Two FBI thrillers: Before Nightfall and Mistake Creek

by Rachel Amphlett

  A plastic bottle of water had been placed on the table, its contents half drained.

  The man’s brown eyes lifted to the mirror in the room and he scowled.

  ‘Friendly sort.’

  ‘Indeed. Are you ready now?’

  Finn straightened. ‘Let’s get on with it.’

  He followed Emrah into the room and instantly recoiled at the foul air.

  The Turkish intelligence officer shrugged. ‘An unfortunate side effect of the tranquiliser,’ he murmured and indicated that Finn should take one of the chairs opposite Mustafa.

  As he sat, Finn’s eyes roamed the array of plastic bags which had been laid out on the table, out of reach of the handcuffed prisoner.

  ‘Gloves?’

  Emrah reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved two pairs, handing one set to Finn.

  He put them on, and then reached across and began sifting through the small collection, mentally committing the contents to memory.

  A packet of cigarettes, a set of keys, a wallet.

  Finn stared across the table at Mustafa.

  The man was sweating, his eyes following the path of Finn’s hand.

  Emrah coughed next to him. ‘Three minutes.’

  Finn ignored him and watched Mustafa’s reaction as he moved his hand over the bag containing the man’s mobile phone.

  His shoulders slumped, and he sat back in his chair, dabbing at his cheek with the cloth.

  Finn pulled the zip lock bag across the table and took out the phone, then activated it.

  ‘Pin code?’

  The man pouted. ‘Two, six, six, nine.’

  Finn began scrolling through the contacts list. Empty. He switched to the recent calls and started again.

  ‘One minute, Mr Scott.’

  He held up his hand to silence Emrah, and then blinked.

  He thumbed back up the list and re-read the number in front of him, then pushed the chair back.

  ‘Outside – now,’ he said.

  Emrah unlocked the door and both men stepped into the corridor.

  Finn waited until the door was shut, then held up the mobile phone.

  ‘I need you to buy me some time.’

  The intelligence officer frowned and crossed his arms across his chest. ‘Explain.’

  Finn told him.

  ‘I see.’ He held out his hand for the phone. ‘I can give you two hours – no more.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Finn slapped him on the shoulder and hurried away. As he walked down the steps of the police station and into the cool air of the late afternoon, he took out his own mobile phone.

  ‘Steve? We’ve got a problem. I need you to do something for me.’

  20

  Finn approached the boardroom table, pulled out a photograph showing the plastic evidence bag containing Mustafa Rizman’s mobile phone and threw it onto the polished surface.

  It skidded across, stopping when it hit Cynthia’s elbow.

  She closed her eyes.

  ‘Care to tell me why your mobile phone number is in a terrorist’s recent calls list?’ said Finn, folding his arms across his chest.

  The hum of the air-conditioning filled the silence.

  ‘Talk to me!’ Finn’s palm slammed against the surface of the table, and Cynthia jumped in her chair.

  She dabbed a sodden paper tissue to her eyes. ‘I want a lawyer.’

  ‘I don’t care what you want. What the hell have you done?’

  She sniffed loudly, and then blew her nose, before looking at him. ‘You don’t understand.’

  Finn frowned. ‘What wouldn’t I understand?’

  His words brought on a fresh bout of sobbing.

  Finn gritted his teeth, knowing that if he pushed too hard, Cynthia would clam up, insist on a lawyer being present, and then he’d have nothing to work with.

  He turned away from her, walked over to where a tray of glasses and a jug of water stood on a side table, and poured Cynthia a drink.

  He looked over to where she sat, her elbow on the table, head in hand, while she used a tissue in her other hand to dab at her eyes.

  Her face had paled at his accusation, and now mascara ran down her cheeks.

  He knew he was right, that she and Mustafa had been in contact with each other, but he had to tread carefully if he was going to find out the full story.

  Finn poured himself some water, emptying the glass in three mouthfuls, and then stood with the cool glass pressed to his forehead.

  He couldn’t understand why Cynthia might be complicit in Kate’s abduction. At the training centre six months ago, the older woman had taken Kate under her wing, especially when he’d been so obnoxious, so what had gone wrong?

  He walked slowly back round to Cynthia, giving her time to regain her composure, and set the glass on the table next to her before pulling out a chair.

  He spun it around until he could stretch his legs out and crossed his arms. ‘Want to tell me what’s been going on?’

  She sniffed. ‘Oh my god, what have I done?’

  He shrugged. ‘How about you tell me?’

  She covered her mouth, as if debating whether to let the words pass. Her fingers fluttered back to the table, and she picked up the water glass, her hands shaking. Taking a sip, she set the glass back down with a clatter.

  ‘It’s my fault Kate’s been taken,’ she said and turned to look at him.

  He felt the colour drain from his face, even though he knew she spoke the truth. He fought to keep his voice level. ‘Explain.’

  ‘They wanted to know who was closest to Ian. How they could hurt him the most.’ She spat out a bitter sob. ‘Well it certainly wasn’t me he cared about.’

  She paused and took another sip of water.

  Finn remained silent, knowing that if he interrupted, Cynthia might stop talking and he wouldn’t find out what she was confessing to. Although he suspected what was coming, in his heart he hoped he was wrong.

  The woman next to him sniffed.

  He leaned over the table to where a box of tissues was placed, pulled out a handful and passed them to Cynthia, who nodded, taking them from him.

  ‘All this time,’ she said. ‘I mean, I know he’s had affairs from time to time, but after the last one, I confronted him and he promised to stop,’ she waved her hand. ‘And then I find out he’s back at it.’

  She blew her nose again, and Finn sighed inwardly before looking at his watch.

  ‘Out with it Cynthia. What did you do?’

  She straightened in her seat.

  ‘I came to an arrangement with Mr Kaan,’ she said, and Finn noticed the note of pride in her voice.

  ‘You did what?’

  A faint smile crossed her face. ‘Well, I thought that if Ian couldn’t see a good business opportunity when it crossed his desk, perhaps I could help it along a bit.’

  Finn’s mind started working overtime. ‘You weren’t in London when Ian called you to tell you Kate had been kidnapped, were you?’ he said, rocking back on his chair.

  Cynthia shook her head. She took a deep breath before answering. ‘I was in Paris.’ She looked up and Finn saw a tear tracking down her cheek. ‘I – I’d told the gallery I was taking a look at a watercolour we were thinking of purchasing at auction.’

  ‘Is that when they contacted you?’

  She shook her head. ‘No – no. Kaan came to the gallery in London four weeks ago.’

  ‘What?’ Finn let his chair fall forward. ‘What did you say?’

  She dabbed at her eyes, then glared at Finn, and jutted out her chin. ‘I want a lawyer.’

  ‘I told you. I don’t care what you want,’ said Finn. ‘What the hell did you do?’

  Cynthia shrugged. ‘I think they knew then that Ian would back out of the deal. I don’t know why they thought that. They said,’ she sniffed, and blew her nose before continuing. ‘They said if I helped them persuade Ian to go through with the deal, they’d make me a rich woman in my own right.’


  Finn frowned. ‘What on earth would you need more money for?’

  Cynthia smiled. ‘That’s exactly what I said to them.’ The smile faded. ‘Then I found out about his latest affair.’

  ‘How?’

  Cynthia shrugged. ‘All the old signs were back. Not returning my calls, forgetting that we have a joint credit card so I could see the store purchases.’ She broke off and sighed. ‘My husband may be a genius when it comes to designing electronics, Finn. He’s not exactly blessed with common sense.’

  ‘So you came up with the idea of kidnapping Kate?’ Finn’s voice rose and a surge of anger flashed through his body. He pushed his chair back, standing over her.

  Cynthia jumped in her seat and stared up at him, her mouth open, her eyes wide in fright, tears on her cheeks.

  ‘Why on earth did you drag Kate into this? What did she ever do to you?’ His voice broke. ‘Why?’

  Cynthia’s bottom lip trembled. ‘Because I thought she was the one having an affair with Ian,’ she said. ‘Last time this happened, it was with his bloody secretary. So, what did I have to lose?’

  ***

  Kate held the chain tightly to her chest and pressed her ear against the rough timber of the door.

  She’d been eating the food which the old man had brought to her, when she’d heard raised voices from the level below.

  Scrambling up from the mattress, she’d crept to the door, intrigued.

  She frowned. Yusuf’s voice carried up the stairs, urgent – almost desperate. He paused, and she heard Kaan reply, his tone low and undecipherable.

  Kate turned, and rested her back against the door, frustrated that she couldn’t hear what the men were saying.

  Her gaze roamed the room. Whatever had been said, it didn’t change her current situation.

  She hurried over to the food, picked up the bowl of bread and stew, and wolfed it down, wiping her hands on her trousers when she’d finished.

  She looked ruefully at the stained material, and a fleeting memory of her elation at finding the suit in a New York boutique’s sales stock crossed her mind. She shook her head to clear the thought, wondering whether she’d get the chance to shop for a replacement one day.

  Her throat tightened, and she coughed, blinking to stop the tears pricking at her eyes from falling.

  ‘Not now,’ she murmured.

  She put the bowl back down and then crouched next to the iron hoop. She’d managed to dig away at half the mortar now, but the layer underneath was harder, older and tougher to work on.

  She wrapped her fingers around the hoop and pulled, then cursed. It still only moved as much as it had when she’d first started.

  She stood and stretched, then wandered across to the window and ran her finger across the surface of the sill to complete the day mark she’d been making.

  She lifted her finger and counted the marks, even though she knew their number by heart.

  She wondered how many she had left. Days? Hours?

  She shuddered. When they came for her, what would it be like?

  She looked over her shoulder at the locked door and then went back to the mattress and pulled out the concealed nail.

  As she inserted it into the crevice she’d created next to the iron hoop, she set her jaw, determined that she wouldn’t be chained to the wall when Yusuf returned for her.

  ***

  ‘We have to move now,’ said Yusuf, leaning across the table. ‘We haven’t had an update for over four hours.’

  Kaan eased back in his chair and worked his cigarette lighter between his fingers. He blew smoke towards the ceiling before lowering his gaze.

  ‘It does not matter if your contact has not called. We have what we need. The parts are here in Istanbul, and the exchange will be made within twenty-four hours.’

  ‘Will you let the American woman go free?’

  Kaan shrugged. ‘I have not yet decided whether she should be allowed to live.’

  ‘She has seen your face.’

  ‘At the moment, she still serves my purpose.’ An evil smile crossed his face. ‘I presume, then, that you would like the task of dispensing with her?’

  Yusuf licked his lips and fondled the knife at his belt. ‘I would, that is true.’

  Kaan stood and placed his hand on the other man’s shoulder. ‘Be patient, my friend. I shall have my glory, and you shall claim your prize.’

  21

  ‘Okay,’ said Finn. He put the cardboard box on the desk and gestured to Hart. ‘Come here. Walk us through what we need to know.’

  Hart pulled open the lid of the box and scooped out some of the small foam packaging cubes. He pulled out a rectangular metal container with the organisation’s logo stamped on top of it and set it on the desk.

  Unclipping the fasteners, he opened the lid and turned the case round to show Finn and Steve.

  They peered inside.

  Two slim metal canisters, cigar-like in shape and size, sat in a black velvet cushion.

  Finn whistled. ‘Very impressive. Is this what you show all your customers?’

  Steve punched him on the arm. ‘Stop it.’ He looked up at Hart. ‘Finn’s got a point, though. Why’s Kaan going to all this trouble to get his hands on these?’

  Hart leaned over and carefully lifted one of the canisters out of the case. He held it between his finger and thumb and turned to the other two men.

  Finn could see the gleam in the engineer’s eyes and realised the man had no concept of the death and destruction he was responsible for with his inventions. Hart’s gaze showed nothing but wonder at what his designs could do.

  ‘Inside here is a small concoction of chemicals,’ Hart said. ‘Separately, they’re rendered harmless, but armed with a bomb or a rocket-propelled grenade, they can expel an energy equivalent to several tonnes.’

  Steve gave a low whistle and held out his hand. ‘Are they safe like this?’

  Hart nodded. ‘You need a propellant to start the chain reaction.’ He passed the other cylinder to Finn. ‘At the moment, the chemicals are suspended in their own miniaturised compartments within the casing,’ he explained. ‘When the propellant causes an initial explosion, breaking open the cylinder, the chemicals mix in the air and give it that extra boost.’

  Finn ignored the grin on the man’s face. It was creepy, to say the least. Instead of bragging about his new invention, designed to take as many lives as possible, he should have been worrying about Kate. All the man seemed to worry about was salvaging his business from the debacle.

  He shrugged and forced himself to focus. He handed the cylinders back to Hart, who placed them back into the case and closed the lid. ‘We’ve got twenty-four hours in hand, so let’s work through what we’re going to do.’

  Ian shook his head. ‘You don’t understand – there isn’t time.’ He rubbed a hand over his face. ‘Kaan changed the deadline. He’s demanding the parts by midnight tonight.’

  ‘What the hell? When did that happen?’ shouted Finn.

  Ian reached into his pocket and held up a mobile phone. ‘He called me. I-I have a private number.’

  Steve’s eyes narrowed. ‘Would that be the one Francine used to contact you?’

  Hart nodded.

  ‘You asshole. Why didn’t you hand it over with the other one when we were fitting the tracking equipment?’

  Ian put the mobile phone on the desk and stepped away from it, his face etched with worry while Steve glared at him stonily.

  Finn launched himself at Hart.

  One minute, he was standing with his arms crossed over his chest, fury in his eyes, the next he’d cleared the space between them. He slapped Hart across his face hard, and then punched him in the gut.

  The engineer dropped to the floor, clutching his stomach.

  Finn tried to level a kick to the man’s kidneys, adrenaline shooting through his veins, fuelling his anger and frustration, before a hand gripped his shoulder, pulling him away.

  ‘That’s enough.’ St
eve’s voice cut through his rage. ‘Calm down, or you’ll end up killing him.’

  Finn gritted his teeth and cursed. He spun round and faced Steve, who had his hands up in a defensive position.

  ‘What? You’re going to start on me next?’

  Finn forced himself to breathe and dropped his hands to his side. ‘No.’

  ‘Good.’ Steve walked across to Hart and hauled him to his feet.

  ‘That bastard!’ said Hart. ‘Did you see what he did to me?’ He held his nose between his fingers, blood seeping from one nostril.

  ‘Yeah, I did,’ said Steve. ‘He saved me the trouble. Sit over there and tell us exactly what Kaan said to you, or I’ll finish what Finn started.’

  ***

  At precisely eight o’clock, Emrah Ahmed strode into the room, followed by a team of four men covered head to toe in black clothing.

  Hart’s jaw dropped at the sight of them. ‘What are they doing here?’

  ‘Helping us,’ said Steve and shook the intelligence officer’s outstretched hand. ‘Good to see you. Are the rest of your men in place?’

  Emrah nodded. ‘You’re clear to go whenever you want. Interpol brought me up to speed. With everything.’

  He approached Ian, who eyed him suspiciously. ‘I am sorry to say this, Mr Hart, but I have placed your wife under arrest for wilfully endangering Kate Foster’s life and aiding a terrorist organisation.’

  Hart stood, his face pale. ‘What do you mean?’ He turned to Steve and Finn. ‘What’s going on? What has she told you?’

  Steve folded his arms across his chest. ‘When Finn interviewed the garage owner with Emrah earlier today, they found Cynthia’s number in the man’s mobile phone contact list.’

  Hart lowered himself into his chair, his mouth open. He blinked and then stared at Steve. ‘What did she say?’

  ‘Finn spoke to her when he returned from interviewing Mustafa. Cynthia confessed, Ian. I’m sorry.’ He shrugged. ‘She seemed to think it was Kate you were having an affair with.’

  He frowned and turned to Emrah. ‘Can you keep it quiet in the department until this is over?’

  The intelligence officer nodded. ‘They will take her to one of the smaller police stations in the city for questioning, away from prying eyes. She will be in no danger.’