Two FBI thrillers: Before Nightfall and Mistake Creek

by Rachel Amphlett

  ‘I don’t think it’s very busy,’ said Osman as they drove past. ‘There aren’t many cars there. My father’s business is very successful,’ he added. ‘Always people in the shop.’

  Finn smiled at the boy. ‘Your father is a nice man,’ he said. ‘If the man that owns that garage is as rude as your father says he is, that’s probably why his business is struggling.’

  He glanced in the rear view mirror, checked he wasn’t being followed, and then increased his speed.

  ‘Alright, Osman, let’s get you back home. You’ve been really helpful, thank you.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  Finn shook his head. ‘I don’t know. But you need to stay away from here now, okay?’

  The boy nodded his head. ‘Okay.’

  ‘What’s your friend’s name?’

  ‘Halim,’ said the boy. ‘Halim Rizman.’

  13

  Kate raised her head as the door to her prison opened.

  ‘Get up.’

  The younger of the kidnappers, his gun slung over his shoulder, advanced towards her. He reached down and hauled her off the mattress.

  Kate instinctively tried to jerk away from him. ‘Where are you taking me?’

  Yusuf ignored her, grabbed her arm and extracted the hood from the back pocket of his jeans.

  Kate began to struggle, digging her heels into the concrete floor, and made her bodyweight as heavy as possible.

  Yusuf leaned down and grabbed her hair, pulling it hard. ‘Stay still,’ he said, shaking her. ‘You have a meeting to go to.’

  Kate’s hands flew to her scalp as she tried to stop the man tearing her hair out by the roots. ‘Where? Who?’

  ‘Come with me.’

  His grip on her hair weakened, and she sighed with relief, and then gasped as he slipped the hood over her head. Immediately, she began to hyperventilate.

  She felt Yusuf’s face move closer to hers and forced herself not to move.

  ‘No screaming,’ he said. ‘You know what will happen if you scream?’

  She nodded her head. No way was she going back into the windowless room.

  He took hold of her arm, unfastened the metal clasp and wound a rope around her wrists before leading her out of her room. Kate tried not to panic, concentrating instead on breathing through her mouth to avoid the musty smell of the hood.

  Even if you can’t see, Finn had said, you can still hear what’s going on around you.

  Yusuf pushed her to the left as they exited the room. Kate stumbled with the sudden change in direction, and the man muttered as he dragged her up so she didn’t trip and fall. She slowed down, forcing him to take his time. The last thing she wanted was to get hurt trying to keep up with him when she couldn’t see where she was going.

  He stopped suddenly and could tell by the shift of his hand on her arm that he’d turned towards her.

  ‘We are going down some stairs,’ he said. ‘Put out your right hand. Hold onto the rail.’

  She fumbled around with her hand until she found the metal surface of the rail and wrapped her fingers around it.

  ‘Go.’ He led her down the stairs without another word, moving slowly so that Kate could find her

  bearings with her feet each time.

  Even though she only counted two flights of fourteen steps with a small landing between them, the descent seemed to take forever.

  At the landing, she stopped, giving the impression she needed a rest. In reality, she wanted a few precious seconds to get her bearings, but she heard no voices on this level, no movement.

  The man pulled her onwards, down the second flight of stairs. At the bottom, he picked up the pace again, turned right and steered her through another door.

  She sensed movement in the room, the distinctive chink of glass. The scent of cigarettes wafted through the material of the hood, and she coughed.

  She felt a hard surface next to her right thigh, then her body was turned and the man put his hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Sit.’

  Kate stumbled. With the rope around her wrists, she had no way of reaching behind to check where the seat was. Her heart pounded as the man pushed her down, until her bottom found the chair which had been placed there for her.

  She lowered her head and waited, her bound hands in her lap.

  The hood was whipped off her head, and she blinked in the sunlight which bathed the room.

  The chair had been placed in front of a table. She raised her head and stared at the man sitting opposite her.

  He was dressed in a suit, the sleeves slightly creased, and an open-necked shirt. A tie lay folded on the table next to him. A day’s worth of stubble covered his jawline and dark eyes studied her from under hooded lids. A cigarette stub burned between his fingers, yellow nicotine stains on his nails.

  A decorative teapot and two glasses, together with an ashtray, a newspaper and a mobile phone, were set out on the table in front of him.

  He remained silent as he watched her, his gaze running up and down her body until she turned away, embarrassed.

  You’re just a commodity, Finn had said. Something to be bargained with.

  She closed her eyes. She’d never felt so naked under someone’s gaze.

  ‘Look at me.’

  She breathed out and raised her head to meet his stare.

  ‘You,’ he said, pointing his finger at her, ‘are going to help me secure a business transaction.’ He smiled. ‘You are good at business, yes?’

  Kate’s mind raced. Who was this man? Why was he holding her hostage?

  ‘Answer me!’ His fist slammed down onto the table, making the tea glasses shake and clink together.

  Kate’s heart lurched at the sudden outburst. ‘Y-yes. I think so,’ she stammered.

  He leaned back in his chair and appeared to relax a little.

  Kate tried to steady her breathing, but she was terrified. The man was obviously the one in charge of whatever group her kidnappers belonged to.

  The younger man who had brought her into the room was standing by the door, his rifle slung across his arms. His whole body stood rigid, poised, and he seemed in awe of the man who sat opposite her.

  ‘You, Miss Foster, are very valuable to me at the moment,’ the man in charge said.

  His voice was educated, with very little trace of the local accent. He sounded as if he’d spent time in England. She frowned as she tried to guess his age. Realising she shouldn’t antagonise the man and make her situation worse, she forced a smile.

  ‘It seems a bit unfair that you know my name, and I don’t know yours,’ she said, her voice shaking.

  He shrugged. ‘My name is Kaan,’ he said. ‘But you are from America, yes?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Then you will not have heard my name – yet.’ He drew on the cigarette, and then blew the smoke towards the ceiling before appraising her once more. ‘But your people will. In time.’

  Kaan smiled, and Kate shivered. His coal black eyes taunted her, and she saw no mercy in his gaze.

  ‘Why am I here? Why am I being held prisoner?’

  ‘Your boss reneged on an agreement with me,’ he said. ‘I have no argument with you.’ He leaned forward and stubbed out his cigarette in the decorative ashtray on the table. ‘However, your life depends on the successful outcome of my business deal with Mr Hart.’ He sighed and lifted his hands, palms up. ‘Unfortunately, Mr Hart is being very difficult to deal with at this time.’

  Her life? Kate’s stomach clenched and bile rose in her throat.

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ she said. ‘But if it’s got nothing to do with me, then let me go.’

  Kaan laughed, the sound echoing off the walls before his face grew serious. ‘I am afraid I cannot do that.’

  She bit her bottom lip, forcing herself not to beg. ‘What do you want from me?’

  He smiled. ‘That’s more like it.’ He stood, then peeled the suit jacket from his shoulders and hung it over
the back of his chair.

  He moved around the table, rolling up his shirt sleeves as he walked, until he was standing next to her.

  Kate swallowed and kept her eyes facing forward.

  He pushed the newspaper towards her. ‘Pick this up.’

  She lifted her bound hands until her fingertips could twitch the newspaper closer, and then did as she had been told.

  ‘Hold it so the date is facing out.’

  Kate complied, feeling sick to her stomach.

  Proof of life, Finn had told her. At some point, they’re going to have to tell the outside world that they have you and that you’re still alive.

  Kaan walked back round the desk, picked up the mobile phone and pointed it at her.

  She blinked and moved her head as the flash blinded her. When she opened her eyes, she saw Kaan checking the photograph.

  ‘Perfect,’ he murmured, before turning his attention towards the man standing at the door.

  ‘Take her back.’

  Kate gritted her teeth as the hood was pulled roughly over her head, and she was hauled from her sitting position.

  ‘Quiet.’

  Yusuf led her back through the door and along the passageway towards the stairs.

  Kate strained her ears as she shuffled along.

  She heard the man who called himself Kaan walk behind her. As the man with the rifle dragged her to the left and began leading her up the stairs, she heard Kaan continue walking straight on.

  Kate heard a door open and stopped on the stairs, pretending to lose hold of the stair rail, while she listened.

  Beyond the door which Kaan had walked through, she heard voices, the sound of a hammer knocking against something metallic. A waft of aromas assaulted her senses but one stood out from the rest.

  Motor oil.

  The same smell as the man’s hands which had pulled her from the car.

  The door behind her slammed shut, and she grabbed hold of the stair rail.

  ‘Move,’ said Yusuf.

  Once back in her room, the hood removed and alone again, Kate mulled over what she’d heard and smelled, while she toyed with the metal clasp around her wrist.

  A hammer on metal, the motor oil…

  Was she being held above a garage workshop?

  She shook her head, angry with herself. ‘Can’t be,’ she murmured. ‘There would be more cars around. There aren’t any customers.’

  She paced the room while her mind worked. Maybe it was a workshop, but they were making something else.

  What?

  She sighed, made her way over to the mattress and sank onto it. She reached over, uncapped the bottle of water and drank four large gulps, then curled up on the mattress and lay on her back, staring at the ceiling.

  She wondered what Ian would do when he received the photograph Kaan had taken, and then her stomach churned.

  Would Kaan send it to her parents? He couldn’t be that cruel, surely.

  She shook her head and tried to clear the thought. Somehow, she believed Kaan wouldn’t send the photograph to her parents. For some reason, he didn’t want the outside world to know about her disappearance, just Ian.

  What on earth was he up to?

  14

  Ian Hart rubbed his eyes and leaned closer to the computer screen.

  Cynthia had insisted they return to the apartment so they could freshen up. While she was showering, Ian remained in his office, trying to distract himself with spread sheets and design calculations. He glanced down at his crumpled suit and realised it was nearly two days old.

  Finn had handed him a mobile phone that had been connected to the office phone lines in case the kidnappers tried to contact him. He eyed it warily, afraid of what would happen if it did ring. His mind worked in circles.

  If only.

  If only he could wind the clock back, turn down van Zant’s offer right at the start of all this.

  If only he’d gone to the police as soon as the threats had started. They’d have taken it seriously, especially with his line of work and the heightened security levels permanently in place across America and Western Europe.

  If only he’d listened to Finn Scott six months ago, when the hostage trainer had cautioned against taking Kate with him.

  If only he’d resisted Francine’s attention.

  He raised his head from the paperwork at a knock on the door, frowning at the interruption.

  ‘Come in,’ he said, pushing the documentation and Finn’s mobile phone into a desk drawer. He failed to contain the fear which twisted his gut when the door opened and his housekeeper showed a man wearing a pale grey suit into the room.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Hart,’ she said. ‘I know you said there were to be no visitors, but Mr van Zant was very insistent that he see you without an appointment.’

  The visitor smiled. ‘I hope you don’t mind, Ian.’

  Hart rose, his mind swirling. ‘No, not at all.’ He walked over to the man, and they shook hands.

  As his visitor loosened his grip, Hart swallowed and wiped his damp palm across the crease of his linen trousers.

  ‘Would you like me to make some tea, Mr Hart?’

  ‘No thank you, Chrissie – that’ll be all.’

  The housekeeper nodded and left the room, closing the door behind her.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ Hart glared at the visitor. ‘I told you never to come here.’

  The man smiled benevolently. ‘Ah, but there is so much to talk about, isn’t there? Better to meet face-to-face than a phone call at the moment, don’t you think?’

  Hart gritted his teeth. ‘You bastard.’

  ‘Sit down. We have some things to discuss.’

  Hart sank into his chair, a look of defeat in his eyes.

  Van Zant smiled and reached into his jacket pocket. ‘I’m going to give this to you. A reminder of what’s at stake here. Maybe that will help you focus.’

  A moan escaped Hart’s lips when he saw the photograph.

  Kate’s face bore a red welt where she’d evidently been struck. Her blouse was torn, her hair matted, and there was a nasty cut above her left eyebrow, but it was the expression in her eyes…

  Terrified. Fearful. Desperate.

  He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his forehead as he fought down the wave of sickness which engulfed him.

  ‘Who are the two men working for you?’

  ‘Two men?’

  ‘Please, Mr Hart, don’t play games with me. You are not a stupid man, I know this. Who are they?’

  Ian crossed his hands on the desk, realised the trembling in his fingers would only please the man in front of him, and let his hands fall into his lap. ‘They are employed by the business at the request of my insurers,’ he said. ‘They train my staff in security techniques so that they can deal with kidnapping situations.’

  ‘Ah. I see.’ Van Zant cast his eyes around the room and waved a finger. ‘They are listening to us now?’

  Ian shook his head, resigned. ‘Just the phone lines at the office.’

  ‘As I suspected.’

  ‘They’re advisors, that’s all,’ Ian insisted. ‘I haven’t gone to the authorities – as you instructed.’

  ‘Keep them on a short leash,’ snapped van Zant. ‘If I find they’re getting too close, you lose the deal.’

  ‘I don’t want the deal!’ Hart stood and ran his hand through his hair then spun away, pacing the carpet.

  Van Zant watched him. ‘You don’t have a choice. You think this is something you can walk away from?’ He shook his head. ‘This is just the beginning. I’ll keep squeezing until you give me what I want.’

  Both men turned at a knock on the door. It opened, and Cynthia glided in.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry – I didn’t realise we had company.’

  Hart managed a smile and introduced his wife.

  Van Zant stood, executed a small bow and then returned to his seat and raised a quizzical eyebrow at Hart. ‘Well? What’s your decis
ion Ian?’

  ‘I can’t, Claude, you know that. My hands are tied.’

  ‘Yours aren’t the only hands tied, and you’d do well to remember that.’

  Ian closed his eyes and wavered for a moment, clutching the side of the desk to steady himself. Cynthia moved towards him, but he waved her away with a frown.

  ‘Surely we can work something out,’ he said. ‘A compromise?’

  Claude smiled. ‘I really thought Francine would have gone some way to sweeten the deal.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Hart glanced nervously at his wife, then back at van Zant. ‘What’s she got to do with this?’

  ‘She had everything to do with this,’ said Claude. ‘She was my gift to you.’

  He stood, signalling the meeting was over.

  Cynthia watched in silence as her husband almost stumbled around his desk in his haste to get the other man out of his office. As he passed her, though, the man stopped and took her hand in his, turned it over gently and kissed it.

  ‘Madame, it was a pleasure to meet you at last. You are a formidable woman.’ He smiled, then turned, nodded at Hart, and left the room.

  Cynthia frowned and turned to her husband. ‘Who was that?’

  He sighed. ‘Someone who is very pissed off that I reneged on a business deal.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Ian slid the photograph across the desk and turned it so Cynthia could see. ‘This is what I mean.’

  Cynthia cried out as she picked up the photo. ‘Oh my god,’ she whispered. ‘Kate.’

  She lowered the picture, her hands shaking, before lifting her gaze to stare at her husband.

  ‘Ian – who the hell is Francine?’

  ***

  Cynthia let the cold water run over her wrists, then splashed some onto her cheeks and forehead.

  Raising her eyes to her reflection in the mirror, she tried to work out whether she appeared as sick as she felt. Dark shadows were beginning to appear under her eyes, and she swept her fingers over her forehead, trying to smooth away the worry lines which were beginning to carve a path across her skin.

  She’d always suspected Ian had continued to have affairs while he was away on business, despite his past admission and promises to stop. To have his ongoing indiscretions confirmed by a total stranger had hurt her more deeply than if Ian had confessed himself.