Scott Mariani - The Shadow Project

‘Armed?’

Dorenkamp nodded gravely. ‘Heavily.’

‘Masked?’

Dorenkamp nodded again.

‘How did they get out of it?’

‘Purely by good fortune and sheer coincidence,’ Dorenkamp said. ‘There had been a real accident further along the same road, a few kilometres away. It later transpired that the ambulance was already there, attending to the injured. But the police were late arriving on the scene, and happened to appear at the right moment to frighten off the kidnappers.’

‘But they didn’t catch any of them.’

‘No, they escaped.’

‘Did the Steiners and their driver get a good look at the injured man, or the woman who was with him?’

Dorenkamp shook his head. ‘Sadly not. The injured man was lying face down, and the woman was wearing dark glasses and a headscarf. She had long black hair.’

‘Which you can assume to be a wig,’ Ben said. ‘Now, you said they were on their way to a wedding when it happened. How many people knew about their travel plans that day?’

‘You are thinking about sources on the inside?’

Ben nodded.

‘It was a high society wedding,’ Dorenkamp said. ‘Well publicised, and the hotel additionally had a guest list.’

‘So the information was openly accessible.’

‘In any case, the police have already pursued these avenues of inquiry,’ Dorenkamp said.

‘Though they haven’t come up with anything, apparently.’

‘Not yet.’

‘So does anyone have any idea who might have attempted the kidnap?’ Ben asked.

‘Herr Steiner has his own theories.’

‘Which are?’

Dorenkamp smiled. ‘To be revealed. He will tell you himself in just a moment.’

They came to a tall doorway, and Dorenkamp led the way through it and past a broad gilt-framed painting depicting a classical scene with semi-naked nymphs frolicking around Greek ruins. Ben heard one of the men behind him muttering something about nice tits. Again, if Dorenkamp noticed, he made a good show of hiding it.

‘Do the Steiners have children?’ Ben asked the PA. ‘I ask because kidnappers will often target other family members, even if it’s only to get to the main person they want.’

‘No children,’ Dorenkamp said. ‘There is just him, his wife Silvia and their nephew, Otto Steiner, who is in line to take over the business when Herr Steiner retires.’ He chuckled. ‘Though I find it difficult to imagine that he ever would. Perhaps at the age of ninety-nine, when Otto is nearly seventy himself.’

‘Where does Otto live?’ Ben asked. ‘Here, on the estate. He has his own villa within the compound.’

‘What about Otto’s parents?’

‘Sadly deceased,’ Dorenkamp answered. ‘It was a long time ago. A car accident. Please don’t mention it to Herr Steiner. He was extremely attached to his brother Karl.’

‘I won’t say a thing. Now tell me about Mrs Steiner.’

As he said it, Ben could hear the sound of someone playing the piano from a room somewhere nearby. Someone very good. The piece they were playing was fast and intricate, the kind of thing only a real virtuoso would attempt. It might have been Rachmaninov or Chopin – Ben wasn’t sure.

‘You are listening to her,’ Dorenkamp said with a smile. ‘She was once a concert pianist, before Herr Steiner and she were married.’

‘What does she do now?’

Dorenkamp shrugged. ‘She has her music, and he has his work. They spend each day largely in their separate worlds, and they dine together in the evenings when he is not working late or away on business. It is a simple and unobtrusive life they lead, despite their wealth. There isn’t much to say. Frau Steiner tends to remain here on the estate. She has everything she needs.’

It seemed like a lonely life, Ben thought as they walked on and left the sound of the piano behind them. He followed Dorenkamp up two sweeping flights of stairs to the second floor. The PA stopped outside a grand double doorway. ‘Here we are,’ he said and twisted the ornate bronze knob to push open one of the huge doors.

Ben followed him inside, and found himself gazing around him at the enormous conference room. Sunlight streamed in through French windows overlooking the estate and the mountainscape in the distance. A massive oak table was surrounded by some thirty buttoned leather chairs. The ceiling was high and ornate, and the walls were lined with arrangements of shields and old swords, from cavalry sabres to fifteenth-century claymores. In between the weaponry displays hung more gilt-framed paintings. Around the edges of the room were display cabinets. Ben wandered over to one of them and bent down to peer through the glass at the old letter inside. The paper was yellowed, the quill-penned handwriting flamboyant. Ben read the signature at the bottom and turned to Dorenkamp. ‘Is this an original Napoleon Bonaparte letter?’

‘One of several in Herr Steiner’s possession,’ Dorenkamp said.

‘I gather he’s something of a collector.’

‘It’s quite a passion of his, in fact.’ Dorenkamp motioned towards the table. ‘Please take a seat, gentlemen. Herr Steiner will be joining us shortly.’

Ben and the team pulled up chairs and settled around the table. Nobody spoke to Ben, and he in turn ignored everyone. Dorenkamp pulled up a chair near the top of the table, to Ben’s left. The PA checked his watch again, and turned expectantly towards the door.

Ben heard footsteps outside in the corridor and, a moment later, the door swung open and Maximilian Steiner walked into the room.

Ben and Dorenkamp got up from their seats as Steiner entered, and the rest of the team followed their example.

Steiner might have been approaching his mid-sixties, but he looked several years younger. He was about Ben’s height, a shade under six feet tall, though heavier in build. He exuded an air of seriousness and absolute self-confidence as he scanned each face in the room in turn intently, as though he could read their thoughts. His reddish-brown hair was still thick, turning just a little grey above the ears. He was wearing an elegant light grey suit and a formal navy tie.

His cool gaze settled on Ben, and his eyes narrowed. ‘You must be Captain Shannon’s replacement.’ He spoke with even less accent than his PA. ‘Mr Benjamin Hope.’

Ben groaned inwardly. Benjamin again. This was Shannon’s doing. ‘Please call me Ben,’ he said, avoiding the issue.

Steiner raised an eyebrow. ‘I prefer a more formal address, Mr Hope.’

Ben smiled. Fine, have it your way . ‘Then you can call me Major Hope,’ he said. Pulling rank wasn’t something he normally liked to do, but he was damned if he was going to stand in Shannon’s shadow.

Steiner shot a glance at Dorenkamp. ‘We were not informed of this.’

‘Must be a glitch in your communications,’ Ben said. ‘I served with the British Army, Special Air Service. Rank of Major, retired.’ He felt like adding ‘and it’s Benedict Hope, not Benjamin’ – but he didn’t want to make Shannon look too foolish. Just a little bit.

Steiner gave a curt little nod. ‘Now to business,’ he said, moving on briskly. Clearly not a man to dally over small talk, Ben thought.

‘You know why you are here,’ Steiner continued. ‘I have no doubt that the recent attempt to kidnap me will not be the last. While the perimeter of the estate offers full protection from intruders, I cannot remain a hermit. I have businesses to run, places to go and people to meet. Your team’s assignment is to protect me whenever I leave home.’

‘Have you left the estate since the attack?’ Ben asked.

Steiner shook his head. ‘I have not. An intolerable situation that cannot be allowed to continue.’