Scott Mariani - Valley of Death

‘Okay,’ Ben said. ‘What’s the deal? How much are the kidnappers asking for?’

Identifying the motive for the crime, which ninety-nine per cent of the time was financial, was a vital first step. It also offered a reasonable indication that the kidnappers intended to keep their victim alive, at least until they got their hands on the cash. After that, it could go in all kinds of ways. Extremely unpleasant ones, for the victims and their loved ones.

‘They’re not,’ she said.

Ben looked at her. ‘You mean there’s been no ransom demand? Not a letter, or a phone call, or an email, in eight days?’

She shook her head. ‘No contact at all. Nothing.’

Ben pursed his lips, thinking hard. This wasn’t just unusual. It was bad. Even worse than the typical kidnap situation. Because it deviated from the set pattern. The longer kidnappers held their victims, the higher the risk of being caught. Plus, they weren’t interested in playing nursemaid. They were only in it for quick gains. Hence, things tended to move quickly, with the first ransom demand being issued within twenty-four hours, often less. If families paid up too readily, the first demand was invariably followed by a second, bleeding them for more.

But no ransom demand at all was weird. Ben paused a moment then said, ‘So we don’t even know why Amal was taken, let alone by whom?’

She shook her head again. ‘No, he’s simply vanished. Just like Kabir.’

‘Kabir?’

‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘He’s disappeared, too. Three weeks ago. It all started with him.’

‘I think you’d better explain. I’m not following.’

Phoebe sighed. ‘I’m sorry. It’s all so complicated that I can barely keep up with it myself. Kabir is Kabir Ray. Amal’s younger brother, an archaeologist in Delhi.’

‘And Kabir was kidnapped too?’

‘Not exactly. He and two of his work colleagues were attacked. It happened in some remote part of India, miles and miles from anywhere. His colleagues were shot dead.’

This was sounding more serious now, and getting stranger by the second. Ben had a hundred questions, but kept quiet and let her go on.

Phoebe said, ‘The local police there think Kabir was killed along with them, but there was no sign of his body, only theirs. After days and days of frantically worrying and hearing nothing new, Amal flew out there himself to try to find out what had happened to his brother – talk to the police, piece together clues or whatever. Next thing, this dreadful kidnapping. A gang of masked men snatched him right off the street and bundled him into a van. Brooke was with him. It happened right in front of her. Poor Brooke. Poor Amal.’

Ben felt his stomach fill with butterflies. ‘Was Brooke hurt?’

‘No, but it’s so awful.’ Phoebe plucked a tissue from her pocket and started dabbing at her eyes, which had turned pink and begun streaming tears as she talked. ‘I don’t know what to make of it. I’m at my wits’ end. Mr Hope—’

‘You can call me Ben.’

She sniffed, nodded. ‘Ben – please say you’ll help her find out who did this and bring Amal back to her safe and sound. She’s in a terrible state.’

Ben was trying to make sense of all this. A kidnapping with no ransom demand. A deadly shooting in another part of the country. He was thinking reprisals, enemies, someone with a grudge against the family. Or had the brothers been into something that put them in danger?

He asked, ‘Do the police see the two disappearances as connected?’

‘As far as I know, no. They seem to think bandits were responsible for what happened to Kabir and his friends. That part of India is crawling with them, apparently. But not Delhi. I mean, it’s a modern, safe city. Like London.’

Ben looked at her and wondered how anyone could be so disconnected from reality. He said, ‘So as far as the authorities are concerned, these are two separate, coincidental events.’

She nodded. ‘That’s what Mr Prajapati seems to believe, too.’

‘Who’s Mr Prajapati?’

‘He’s supposedly the best private investigator in the capital. Brooke employed him to help search for Amal. She doesn’t think the police are doing enough.’

‘I see.’

Phoebe gazed at him imploringly with her wet, bruised-looking eyes. ‘I’m begging you. After all she’s told me about you in the past, your military background, your experience with kidnapped children, the amazing things you’ve done for so many people, I know that if anyone can find out who’s behind this horrible thing and bring Amal back home, it’s you.’

Ben leaned back and thought about it for a minute. His past history, both before and after he’d quit the regiment to go freelance, wasn’t a subject for open discussion. SAS guys were famously, and justifiably, cagey in the extreme. Partly out of pure habit, partly because they were strictly bound by the Official Secrets Act, and partly to protect themselves and their families from being targeted for reprisal attacks. He didn’t like the things he’d done being talked about. But he also knew that Brooke was discreet and would have revealed only the broadest outline of the facts to her sister.

He said, ‘Let me get this straight. You’re here by your own volition? Brooke didn’t send you?’

She appeared flustered by his question. ‘I … no … it was my idea. She doesn’t know I’m here. I googled your name and found the Le Val Tactical Training Centre online.’

‘You could have saved yourself a trip. We do have email, telephones, all the trappings of modern-day communication technology.’

Phoebe’s cheeks flushed red and her gaze dropped towards her lap. ‘I was afraid you wouldn’t speak to me. I … I thought that if I met you face to face, I might have a better chance of getting you to agree to help. Will you?’

‘Help, as in, fly out to India?’

She nodded, her face brightening with renewed optimism. ‘There’s a direct flight from Charles de Gaulle in Paris tonight at eleven.’

He stared at her as if she were crazy. ‘You’re taking a lot for granted, Mrs Kite. Even if I said yes, Paris is more than a three-hour drive from here. I’d have to down tools and leave right away.’

‘I know it’s a lot to ask,’ she said. ‘But Brooke would be so grateful. She’s still out there, staying at the Ray family home, isolated in a strange country and having to deal with this nightmare basically all alone.’

‘There’s also the matter of applying for a travel visa. I wasn’t actually planning on taking a trip to India any time soon. It could take days to get the paperwork sorted.’

Phoebe brushed that concern aside. ‘I don’t think you would need to worry about the red tape. The Rays are an important business family with a lot of money and all the right diplomatic connections to get you into the country, no questions asked.’