Free The Boathouse by R. J. Harries

on Kensington Gore slowed them down.
    Archer was staring aimlessly at the window display in a book shop when the phone rang on the fourth lap while they waited to turn right from Kensington Church Street before heading east down the Bayswater Road. The voice modulator sounded eerie over the sixteen speakers but broke the silent tension inside the car.
    â€œTurn left down Westbourne Terrace, towards Cleveland Terrace and look for the private car park on the left-hand side and valet park the car. Leave it there until six p.m. Understood?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œDo not return to the car until six p.m. otherwise she dies.”
    They hung up and the radio automatically returned to the sound system.
    Jones turned left and slowed down as he looked for the garage. Archer spotted a blue neon sign and pointed at it. The car park entrance was down a side street with just enough space off the road to stop and let the valet take over. Jones parked the car in the designated spot off the road and waited until a friendly-looking valet appeared.
    Jones and Archer got out and a young eastern European valet wearing a royal blue jacket and broad smile took the key card and parked the car. Archer saw Best in the Land Rover, looking around for a parking space on the road nearby. Jones and Archer went into the office to pay, but had to wait until the valet had parked the car.
    The valet returned with the key card and put it in a small cubby hole. Jones paid the minimum fee of sixty pounds for one day despite arguing that he would return for it at six p.m. As they walked out of the office and onto the street they saw Best drive past and cross Westbourne Terrace. He made a skilful U-turn and parked on the road in sight of the car park. He got out and looked around like a typical bodyguard before he casually fed the meter.
    The area was busy with more people than usual and fewer cars. Several police vans were parked at the Bayswater end. Inside, armed police sat talking in a relaxed manner.
    More armed police walked down the street wearing Kevlar vests and blue riot helmets. In the distance the unmistakeable sound of horses drawing nearer was getting louder.
    Archer felt the air was charged with an electric tension as people in the street warily scrutinised each other. Some looked afraid and apprehensive. Archer asked a Lebanese shopkeeper standing outside his bazaar-style store what was happening.
    â€œSupposed to be a student protest. Supposed to be peaceful. But the rioters have come instead. Many gate crashers wanting trouble. Wanting to fight the police.”
    â€œWhere are the students?”
    â€œThey left already. It’s just the anarchists now and the looters. But I have a baseball bat and my sons are ready to fight.”
    â€œWhy don’t you close the shutter and go home?”
    â€œNo. We stay and fight.”
    â€œGood luck.”
    â€œFilthy scum.” He spat on the floor in disgust.
    Archer and Jones crossed the street and got into the Land Rover with Best.
    â€œLooks like we’re in the middle of a war zone.”
    â€œWe’ll never spot the kidnappers now.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

    Jones sat in the front of the Land Rover and immediately retuned the radio. He kept the volume down and seemed to be weary of Best, who remained as stiff as a mannequin in the driver’s seat. Nobody spoke as they kept watch on the car park. Best and Jones had brought small field binoculars and used them intermittently. Jones hesitantly turned the volume up to listen to the traffic news. He told them that he often texted in as “Spitfire Man” with tips on how to avoid the ever-changing bottlenecks. Nobody responded.
    Dropouts with dirty clothes and matted hair walked past the car in small groups. Some threatened to rock the car and others took out keys as if they were going to scratch the paintwork, but they soon backed away from the silent threat of its inhabitants.
    The rioters were mostly in pairs by