‘There’s no record of the vehicle being stolen or involved in any illegal activities. In fact,’ he said, sighing, ‘there’s no trace of it all – so they’re using fake licence plates.’
Finn slumped into a chair. It had been a long shot, but he’d made the mistake of pinning his hopes on the vehicle being traceable. He’d spent the last hour fantasising about what he would do to the owner when he caught up with him.
He leaned forward, closed his eyes and held his head in his hands.
Steve frowned, then walked across the room to him and crouched down. ‘Is this where you tell me what’s going on with you? You haven’t been the same since you got back with Cynthia.’
‘Not here.’
‘My contact will put a quiet word around – ask some people he knows to keep an eye out for it,’ said Steve. ‘You never know.’ He shrugged.
Finn rubbed his hands down his face and nodded. ‘Thanks.’
‘Now what happens?’ asked Cynthia, interrupting them.
‘We wait and hope the kidnappers call,’ said Steve.
‘What if they don’t?’
The two hostage specialists looked at each other.
Finn shook his head.
Neither of them wanted to contemplate such a scenario.
10
Finn rolled the beer bottle between his fingers, re-tracing an old condensation watermark on the worn surface of the bar. The beer had gone warm, forgotten after he’d taken the first gulp and had nearly retched, his nerves twisting his gut.
A ceiling fan spun above his head, the draught ruffling his hair, cooling his neck. The ex-pat bartender remained at the far end of the bar, sensing Finn’s reticence and left him alone with his drink. The only other patrons in the place sat at a small table in the shadows, two old men talking in low voices and drinking coffee over an hours-old game of backgammon.
He exhaled and closed his eyes, tuning out the muffled noises in the bar. His eyelids twitched and he was instantly back in Florida, cradling her in his arms as her lifeblood drained onto the floor.
He opened his eyes and shook his head to clear the image, then rubbed his hand over his face before running his palm over the tattoo on his bicep.
He’d never meant to fall in love with Kate, but that’s exactly what he’d done. The mousy girl who’d been completely out of her depth during the training, and who had so naively thrown herself into a role just to travel the world, had broken through the barriers he’d carefully built around his emotions.
The front door to the bar swung open, the warm evening air pooling into the bar for a brief moment before the familiar air-conditioned coolness returned. Footsteps approached, and then a hand clapped Finn on the shoulder.
‘Thought I’d find you here.’
Finn grunted in response.
‘What are you drinking?’
‘I’m not.’
‘You are now. If anyone was in need of a drink, it’s you.’ Steve signalled to the bartender. ‘Couple of scotches here.’ He looked at Finn, then back at the bartender. ‘Better make them large ones.’
He turned back to Finn and pointed to a table in the corner. ‘Get your backside over there.’
Finn slipped from the bar stool and wandered over to the table. Pulling out a chair, he slumped into it, resting the beer bottle on the table in front of him.
‘I’ve got the phones re-routed through to my mobile,’ Steve said, taking it out of his pocket and placing it on the table between them. ‘That means you’ve got precisely fifteen minutes to sulk, grieve, do whatever it is you have to do before we go back to Hart’s office.’
Finn pushed his bottle of beer aside and reached for the scotch. ‘Who said I was sulking – or grieving?’ he growled, taking a sip. He closed his eyes as the liquid burned down his throat. ‘Jesus, you could’ve got the decent stuff.’
‘Next time, you buy them.’ Steve folded his arms, leaned on the table, and then shook his head. ‘I really thought by now you’d be trying to move on.’
‘Stop it.’
‘It hurts me too, you know. More than you can imagine.’
Finn noticed the older man’s eyes reddening and swallowed hard. ‘Don’t. Not now.’
‘Well, when? When are you going to face up to it and get on with your life?’ He leaned forward. ‘It’s been three bloody years, Finn.’
A cough from the table behind them silenced them. They both turned to face the old men who were watching, their backgammon game abandoned, concerned expressions on their faces. Steve raised his hand to them, smiled, then turned back to Finn and lowered his voice.
‘I worry about you.’
Finn shrugged.
‘I gave you this job because I thought it would help. Give you a sense of purpose in your life – help you heal.’ He sighed. ‘I’m wondering if it’s done more damage than good.’
Finn looked at his hands, refusing to meet the other man’s eyes. ‘No, you did the right thing,’ he mumbled. He cleared his throat. ‘I don’t think I ever thanked you properly.’
Steve snorted. ‘You never thank anyone for anything, Finn, that’s just your way.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re so tied up in your own life, your own misery, you don’t see it affecting the people you care about until it’s too late. Do you?’
Finn frowned.
‘This girl – Kate,’ said Steve. ‘You could have been nice to her, worked with her – given her some confidence. But no, you had to belittle her, make her feel insecure, just so you didn’t have to show any feelings towards her.’
A faint smile flickered across Finn’s face. ‘Am I that transparent?’
‘Like glass.’ Steve leaned forward. ‘You knew you’d have to do this again someday,’ he said. ‘It’s the worst-case scenario, but you can’t spend the rest of your life hiding in the classroom. Sometimes, we’re going to get asked to get people out of trouble. That’s what we do.’
Finn turned the glass of scotch slowly in his hand. ‘I know. I just didn’t expect the first time back actually doing this was going to remind me so much of the last time.’ He picked up the glass and cradled it in his fingers. ‘I didn’t expect to be trying to rescue another woman who disregards my advice and puts herself in danger.’
‘You care about her a lot, don’t you?’
Finn nodded. ‘Yeah.’ He snorted. ‘Even if she did drive me up the wall during the training. Although now I realise it was probably all bravado, just so she could get through it.’
‘Then why the hell didn’t you return her phone messages?’
Finn shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Part of me wanted to, especially after that last night at the hotel. I really felt something there.’ He took a swig of the scotch. ‘But I just couldn’t face the thought of losing her. What if she didn’t like what I did for a living? She’d only seen the training side of things. This job, Steve, it’s not easy, is it? What if something happened? What if someone had used her to get to me? Like last time?’
‘Only Kate can tell you the answers to that.’ Steve leaned back in his chair. ‘She’s braver than she thinks she is,’ he said. ‘Okay, she fell apart on that first day out of the classroom, but she didn’t give up and go home.’
Finn stared at his hands. ‘I wish she had.’
‘I got the impression she’s quite tough under that exterior.’
‘You do?’
‘Uh-huh. I think she needed to pass the course,’ said Steve. ‘Not just for the job, but to prove to herself that her past wasn’t going to hold her back.’
‘You think?’
Steve nodded. ‘Yeah, I do.’
‘She’s something else, isn’t she?’
‘Yeah, she is, Finn. You only just realised?’
‘We’re going to lose her, Steve. It’s happening again.’
The other man finished his scotch in two gulps and shook his head. ‘No, we’re not. You’re not. We can do this.’
‘I hope to hell s
he remembers at least some of what we taught her.’
‘I’m sure she will.’ Steve pointed at the tattoo poking out from the sleeve of Finn’s t-shirt. ‘I thought you would have done something about that.’
‘What?’
‘The tattoo. I mean, it’s a constant reminder, isn’t it?’
‘That’s why it’s there.’
‘You should get the other half done.’
Finn shook his head, threw the scotch down his throat and pushed the chair back. He pointed at the mobile phone. ‘Bring that. Let’s get back and see what we can find out.’
Steve stood and slapped him on the back, pocketing the phone. ‘That’s more like it.’
***
Kate leaned against the wall, her eyes closed as a breeze filtered through the high-set window and over her face.
She ran her necklace between her fingers, the pendant playing across the chain backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards. She wondered if Hart was any closer to finding her. So far, her captors had made no demands of her – no message for Ian or anyone else.
Would Ian employ Finn and Steve to rescue her? At the course, they’d given the impression they were on call if Hart required their services.
She opened her eyes. Did her parents know?
She bit her bottom lip hard, trying to stem the tears. Who would tell them? Finn? What would he say?
She slumped on the mattress, weaving the loose threads which came apart from the blanket between her fingers, then turned her head at the sound of footsteps outside the door and the bolt being released.
The older of the two men she’d seen pushed open the door, allowing the boy to enter first, a new bottle of water in his hands. He set it down next to her, avoiding her eyes, then picked up the used tray and hurried towards the other side of the room.
The man stepped across the concrete floor towards her. Kate saw that he carried some cloth and a glass jar.
He set the things down on the floor and gestured to her ankle.
She nodded, understanding, and sat so that her leg was extended.
The man took the cloth, poured some of the drinking water onto it, then added the ointment and began setting a crude poultice on her ankle, before tying off the ends.
‘Thank you. Thank you,’ Kate smiled.
The man smiled back, and then his hand shot forward and ripped the necklace from her throat.
Kate cried out and tried to grab it from him, but he snapped his hand back and grinned.
‘You bastard!’
She didn’t see the slap coming. The sound of his hand connecting with her cheek reverberated around the concrete room.
Kate held her cheek and glared at the man, tears coursing down her face as he stood and turned his back on her, swinging the necklace between his fingers. He pushed the boy out the door in front of him, the teenager’s face revealing his shock at what had happened. The tray wobbled in his hands as the man followed him from the room and locked the door behind them.
Kate drew her knees up to her chin and let the tears fall, violated by the man’s outburst. She’d thought he’d been looking after her when he’d tended to her ankle, but now he’d stolen the last thing which held a connection to her own world.
She cursed under her breath and wiped her eyes. Finn had told the course attendees to build a rapport with their captors, but it seemed that every time she tried to make an effort, she lost ground.
11
Finn paced the room, his fists clenched.
He ignored Hart, who sat in front of his computer, lost in his work. The occasional tap-tap of his fingers on the keyboard broke Finn’s reverie.
A full twenty-four hours later, there had been no word from the kidnappers. The telephones remained silent, the air in the office stuffy despite the air-conditioning, and the small group were becoming fractious.
‘Have they made contact yet?’ Cynthia asked as she burst into the room.
Steve shook his head. ‘No.’ He turned to face Finn. ‘That’s what’s bothering me. By now, a kidnapper would be telling us his demands – so why haven’t we intercepted a phone call to Hart?’
‘Why? Why would they do that?’ asked Cynthia.
Finn eased himself into a chair, forcing himself to keep still before he answered. ‘Because they know it’s having this effect on everyone. Because when they do contact you, you’ll be ready to do anything they tell you to do if you want to see Kate again.’
Steve had disappeared at sunrise, returning with strong coffee and local pastries.
‘Here,’ he’d said to Finn, shoving the food towards him. ‘Keep your energy levels up. We could be in for a long wait.’
Finn sipped the hot black coffee, spluttered, and then added three packets of sugar. He closed his eyes, absorbing the aroma as the caffeine hit his bloodstream, and listened to the murmur of voices in the room.
The ringing of the telephone on Ian’s desk stopped everyone mid-conversation.
There was a pause, and then Steve and Finn flew into action, checking wires and recording devices within the first few seconds.
Ian’s hand hovered above the receiver as he watched Finn, waiting for his signal.
Finn nodded, and then took the headphones Steve handed him and placed them over his ears.
‘Ian Hart.’ He was unable to keep the tremor from his voice.
‘Are you alone in the room?’
‘Yes.’ He glanced at Steve, who gave him a thumbs-up. The communications equipment was working.
‘Is this call being monitored?’
Ian closed his eyes. ‘No. Do you have Kate?’
‘I do. She’s safe… for now.’
‘What do you want?’
‘You know what I want.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Honour your arrangement.’
Finn frowned, watching Hart, who had slumped into his chair, sweat beading on his forehead. His hand shook harder, and he gripped the telephone between both hands.
‘I can’t do that!’ he hissed. ‘You know that’s impossible!’
‘Nothing is impossible,’ said the caller. ‘Honour the arrangement and no harm comes to the woman.’
The caller hung up, the only sound over the microphone a faint hum of the dead line and Hart’s heavy breathing.
Hands shaking, he leaned over the desk and put the receiver back onto its cradle and eyed Finn.
‘Now what?’
Finn launched himself across the room at the man before Steve could stop him. Cynthia cried out as the two men tumbled to the floor, Finn’s hand around Hart’s throat.
‘What the hell is going on?’ he snarled, pinning the businessman to the floor. ‘Answer me! What did you do?’
A hand grabbed his shoulder and dragged him off Hart. Steve didn’t let go of him until he’d reached the other side of the room.
Finn shook him off angrily and watched as Hart climbed shakily to his feet, leaning on Cynthia, who glared over her shoulder at Finn.
‘I think you owe us an explanation, Ian,’ said Steve, pointing Finn to a chair away from the desk. ‘Now.’
Hart coughed, waved his wife away and stepped round his desk, sinking into the leather seat which creaked under his weight.
‘It’s nothing, really.’
‘I doubt that,’ said Steve. ‘Not from the conversation I heard. Enough bullshit, Hart. Talk to us.’
‘What’s really going on here?’ asked Finn. ‘What’s the real reason you don’t want the police involved? What have you done?’
Hart rubbed his hand over his eyes before looking across at the two men and tried to avoid his wife’s angry glare.
‘I backed out of a business deal last week, after I found out the other party weren’t legitimate buyers.’
‘You need to tell the authorities,’ said Steve. ‘This is crazy – you’re way out of your depth and we could really use their help.’
Hart shook his head. ‘No – we can’t.
He said he’d kill Kate if I went to the police.’
‘How were you approached by him in the first place?’ asked Finn, turning to Hart. ‘Did you initiate the contact, or did he?’
‘He did. I’d secured a deal with the Turkish authorities a few months ago – they’d agreed to pay for the research and development to complete the equipment I’d been designing.’ He shrugged. ‘Normally the British or Americans would be the first to get involved, but there’s been so much scrutiny within both governments over defence spending that they weren’t interested this time.’
‘What are you developing for the Turkish authorities?’
‘We’ve designed and built parts for a new rocket-propelled grenade launcher for the Turkish army. It’s not very different from the ones they already use – we’re just helping them bring their hardware into the twenty-first century at an affordable cost.’
‘Enough of the sales bullshit,’ said Steve. ‘What’s the difference between the old equipment and what you’ve built?’
The businessman sighed. ‘The parts enable the grenades to be converted into a standalone bomb. No launcher required. They also create a better spread of destruction – broader reach.’
Steve shook his head. ‘Like we need better ways to kill each other.’
Hart became defensive. ‘It’s at the cutting edge of military technology!’
Finn waved his hand impatiently. ‘What happened?’
‘About six months before we were due to come out here to finalise the deal, a man called Claude van Zant contacted me.’
‘How?’ Finn crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.
‘By telephone initially. He said he was in London for a meeting, so I met him for lunch. He sounded legitimate, but when I got back to the office, I tried to look him up on the internet.’
‘What did you find?’
‘Absolutely nothing.’
‘When did things start to go wrong?’ asked Steve.
‘He phoned the week before we arrived. I questioned why I couldn’t find anything about him, and he started going on about how his organisation was dependent on my help for their cause.’ Ian shrugged. ‘I put two and two together, and told him I wouldn’t be proceeding with the deal.’
Two FBI thrillers: Before Nightfall and Mistake Creek Page 7