Read Online Jack Morgan 02 - Private London by James Patterson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James Patterson
Ads: Link
abducted. Just outside the university campus. A group of hooded men. Unmarked van.’
There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Then: ‘When did it happen?’
His voice was as tight, as serious, as I’d ever heard it.
‘An hour or so ago.’
‘Have you heard anything?’
‘No ransom demand as yet.’
‘Maybe they’re not after money.’
I didn’t respond. I knew all too well that young women were abducted for all kinds of reasons. By no means all of them financial. I closed my eyes, trying to shut out the memory of what I had seen in the lock-up at King’s Cross. Failed.
‘I want you to drop everything else, Dan! Everything. That girl is your only priority, you hear me?’
‘You don’t have to tell me, Jack. The people who took her also put my god-daughter in intensive care.’
‘I’ll be getting on a plane as soon as the FBI let me loose. Meanwhile Private worldwide is at your entire disposal. You need anything – anything at all – you let us know.’
‘I appreciate it.’
‘Just get the girl home safe, Dan. Money isn’t an issue.’
‘You think it’s a kidnapping?’
There was another pause on the end of the line and I could hear the frustration in Jack’s voice. ‘There are things you need to know about Hannah Shapiro,’ he said. ‘It all goes back to 9 April 2003.’
Some minutes later I hung up. I looked down and opened the hand clenched tight around my car key. The metal had cut into my flesh. I held the wound to my mouth and tasted the iron in it.
Like I said. Someone was going to pay.
Part Three
Chapter 29
I LIVE IN a small apartment in Soho, on the third floor of an old building on Dean Street.
I have a lounge, a bedroom, a small kitchen that I rarely use and a bathroom. I had the front window double-glazed shortly after I moved in and the place is snug. I have a small television and a digital internet radio.
Dean Street is one of my favourite places in the world. Home to The Crown and Two Chairmen, the Groucho Club and the best bar in the western hemisphere – The French House – even if it does sell beer only by the half-pint and you have to steer well clear at lunchtime when it’s packed with media types and tourists.
But at half-six in the morning the pubs are closed tighter than a drum. The little Italian café round the corner was open early, though. I bought an espresso to go, which I sipped as I walked across town to the office.
I was short of the recommended eight hours of shut-eye – by about seven hours, I reckoned – and the sharp, bitter jolt of the caffeine was kicking in fine. Normally, before going into work, I’d have gone to the gym I used just off Piccadilly Circus near the Café Royal. But Chloe was still unconscious in intensive care, Hannah Shapiro was still missing and we still didn’t have a clue why she had been taken.
Jack Morgan had been straight in touch with Hannah’s father, Harlan Shapiro, who was getting on this evening’s flight to London.
Her abductors had made no contact. We didn’t know if Hannah’s cover had been blown or if a ransom demand was imminent. Given what Kirsty had told me last evening I very much hoped that was the case. If she hadn’t been taken for money … I shook the thought away, dropped my empty espresso cup in a litter bin outside a newsagent’s and picked up my pace. The clock was ticking and we didn’t have a minute to waste.
Ten minutes later I sprinted up the stairs to my office. I never take the elevator if I can help it. I don’t like elevators.
Lucy, my PA, flashed her cut-glass smile as me as I punched in the security code and stepped through to the open-plan reception office. She was blonde, beautiful and had a top-drawer accent to go with the smile.
‘Morning, Lucy. Everyone in yet?’
She shook her head. ‘Dr Lee is on her way in but Sponge won’t be coming in today. The rest are in the conference room.’
‘What do you mean, he won’t be coming in?’ If my tone
There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Then: ‘When did it happen?’
His voice was as tight, as serious, as I’d ever heard it.
‘An hour or so ago.’
‘Have you heard anything?’
‘No ransom demand as yet.’
‘Maybe they’re not after money.’
I didn’t respond. I knew all too well that young women were abducted for all kinds of reasons. By no means all of them financial. I closed my eyes, trying to shut out the memory of what I had seen in the lock-up at King’s Cross. Failed.
‘I want you to drop everything else, Dan! Everything. That girl is your only priority, you hear me?’
‘You don’t have to tell me, Jack. The people who took her also put my god-daughter in intensive care.’
‘I’ll be getting on a plane as soon as the FBI let me loose. Meanwhile Private worldwide is at your entire disposal. You need anything – anything at all – you let us know.’
‘I appreciate it.’
‘Just get the girl home safe, Dan. Money isn’t an issue.’
‘You think it’s a kidnapping?’
There was another pause on the end of the line and I could hear the frustration in Jack’s voice. ‘There are things you need to know about Hannah Shapiro,’ he said. ‘It all goes back to 9 April 2003.’
Some minutes later I hung up. I looked down and opened the hand clenched tight around my car key. The metal had cut into my flesh. I held the wound to my mouth and tasted the iron in it.
Like I said. Someone was going to pay.
Part Three
Chapter 29
I LIVE IN a small apartment in Soho, on the third floor of an old building on Dean Street.
I have a lounge, a bedroom, a small kitchen that I rarely use and a bathroom. I had the front window double-glazed shortly after I moved in and the place is snug. I have a small television and a digital internet radio.
Dean Street is one of my favourite places in the world. Home to The Crown and Two Chairmen, the Groucho Club and the best bar in the western hemisphere – The French House – even if it does sell beer only by the half-pint and you have to steer well clear at lunchtime when it’s packed with media types and tourists.
But at half-six in the morning the pubs are closed tighter than a drum. The little Italian café round the corner was open early, though. I bought an espresso to go, which I sipped as I walked across town to the office.
I was short of the recommended eight hours of shut-eye – by about seven hours, I reckoned – and the sharp, bitter jolt of the caffeine was kicking in fine. Normally, before going into work, I’d have gone to the gym I used just off Piccadilly Circus near the Café Royal. But Chloe was still unconscious in intensive care, Hannah Shapiro was still missing and we still didn’t have a clue why she had been taken.
Jack Morgan had been straight in touch with Hannah’s father, Harlan Shapiro, who was getting on this evening’s flight to London.
Her abductors had made no contact. We didn’t know if Hannah’s cover had been blown or if a ransom demand was imminent. Given what Kirsty had told me last evening I very much hoped that was the case. If she hadn’t been taken for money … I shook the thought away, dropped my empty espresso cup in a litter bin outside a newsagent’s and picked up my pace. The clock was ticking and we didn’t have a minute to waste.
Ten minutes later I sprinted up the stairs to my office. I never take the elevator if I can help it. I don’t like elevators.
Lucy, my PA, flashed her cut-glass smile as me as I punched in the security code and stepped through to the open-plan reception office. She was blonde, beautiful and had a top-drawer accent to go with the smile.
‘Morning, Lucy. Everyone in yet?’
She shook her head. ‘Dr Lee is on her way in but Sponge won’t be coming in today. The rest are in the conference room.’
‘What do you mean, he won’t be coming in?’ If my tone
Similar Books
