The Shadow Project

by Scott Mariani

  The damp shoeprints led past the desk to a wall safe in the corner. Ben went over to it and saw how the shoeprints were more concentrated here, overlapping as though the intruders had spent a few moments standing in this spot examining the contents of the safe. They hadn’t bothered shutting the steel door after them, and it hung open. There was no keypad or dial visible anywhere, and he guessed that it was probably voice-activated using a password. No sign of forced entry. The intruders must have known the password.

  Inside the safe were various folders and files marked with printed labels for things like tax and insurance, a couple of lockable steel cash boxes, a presentation case for an expensive Swiss watch, and two horizontal racks of CDs. Ben ran his eye along the double row of discs. None of them was music or DVDs. They were all computer files, and the professor appeared to keep his work life well organised because each little section was marked with labels obviously relating to his own smart house design concepts. CPU VOICE-ACTIVATION SYSTEM. IRIS SCAN RECOGNITION SYSTEM. EMERGENCY OVERRIDE SYSTEM. Ben ran his eye quickly along the line, then stopped.

  There was an empty space in the rack where four CDs used to be. The label underneath the empty space was completely unlike the others. It said KAMMLER STUFF.

  He gazed around the study for more clues. Nothing leaped out at him. He walked over to the desk. There were just a few items on its gleaming black surface. A chrome steel lamp, a closed MacBook and another framed photo, this time of a young boy of about thirteen smiling happily for the camera. Next to the computer was a phone handset off its charger with just one bar left on its battery life indicator, as though it had been left lying there for a few days by someone in a rush to get away. Near the phone was a ballpoint pen and a copy of the Irish Times, dated five days ago.

  Noticing a scrawled note in ballpoint on the upper margin on the front page, Ben leaned down to read it. The scribble had been done in a hurry, but he could make out that it was a set of flight times from Dublin to Graz via Vienna, arriving 6.06 p.m. Austrian time.

  He sensed a presence in the doorway and spun round quickly.

  It was Sabrina. She was wrapped in a bathrobe with a towel round her hair and another one round her shoulders. Her eyes looked a lot brighter, and there was a flush of pink in her cheeks that hadn’t been there before.

  ‘I thought you’d gone.’ She studied him curiously for a moment. ‘You saved me,’ she said softly. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘How do you feel?’

  She gave a shaky chuckle. ‘I’ll live. Thanks to you. I don’t even know your name.’

  ‘It’s Ben,’ he said.

  ‘Glad you showed up when you did, Ben.’

  ‘You’re probably wondering what I’m doing here.’ She tried to smile. ‘Right now, everything is so screwed up, nothing seems that strange to me.’

  ‘Is Adam your husband, Sabrina?’

  She shook her head. ‘He’s my brother. Are you a friend of his?’

  ‘I just want to ask him some questions. Where is he?’

  ‘He’s away on business.’

  ‘In Austria?’

  She frowned. ‘Scotland. At least, that’s what he said. But Rory’s gone.’

  Ben guessed that she was talking about the boy in the picture. ‘What do you mean, he’s gone?’

  ‘He was kidnapped,’ she blurted. ‘I wasn’t sure it was true, but now I know something’s going on. I should have called the cops.’ She looked at him as though a sudden thought had come to her. ‘Are you—’

  ‘No, I’m not the police. Nothing like that.’

  ‘Then what are you? Just some guy who knows how to break necks and shoot guns?’

  ‘I’ll explain everything to you. But not here. We need to leave.’

  She stared at him. ‘Leave?’

  ‘Your visitors seem to have found what they were looking for, but they might want to pay a return visit to tie up loose ends.’

  Realisation crept into her eyes. ‘You mean me?’

  He didn’t reply.

  ‘Guess I don’t have a lot of choice. Where are we going?’

  ‘To the nearest pub.’

  ‘Good. I need a drink.’

  ‘Not to drink. To talk. Get some clothes on. My car’s outside.’

  Sabrina glanced up and down his body. ‘You’re soaked. You need to change. Try Adam’s wardrobe.’

  As she got dressed in the bathroom, he took her advice and found a change of clothes in the master bedroom. He gratefully stripped off his wet things, towelled himself down, and quickly pulled on the warm, dry clothes. The trousers were a thirty-six-inch waist, and he had to cinch the belt up tight to make them fit.

  A couple of miles from the house was a small village with an inn. Ben parked up the Audi, left the Colt in his bag on the back seat and led Sabrina into the lounge bar. The fire was crackling in the chimney and the atmosphere was cheery with a lot of chatter and clinking of glasses. Irish folk music was playing for the benefit of the tourists, and shamrocks and Guinness logos lined the walls.

  ‘Welcome home,’ Ben said, looking around.

  Sabrina shot him a curious glance.

  ‘I used to live here in Ireland. Out west, Galway Bay.’ He bought them each a double Bushmills and carried the drinks towards a little cubby-hole with a candlelit table for two.

  Sabrina sat opposite him. Brushed the hair away from her face, sniffed and cupped her whiskey in trembling fingers.

  ‘Let’s talk,’ he said.

  Sabrina told him everything. About who she was, about her week’s holiday in Ireland to be with her brother and nephew. About Adam’s peculiar behaviour, the tennis camp and the Edinburgh conference and the strange phone call from Rory. ‘The rest is pretty self-explanatory,’ she finished. ‘You saw what happened.’ As she said it, her eyes clouded.

  ‘I don’t believe Adam’s in Edinburgh,’ Ben said. ‘I’m pretty sure he took a plane to Austria. He’d been checking flight times before he left.’

  ‘Why Austria?’

  ‘Maybe to meet with the kidnappers and talk terms. Maybe that’s where they’re holding Rory. Maybe they’ve sent him on some kind of errand. Or else he’s gone there looking for help, which could be a foolish move.’

  Sabrina lowered her head against her hands. When she raised it and looked at him, her face was streaked with tears. ‘Kidnappers. So you really think they’ve taken him?’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s what it looks like, Sabrina. I’m sorry.’

  ‘But why? What do they want? Money, like a ransom? Adam isn’t that rich. Richer than he was when he was an academic, but not what you’d call wealthy.’

  ‘You don’t have to be rich to be targeted by kidnappers,’ Ben said. ‘People will do anything to get their loved ones back.’ He paused. ‘But this isn’t about money, I don’t think.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘Information. I think they’re using Adam for something, and Rory is their insurance policy.’

  ‘My brother’s a house designer. What information could he have that was so important?’

  Ben asked, ‘Did he ever mention the name Kammler to you?’

  She looked blank, thought for a moment, then shook her head. ‘Not that I can remember. Who’s Kammler?’

  ‘Your brother was involved in some kind of scientific research. He had some computer files on disc in his study safe. Those people took them. I think whatever is on those discs is what they were looking for.’

  Sabrina was quiet for a moment, biting her lip in agitation. Then she reached for her bag and started rummaging in it.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  She found her phone. ‘What I should have done days ago. I’m calling the cops. They’ll know how to handle this.’

  He shook his head and leaned across to grab her hand. ‘That’s not a good idea.’

  ‘For Chrissakes, if he’s in fucking Austria that’s a lead, isn’t it? Surely things can be done? Don’t they have, like, Interpol and stuff for situations like th
is?’

  ‘Look at me, Sabrina.’

  She was quiet and looked at him.

  ‘If you call the police, you’re signing your nephew’s death warrant.’

  She went white. ‘How can you know that?’

  ‘Because Adam is under orders,’ he said. ‘That much is obvious. It’s the reason he was acting strangely before he went away, the reason why he made up that cover story about the tennis camp and going to Edinburgh for business. The kidnappers will have made it clear to him that if he breathes a word of this to anyone, they’ll harm Rory. The last thing anyone needs to do right now is start stirring things up.’

  She didn’t reply, looked down at the table.

  ‘Now, imagine what you’re going to put in motion if you involve the authorities in this. With all the best will in the world, it’ll leak out. There’s always someone willing to take a backhander in return for a juicy story. Television. Radio. Newspapers. A whole media circus, with the kidnappers watching every move. You might as well hold the gun to Rory’s head yourself and pull the trigger.’

  Alarm lit up her eyes. ‘How come you know so much about all this stuff?’

  ‘Because it was my job to deal with situations like this, and now I’m looking for someone who’s been missing for a long time. I think that person is in deep trouble, and I have a strong feeling it’s connected to the trouble your brother and nephew are in. Beyond that, right now I really can’t say any more.’

  She sighed. ‘So what happens now?’

  He leaned across the table and spoke gently. ‘Sabrina, I do know one thing for sure. You weren’t supposed to survive this evening. When those people go back to whoever sent them and report what happened, and that there’s a witness—’

  ‘They’re going to come looking for me.’ The words came out with a tremor, and she went a shade paler. Ben saw her pupils dilate with fear.

  He nodded. ‘It’ll be easy for them to find out from Adam who you are and where you live. They only have to threaten Rory, and there isn’t anything in the world he won’t tell them. That’s what kidnap is all about. Control.’

  ‘It means I can’t go home.’

  ‘No. It could be dangerous.’

  Her eyes brimmed with tears again. ‘So where I am going to go? Stay with friends? What the hell do I tell them?’

  ‘You tell them nothing. You can’t be in contact with anyone you know. They can be traced, and you’d just be putting them in danger too.’

  She looked helpless.

  ‘Do you trust me?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t even know who you are. But you saved my life. What am I supposed to say?’

  ‘London’s a big place. You can easily lose yourself in it. I know someone there, a very close friend of mine whom I trust completely. I’ll have to clear it with her, but I think she’d let you stay with her. You’d have to cancel everything, keep hidden, not even go out.’

  Sabrina chewed her lip. ‘For how long?’

  ‘As long as it takes for me to sort things out.’

  ‘Does that mean you’ll find Adam and Rory?’

  He took a deep breath. ‘I’ll find them.’

  Chapter Forty

  In the terrible place that Rory’s world had become, all that separated night from day was whether he could see light under the cell door. When the light was on in the corridor outside, it meant it was day; and he lived in constant terror. When the corridor was in darkness, it meant his captors had gone to sleep. Like vampires, returning to their coffins, giving him a few safe hours to huddle in his bed and cry softly and try to be strong and brave and all the things he wanted to be. But more than anything, he wanted his dad to be here.

  He had no idea what time it was or how long he’d been lying there under the sheets, burrowed in tight like a frightened animal. When he heard the cell door open and the footsteps walk across the stone floor towards the bed, every muscle in his body went rigid. A torch-beam scanned the room and he saw its circle of pale light land on the bed, shining through the sheets.

  Whoever it was came closer, and he felt icy fingers of panic clench his heart as he thought of the hateful witch-woman who’d done those awful things to him just a few hours before. It was her. He could still feel the touch of the cold blade against his skin. Now she was back for more.

  But when he felt someone sit on the edge of the mattress next to him and the warm, gentle hand on his shoulder, he knew it wasn’t her. A joyful thought leapt through him at that moment. His dad was here, come to save him. He threw back the sheet and sat up in bed.

  The face he saw, dimly illuminated in the torchlight, wasn’t his father’s. It was the short, ruddy-faced man who’d been bringing him his food.

  Rory eyed him uncertainly. ‘What do you want, Ivan?’ he said with all the strength and confidence he could muster. There was still a shake in his voice, and he felt dizzy and sick.

  Ivan put his finger to his lips. ‘Shh. They do not know I am here,’ he whispered in that thick accent of his. He flashed the light furtively back at the door, then let it shine back on his face. Rory could see the anger in his eyes.

  ‘They should not have done that to you. I would not have allowed such a thing to happen. You must understand this, Rory.’ Ivan reached into his pocket, brought something out and offered it to him.

  Rory looked at it. It was a chocolate bar. He tore off the wrapper and ate greedily.

  Ivan smiled as he watched him. ‘Good,’ he whispered. ‘Eat. Get strong. You will need your energy.’

  Rory chewed and swallowed until there was nothing left. Ivan gently took the wrapper from his fingers, stuffed it back in his pocket and handed him a tissue. ‘Wipe your mouth with this. They must not know I brought you chocolate. They would kill me.’

  Rory wiped the flecks of chocolate from the corners of his mouth and gave the tissue back to Ivan. ‘Why?’ he asked the man.

  ‘Listen to me carefully. I am not one of them. I am here to spy on them.’

  Rory’s eyes widened and his heart began to thump. ‘Are you a cop?’

  ‘A special agent,’ Ivan whispered. ‘And I will get you out of here.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Soon. Very soon, I promise you. But you must trust me. Will you trust me, Rory?’ Rory nodded quickly.

  ‘Thank you. I know it is hard for you, and you are very scared. You are a good, brave boy.’

  ‘Where’s my dad? Is he here?’

  ‘Shh. I think someone is coming.’ Ivan turned off the torch, plunging the room into darkness. They both stared in the direction of the cell door. Any second now, Rory imagined the light was going to come on in the corridor and that woman was going to come marching in with the guards and find them together. They’d take Ivan away and kill him, and then he’d be alone again.

  But nothing happened. The corridor remained dark and quiet.

  Ivan let out a sigh of relief and turned the torch back on, shading its beam with his hand so that his face was half-lit and full of shadows. ‘It is too dangerous for me to be here,’ he whispered. ‘I must go. I just wanted you to know that you have a friend in this place. I will not let them harm you. Everything will be fine. You have my word.’

  ‘Ivan—’

  ‘I will be back. Get some rest,’ Ivan whispered. Then he slipped out of the door and Rory heard the soft click of the lock.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Ben called Brooke from Rosslare docks while he and Sabrina were waiting for the night ferry.

  ‘Brooke? Sorry to be calling late. But I need a favour.’

  ‘Fire away,’ she said.

  Without going into too much worrying detail, he outlined the situation. Brooke listened carefully, and when he’d finished she said, ‘No problem. She’ll be fine here. I’ll make up the spare bedroom.’

  He thanked her. ‘I owe you one.’

  The ferry crossing offered him a chance to grab some much-needed sleep. When they hit the Welsh coast dawn was breaking. Five hours of hard driv
ing later, Ben was cutting through the south London traffic in driving rain and thinking of Jeff, probably well on his way to Nice by now for a week of sunshine, beer and pretty girls.

  Brooke’s place was in Richmond, a red-brick Victorian house split into flats. Ben had never been there before, and it wasn’t until the door opened and he saw her standing there smiling at him that he was even sure he had the right place.

  Her hair was loose over her shoulders, and she was wearing navy blue linen trousers and a light summer blouse the colour of her eyes. A string of jade beads hung around her neck.

  She looked good. Really good. It wasn’t until she said, ‘Aren’t you going to introduce us?’ that Ben realised he’d been staring at her. He quickly introduced Sabrina, and Brooke said hello and led them both inside.

  Stepping into Brooke’s home felt a little strange to Ben, foreign yet oddly familiar, like a déjà-vu experience. Everything about the place – from the big comfy armchairs, to the cushions strewn everywhere, to the pine cones in the fireplace and the vases of fresh flowers and enormous pot plants that sat about on the polished wood floor – somehow spoke of her, was her. Django Reinhardt’s 1930s gypsy jazz was playing in the background, and aromatic candles filled the apartment with the scent of vanilla and lotus.

  ‘It’s so kind of you to put me up,’ Sabrina said.

  ‘It’ll be nice to have some company,’ Brooke replied warmly. ‘Now, I suppose you guys must want some breakfast.’

  ‘Just some coffee,’ Ben said. ‘I’m not staying.’

  ‘Would you mind if I freshened up first?’ Sabrina asked.

  ‘Sure. The bathroom’s through there. Help yourself. There are towels in the airing cupboard.’

  Sabrina left, and Ben stood about in the kitchen as Brooke made coffee. She served it in mugs and handed him one. His had a picture of the Pink Panther on it, and hers had Paddington Bear. She dribbled in a spoonful of honey, held the mug in both hands the way he liked, and sipped.