The Choice. Alex Lake

it is knows someone. Or it’s a cop. And if there is a way they could find out—’

      ‘We won’t see the kids,’ she said. ‘If it’s true, we can’t risk it. We have to wait. See what they want.’ She looked at the phone. ‘Were there any other messages?’

      ‘No. That was the last one.’

      ‘Did you call the number?’

      ‘Not yet.’

      ‘We should. I will.’ She tapped the screen and lifted the phone to her ear.

      ‘Are you calling?’ he said.

      ‘Yes.’ She listened for the ringing to start, but it never came. It went straight to a recorded message.

       The number you have called does not have a voice mailbox set up. Thank you.

      Then the line went dead.

      She put the phone down.

      ‘What is it?’ Matt said.

      ‘An automated message saying no voicemail has been set up.’

      ‘If they’re using different numbers, they probably get rid of the phones afterwards.’

      She pictured someone throwing a phone into a bin then taking a new one from a rucksack and typing in a number.

      Matt’s number.

      ‘My God,’ she said. ‘They know your number. Which means this isn’t random. It isn’t someone who saw an opportunity and grabbed it.’ She took a deep breath in an attempt to control the panic rising in her chest. It didn’t work. ‘This was planned,’ she said. ‘Someone was watching and waiting.’ She felt a wave of nausea. ‘They’ve been watching us, Matt.’

      Matt stood and began to pace the room. ‘I know.’

      ‘But why? What do they think we have? What do they want?’

      ‘I can’t think of anything,’ Matt said.

      ‘But to go to all this effort …’ Annabelle’s voice tailed off. ‘This is fucking unbelievable. Why would anyone do this? What do they want from us?’

      ‘It must be money,’ Matt said. ‘What else is there?’

      ‘But we don’t have the kind of money that would make this worthwhile,’ Annabelle said.

      ‘Maybe they think we do.’

      ‘But we don’t,’ she said. ‘And if we say we don’t they’ll think we’re holding out on them and’ – she choked back a sob – ‘and they’ll hurt the kids. Matt, they’re going to hurt my babies. We have to stop them. Please, we have to stop this!’

      ‘How?’ Matt said.

      ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I don’t have any ideas.’

      And then, in her hand, her husband’s phone buzzed.

       This will be a shock for them. It will be the last thing they’re expecting. They will be thinking the ransom will be for money, because they – in particular he, I don’t blame her so much – are people of very feeble imagination.

       Like the rest of the common herd, snouting around in the dirt for a few scraps, leaving the real prizes for those who can see the truth.

       What else is there, they will think. What else could anyone want from them? The dirty Land Rover Discovery? No – that has already been taken. The three kiddoes? They too, have already been taken. Their house, as modest as his ambition? Impossible. How could they give me their house without me revealing who I am? It’s hardly portable property.

       So what else could I want?

      His resignation? What would be the point? For him to humiliate himself? It’s a pleasant thought, I admit, but please. I am not that sort of petty-minded person. I am not that shallow.

       And he’ll be humiliated enough, as it is.

       Which leaves only one thing. That grubbiest of motives, money.

       Which is, frankly, beneath me.

       They don’t know that, though, so they will conclude that I will be asking for cash. Lots of it. Which confuses them, because they aren’t wealthy. Not poor, but nowhere near rich enough to make their kids the target of kidnappers looking for a ransom. I mean, think about what has gone into this. To pull this off required preparation and time. And a vastly superior nerve and intelligence. Let’s not forget that. Even they will have worked out that the person who took his car and children must have been watching, waiting for an opportunity.

       And they would only do that if there was a significant reward, which means a lot of money.

       Which they don’t have.

       So they’ll conclude it’s a mistake. This is a mistake and someone thinks they’re richer than they are, so they’re going to have to say they can’t come up with the one or two or three million they get asked for.

       This will worry them. They will fear that the kidnapper will be angry if they say they can’t pay. And eventually, if they keep saying it, the kidnapper will realize it’s true and disappear, along with their children.

       They are probably working out what they can offer. Sell the house, ask relatives. Maybe they can come up with half a million.

       Tops.

       But they don’t need to worry. I won’t be asking for money. I want something much more valuable.

       And the time has come to let them know what that is.

       I will tell them what I want, and they will give it to me. It will be a shock to him. A blow, a loss almost beyond imagining.

      Not to her, though. Neither a shock, nor a blow. It will be welcome.

       Time now, then, to introduce them to their new futures.

       Same method: take out a new phone. Type a new message.

       Press send.

       And wait.

       Annabelle

      The message was from another new number. Annabelle held it so that both she and Matt could read it.

      If you want to see your children again you will do exactly as I say. Understood?

      She squeezed his upper arm. ‘Jesus,’ she whispered. ‘This is actually happening.’

      He glanced at her. ‘I think they want a reply. For us to say we got the message.’

      ‘OK,’ she said. She typed a reply.

      Understood.

      The reply was immediate.

      Good. And I see you have not informed the police. So we can move forward.

      ‘They know,’ Annabelle said. ‘They know we haven’t told the police.’

      ‘It could be a bluff,’ Matt said. ‘Or a guess.’

      ‘Maybe.’ She pressed her head to his chest. This was unbelievable. They were having a text conversation with the kidnapper of their children. Her stomach heaved. She dropped the phone and staggered out of the living room. The door of the downstairs bathroom banged as she slammed it open and threw up in the toilet bowl. She stayed kneeling before it, her hands on the tiled floor.

      Matt appeared in the doorway.

      ‘I’m