The Royal Grandchild

By Keith Hoare

A child is snatched for ransom from a school. However, the wrong child was taken, the abductors have a royal child. Following information from an informer, as who the child really is, a people trafficker purchases the child.
This escalation now involves Unit T, a specialist unit set up to combat people trafficking, run by Lieutenant Karen Harris CGC.
The trafficker organisation known as the ‘Circle’ has had enough of this girls interference, deciding she must be eliminated. Now Karen becomes the hunted, not the hunter, in a fight not only for her own life, but the very survival of her unit

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ragged Cover Publishing
• Release date: Jul 28, 2012
• ISBN: 9781908090287

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Carl Smart and Dianne Holist, employed at St Wilfred’s school by an external security firm to look after the children, walked into the teachers’ lounge. They poured themselves coffee from an already-brewed pot and settled down to read the paper. This was the start of their normal day, while the children attended lessons. During the morning, lunch and afternoon breaks at least one of them would be stood at the only unlocked entrance to the school, watching the children play, all the time keeping a watchful eye on them.

Carl glanced at his watch; another twenty minutes before lunch. He stretched. So did you go out last night? he asked Dianne.

She looked up. Yes, why do you ask?

I tried calling around nine, but got no reply. I’d been offered two tickets for a show at Covent Garden. Not my sort of thing, but you once said you liked ballet.

I do, when were they for?

Friday.

That’s a shame, but I couldn’t do Friday. It was nice of you to think of me though. If you get anymore offered, will you let me know?

I will.

The room fell silent once more. Time went on, until the bell sounded. Dianne stood, followed by Carl.

I’m not hungry yet, you can take the first lunch break if you like, and I’ll look after the kids when they come out into the playground, Dianne said.

Yes, sure, no problem.

Dianne left for the playground.

Carl went through to the dining room and joined a few teachers already standing in the queue at the counter. The stew looks good today, Carl commented to one of the teachers stood in front of him.

It does, I was thinking of having it myself, the teacher replied.

***

As time progressed, children began drifting out into the playground after finishing their lunch. Carl had also finished, but he was engrossed in a discussion over the midweek football match with a teacher.

Outside, Dianne was stood to the side of the main gate of the school entrance, smoking.

Lots of children, who had finished their lunch, were already in the playground running around, screaming and laughing.

Behind the school building a lorry pulled up outside the delivery entrance of the school. He rang the bell and waited.

The school caretaker came out. Can I help? he asked.

I’ve a delivery of new desks. Where do you want me to park? the driver asked.

The caretaker frowned. Are you sure it’s for us, we’re not expecting a delivery?

The driver handed the caretaker a delivery document.

He looked at it and shook his head in despair. Bloody typical, no one tells me anything. Anyway, I’ll not get help till after lunch, do you mind waiting?

No problems, I’m at my driving limit, so I’ll have to wait anyway. But I’m blocking the road; I’ll need to back in.

Yes, okay. If you can get as close to the back door as you can, I’d appreciate it, it’ll save humping later.

The driver returned to his cab while the caretaker opened the gates. With a little manoeuvring, the lorry backed in. However, a forty-five-foot trailer and tractor unit was far too long to allow the gates to be closed behind.

Walking around to the cab, the caretaker waited until the driver jumped down. My lunch is getting cold, will you be around here for the next fifteen minutes? he asked.

Yes, why? the driver asked.

Well, with the gate open, some of the children may decide to leave the school. Just tell them to go back to the yard. I’ll be out as soon as I can.

The driver shrugged. Don’t worry, no kid will get past me; you go and finish your lunch.

***

The children who had been taken home for lunch by their parents were beginning to return. Most were carrying an ice cream purchased from a van outside the school gates. An assistant teacher was stood at the entrance ensuring children in the playground stayed there and were not attracted by the van. The assistant was annoyed; ice cream vendors had been told not to come as it upset the children who had no parent there to buy them anything, besides which, some of the children with ices taunted the ones without. But this vendor wasn’t the usual one who used to come. Apart from that he was offering ices at discount prices, resulting in lots of children wanting one.

The assistant teacher shouted at the man to move on, but he came back with abuse and carried on selling. The assistant stormed out and across to the van. Now the argument was becoming more heated. Dianne, on hearing the commotion, moved closer to the now unmanned entrance gate, accompanied by two other teachers who had come outside for a quick cigarette.

Outside the gate, the vendor watched as the teachers approached. He glanced at his watch, it was time to go. He slammed the window shut, ignoring the queue, and moved quickly to the driver’s seat and started the engine.

Seconds went by, then he saw what he was waiting for. Slamming the gears into reverse, he backed up.

There was a scream, then another. The vendor ignored the screams, engaged forward gear and turned out into the road, narrowly missing a parent’s vehicle that had just turned to leave.

The assistant teacher stood rooted to the ground in shock. Dianne’s mouth dropped open, then with the children behind her surging towards the entrance to see what was going on, she was pushed out into the street.

All around her children were screaming in hysterics. A child was lying on the ground, his little body jerking involuntarily; already a pool of blood forming on the ground. Two other children were covered in blood, staring at the one on the floor in shock.

Parents arriving with children were in panic, but the teachers now began to take charge, moving the children to the back of the playground away from the accident. Already Dianne was knelt down alongside the injured child. She held the little boy’s hand, tears coming to her eyes as she sensed the life ebbing away from the child. For her everything was forgotten; her job to look after the children, her responsibility to consider this could well be a diversion, was set aside. She couldn’t and wouldn’t let this little boy die without her comforting him in his final minutes.

To the back of the school, at the open entrance where the lorry was parked, two men, one the driver of the lorry, ran into the playground. They headed for one child. Seconds later a needle was plunged into the child’s back; she felt the prick, her head began to spin and then her legs crumpled under her.

All around her the other children didn’t really take much notice of the men, most didn’t even see the little girl begin to collapse, nor see her being lifted and carried away by one of the men. All they saw was the commotion going on at the school entrance. This was their excitement, not a child fainting and being looked after.

By now Carl, along with all the other teachers, had rushed out into the playground. They began to take the children inside the school; already the sirens of emergency vehicles could be heard approaching.

Carl saw Dianne as she came back into the schoolyard. She was walking as if in a daze, ignoring everyone and everything going on around her. Her pristine jacket and blouse were covered in blood, so too were her hands, tears streaming down her face. Carl ran over to her.

She stopped and looked at him. The driver of the ice cream van just ran children over, Carl, he never stopped, he left them for dead, she whispered. A little boy has just died in my arms.

He put her arm around her. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up and some sweet tea down you, he said quietly.

As they walked back into the school she looked around. The rest of the children, are they alright?

Don’t worry they’ll be fine, no child can leave the school grounds. Let’s just get you sorted, shall we?

***

Fifteen minutes had elapsed before Carl could go around the classes.

Are all your children accounted for? he asked one teacher.

The teacher frowned. All but one, Moffat. Is she not with you?

Although not her real name, everyone called her that, encouraged by the teachers.

No, she isn’t. Why do you ask?

I presumed you’d taken charge of her after the accident. Then she looked at the class. Children, have any of you seen little Moffat?

No, Miss Sharp? they all answered.

Then a child shouted out. I saw her, she fell on the ground, Miss, and a man took her away.

What man? When did this happen, Carol? the teacher asked.

In the playground, Miss, before we were all told to come inside.

Was the man a teacher?

No, Miss, I’d never seen him before.

The teacher looked back at Carl. You’d better check the other classrooms. I’m not sure what Carol’s talking about. She could be getting herself mixed up.

He left quickly; already Carl was pressing buttons on his mobile.

***

The school playground was filled with paramedics, parents who had been contacted to collect their children, press and children running around when Detective Inspector Roberts arrived.

A police sergeant approached him. However, before he uttered a word the Inspector laid into him.

What the bloody hell’s going on? Get the press out the yard and can’t you find a teacher to stop these children running around like idiots to give us some semblance of order?

I’m trying, Sir, but it’s chaos. I’ve only three officers, more are on the way, and we’re having to secure the rear as a large lorry has been abandoned and we’ve already found children wandering confused in the back street. Besides which, a child’s missing, one’s dead and two others are badly injured. Parents are arriving in their droves and most of the children who witnessed the accident are traumatised.

Oh my god; I’m sorry for being so aggressive, Sergeant. Do your best, will you? I’ll push for more support.

Roberts walked through into the school. A number of children were already with their parents, some obviously distressed. He asked for the head teacher and was directed to an office at the far end of the corridor.

The door was partially open and he knocked and went inside. Excuse me, I’m looking for the head teacher?

A small, bespectacled woman turned and looked at him. I’m the Head, Mrs Welch, who are you?

D. I. Roberts, I’ve been sent to take over the operation and subsequent investigation. Do you have a few minutes?

The relief was obvious in the woman’s face. Thank goodness someone of authority has come at last; it’s been bedlam since the accident. How can I assist?

Well, first I need to know what’s been going on?

***

When Detective Inspector Roberts arrived back at the police station in the late afternoon he was immediately called to the Chief Constable’s office. As soon as he arrived he was ushered inside.

Inside the office was a man in a pinstriped suit and the Chief Constable.

Thank you for coming so quickly, Inspector. May I introduce Mr Foster? Mr Foster is attached to the Home Office with special responsibility for matters relating to our royal family, the Chief Constable said as he took a seat.

He nodded a greeting to Mr Foster.

Your investigation at the school, how’s it going? the Chief Constable asked.

Not too well, Sir. The lorry was stolen, we know that. The ice cream van was found abandoned two miles away on open ground. They’d attempted to set light to it, but failed. The vehicle has now been recovered and forensics has taken over. The cameras at the school had been switched off, that was deliberate. We believe that the abduction of the child was planned with the help of an insider. Then the child who’s missing, I can’t find any information about her; I can’t even get a photo, there aren’t any. Finally, the two security people at the school have refused to speak to us, so too have the teachers, about the missing child.

We’re sorry you’ve had this trouble, Inspector, but in a moment it will become clear, I assure you. However, before I explain, you’re required to sign this document. It’s part of the official secrets act you are already party to, but goes a little further in requiring you to only communicate information about this case to Mr Foster. How you present briefings, to the media or to your fellow officers, must be passed through to Mr Foster’s office beforehand. Do you understand?

I understand, Sir, and I’m happy to follow any orders given to me. But you and I know the police force is like a sieve, as fast as you block one hole it comes out of another.

I appreciate what you’re saying, Inspector, so you and a number of detectives assigned to the case are to be relocated, the Chief Constable replied.

Detective Inspector Roberts frowned. Assigned to which case? The murder investigation, the abduction, which case am I investigating?

Perhaps I may say a few words, Chief Constable? Mr Foster asked.

He nodded his agreement.

The children killed and injured by the ice cream van were part of a planned distraction for the true criminal act, Mr Foster began. You see, Inspector, they were after a child. This child is important for the country, but also very valuable both in political propaganda and monetary terms.

So the child, whose name I don’t even know, is perhaps the daughter of a politician then? Detective Inspector Roberts asked.

Foster shook his head. Not a politician, Inspector, this child is part of the royal family.

Detective Inspector Robert’s mouth dropped. He stared at Mr Foster. My god, what the hell was she doing in a school like that?

Mr Foster sighed. Her mother insisted that her daughter was to be a child that understood ordinary life. That she shouldn’t be wrapped up in cotton wool and be like previous royals who had little or no knowledge of the real world outside the palace gates. To that end the child was to have her early education in an environment as normal as possible. To be fair the school has a number of high-profile children and engaged two security personnel permanently to watch the children.

I presume they are the two who have refused to talk to us, Detective Inspector Roberts said.

They are, but they were under orders to do just that, until we had spoken to you, the Chief Constable cut in.

Now I’m beginning to understand. Although by what I’m hearing, the investigation of the abduction of the little girl will lead us to the killer of the little boy.

Of course, but in the meantime you need to try to forget the little boy and the injured children and concentrate wholly on finding the girl. The rest can come later, the Chief Constable answered.

CHAPTER TWO

A car, with Jacob Spine driving, was heading out of London towards the Midlands. There were two more men inside the car. One was the lorry driver, the other the vendor who had been selling ices. The lorry driver and Jacob were the two who had snatched the child. Inside the boot and asleep was the little girl abducted from the school.

Went like clockwork, don’t you think? the man who’d been selling the ices commented.

It did; and when we drop the kid off you’ve another grand each. We’ll meet later in the month, I’ve another couple of jobs coming up, Jacob replied.

They drove on in silence, eventually coming off the motorway and making their way into a residential council estate. Driving around the back they parked up in front of a lock-up garage.

Jacob turned to look at the men. If any kids come sniffing around the car, kick ’em up the arse then send them on their way.

He climbed out of the car, ran up the stone steps leading to the first floor of the building and onto an open corridor. Along the corridor were the flat entrances, and he entered the third one along. A few minutes later he was back outside, followed by a middle-aged woman hurriedly pulling her coat on.

Back at the car Jacob climbed inside, immediately handing everyone an envelope. It’s all mixed notes, not fifties; don’t get too pissed and I’ll be in touch.

As the last man left, the woman took the seat alongside Jacob and he backed the car out.

***

With the little girl now safely locked away in an already prepared bedroom, Jacob telephoned a private house in Camberley, west of London, using a pay-as-you-go mobile phone with a voice changing gadget he’d attached.

A woman answered. Hello …?

You Zarrin Shah? Jacob asked.

Yes … Who am I talking to?

Never mind who. We have your kid, Sasha. Twenty-five grand and you get her back. Refuse, call the police and you still get her back, but she’ll be dead. I’ll call again in three hours. The phone cut off.

Zarrin stood there quite stunned. She looked across at her daughter, Sasha, playing quite happily at the table. The child had been ill that morning and she’d decided to keep her home. So what was the man talking about, or more to the point, did they intend to take her child? Picking up the telephone again she called her husband urgently.

He listened. Lock all the doors and windows. Don’t answer the door to anyone. We’ll send people from the embassy to secure the house, he demanded.

I’ll do that, but come quickly, Heydar, this is our daughter they’re threatening.

***

Heydar Shah entered his house along with five other men. Immediately the men scattered and took defensive positions around the house. All of them carried weapons.

Zarrin came out of the lounge and hugged Heydar tightly. I’ve been so scared since the man called. What should we do?

We do nothing but wait. Whoever it is will not get our daughter; they will die in a hail of bullets. No man threatens my family, Heydar replied confidently.

They both went into the lounge, Heydar going over to his daughter and kissing her gently on the cheek. Time went on; both were now sitting quietly, waiting in a mood of expectation, wondering who was coming.

However, nothing happened and dead on three hours later the phone rang once more.

You can get the money? Jacob asked without even waiting for someone to answer.

Heydar had answered the phone, but although confused with the man still seeming to presume he had his Sasha, he was also alive to the possible fact the man had someone else’s child. In that case, to dismiss him out of hand risked the death of the child he held, so it had been decided between Zarrin and himself that they would play along with the man’s demands and see what transpired.

I can get the money, of course. But before we talk about that and the denomination you want the money in, I want proof you have my child. But believe this, friend, injure her, try to touch her in any way and you will not live to spend the money. The people from my country will find you, no matter where you are in the world, and they will kill you.

Yeah, I’ve heard all that tosh before. So what proof do you want? Hear her scream, talk to you, or should I strip her and send you her clothes?

One item of clothing is sufficient. How do you want the money?

English pounds, how else? You’ll get the child’s item of clothing by post. By next Monday, seven days from now, you must have the money ready and be prepared to exchange for the child. You will come alone. I will tell you where and how.

Why so long? We want our daughter back today!

You can’t. I need to make arrangements and time concentrates the mind on your part. We will be watching the house: one pig’s car, or any other strange car, to arrive and it’s off, your child is dead.

Heydar laughed. I’ve no need of the British police. We will do business.

The phone went dead.

Zarrin had been listening on an extension and came over to him. So who do you think they have and are we going to pay for the child, Heydar? she asked.

They have a child, I’m certain. Who the child is, that I don’t know, but I know someone who might be able to tell us, he replied, at the same time pulling out his mobile phone and searching his contact name list.

Finding who he was looking for, he pressed the call button and waited. The phone was answered.

Heydar, it’s been a long time. I presume this is not a social call? the man who answered asked.

It has been a long time, Harvey, how’s Fleet Street then? Still sifting through the dirt of people’s lives?

That’s the name of the game, Heydar. So what can I do for you?

I’ve an interesting scenario. I thought perhaps you could shed some light on it?

If I can, what is it you are after?

My daughter goes to St Wilfred’s in London. She was off today, a stomach bug, nothing serious. But three hours ago Zarrin received a phone call from a man demanding money for Sasha’s safe return. Of course he does not have our Sasha, but I believe he does have a child, so we played along. I don’t want them to panic and perhaps risk the life of this child. Have you any contacts that can find out just who they have? No police, Harvey, we can sort this man out.

Hmm, St Wilfreds you say? Have you not watched the news? There was a serious accident there today: a little boy was deliberately run over, but no child was reported snatched. Can I check into it a little more? What time scale are we looking at?

I’ve asked for proof by way of an item of clothing. It’s coming in the post and they want to exchange next Monday.

I’ll be back to you, Heydar, and thank you for calling.

CHAPTER THREE

Harvey worked for a tabloid newspaper. He specialised in corruption, but came to prominence after he wrote an article on a trafficker ring snatching school children and selling them on the internet. His information, which was obtained following an agreement between himself and a certain officer in the army, made him famous and resulted in lots of work offers. He’d always been freelance, but it was hard and often left him without enough money to buy food. So when a full-time position came up, he snatched their hand off. Now he was settled in a nice comfy position, and even had a pension.

After Heydar’s call he’d been onto his contacts in the police force to find out who the child was. But no one knew. They did know a child was missing, but that’s where it ended. In fact many were saying there was no child missing so they’d put all their resources into finding the ice cream vendor who’d run over the little boy.

Being very mistrusting of what people told him, particularly the police, Harvey decided to talk to someone who just may have the information he was after, but even if they didn’t, they had the power and the contacts to get at the truth. Leaving the office he made his way into the park opposite and sat down on a bench, well away from others. Then he dialled the number.

LBNF, can I help you? came a friendly in response.

The charity ‘Lost but Never Forgotten’ specialised in trafficked children, using their resources to not only find these children, but look after them and help them get over the trauma of being taken.

Yes, this is Harvey. Can you ask Karen to call me please? It’s very urgent.

We don’t have a Karen in this office, can I help?

Harvey sighed to himself. No, I’m talking about Lieutenant Karen Harris and you can contact her. She knows me well and she will want to take this call.

I understand now, Harvey. I will make the call for you. But it will be up to Karen if she wants to call back. I hope you understand?

I do and thank you.

He sat there quietly, smoking at the same time as watching two children trying to make a toy yacht sail in the small lake with no wind. Suddenly his telephone came to life. He looked at the caller, it was not displaying the caller’s number.

Harvey here, he answered.

Harvey, it’s Karen, you called our London office and wanted to talk to me?

I do, and thank you for calling me back, Karen. Are you well?

Yes, I’m fine, and yourself?

Well you know, still smoking and eating too much. But forget me, I need to tell you about a call I received around half an hour ago. He went on to tell her everything he knew. After he’d finished the phone was silent for a short time.

It sounds very strange, Harvey, but I agree it sounds like a child was snatched. So I’m with you on this, I want to know who the child is and why nothing’s being officially said? Let me look into it, I’ve more contacts than you, so let’s see what I can find out, shall we?

I appreciate you taking the time, Karen. Whatever happens must be put in place by next Monday. I truly believe there is a child that has been snatched and I think you do as well.

I understand. Thank you for calling, Harvey. As usual, if there’s something you can print I’ll be in touch.

I’ll look forward to your call, Karen.

CHAPTER FOUR

Karen leaned back on her chair, deep in thought. Her office, where she conducted most of her operations, was in a château in the South of France. Set in six hundred acres, Karen owned it all; most of the acreage was rented out to the military as a training area. Her unit, based ten miles away, was fully equipped both with military hardware and a large intelligence operation, essential for tracking the traffickers’ operations across Europe. Unit T also had a strike force called Dark Angel, made up of specialist trained troops. The unit took turns to billet a number of Dark Angel soldiers in one of the barns at the château, now converted into a living area, with the sole purpose of keeping Karen under twenty-four hour protection.

Most of the criminal organisations involved in trafficking were also very well aware of where she lived, but kept well away. This Lieutenant was not some two-bit military officer. She was, in her own right, a very dangerous and competent killer as many had found out to their cost. Then, of course, with additional protection by an equally formidable force, it was not to be recommended to take her on in a fortified home.

Pressing a number of digits on the telephone positioned on her desk, Karen waited while it rang.

Soon it was answered. Good afternoon, Karen, is this an official call? Do you want this to go secure?

Yes secure please, Peter, she replied.

We’re now secure, what can I do for you? Peter asked.

St Wilfred’s School in West London. A child was abducted earlier today; do you know anything about it, Peter?

How do you know, Karen? That’s classified?

Karen laughed. "This is Unit T, we