting at Scotland Yard.

In the end it was a waste of time, as two text messages came in simultaneously from a Dutch mobile phone number. The message was simple.

“Follow the link www.flickr.com/48hrs/Videos.”

Levi wasn’t fazed by the unexpected turn of events, and within a few seconds the photo storage and networking site was on our screen. There was one video in the collection and Levi clicked on it. A play arrow was displayed.

“Before we run this, I want full transcript, enhanced video stills and full analysis of any key words or signals. I suggest we conference call in 30 minutes to swap war stories,” Tom Vastrick said to the people in his office and to Scotland Yard via the open communication link.

Levi pressed play.