by Mark McKay
Chapter 8
They’d been driving all night, it seemed. Rebecca was drowsy, she had been forced to drink something containing a sedative and shortly afterwards she passed out. Now she felt her consciousness returning in short disoriented bursts, like a scuba diver ascending from a deep dive and stopping at intervals to decompress. She couldn’t quite make it all the way up. Then her mind broke the surface and she remembered where she was.
They were on a two lane highway. The headlights illuminated the stretch of road ahead, but it was pitch dark on either side. Looking out the side window she could make out the shadows of trees and bushes as they sped by, but even in broad daylight she knew she’d have no idea where she was. When she began to raise a hand to push her hair back from her face it felt unnaturally heavy, and she realised both hands were tied together in her lap. She snorted in frustration.
‘How are you feeling?’
Rebecca started and looked across the back seat. Her abductor had removed the headgear and was looking back at her with what seemed genuine curiosity, if not concern. Rebecca took a moment to study her. She was well groomed, not a jet black hair out of place. The olive skinned face was well proportioned, with full lips and an aquiline nose. Rebecca would have found it a beautiful face had it not been currently marred by the eyes, which seemed just as dark, unfathomable and unfriendly as they had when they were the only part of her visible.
‘I’m alright.’
‘Let me.’ She reached across and gently used her fingers to brush Rebecca’s hair behind her ears. ‘That’s better.’
Rebecca tried not to flinch. ‘Who are you?’
She seemed to mull this over, before answering. ‘You can call me Rashida. No need to introduce yourself, I know who you are.’
It took a few seconds before Rebecca, in her slightly groggy state, remembered. ‘Rashida. Of course.’
‘And this is Abdul, our driver.’ Abdul, a powerful looking middle aged Indian with hands to match the rest of him, raised a finger from the steering wheel in acknowledgement.
‘What do you want?’
‘Your knowledge.’
‘About what?’
‘You’ll see soon enough. In a couple of hours we will arrive, then there’s something we want you to do for us.’
Rebecca pulled her gaze away from the unrelenting eyes and stared at the road ahead. ‘And if I refuse?’
‘You won’t do that. Just relax now and don’t make any sudden movements. Enjoy the drive.’
I doubt I’ll do either of those things, thought Rebecca. She looked at her bound hands. There was nothing she could do to change things while she was restrained like this. She exhaled a long slow breath, kept her eyes fixed firmly on the road, and waited.
They turned off the highway shortly afterwards. The road was smooth for about an hour and then it became progressively more bumpy as they continued into what seemed to Rebecca like the middle of nowhere. They passed through one small village that showed no signs of life and then half an hour later Abdul brought the car to a stop. They were in a wooded area, surrounded by bushes and trees on both sides of the road. Abdul turned and looked at her and for a moment she thought they might have stopped to dispose of her. She felt a shiver ripple up her spine. Then Abdul got out of the car, muttered something incomprehensible and was promptly lost in the darkness.
A minute later, he was back. He turned the car into a dirt road dividing the foliage and then a moment later stopped and left the car again, to lock the gate he’d just opened to let them in. The road was wide and potholed in places and the car lurched alarmingly when they encountered one, even though Abdul slowed down to lessen the impact. After fifteen minute of this Rebecca could see lights through the trees and then the woods opened into a clearing. It was occupied on one side by a row of wooden huts, in front of which stood several pick-up trucks and an articulated lorry, laden with a shipping container. Behind it, the land sloped away gradually towards a small lake. The area was lit by floodlights mounted on tall wooden posts and the hum of a generator somewhere in the background gave a clue as to the power source.
Abdul found a space near the first hut in the row and cut the engine. He got out and Rebecca heard him speak to someone behind them. She hadn’t seen anyone up to this point, so when a man answered as he passed her door she thought he must have been keeping watch somewhere in the shadows. He was only partially visible from where she sat, but she could see the shape of a rifle slung from his shoulder.
‘Time to get out,’ said Sylvie. ‘Stay there, I will come around and open the door.’
Rebecca clambered out, feeling hampered by her bound hands. She stood unsteadily after the long drive, or perhaps the drug she’d been given had made her a little woozy. Abdul led the way and she followed him towards the hut, with Sylvie close behind. As she looked beyond the lake, she could see the pale blue haze of a brightening sky overhead. As though in implicit acknowledgement of the dawn, the floodlights softly hissed and died. She blinked as her vision adjusted and then Abdul opened the door and she followed him in.
It was sparse inside. A large wooden table and several chairs took up half the room, and a few feet to the side there was a curtained partition bisecting the rest of it. A kitchen sink unit with a portable hotplate and electric kettle on the worktop stood against the far wall. The only window Rebecca could see was above the sink and it was barred. A richly textured Persian rug was laid between the table and the partition, in what must have been an attempt to bring a touch of colour to this otherwise drab place.
The room’s only occupant was seated at the table, studying something on the screen of a laptop computer. He looked around as they entered and then stood up.
‘You can untie her,’ he said.
Abdul moved forward to comply and Rebecca stood quietly as he deftly unknotted the rope bindings. She rubbed her chafed wrists.
‘Sit down, Ms Slade.’
Rebecca did as she was told. Sylvie took the chair opposite, while Abdul took up a station by the door. The man giving the orders sat next to her.
‘I’m sorry we have to bring you here like this,’ he said.
Rebecca said nothing. She stared at the latest player in this unwelcome drama, taking in his silver hair and dark features. Not Indian, she thought. Somewhere in the Middle East, the same place Rashida, if that was her name, came from. He was wearing a good quality lightweight suit, the jacket draped over the chair next to him, and he struck her as someone too urbane for these surroundings. The city was his natural habitat.
‘Who are you?’ She hoped she sounded more self-assured than she felt.
‘It’s not important who I am. What is important is that I need you to help us, and quickly.’
‘Why should I do that?’
He looked slightly affronted. ‘I think you should be asking how, not why.’
Sylvie said something Rebecca didn’t understand and for a few minutes she and the man who shunned introductions conducted their own private dialogue. Then Sylvie switched to English.
‘The tomb at Chipra. You were there, weren’t you?’
Rebecca nodded.
‘You saw what was inside, then. Well, to keep it short, we now have what you saw in our possession.’
There was a gasp of disbelief. ‘The lions, you mean. How did you get them out? They must weigh a ton. I don’t believe it.’
‘It wasn’t easy, of course. We made a bit of a mess getting in, but the statues came out in perfect condition.’
‘And they weigh four tonnes apiece, actually,’ said the urbane one. ‘Solid gold. Can you imagine their value, Ms Slade?’
‘They are priceless, beyond monetary value.’
‘We disagree. With gold at $1200 an ounce, we can put a precise value on each one. Just over $150,000,000. And we have four of them.’
Rebecca laughed, despite her fear. ‘Who do you think will buy them?’
Sylvie gave her a scathing look. ‘Ther
e are always collectors with a great deal of money who are in the market for rare and beautiful objects. At the right price, of course. But that’s not your concern.’
‘What exactly do you want from me?’
Sylvie pointed at the laptop. ‘We want you to write up everything you know about their provenance. Details about that period in history, who is buried there, how the lions may have been created. How exclusive they are. Point out the fact that only a handful of people even know they exist. Think of it as a sales pitch, if you like. About one thousand words should do it.’
‘Surely you could do that yourself.’ Rebecca immediately regretted speaking, cursing herself inwardly for jeopardising what little leverage she had.
‘You’re the historian, you know about the Mauryan era. Your account will carry authority. And when you’ve finished, you can sign it and add your credentials.’
‘And when I’ve done that?’
Sylvie smiled. ‘Don’t worry, Ms Slade. We will leave you here locked up until we’re a safe distance away. Then we will alert the authorities.’
I doubt that very much, Rebecca thought. She looked at Sylvie, who she knew must be reading her mind at this moment. There was no choice.
‘When do you want it done?’
‘Right now,’ said Sylvie.
Rebecca sighed. She was exhausted and she felt a throbbing at her temples, the prelude to a splitting headache. Writing a coherent account of anything right now would be impossible.
‘I need some sleep. And something to eat and drink.’
Sylvie and her colleague considered this for a moment. They exchanged a few private words.
‘He says you can have three hours rest. Then you eat and work.’
‘OK.’ Rebecca wondered if she would be able to sleep. She felt both exhausted and terrified, too nervous to relax. But before she made the attempt, there was something she wanted to see.
‘Show me the lions now, would you?’
She managed to sleep, after a fashion. It was more of a half-conscious doze than proper sleep. Sylvie and Abdul had taken her out to the articulated truck, where they opened the container to reveal four custom made packing cases. They were hinged at the front and Abdul opened one. He stood back to let Rebecca inspect the lion inside. It was more beautiful in the daylight, all glittering gold and shining emerald eyes. The eyes alone must be worth several million dollars, she thought. Then they had returned to the hut, where the partition was pulled back to reveal three camp beds. In the corner there was a chemical toilet, giving off a faint odour of disinfectant. They left her then, she could hear the sound of the door being shut and locked, and she sat on the edge of one bed, staring bleakly into space. She cried silently for a while, which must have relieved some of the tension, and then she lay back and closed her eyes.
She woke to the smell of cooking. Something was happening on the other side of the curtain, she could hear someone moving around. She parted the curtain to find Abdul serving rice and what looked like assorted vegetables on to a plastic plate. When he saw her he smiled and gestured towards the table, so she sat down and waited. He placed the plate and a glass of water in front of her along with a plastic fork, and left without saying a word.
She wondered if he spoke any English or if he just wasn’t the talkative type. He could cook though, the vegetables had been done in a lightly spiced sauce and the meal was delicious. It revived her spirits a little, and she began wondering how she might get out of here. She looked around the room. There was nothing she could use as a weapon, the place was threadbare. She walked across to the window and tested the bars. Rock solid. The hotplate was still warm, she noticed. Two elements mounted on a steel base, with curved legs of some lighter metal. She picked it up, it was certainly weighty enough. The thought of what she might have to do with it made her stomach lurch and she went back to her seat, thinking the meal she’d just eaten might not stay down if she didn’t compose herself. She could feel her heart rate quickening and she knew that only an act of sheer desperation would ensure she had even the slimmest hope of leaving here alive. Through her fear, she felt a grim determination stir. If opportunity beckoned, she must find the courage to act. There was no other way out.
