Chapter 9

I don't know what woke me – whether it was the pager, or Jen rolling out of bed to disappear out of the door – but wake I did, and followed Jen, more slowly. She was standing, still naked, still breathtakingly beautiful in the dim safety light of the hall. I don't know where her pager had been secreted – I certainly hadn't noticed it – but I ought to have realised the consummate professional would not have been without it. She was holding her phone and tapping her foot as she waited for a response.

"Charlie? Talk to me!" Pause. "Miss Sharpe?"

My ears pricked up and I opened my mouth, but then sense prevailed and I waited.

"The locator's still working? But her mobile's in her house?" Pause. "Dave's on his way? What about Tiny?" Pause. "I see. But he's coming anyway?" Pause. "Good! I'll be there in..." she shut off abruptly, then went on, "Oh, crap! I can't leave ... the Boss. There has to be someone to cover him. Bugger! Look – don't tackle this on your own, wait for the others. And call the Police, let them know what's going on." Pause. "Okay, Charlie, that's fine ... I'm sorry about ... Yes, but ... Thanks. Talk later, okay?" She shut the phone and turned to me. "Jeff, someone's got Miss Sharpe; they took her from her house. Her mobile's still there, they obviously thought about the GPS facility in it. But she's got a smart watch with a panic button which I made her wear after the first threat. That's got a locator as well. The power's limited, though."

"Jen, if you want to go, I'm sure I'll be fine."

"No, Boss. You're at risk too. If I wasn't here, Charlie would be covering, but she knew I was here." She slumped.

"If nothing else, we both need a shower, don't you think? And get dressed? Not that I want you to cover up."

She smiled; a little wanly, but a smile. "Okay. But a shower. Not foreplay. However good, I don't want to get involved right now."

She took my hand and led me back to my room. The lights were painfully bright as she flipped a switch. She was all business, the remote, detached person I had been used to until recently. Still, I enjoyed watching her.

We dressed. I went for comfortable casual, chinos, polo shirt, sweater. She fetched a bag from the hall and covered up with an all black, figure hugging outfit. "My ninja security chief," I commented.

"If only you knew," she responded.

What should I have made of that?

Jen's phone rang as I was about to put a CD in the player.

"Where? Robin Hood airport? Why there? No – I know you don't know. Sorry." She turned to me. "I want to spend some money."

"Go ahead."

She turned back to the phone. "Get everyone together at the Fixed Base Operator. I'll ... make some calls." She ended the call, then immediately made another. "Sim. Sorry about the time..." pause, "I know. But remember, I know where the bodies are buried. Look, I need a jet. Right now. What have you got?" Pause. "A Citation – perfect. Fuelled up and ready to go by the time I get there from Sheffield. Flight plan ... yeah ... Edinburgh for a starter, I think." She turned back to me. "Looks as though you're along for the ride, Boss. If you prefer, I'll have Charlie come back with you. But I'm not leaving you alone until you're covered."

The Mercedes SLK covered the thirty miles to Robin Hood Airport (what used to be RAF Finningley and is officially Sheffield and Doncaster Airport since the closure of the small Sheffield strip) much faster than I would have done. We touched a hundred and thirty on the mostly clear dual carriageways. Jen, at the wheel, looked supremely calm and confident. I closed my eyes several times, reflecting that, if we lived, the speeding and maybe dangerous driving tickets would be a minor expense.

We arrived. We were waved into the hangar from which (I assumed) the sleek business jet had been towed, and parked next to Charlie's Ducati and Tiny's... Honda Civic?

My eyes met Tiny's and he gave a little shrug. "It's a rental," he said.

But Jen was chivvying us out to the aircraft. The sleek, elegant jet looked as though it was poised to lift off for the stars. I followed her up the steps and I was going to sit with the others, but Jen grabbed my arm. "Up front with me, Boss. You might as well make yourself useful." She pointed at the right-hand seat and settled herself in the left. That amazing young woman just ... fit. She busied herself with assorted buttons, knobs and levers. The customary whine of a jet engine spooling up, followed shortly after by the second. I donned the headset, but absolutely was not going to touch anything else.

Jen poked her finger. "Flaps. Undercarriage." then went back to what she was doing. "Tower, Golf, Echo, Alpha, Sierra, Golf. Request taxi to active runway."

"Roger, Sierra Golf. Cleared to taxi. Hold short for clearance to enter runway zero two."

"Thank you. Tower."

It seemed a very long way, but I was reassured by Jen's confidence. We waited short of the runway, and moments after we arrived, a small, low-wing, single engined aircraft touched down almost in front of us. "Piper Warrior," commented Jen.

The controller's voice sounded in our ears. "Cleared to the threshold, Sierra Golf."

Brief manoeuvring. "At the threshold, Tower. Request clearance to take off, departing North, rapid ascent to flight level thirty."

"Cleared, Sierra Golf."

Well ... Jen stood on the brakes and went to full throttle. When she released the brakes, the acceleration was phenomenal; the Citation accelerated like the proverbial scalded cat. We didn't use much of the runway, either. When we rotated, then lifted off, there was a pause followed by a brusque, "Wheels up." and shortly after, "Flaps up." She pulled back on the yoke and we soared skyward, pressed back in our seats. Who needs amusement parks when you can fly in a high performance jet. Mind you, I think my stomach got left behind on the runway. The figures on the digital display were spinning so only the highest ones could be followed at all.

Suddenly, we're almost at altitude and Jen's moving again; reduce throttle, level out ... my stomach catches up and keeps going for the stratosphere. I swallow hard.

Jen's busy, but soon enough looked at me. "Okay, Boss?"

I swallowed again. "Yeah ... at least, I think so. Want to tell me what's happening?"

"F'sure. The Police are aware of an alleged abduction. ATC are co-operating. They're flying a Cessna 208 Caravan, which has about one third the speed of this, but we're almost an hour behind. They could be landing at Edinburgh any time now." She looked at her watch, "Actually, if they have no delays, half an hour. Which is about the time it's going to take to get there."

The radio was far too good to crackle, but there was that change that indicated a call.

"Sierra Golf. Suggest you divert to Dyce, for Aberdeen."

"What the fuck?" That didn't go out over the radio. Jen keyed the mike, drew breath, but didn't speak. "Roger. Sierra Golf diverting Dyce now." Over the intercom, Jen said to me, "The Caravan's obviously changed its flight plan, and is heading North. Now ... Air Traffic Control probably won't tell us that, of course. Problem is, they may not be intending to land at Dyce. In fact, they're almost certainly not ... so where? Somewhere we can't land ... I'd bet ... Aboyne. The runway's far too short for us. If it were me, that's what I'd have done, even if I didn't know someone was after me..." She got out of the seat and headed out of the cockpit ... or should I call it the flight deck? I didn't have a chance to say anything, so sat there praying I wouldn't have to do anything.