The Secret

The seatbelt sign went on as the aircraft crossed over the Lammermuir Hills on its long descent and banked steeply to the left to follow the Firth of Forth to make its final approach into Edinburgh airport. It was a journey Steven had often made in the past and he’d always enjoyed the moment when the two mighty bridges spanning the Forth came into view but today he had too many other things on his mind to offer more than a grunt when the man in the seat beside him pointed out that all the scaffolding and sheeting had been removed from the mighty Victorian rail bridge for the first time in years. ‘They’ve finished painting it,’ he said. ‘New kind of paint, should last twenty-five years.’

Steven could only think that Jenny would be thirty-five years old when they would paint the bridge again. She’d probably be married, probably have children — his grandchildren. He was wondering if she’d invite him for Christmas dinner when that image was interrupted by another, that of a group of mourners standing around a small white coffin. The hollow feeling in his stomach grew by the minute. The bump of the landing wheels didn’t help.

His fellow passengers stood in readiness for the aircraft doors to open, an impatient file all looking remarkably the same in his eyes, about to spend their day maintaining their role in the great scheme of things, negotiating contracts, securing orders, jockeying for position on the career ladder, but at the end of the day, it was odds on they’d all be going home to their families...

Steven turned his phone on as he made his way to the arrivals hall, walking past the row of name cards being held up along the route. He’d never had to pay these any attention before but today he did, simply because his actions were now to be determined entirely by somebody else. There was a ‘Clarkson’, written in green marker pen on cardboard, ‘Fenton — North Sea Gas’, presented as a smudged computer print-out, even a rather grand card bearing the name, Sir Peter Cross, being held up by a man in chauffeur’s uniform but no Dunbar.

With no real sense of purpose or direction to guide him, Steven imagined he was getting an inkling of what it must be like to be excluded from society; an unpleasant feeling but another human cameo to add to his collection. He restored purpose by gravitating towards the nearest café and buying coffee, the assistant’s inquisition about size and type irritating him more than usual. He sat down, placed his mobile on the table and waited for it to ring. It didn’t.

At fifteen minutes past ten Steven bought more coffee but didn’t drink it. He needed neither the caffeine nor the attention of the woman whose task it was to clear away empty cups and sponge the table top with a cloth that smelt bad. At half past the hour his mind was going into overdrive, imagining all the awful things that could have happened when he saw Ranjit Khan walk towards him. He was dressed in a smart suit that had not come off the peg and carried a laptop slung over his right shoulder. He was clean-shaven and his black hair was cut and styled to perfection. He looked every inch the successful lawyer or business executive. He smiled as he sat down beside Steven, shrugging his laptop strap off his shoulder to place the computer on the floor between himself and Steven. It was a gesture Steven found slightly strange.

‘Good Morning, Doctor. I apologise for my lateness. I’ve been watching you for the past forty minutes. You appear to be alone and you’ve just come off a flight so I know you’re not armed: you wouldn’t have risked it and there wasn’t time to sort out permission. I take it you’ve brought what I asked for?’

‘Where’s my daughter, Khan?’

‘All in good time,’ replied Khan with the smug smile of a man who knew he was in charge.

‘You’re getting nothing until I see my daughter,’ said Steven, his hands gripping the table edge as he struggled to keep them off Khan.’

The smile faded from Khan’s face. He placed his left hand on the table; it was clenched and holding something. Steven now understood why he hadn’t used this hand to free the laptop strap.

‘We don’t have any time to waste. I have a flight to catch. Your daughter is in a car in the car park. When you turn on my laptop and put in the memory card to demonstrate decryption of the disk that’s already in there, I will give you this.’

Khan raised his left hand but kept it clenched. ‘This is a transmitter. As long as I keep the contacts open by maintaining pressure on a spring, nothing will happen. Should I let go... for any reason...’ Khan watched to see that Steven had got the message, ‘the circuit will complete and the car your daughter is currently locked inside will explode. If the card is genuine, I will transfer the transmitter to you very carefully and you can keep the contacts open until your daughter is found and freed... or until,’ Khan glanced at the clock, ‘twenty three minutes have passed.’ After that, the car will explode anyway.