Before Nightfall

by Rachel Amphlett

  ‘I see.’ The old man stroked his chin. ‘Well, I’d better let you get on with it.’ He bent down to pick up his groceries and turned towards the stairs.

  ‘Can I get those for you?’ said Finn, and stepped forward. ‘I mean, the lift doesn’t seem to be working – it’s the least I could do for you after your help.’

  The old man smiled. ‘Why not?’ He held out the bag to Finn. ‘Of course, you’ll be wanting me to tell you which apartment is hers on the way, won’t you?’

  Finn grinned. ‘Actually, I know the apartment. I just wasn’t sure she’d let me through the front door.’

  The man laughed and began to climb the stairs. ‘Come on then.’

  Finn smiled and began to follow the old man.

  At the first floor, he turned off the landing and held out his hand for the shopping bag.

  ‘Next floor up,’ he said, pointing. ‘And good luck.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Finn jogged up the remaining stairs and hurried along the corridor until he stood in front of apartment 4E. Catching his breath, he knocked on the door and stood with his hands at his sides, willing his heartbeat to slow.

  He’d given up on anyone being home, and was about to turn away, when the door was thrust open and a woman in her sixties appeared.

  She glared at him with angry brown eyes, partially hidden behind a veil of thick cigarette smoke. Her hair had been styled into a mid-length mop, dark brown shot through with grey and auburn highlights streaking the ends.

  She took a long drag on the cigarette before lowering it and blowing smoke to one side.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I’m looking for Francine.’

  ‘Do you have her phone number?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How did you know she lived here, then?’

  Finn lowered his voice. ‘I’m the one who sent her the flowers. I’d really like to talk to her.’

  ‘She didn’t phone you to thank you for them?’ The woman’s eyes narrowed. ‘It would seem to me that she is not very interested in talking to you.’ She slammed the door.

  Finn held his breath. Beyond the door, he could hear the woman’s voice, urgent, then falling silent.

  A younger woman’s voice filled the space. It began as a low murmur, before she became angry, and the older voice cut her short.

  Finn reached into his pocket, removed a business card, and thought for a moment before scribbling a message on the back of it for Francine to call him urgently. He just hoped she got to the card before her mother.

  He added his phone number, then crouched, and pushed the card under the door before standing and walking away.

  As he left the building and returned to the car, he prayed Francine would contact them. In the meantime, he’d ask Steve to get his Interpol contacts to keep an eye on the apartment, just in case.

  Chapter 5

  If you can, listen before you open your eyes. What can you hear? Are you alone in the room?

  The memory of Finn’s voice reverberated in Kate’s thoughts as she tried to calm her breathing.

  She kept her eyes closed, her heartbeat thudding against her ribs. She swallowed, her throat parched. A faint metallic taste peppered her saliva, a reminder of the chemicals which had been used to knock her out.

  She opened her eyes, keeping her body still while she took in her surroundings. The hood had been removed, and she was lying on a thin mattress which had been placed on the floor, a pillow under her head. Opposite, a bare stone wall faced her, its unpainted surface stained in places and wet rot visible in the corners near the ceiling.

  Her nose wrinkled instinctively at the smell in the room – a heady mixture of mould, aged vomit and rat droppings. She listened carefully for movement around her. When she heard nothing, she risked turning her head.

  Rolling onto her back, she raised her hands to rub the grit from her eyes and discovered that her wrists remained tied with plastic cuffs, her hands in front of her. She groaned, feeling the pain from her ankle creep up her leg. Carefully, she raised herself into a sitting position and surveyed her surroundings.

  ‘Oh my god.’

  Dizziness washed over her, and she fell back against the wall. She fought the urge to be sick, closed her eyes and gulped in deep breaths of the stale air. Steadying herself, she opened her eyes and blinked until she could see without blinding flashes of light streaking across her vision.

  She stood, crying out in pain as her weight settled onto her foot. She bent down and lifted the hem of her trousers.

  Blood seeped from a cut on her ankle, purple and yellow bruising already forming around the joint. Her shoes had been removed and her bare feet sank into the meagre bedding which covered the mattress. She wondered how long she had been unconscious.

  ‘This can’t be happening.’

  Once she felt she could move without falling over, she hobbled around the perimeter of the room. She guessed it to be about four metres square. A concrete floor and stone walls keeping the interior cool. A battered ceiling fan turned lazily in the ceiling.

  Without windows, the walls crowded in on her, and she fought down the panic which threatened to engulf her. The room was airless, timeless, cell-like.

  She wondered if Ian had called the police. Had the car been discovered? She gulped back a sob at the thought of Mick being torn from the vehicle and murdered.

  Her thoughts drifted back to the hostage training, and her heart skipped a beat. Would Ian seek help from Finn to rescue her? Would Finn be angry with her? He was the only one to have voiced concerns about her safety, and she’d ignored him.

  She sniffed, blinking back tears. All she’d wanted to do was prove to her friends and family that she’d gained her confidence back after her failed marriage. The role with Hart offered an opportunity to see the world, and she’d been caught up in the romanticism of the idea of jet-setting around the globe with her boss.

  Now, all the questions she should have asked at the start began to swim in her mind. How safe had she been? Had Ian willingly exposed her to danger before this trip? Was she being used in some way?

  ‘Oh god, no,’ she murmured as the walls began to encroach on her, and a rising panic enveloped her senses.

  A single light bulb had been fixed into the ceiling, a metal frame surrounding it to prevent the glass being broken. In the dim light which glimmered from the low wattage bulb, she peered at her wrist, and realised that her watch had been taken from her. She had no idea if it was day or night, and began to hyperventilate.

  A memory surfaced, one which she had battened down and locked away for a long time. Years. It threatened to engulf her, consume her senses.

  ‘I can’t stay here.’

  She made her way back to the mattress and curled up on it, drawing her knees up to her chest.

  In an instant, she was thirteen years old again. Alone. Defenceless.

  ‘Help me!’

  The walls threw her voice back to her, enveloping her in the echo. She slipped further into the repressed nightmare, the cold seeping into her bones, chilling her skin. Damp air filled her nostrils, the memory of small creatures scurrying around her feet.

  She curled her toes, hugged herself tighter and concentrated on her breathing in an attempt to calm her rising heart rate, in through her nose, out through her mouth. Her fingernails dug into the palms of her hands, leaving small crescent shapes in her skin, red and angry.

  A nervous hum escaped through her lips. She closed her eyes and began to sob, quietly at first, and then her cries grew louder on each breath until she was screaming. Her fingers tore at the thin blanket, twisting it in her hands.

  ‘Somebody – please help me!’ she cried.

  She opened her eyes at the sound of the door to the room crashing inwards, and two men rushed in.

  Kate’s eyes widened at the younger of the two.

  He carried a semi-automatic rifle, black and gleaming – and it was pointing straight at her. A purple bruise covered
his right cheek. He began shouting at her, a mixture of the local dialect and something else, then advanced towards her and raised the butt of the rifle to strike.

  ‘No!’

  The elder of the two pushed past his accomplice, hurried across the bare floor and crouched down next to her. He placed his hand over her mouth, shaking his head.

  ‘Missy, shhhh,’ he urged, putting a finger to his lips. ‘No noise!’

  Kate gulped back another scream, her throat raw. She panted with the effort of keeping quiet.

  The man raised an eyebrow and slowly drew his hand away, but kept his finger on his lips.

  The younger man drew closer and stood over her, his body casting hers in shadow, anger creasing his brow.

  The older man next to her turned to him. ‘Yusuf – no. He said you mustn’t touch her.’ He turned back to Kate. ‘You must be quiet.’

  ‘I can’t stay in this room.’

  The man laughed. ‘But you are our prisoner. This is where you will stay.’

  ‘I can’t stay in here.’ She gestured to the walls. ‘There’s no air – no window.’

  Yusuf crossed his arms and slung the gun over the crook of his arm, waving his hand at the walls. ‘You are afraid of no window?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said and wiped a bead of sweat from her eyes. ‘I can’t stay here.’ She blinked.

  She picked at a fingernail, tearing it until blood trickled from the wound, and then wiped fresh tears from her eyes. ‘You don’t understand – I can’t stay in enclosed spaces. I haven’t been able to since I was a kid.’

  The man sighed and turned away, beckoning the older man towards him. Kate watched as they conferred and then the older of the two turned back to her.

  ‘If we move you to a room with a window, you must promise to be quiet.’

  ‘I promise – please, just don’t keep me in here.’ She shuddered and wrapped her arms around her body.

  The younger man drew closer, swung the gun off his arm and pointed it at her. ‘If you are not quiet, I will bring you back here and make sure you keep quiet, you understand?’

  ‘I understand.’

  She cried out as Yusuf lurched forward and grabbed her arm before he lifted her off the floor and dragged her towards the door. From his pocket, he pulled out the hood.

  ‘No…,’ groaned Kate.

  ‘No hood, no move,’ he said, knowing what her response would be.

  Kate nodded, then closed her eyes and allowed herself to be escorted from the room.

  Yusuf checked over his shoulder, and then closed the door to the workshop on the lower level.

  ‘Will she be quiet?’

  ‘We’ve moved her to the front room. If she doesn’t keep quiet, we’ll silence her.’

  ‘Good.’ The man turned on the battered wooden stool and pushed a collection of coloured wires to one side of the workbench, before selecting one and holding it up to his face. ‘I can’t afford any distractions. Not now. Make sure she stays quiet.’

  Yusuf squinted at the windows which covered the upper part of the walls, the afternoon sun reflecting off the dirt-strewn glass. He checked his watch, and then turned back to the electrician, noting the effort of concentration etched across the man’s face. ‘How long will this take Mehmet?’

  ‘A day at best, maybe two,’ came the reply. He picked up a set of pliers. ‘But we need the parts from Hart. This isn’t going to have the effect you want without them.’

  ‘I’m sure with the leverage we have, we’ll get the parts you need.’

  The electrician lowered his voice. ‘It’s a hell of a risk.’

  ‘That’s the way he wants it done.’

  ‘And if we don’t get the parts?’

  ‘We will.’

  Chapter 6

  Finn turned in his seat, and then rose to his feet as a familiar figure burst through the door to Ian’s office.

  Ian seemed surprised at the sudden arrival of his wife, but he recovered well. ‘I thought you were on tomorrow’s flight?’

  Cynthia waved her hand. ‘I told them it was a family emergency. Mind you, I had to change flights in Paris – it’s been a nightmare getting here.’ She shook her hair free from her scarf, fluffed it up with her fingers and hurried into her husband’s arms. ‘What’s going on? Have they asked for a ransom?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  Cynthia sank into the other armchair. ‘I knew it.’ She glared at her husband. ‘I told you she shouldn’t be here. It’s too dangerous. What if they hurt her? What if these two can’t find her? It’s just too…’

  ‘I know Cyn, but it’s too late for ‘what if’s.’

  ‘Well what are you doing about it?’

  Finn felt the woman’s eyes boring into him. ‘We’re using the spare office next door as a command post. We’ve just finished fixing all of the phone lines into this office so we can monitor incoming calls.’

  Ian leaned against the desk, his knuckles white as he gripped its surface. ‘Finn’s told the girl on reception to hold all my other calls just in case.’

  ‘We’ll tell people that Ian has been called away for a couple of days,’ explained Finn. ‘Hopefully they’ll listen and stop phoning for him so we can keep the line free.’

  ‘What about the police?’

  ‘I’ve asked Steve to hold fire getting them involved for the moment,’ Hart said, and held up his hand to ward off his wife’s protests. ‘Just until we know what their demands are.’

  ‘And you’re happy with that?’

  Steve looked down at his hands. ‘Normally I’d want them involved as soon as possible,’ he said, ‘but we’re in an unfamiliar country and have no idea what we’re dealing with. At the moment, the police are investigating Mick’s death as a car-jacking gone wrong. I can make some discreet enquiries with some contacts at Interpol I have in the meantime.’

  ‘Steve’s agreed to wait 24 hours to see what demands are made,’ said Ian. ‘I’d prefer to deal with this ourselves if we can.’

  Cynthia slapped her scarf on her thigh in frustration and stood. ‘Well there’s no sense in me sitting around doing nothing,’ she said and turned to Finn. ‘Show me where this ‘command post’ of yours is – I might as well help you do something until you sort yourselves out.’

  Finn rose and opened the door for her.

  As she passed him, she stabbed her finger at his chest. ‘You’d better be right about waiting, or I swear I’ll make your life hell,’ she said, and strode out the room.

  Finn gazed up at the ceiling and took a deep breath before he followed her.

  ‘You already do, lady. You already do,’ he murmured.

  Finn showed Cynthia into the communications room.

  She walked over to the window and pushed her fingers between the slats of the blinds, peering out at the pink russet hues of the late afternoon sun reflected in the windows of the buildings opposite.

  Finn strode over, slapped her hand away and closed the blinds once more.

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked Cynthia.

  ‘Making sure no-one can see into the building,’ he said. ‘By telling Ian not to go to the authorities, they’re trying to isolate him. We don’t want them finding out about us – yet.’

  She watched as he wired up a set of speakers next to the blinds and then walked over to the equipment set out on one of the desks. He turned a dial, listened through a set of headphones and nodded, before placing the headphones back on the table. He caught Cynthia watching him.

  ‘White noise. It’ll help break up any sound in case anyone’s waving a directional microphone at the windows.’ He pulled out a chair for her and gestured for her to sit.

  Instead, she inspected the wires and equipment strewn over the floor. ‘What do these do?’

  ‘We’re running checks on the telephones and computers to find out if they’ve been compromised,’ he said. ‘Will you please sit down?’

  She ignored him, reached into the bag slung across her shoulder, and extracted a fil
e.

  ‘You need to see this,’ she said, handing it to him.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Just open it and see. It might help,’ she shrugged. She walked past him and sat down, then watched him expectantly.

  Finn sighed, leaned against the desk and opened the file.

  The first pages contained a copy of Kate’s extensive resume, her application for the role of Sales Manager on Hart’s IT team, and the interview notes taken by the recruiter.

  He thumbed through these until he found the reference checks Hart’s HR team had conducted. He frowned when he turned a document over and noticed a red “security clearance” stamp at the top of the page.

  ‘All of Ian’s employees agree to rigorous pre-employment security checks,’ explained Cynthia.

  Finn grunted in response. His eyes flickered over the emotionally-detached text of the HR team’s findings. His eyebrow shot up with surprise as he read that Kate’s father was a decorated Chief Petty Officer with the US Navy, who’d been forced to take early retirement after sustaining an injury while on a training exercise. He noted that her parents now resided in Massachusetts, and that she had no other siblings.

  He pushed the report aside, and then frowned at the first of a set of loose papers tucked into the back of the file.

  The first was a photocopied picture of a teenage girl, the print grainy and smeared. It resembled a police mug shot except in this case, the girl’s eye socket was bruised, the blue-black marking recent and ugly.

  But it was the girl’s eyes Finn was drawn to. The brown hue, the sadness in them, was so familiar that his heart ached.

  ‘Kate,’ he whispered.

  Finn pushed the photograph to one side and found a newspaper cutting tucked into the file behind it. It was some years old, yellowed with age and originated from a small town in Ohio where a thirteen-year-old girl had been found safe after being reported missing for three days.

  It appeared that a schoolyard prank had gone wrong – bullies had coerced the young girl to a disused building on the outskirts of town after school on a Friday night, and had then locked her in before running away. Each thought the other had released the girl. None of them realised their error until they’d returned to school on the Monday and all hell had broken loose.