by Sofia Grey
She held up a hand to shield her eyes from the sun. Where were they?
It could have been a farmyard. A gravelled central area was surrounded by half a dozen small outbuildings, a larger one at the side. The buildings were circled by native bushland, and it was quiet, apart from the ever-present rattle of the cicadas. It was hot too, after the coolness of the minibus.
She needed water. She longed to see Jack.
Neither looked likely to happen.
“This way.” One of the armed men gestured to the outbuildings with his weapon.
She had no choice but to go with him. To her relief, the others followed. They were ushered into separate rooms. Juli hesitated on the doorstep. It reminded her of a hostel from a long-ago backpacking holiday. The room was small, with a tiny window, a low bed, and a toilet. The window, however, had bars affixed on the outside.
A gentle nudge propelled her forward, and she stumbled inside. The door slammed and locked behind her.
Juli had two choices. She could panic, or she could be practical. She chose the latter. She paced up and down the small room, tried to peer through the close-fitting bars on the dirty window, and thumped the walls. They felt like brick and hurt her hands.
She thought about shouting to the others, but was that a good idea? Jean-Luc had cast himself in the role of Julien, while she was supposedly Jean Lambert. She didn’t want to draw attention to the ruse. Fear made her lungs tight.
She sank onto the bed and waited.
It was past noon, before the door opened again. One of the men from earlier came in and deposited a tray on the bed next to her. “I’ll be collecting you later for a meeting,” he said. “In the meantime, please have something to eat and drink.”
She glanced at the tray. It held a plastic bottle of water, a banana, and a film-wrapped sandwich. No sharp implements.
“I heard you banging on the walls,” he added. “Don’t do that again. Or would you prefer me to handcuff you to the bed?”
“I’ll be quiet.”
“Good.” He leaned closer, and she smelled garlic on his breath. “I’d hate for anyone to get hurt.”
She blinked, concentrated on not flinching, and exhaled slowly as he moved away and locking the door behind him.
Juli sipped the water—the bottle was sealed—and ate the food. She spun it out. Who knew when the next drink would be delivered? Her head still thumped, but the nausea was held at bay.
He mentioned a meeting later. How much later? She couldn’t sit here and do nothing, so what could she do? She could make mental notes of the men holding them, so she could describe them. She would get out of here.
She didn’t get a look at the pilot, apart from the back of his head. Blaydon was mid-twenties, clean cut, and pale skinned. Kiwi accent. The armed men were all similar. Olive or dark skin, short dark hair, dark eyes, age anywhere from twenty to forty, with little or no accent or hadn’t yet spoken. She’d seen four different men here so far, and none of them were Yanni.
Juli was glad she made the water last. It was after eight in the evening before the door opened again.
It was the guy who brought the food. “Come with me,” he said.
Juli followed. There was no sign of the rest of her team. Had they been collected? Or was she being singled out?
The guy led her across the courtyard and into the main building, down a corridor to a large room.
Jean-Luc, Jordan, and Nick were there. Sweet baby Jesus, they looked okay. The relief was profound and she felt light-headed.
The room looked like a shabby office, with a large TV screen and a semi-circle of hard chairs gathered before it. As her guard pushed her into one of the free chairs, she noticed the others all wore handcuffs again. Soon, she also had her right wrist securely cuffed to the frame of the chair.
“Are you okay, Jean?” Jordan spoke calmly, probably reminding her of their earlier subterfuge.
She swallowed her fear. “Yes, Mr Merrill. Thank you.”
“Good evening,” said a voice from the doorway. It was Yanni.
He looked the same as when she saw him at the conference. Wearing a smart suit and tie, he looked every inch the corporate executive. His face was open and handsome, the dark eyes exotic, and the smile friendly. She’d feel comfortable, talking business with him, if she didn’t know who he was.
He strolled into the room, his sharp gaze resting on them each in turn.
Juli glared back. She’d rather be angry than scared if it was humanly possible.
“I must apologise for keeping you locked up. It’s not very polite of me,” he said. “I invited you here today to discuss business, and hopefully we can do that.” His voice held the merest trace of an accent. Spanish or Italian perhaps?
Her group stayed silent.
Yanni nodded and continued. “I know the circumstances of your stay are less than ideal, and you must all be in a great hurry to get home. However, until we can strike an agreeable arrangement, I’m afraid you will not be leaving.”
Jordan spoke, his voice crisp and confident. “I fail to see how you can keep us here indefinitely. We’ll be missed. When we don’t return this evening, they’ll start looking for us.”
“Yeah. About that...” Yanni picked up a remote control and pointed it at the screen. “This is the story being carried by all the news networks.”
The TV came to life, CNN playing, a ticker tape running along the bottom of the screen. Juli recognised the dark-haired woman behind the news desk.
“There is still no sign of the missing LindenCore flight,” said the reporter. “Hopes are fading fast for the passengers. The privately-owned Cessna Caravan is believed to have gone down in the remote area known as Queen Charlotte Sounds, in New Zealand. The last reported signal was a Mayday alert, shortly before it disappeared from radar this morning. Among the passengers was the captain of industry Jordan Merrill, CEO of Houston-based TM-Tech, along with three of his senior employees. They were in New Zealand to lead the Tech-X Conference 2018, and were believed to have been travelling from Wellington to meet with clients in Nelson, when the plane was lost. Tributes are pouring in for Merrill.”
Jordan’s face filled the screen. Yanni clicked the remote, and the video froze. “I don’t need to tell you what this means, do I?”
Jordan made a choked noise.
Yanni’s words reverberated inside Juli’s head. It meant everyone would think they were dead. Nobody would be coming to their rescue.
He could kill them, here and now, and nobody would ever know.
Chapter Twenty
The world thought Jordan was dead. Juli’s name wasn’t mentioned, but that was what everyone would believe. Dear God. Her parents would be told. And Philip. Her friends and family. Jack. What would he think?
She stared at the frozen image of her boss, caught in profile, a hint of a smile on his face.
Yanni had to be insane. And what did he want? He’d been looking for her, and now he had her. Hysteria nudged at her but she shoved it aside. Not now. Not yet.
“You can’t do this,” said Jordan, his voice tight. “We have wives and families. You are causing them untold pain. Are you prepared to let us go?”
“That’s the plan. It’s just a question of information exchange. Your Julien Pascal has done some very interesting research.” He flashed a smile at Jean-Luc.
The news report only carried Jordan’s picture. TM-Tech were one of the few organisations that didn’t publicise images of their senior employees. How long could they keep up the charade of her being Jean Lambert?
Yanni was looking directly at her. Did she make a noise?
She cleared her throat. ‘They won’t find any wreckage,” she said. “We didn’t crash. It’s a matter of time before they realise that.”
“Give me some credit,” said Yanni. “Looks can be deceiving. Your plane was a tiny blip on a busy radar screen. The pilot issued a 7600 code to indicate the radio had failed, while dropping in height, and followed up with a
7700 emergency alert. He then switched off the transponder shortly before reaching the Sounds. The blip would vanish from view and when they put the pieces together, that became the logical conclusion. They have an immense area to search, and not a lot to go on.”
“Who are you?” Nick spoke for the first time. “And what the fuck do you want from us?”
Of course. Nobody had told Nick what happened on the bus tour.
“You can call me Yanni. As I already said, I want to do some business with you.”
“How did you get hold of the plane?” Nick asked.
Yanni shrugged. “I paid the pilot more than LindenCore were willing to.”
Jean-Luc had been silent, but now he burst into speech, again in the broken English. “What eeez this? Why are we heeere? I am not understanding zis.” He rattled the handcuff chain. “Remove theees at once.”
Yanni cocked an eyebrow at him, and then burst into a torrent of perfect French. “You are here because you have something I want.”
Jean-Luc replied instantly, matching the language like a native. “You kidnap us, and now chain us up like pigs for the slaughter. It will be an icy day in hell before I give you anything. Release us. Now.”
“No. Not without your assistance. I don’t care if you give it willingly or if I have to force it out of you.”
Jean-Luc blew out an angry breath. The conversation continued in French. “My research? You only need me?”
“Yes. The others are expendable.”
Expendable. The breath caught in Juli’s throat. Her world shrank to the two men arguing.
“If you want me, my cooperation, then release the others.”
“No.”
“Enculeur de mouches.” Fly fucker. “I want assurances that my colleagues will be unharmed.”
“No.”
Jean-Luc bared his teeth at Yanni. “You want the secret behind my Byzantium design? Je te chie dans le cou.” I shit down your neck.
“Your insults are just bluster. You will tell me what I want.”
Despite herself, Juli was impressed by Jean-Luc’s command of the language. Any minute now, and he’d make a reference to Yanni’s parentage.
“Fini à la pisse.” There it was. Literally translated as someone conceived with a mixture of sperm and urine. Jean-Luc sneered at Yanni. “It is beyond your comprehension.”
Yanni narrowed his lips to a thin line. “Like all things, it is merely a case of finding the right incentive.” He snapped the words, and then stomped out of the room.
Juli was trembling. She didn’t dare speak, in case she gave the ruse away. Would it work? Would Yanni let them go? Not after he’d gone to all this trouble.
A clatter of feet sounded in the hallway, and she swung around to see the armed guards coming in. The hostages were released from the chairs, only to be pulled to their feet and have their hands held behind their backs.
Juli struggled against her captor. “What are you doing?”
He twisted her arm more tightly, and she yelped. “We’re going outside,” he said. “Come easy or make a fuss. It’s all the same to me.”
Standing behind her, he shoved her forward. “Move,” he said in a growl, and she complied. This fucker had a gun, even if it wasn’t in his hands at the moment.
She followed the others, concentrating on not stumbling. They were herded into a large open-sided building. Wisps of straw littered the packed-earth floor, and the smell of engine oil hung in the air. Did he use this as a garage?
Her arms hurt in this position, and her head pounded. Above all else was the insistent fear that something bad was about to happen. Today had been a succession of bad things happening. Was it going to get worse?
*
After spending most of the day outside in the sunshine, Jack was tired and hungry. He’d been given the job of driving Merlot and Scarab over the nearby hills, while they collected their soil samples. They’d consult a map, direct him to the nearest track, and then they’d traipse through the bush to a specific GPS position, before clearing a patch of earth and inserting an auger, a special metal collection tool. The resulting samples were deposited into thick bags, which were sealed and labelled with the location coordinates. They must have collected twenty or more.
The sun was setting when Merlot announced they had enough, and they took the truck back to Yanni’s base. While Merlot dealt with the sample bags, Scarab took Jack into the kitchen, where they washed their hands. Judging by the aroma, dinner was about to be served, and it smelled good. Breakfast was a long time ago and Jack was ready for food.
Merlot stuck his head around the door. “We’re needed in the barn. Move it.”
The barn was dim after the evening sun, and there were a lot of people in there. As Jack’s vision adjusted to the low light, he counted Yanni and four of his men, all armed with Glocks, and four other people at the back of the open space.
“What’s going on?” Jack asked Scarab, but the younger man shrugged.
Yanni strode forward. “I told you it was a matter of finding the right incentive.” He followed it up with something in another language that sounded familiar. French? Jack never learned more than the basics. He could order a couple beers and ask someone’s name, but that was about all. Who would Yanni be talking to in French?
“I’m about to find out what incentive Julien Pascal needs,” Yanni continued in English.
Jack’s heart stuttered at his words. Juli was here? It felt as though he was doused in icy water. He hauled in a breath. He had to think quickly. Her life might depend on it.
This had to look convincing, for all their sakes. If Juli gave any indication she thought Jack was on her side, they were all fucked.
He stepped forward and stood next to Yanni. “You wanted me, boss?”
He couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t bear to see the confusion on her beautiful face.
Christ. Was he capable of doing this?
*
Jack stood in the shadows, and she couldn’t see him clearly, but Juli recognised his voice. She’d know him anywhere.
He was supposed to be in Houston. What the hell was he doing here?
He’d come back. Somehow. Against all the odds, he’d managed to find them. He must have a plan for their rescue. It was the only explanation.
A giant wave of relief crashed into her, making her knees sag. Jack was here. Her heart sang.
It was singing the wrong tune.
In the space of one ecstatic heartbeat, everything changed again.
Jack called Yanni boss.
He stood next to Yanni, hands stuffed into his pockets, looking the picture of casual insolence. Was this part of his rescue plan?
“Well, Ms Lambert,” said Yanni, a mocking smile on his face. “Let’s see how highly your colleague values your skills. You’re his interpreter, right?”
Her mouth was dry. She swallowed hard and struggled to find her voice. “Yes. I am.” It came out as a whisper.
“Here’s the thing. I speak fluent French. I have no need of you.”
“Non,” said Jean-Luc, his voice sharp. “Leave her alone,” he said in French. “I’m the one you want.”
Juli darted her gaze to Jack. Was he going to say something? Anything?
His expression was cold and bored, but then he frowned. “Wait a moment.”
Yanni glanced at him. “What?”
“Did you just call her Ms Lambert?”
“Yes. What of it?”
Juli opened her eyes wide and silently implored Jack. Please play along with Jean-Luc’s story. Please. Perspiration burst out in hot beads across her forehead.
Instead, he sauntered forward to stand directly in front of her. Swiftly, like a cobra striking its prey, he grabbed her chin and turned it to face him.
She whimpered. Her gaze searched Jack’s face, looking for traces of the man she knew to be in there. The man who made love to her so thoroughly.
“Jean Lambert?” Jack repeated the name in a mocking tone. Re
leasing her just as suddenly, he turned to Yanni. “What are their names supposed to be?”
Yanni frowned. “Jordan Merrill, Nick Anderson, Julien Pascal, and his interpreter Jean Lambert.”
Jack ran one finger down her cheek. It was at once gentle and terrifying. The expression in his eyes couldn’t be colder. “You’re not Jean Lambert are you, honey?” His voice was taunting.
Why was he doing this? She shivered, her lungs tight and painful. “My name is Jean—”
“Quiet.” Jack snarled at her. He grabbed Jean-Luc’s shirt and yanked him forward a step. “This is Jean Lambert.” He pronounced it in the French style. He looked at Yanni, one hand still gripping Jean-Luc’s shirt. “Her name is Julien Pascal.”
Juli gasped. Did he know what he was doing?
“Tell ’em the truth, darling,” said Jack.
Speech was impossible. She managed a small nod. She stared at Jack, hoping—praying—this was still part of his rescue plan.
Yanni was visibly perplexed. “How do you know this?”
Jack huffed a laugh. “Did nobody bother to check their IDs? That’s real sloppy of your guys.” He dug into Jean-Luc’s jacket pocket and pulled out a slim leather wallet. There was silence as he extracted a credit card and tossed it to Yanni.
“Jean-Luc Lambert.” Yanni’s voice was quiet. He looked at Jack, his eyes narrowed. “I ask again. How did you know that?”
“I saw him at the conference.” Jack made it sound obvious. “He was handing out pens and shit with his girlfriend, Juli. He’s one of Merrill’s private security team. You know the guy likes to surround himself with mercenaries.”
Juli couldn’t look at him. A thought wormed its way into her head and refused to leave. What if she was wrong? What if Jack really worked for Yanni?
No. That was bullshit. He was Callum’s bodyguard. He whisked her off the tour bus because he didn’t want Yanni to see her.
He’d asked her about Byzantium, asked her to explain her work to him. Did he tell Yanni about her research?
Had Jack been feeding her a line? Getting her to trust him? Juli’s head spun with the possibilities.
