LITMIR.BIZ

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nodded. ‘You heard right. My involvement in this is private. I’m here because of Brooke Marcel. She and I …’ He didn’t finish the sentence.

      ‘God, I had no idea,’ Webster said, blanching. ‘I’m so sorry.’

      ‘What’s the situation, Matt? There’s been no contact, has there?’ Even as he asked the question, he already knew the answer. Just one glance at the haggard faces around the room had told him what he’d come to Carrick Manor to find out.

      Webster shook his head. ‘Zilch. Not a squeak.’

      Ben could have asked Webster if he was thinking the same thing he was, but there was no need. He could see it in his eyes.

      He said nothing. It was eight thirty-two. He glanced across at the silent phone. Justin Maxwell was still staring at it fixedly, barely blinking.

      At that moment Detective Inspector Hanratty, managing to get away from the angry Simon Butler, spotted Ben and Amal across the room. ‘Here comes trouble,’ Amal muttered as Hanratty battled his way round the long table and strutted up to them with his fists clenched.

      ‘Not you again,’ he growled. ‘Did I not tell you to stay out of this, Hope? There’s the door.’

      ‘Why don’t you fuck off, Hanratty?’ Ben said quietly, looking him directly in the eye.

      Hanratty blanched. ‘What did you just say to me?’

      ‘You heard me,’ Ben said more loudly. ‘You’ve three seconds to get out of my face before I put you through that window.’

      Kay Lynch was watching Ben from across the room with an expression that said, ‘See, this is what I meant by you being silly’.

      The buzz of noise dropped to a murmur. People looked around. Hanratty’s eyes bulged. Two seconds went by, then three. Hanratty swallowed and took a step back from Ben. Before he could muster up a riposte, Justin Maxwell spoke up.

      ‘Will someone please tell me who this gentleman is?’

      ‘I know him,’ Matt Webster cut in. ‘I can totally vouch for him.’

      Hanratty exploded in protest.

      ‘Let me put it this way, pal,’ Webster said, giving him a cold glower. ‘If you were kidnapped, this is the guy you’d want on your side.’

      ‘With respect, sir,’ Lynch said to Hanratty, ‘I think he can be of some use to us. He’s got more experience in this kind of situation than the rest of us put together.’

      ‘Then perhaps he should introduce himself,’ Maxwell said, silencing Hanratty’s objections with a raised hand and looking expectantly at Ben.

      Ben disliked talking about himself or his background, but there were times when it was to his advantage to reveal a little more than usual. ‘My name’s Ben Hope. I served as a Major in the British Special Air Service before becoming a freelance crisis response consultant. In that capacity I’ve been involved in over a hundred hostage rescue situations. Sometimes as a negotiator, sometimes more directly. I’m here because of Dr Brooke Marcel.’

      ‘I see,’ Maxwell said. ‘May I ask what is your relationship to Dr Marcel?’

      ‘That’s none of your business,’ Ben said. ‘What does concern all of us here is that the clock’s ticking. It’s eight thirty-three. Approximately twenty-two and a half hours since the snatch. In my experience, that’s a hell of a long time to wait for first contact.’

      ‘Meaning what exactly?’

      ‘Meaning that you people can stand here staring at that phone all you like, but I don’t think it’s going to ring anytime soon, if ever.’

      Maxwell looked long and hard at Ben. His eyes were wide-set and penetrating. ‘Couldn’t the delay be a deliberate strategy?’ he asked. ‘The longer we stew, the greater the kidnappers’ psychological advantage over us and the more likely we are to acquiesce to their demands. Although we’d do anything to secure Sir Roger’s and Miss Sheldrake’s release. And that of Dr Marcel, naturally,’ he added quickly.

      ‘Kidnappers like to play mind games,’ Ben said. ‘That’s true enough. We call it The Wait, and it’s a nightmare for negotiators, victims’ families and everyone concerned except the insurers, who’re happy to hang onto their money for as long as they can. The kidnappers will often go quiet for days, months, sometimes years, to soften you up like putty so that you’ll cave in to whatever terms they throw at you. But not,’ he emphasised, ‘before making that initial contact. It’s crucial to them to approach you and identify themselves as the real kidnappers. This story’s already all over the internet by now – it’s only a question of time before a hundred opportunists start coming out of the woodwork making phoney demands. Kidnappers generally just want money, and they want it as quickly as possible. Especially when there’s an eight-figure sum on the table, you wouldn’t expect them to hang around.’

      Maxwell narrowed his eyes. ‘Who said anything about an eight-figure sum?’

      ‘Let’s not mess about,’ Ben said. ‘I know that your company’s insured for ransom claims of up to twelve million with Rochester and Saunders. And if I know it, rest assured the kidnappers will know it. You’re not dealing with amateurs, that much is clear.’

      ‘Where did you get that information?’ one of the other Neptune executives demanded.

      ‘Ronnie Galloway told me,’ Ben said.

      The executive shook his head in outrage. ‘That little—’ he began. Maxwell quieted him with a stern gesture.

      ‘Which strongly suggests to me that the time for a ransom demand has been and gone,’ Ben went on. ‘Believe me, I don’t like it any more than you do.’

      Maxwell’s brow furrowed into deep creases. He looked at Simon Butler, then at Matt Webster and his colleague from R&S. Butler was chewing his fingernails in agitation. Webster’s face was taut.

      ‘Matt will agree with me,’ Ben said.

      ‘Is that the case, Mr Webster?’

      Webster sighed. ‘It’s getting pretty damn late in the day,’ he admitted. ‘I’d have expected to hear something by now. Frankly, I’m more than a little concerned that every passing hour makes it less likely we’ll hear anything at all.’

      ‘I don’t understand,’ Maxwell said. ‘Where does this leave us? I’d assumed … I mean, if it’s not about ransom … what’s going on?’

      ‘I think you might need to re-evaluate the whole situation,’ Ben said. ‘You might want to consider other reasons why someone would want to snatch your man.’

      ‘Such as?’

      ‘I’d imagine the treasure recovered from the Santa Teresa’s worth a good deal more than twelve million,’ Ben said.

      ‘You’re suggesting what? That they’d use force against Sir Roger to make him give them access?’

      ‘Unless he’s in on it,’ Ben said.

      There was a shocked silence in the room. After a few seconds, Maxwell said, ‘That’s absolutely out of the question and totally impossible. Besides, not even Roger could have access. Every single item recovered from that vessel is under secure lock and key.’

      ‘Then maybe there’s something else,’ Ben said. ‘Something we don’t know about, but which Forsyte does.’

      ‘But that’s just a guess,’ Maxwell said.

      ‘At this moment, guesswork is pretty much all we have,’ Ben replied. ‘All we know for sure is that while we stand around here staring at that phone, whoever did this is somewhere far away, laughing.’

      ‘And?’

      ‘And so it’s going to have to be done the hard way,’ Ben said.

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