Captured

by Johansen, Tina

  Neil turned his attention back to Daniel’s computer. His browser was set up to delete its history each time it was closed, but it wasn’t difficult for Neil to circumvent this. It looked like he mostly browsed Facebook. He filled in the ‘forget password’ information on Facebook and opened Daniel’s email. The program had shown that Daniel’s last email activity took place before he left the UK. Neil carefully deleted the Facebook password update link: with any luck, Daniel would never discover the breach, but if he did, he might just assume it was due to phishers. He reset Daniel’s password and logged into the social networking site.

  The links in Daniel’s browsing history corresponded exclusively to either Kirsty’s profile, or to other users’ photos in which Kirsty appeared. There were hundreds: it appeared that most of Daniel’s time online had been spent following Kirsty’s progress in Asia. The later links brought up pictures of Kirsty with a tall, tanned man. Neil browsed through them impassively. He opened the only other link in the history and was met with the Bank of North America remote access login screen. He closed the browser: if Daniel was pretending to work from home, then he was probably logged in from somewhere already – Neil didn’t want to risk detection by logging on at the same time.

  He noticed the Skype icon in the corner of the screen. He clicked, and waited while the program loaded. He opened the history. Neil didn’t have to look hard: at the top of the list was a call to Kirsty. It had lasted for ten minutes. He scrolled down the list, not recognising any of the other contact names. There were numerous other calls to Kirsty – always Daniel calling her.

  Neil scanned the desktop and opened Windows Explorer. Daniel had two hard drives. He opened the folders methodically, scanning the file extensions and sizes. He wasn’t looking for anything in particular, rather for something that stood out.

  When he had almost finished with the first drive, that something presented itself. It was the only program in the folder, which distinguished it immediately from the other crowded folders on Daniel’s system. He double-clicked. He was faced with a snapshot of a desktop. He could tell it wasn’t of the system he was currently searching: nothing on the desktop matched. For some reason, though, it was still familiar to him.

  He opened the Programs link. Nothing stood out: this machine contained only the rudimentary programs that came with the PC. He opened ‘My Documents’. It was a mess of word documents and PDFs, with no meaningful subfolders. He looked at his watch. He didn’t have much time if they were to catch their flight. He scanned the list of documents. Nothing jumped out at him. He started at the beginning, opening them indiscriminately. In the fourth, he found a flight itinerary. He scrolled down quickly, scanning the screen for a name. His eyes widened, remembering the old CRT monitor in the small home office.

  “Simon,” he yelled.

  There was a moment’s pause before Simon re-entered the room. “Yeah? You find something? We really need to be going.” Simon walked up behind him.

  “Look at this.”

  “What am I looking at? Oh, it’s mine. Why are you hacking my email when you should be focussing on Daniel’s?” he stopped, watching the screen as Neil closed the document and navigated back to the desktop.

  “It’s a snapshot of your desktop.”

  “I can see that. But how did you get, and why do you need to look at my files?” Simon asked, confused.

  “I didn’t,” Neil swivelled to face him.

  Simon was silent; finally realising what Neil meant. “How long has he had this? How could he get it?”

  “It’s pretty easy to set up, especially if you have the resources that this guy obviously does,” Neil said, gesturing around the sumptuous room. “In all likelihood, he just paid someone to get onto your computer and plan a bug. As long as you didn’t find it, he could log in and clone your computer just about every time you accessed the internet.”

  Simon nodded, dumbstruck. “When did he do this?”

  “I don’t know. I could dig deeper into the program and find out, but we don’t really have the time now. Has anyone else used your computer recently, aside from you?”

  Simon thought for a moment. “No. Not in a long time.”

  “No repairman, anything like that?”

  “No.”

  “They may have watched your house and broken in to plant it,” Neil shrugged, returning everything to the way he found it and shutting down the machine. He pushed the chair back and stood up.

  Simon watched him silently, preoccupied. At last he spoke. “So it wasn’t a coincidence that he came to work at the bank?”

  “I don’t know,” Neil answered truthfully. “Can you think of any reason why he’d purposely follow you there?”

  Simon shook his head. “Anything’s possible with that guy.”

  Neil ushered him out of the room, placing moderate pressure on his shoulder with a large hand. “We’ve got fourteen hours to talk about it on the plane. We’ll get to the bottom of it.”

  Neil’s bike was parked a few doors down. Heathrow airport was fifteen miles away, but the powerful Honda made light work of the London traffic. They made it to Departures with twenty minutes to spare. As they walked through the revolving doors, Simon grabbed Neil’s arm, his fingers digging into its flesh.

  “What’s wrong?” Neil turned back to face him.

  “Your passport, have you got it? We booked the flights in my house and never went back to get it, in all of the confusion we didn’t think to go back.”

  “It’s fine. I had it biked over. You go and join the queue and I’ll pick it up.”

  They’d gone straight from security to the gate, no time or inclination to browse in the numerous duty free outlets. The flight was already boarding. They shuffled along at the back of the queue, exhausted. Once they took off, there would be little they could do for fourteen hours. As soon as they sat down in their comfortable lounger seats, Neil turned to Simon, who was staring out the porthole window.

  “Why would he hack your computer?”

  Simon turned around. “I don’t know. It’s not like I’m a threat to him.”

  “You said there was something else he had on you to keep you quiet.”

  “He does,” Simon said, “but I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “So there can be no doubt in his mind that you’re not a threat to him.”

  “No.”

  “He could have planted the bug to be sure of that. But it doesn’t explain why he went to work at the bank. He could just as easily have kept an eye on you from afar.”

  Simon scoffed. “Who are you, Dr. Phil? I thought IT was your domain.”

  Neil looked at him, careful to keep his tone level. “Do you want to find Kirsty?”

  Simon shook his head quickly, then nodded. “Sorry, of course I do. I just don’t have an answer for you. I grew up with him, but it turns out I didn’t have a clue what he was really like. I just don’t think we’re going to be able to just snap our fingers and work out what he’s thinking.”

  “I don’t care what we do if it helps me find Grace,” Neil shot back, before regaining his cool. “It’s too much of a coincidence that he stalks you and then ends up shagging your girlfriend.”

  Simon winced, but Neil continued.

  “Maybe he’s playing with you. Using her to get to you.”

  Simon sighed.

  Neil looked at him. “Look I’m sorry. We should get some sleep. Here, take one of these, I had them sent over with my passport. It’ll knock you out. Don’t worry; you’ll be fresh as a daisy when we land.”

  Simon swallowed the pill dry and settled back against the cushioned headrest, hoping its effects would kick in soon.

  Neil took his phone out and tapped away until the stewardess came and leaned down to speak to him.

  “I’m afraid you need to turn that off now, sir,” she smiled, standing up again.

  “No problem,” Neil smiled back. “Would you mind waking me in five hours?”

  “Of course.�
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  Five hours later, Neil awoke with a start. The stewardess smiled apologetically.

  “Thanks,” he whispered, stretching expansively. He ignored the entertainment unit in front of him, instead standing up and walking to the front of the cabin. He spoke with the stewardess a moment, then took the phone into the bathroom, locking the door. Simon sat sprawled in his seat, snoring.

  “Mike, any news?” he whispered, just loud enough for his friend to hear him in Bangkok. The plane was somewhere over central Asia; still several hours to go before they landed, and even longer before they made it out of the airport and into central Bangkok.

  “No, sorry man,” his friend’s voice crackled down the line. “I’ve got some guys scoping out the apartment and I’ve had no word from them either.”

  Neil sighed. “You know what to do if–”

  “Yeah. Don’t worry.”

  “How can I not worry Mike? I’ll call you again in a while.” He ended the call and returned to his seat.

  Chapter 20

  Grace opened her eyes slowly and with great difficulty. She had no idea how long she’d been asleep. Her mind felt like it had been filled with cement, and she struggled for several minutes to make sense of her surroundings and the pain that emanated from... everywhere.

  Slowly it trickled back and she willed herself to stop crying: she could barely open her eyes as it was. What was in those pills he’d made her swallow? She tried to sit up but felt resistance when she tried moving her arms even slightly. She started to turn her head slowly, trying to block out the pain that now shot through her skull.

  Facing slightly left now, she took in her surroundings. She recognised the curtains. Grey. She was still in the apartment. Groggy, she slowly spread her fingers, touching the surface beneath her. It was soft: fabric. This must be the second bedroom. She bit her bottom lip with difficulty, realising that her mouth too was grossly swollen, and tried to sit up once more. Whimpering with pain, she found that she still couldn’t move.

  Making one last herculean effort, she lifted her head clear off the bed and looked down. Ropes covered her body, from her chest down to her ankles. There was nothing else in the room apart from a pile of black bin liners in one corner. Her head flopped back on to the mattress as she tried to get away from the pain.

  Grace opened her eyes again; the pain came flooding back when she did so. Her eyes felt less swollen now, but the unnatural pain in her head hadn’t subsided. As her vision cleared she heard a voice in her right ear.

  “Feeling better?” She couldn’t see his face but she recognised the voice immediately: the cold, indifferent tone was ingrained in her mind forever now, it seemed.

  She stayed silent, not knowing what to say; worried that she might enrage him if she answered incorrectly.

  He appeared not to notice. “You were supposed to die,” he said matter-of-factly, as much to himself as to her.

  She closed her eyes slowly and remained silent, desperately willing back the tear she felt inch its way to her right ear.

  “I’m sure I gave you enough pills,” she heard his voice rise in inflection, as if he was smiling now. It was impossible for her to be sure without turning her head. She didn’t want to look into those cold eyes again. “Even looked it up online. From an internet cafe, I don’t know, do they trace web searches related to suicides?” he trailed off, paying her no attention to now, but the smile had stayed in his voice.

  He’s amused, she thought. Psychotic bastard.

  “I’m going to have to go back and check again, make sure I get it right this time.” He stopped abruptly. She could feel his eyes boring into the side of her head. “Get well soon Grace, I need you strong enough to swallow the next lot yourself.”

  She allowed the tears to flow when she heard the door close. So he’s not going to murder me, I have to do it myself. Her tears were unstoppable now as she imagined her parents’ reactions. Her devout catholic mother’s devastation would be compounded further by the fact that she’d died at her own hands: a mortal sin in the eyes of the church.

  Her tears dried up as she railed against that thought. Her mother had worked gruelling hours when Grace was a child, supplementing her husband’s earnings to ensure that there was always food on the table, and enough money saved to send Grace to university. How could Grace let her down by simply allowing this pathetic madman to determine her fate? She had to think of way out.

  Grace awoke. The throbbing in her head was still there now, but seemed less severe that it had been earlier. It was impossible to keep track of time in the dull room; the heavy curtains must have been lined with black-out fabric, as she never had any idea whether it was night or day. It seemed to her that the horns beeped and the people yelled nonstop throughout the days and the nights. She had no idea how long she’d been strapped here, but she was thankful for the outside noises, keeping her in touch with a world she had no intention of leaving any time soon. She wished it was slightly less noisy though: it was impossible to hear what was going on outside of the door to her room.

  She had had no luck so far in trying to work her arms or legs free. Daniel had done an excellent job of securing her to the bed without causing any marks that might make her death look suspicious. But she hoped to change that. Biting her lip, she used the little leeway she had at her ankles to rotate her feet as quickly as she could: away, together. Away, together. She could feel the skin start to heat again; reopening the wounds from her previous work. The smell in the room was unbearable now; he had obviously expected her to die right away, and had made no allowances for her bodily functions.

  Would anyone else miss her before she was due back at the office? Her mother knew that she was in Thailand, and had never called on her mobile phone before because she hated the ‘godforsaken, cancer-causing things’. Her father? She couldn’t remember the last time they had spoken. The hotel would just keep adding extra nights to her bill. It was up to her to get herself out of this mess. But what was she going to do? Fight her way out? She stared at the ceiling, thinking.

  Chapter 21

  Simon and Neil stepped off the place and took deep breaths. Even the mix of air-conditioned air and aircraft fuel beat the stale air they’d been stuck with in the cabin.

  Neil hit the call button a second time. Mike hadn’t answered on his first try.

  This time, Mike answered on the second ring. “Lennox. You land okay?” Mike knew there was no point in attempting pleasantries.

  “Yeah. Any update Mike? Tell me the trace has gone through.”

  “It’s some sophisticated equipment they got Lennox,” Mike answered, defensively. “But I broke through eventually. Your guy’s phone is rerouted to a number in Bangkok. It’s registered to the apartment.”

  “And the CCTV?”

  “Dead end. The building’s old, and there are some cameras set up in the building, but they’re duds. It doesn’t even have security.”

  Neil thought for a moment. “Any chance of reactivating the cameras?”

  “About the same chance you’d have with toy cameras.”Neil heard the smile in his voice. “They’re shells with no working parts.”

  “Right.” Neil held the phone to his chest. They had reached the immigration counters. He elbowed Simon and pointed to the far corner, before resuming the conversation. “And your people at the apartment?”

  “They haven’t seen a thing so far. They have copies of the pictures you emailed me.” Neil had sent photos of Grace and Kirsty from Grace’s birthday party that year, as well as the portrait shot of Daniel from the bank’s corporate directory. “I only confirmed the address a short time ago. What do you want to do big guy?”

  “Where are you?”

  “At home. A buddy of mine has a place in Sukumvit, near the apartment. I’ll text you the address and wait for you there.”

  “Great.” Neil hung up and took out his passport.

  Simon looked at him expectantly as the queue for foreign passport holders snaked forward.<
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  “He’s definitely been at the same address. There’s been no further activity on Grace’s phone, so I’m inclined to assume that something’s gone wrong.”

  Simon frowned, affronted. “Of course there’s something wrong. The guy’s a psychopath!”

  Neil nodded, only half paying attention. He handed his passport to the immigration official, smiling politely. They breezed through customs, having brought minimal baggage.

  The wait for a taxi seemed interminable. Each had already disclosed all of the pertinent information they had, or, at least, all that they were willing to share. Neil wondered what Daniel’s secret ammunition against Simon could be: he knew it must be pretty severe in order to scare him this much. His opinion was changing: he had never liked Simon. He had always struck Neil as being so shrewd and careful. Now he knew what had caused it, he felt sorry for Simon, although the other man’s passivity was beginning to tire him.

  “Do you think she’s already dead?” Simon’s question came from out of the blue, even though they had both asked themselves that question several times since they left London.

  Neil looked at him. It was one thing to think it, another to say it. He was saved by the arrival of three taxis all at once, which propelled them to the front of the queue. They were faced with a podium, behind which sat an angry-looking woman wearing a blue uniform, who quizzed them about their destination.

  An hour later, the cab spat them out in front of a nondescript apartment building. Neil paid and sprinted to the door, and pressed a doorbell. The door clicked open.

  They entered the lift and ascended in silence, and were greeted by Mike on the fourth floor. Mike was short, squat and pot-bellied. He looked like a child beside Neil, but the larger man winced from the strength of his friend’s handshake.