Buying the Virgin

Chapter 110: The Girl Who Was Hunted - Chapter Twenty-Six

MICHAEL

James looks up from the map, glancing around the room, then stands up straight, turning, looking wild.

“Where’s Charlotte?”

“Bathroom?” I ask, and rap smartly on the door. “Charlotte? You in there?”

No reply. I push the door open, checking inside. Nothing.

“The lift!” mutters Ross, dashing through to the hall, followed by me and James.

The turbo-lift is already way below us, twenty stories down.

“The service elevator?”

“She’s sent that down too.”

James all but bangs on the intercom, yelling at the answering concierge. “Lock the doors down there.

Stop anyone coming in or out of the building until I or Richard Haswell instruct otherwise.”

But I am watching the indicator. “She’s not stopping at the ground floor.”

“The car park?” mutters James. “In that case, she’s about to discover that her car pass has been

blocked.” He picks up his phone, tapping briefly. “Francis. Is Richard there? Will you tell him please,

that Charlotte’s trying to leave the building. Can you make sure everything’s locked down while we get

her back. Yes, that’s right. Thanks.” As he hangs up he says, “Richard’s on his way up.” This belongs to NôvelDrama.Org - ©.

“Or he will be, when there’s an elevator to bring him,” I say, nodding at the indicator. It stops at the

parking level, then a moment later starts rising again. The service lift, much slower, is still descending.

James’ phone rings. “Yes? Oh, hello Francis…. What! How?” His eyes roll upwards. “I see… Thanks.”

He darts a look at me. “She’s out. Security says her car just exited the parking lot using my pass….”

He stabs at his phone, pacing the room, mobile pressed to his ear. “Pick up the phone Charlotte….

Pick up your fucking phone.”

Then he pauses, glancing up at me. “Answer-phone…. Charlotte…” he says, visibly hanging on to his

self-control. “Listen, please come back at once. We’re coming after you, but please, call me back….”

He glances sideways at me. “Or.… call Michael if you’re not comfortable calling me. Please. I don’t

know what you think you have in mind, but you’re not safe out there and you must come back. Now,

please call us back.”

The lift pings and Richard steps out, his face like thunder.

“What happened? Are you seriously telling me that three grown men can’t keep one little girl locked

up?” He swings on Ross. “And where the hell were you? You were supposed to be standing guard over

the elevator.”

Ross, pasty-faced, starts to stutter. “It wasn’t Ross’ fault.” interrupts James. “Charlotte diverted us all

rather neatly.”

I cast my eyes back over the map, considering…. “You know, she did divert us, but there’s an awful lot

of work gone into that map for a diversion….” I am interrupted.

My phone pings. Simultaneously, so do James’ and Richard’s.

We have all received an identical message, from Charlotte.

“Check your e-mails”.

“What the hell?” mutters James. “Fucking wilful, infuriating, stupid woman….”

I interrupt him. “Wilful she may be. Infuriating she certainly is, but stupid she’s not. She’s obviously

planned this, so perhaps we should start working around whatever it is she’s up to. Let’s do what she

said, and check our e-mails.”

Ruefully,” You’re right.…”

“Richard. Can I get online somewhere?” I ask.

“Let’s all go down to my office. We can see things more easily there.”

As we enter Reception, Francis flags us. “I’ve just had a message from Charlotte…”

“You and we all,” shouts Richard back at her as he sweeps by to his office. Get hold of a laptop for

Michael to use.”

James darts through to his office, returning with his computer. And Francis is already heading out of the

office, returning moments later with her own machine.

James taps furiously away, then pauses. He glances up. “Just downloading now…. Ahh.…” He taps

again. Then he frowns…. “It’s a password; ‘Charlotte-01’, and several links to…. to what?”

Simultaneously, I log onto my own e-mail. “Yup. There’s something here from her, sent to me and

James, and Richard and Francis. Looks like she was definitely going for belts and braces to get her

message out.…”

James taps and waits, then leans forward, peering at the screen. “The links she’s sent are all to

tracking sites of one kind or another. Fuck! She’s set up tracers and she’s using herself up as bait…

The first one is a find-your-phone site for her mobile.”

“There’s no guarantee that she’ll get to keep her phone,” says Richard. “The first thing they did was get

Elizabeth’s off her.”

“We’ll still be able to see where it gets dumped,” I reply. “And it’s not the only link.”

“The next link is to a different tracker site,” says James. “Another provider. A different device.”

“The third one too,” I say.

“How many links has she sent?” asks Richard.

“Seven altogether, every one different.”

Richard scratches his head. “Where’s she got hold of so many trackers? Or any trackers for that

matter?”

“Mail order I’ll bet,” says James. “She had several packages delivered over the last day or two.… I’ll

check her browser history when we have her laptop here…”

And a penny drops in my head. “She opened one of those packages while I was watching. It was a

locket, the kind you put a photo in. I thought it odd at the time but didn’t think it through. I wonder if

she’s wearing that locket, and there’s a tracer inside?”

“Are all seven links working?” asks Richard.

I click between screens… “Hang on, I’m trying to watch too many things at once for a single screen….”

“Francis. Have a scout around would you,” says Richard. “Pull in half a dozen laptops from wherever

you can find them. And then try to get hold of Will Stanton for me.”

James shouts after her. “And can you fetch Charlotte’s laptop too, Francis. I want to check her browser

history.”

A few minutes later, the office is awash with computers, all displaying different screens; a couple with

incoming e-mail screens, but most displaying some form of map or plan with a travelling point.

I follow the trail of the first screen I’ve opened, then realise what I’m looking at. Comparing it in my

head with her webcam plan, “She’s taking a route out of the City that is well-populated with webcams.

She diverted us by talking about Beth, but it’s herself she’s done it for….” I yell through to Francis.

“Sorry, but can you go back up there and bring down all those plans Charlotte was working on…. and

then can you keep trying to call her, see if we get her attention…”

James looks at his screen, compares it to the map with Charlotte’s pins, markings and annotations. His

tone is acerbic. “She’s set herself up as bait, and she’s making herself highly visible, to them and to us.

The Police will be able to see any car that follows her while she’s in the area. But that’s only going to

last while she’s somewhere with road cameras. There’s a few on the highways, but mainly they fade off

as you leave the City.”

“She’s doing a helluva speed,” I comment.

“Is she normally a fast driver?” asks Richard.

“No, very much the slow and careful type usually. Her car was chosen for economy and reliability, not

for racing.”

Is she being pursued?

My stomach tightens…

“Where is she now?” asks Francis.

“Well away from the City now, and off the main highways... no more cameras.”

Two of the points have stopped moving. Of the others, three are following matching trails, two are on

different trajectories.

“One of the static signals is the one for her phone.

“So, they’ve got her and dumped her mobile?” The thought leaves me feeling queasy, panicky. “The

other static one?”

His tone is grim. “No idea.” He mutters something to himself.

“What was that?”

“She’s not going to sit down for a fucking week when I catch up with her…”

“Keep your temper under control. It’s not helping.”

“Oh, and you’re pleased with her?”

“No, I’m not. When we do get her back, I’ll hold your coat. But we all know why she’s done this. From

her point of view, it’s for very good reason.”

“Where’s the phone been dumped?” asks Richard. He is on his own mobile, talking urgently with

someone.

I zoom in on the spot. “Um, a couple of miles off Junction 42 on Highway 593, Westbound.”

James interrupts, “Hang on…. The phone signal’s just died…. It’s gone.”

Richard continues talking, passing on the information, then turns back to us. “Will’s sending over an

officer to see this, but he also asks for the links and password, so he can see it himself.”

“Gimme his e-mail address. I’ll forward the original message to him.”

James is still peering at one of the screens. “Okay, so assuming her phone’s been turned off or

smashed, why is one signal static, two of the trails going off in one direction, and the other three all

match each other?”

“Suppose she’s got a tracker on her car or the keys, and the other three on herself somehow? If she’s

been taken out her car, and they’re getting rid of it somewhere….”

James is zooming in on the wayward trail. “You could have something there….”

Richard turns from his phone again. “Will says he’s coming down here himself…”

I watch the three remaining dots move across their screens. “Wonder where she’s got the other

tracers?”