Pandora's Box (53 page)

“It will!” Alistair jumped from their reception room sofa. “Show me the ID and the dress. Sophia wouldn’t do something like this. She plans everything in advance.”

Alistair and Isabel were handed equal sheets, showing the driver’s ID.

Alistair’s mouth dropped open. Even on a disguised face, with died black hair, mustache and bushy eyebrows, using a cap and wired glasses, Alistair would never mistake or forget those hateful blue eyes that threatened Sophia more than once.

“You know this man, Mr. MacCraig?” asked Isabel.

Alistair sat again, feeling slightly dizzy. He crumpled the sheet of paper inside his hand. His rage was so great he was afraid of what he would do. In an even voice, he informed Isabel, “This is Alberto Leibowitz. The father of Sophia’s late husband. He has promised to destroy Sophia to get Gabriela back.”

Atwood House.

3 a.m.

As soon as the first note was found, all the official cars were driven away from Atwood House and Leibowitz Oil and only a few detectives and officers remained with Isabel. The prime-minister himself found it best to keep Sophia’s disappearance and the police work secret.

However, somehow, the news of Sophia’s disappearance had leaked to the press. Kensington Palace Gardens’ gates and Leibowitz Oil Building were swarmed with reporters and a helicopter hovered over Atwood House from time to time.

Ashley, backed by a stiff Edward, gave a statement saying that so far there was no indication that Sophia had been taken and that no, they hadn’t called the police. Alistair muted the TV as Ashley started to answer the reporters’ questions.

A minute later, the house line rang.

Everyone in the room went still.

Detective Isabel signaled him to answer it. All the phones of every family member were being tapped and recorded by Scotland Yard as they were expecting contact at any moment.

However, it was only Ethan on the phone, putting himself and everything he had at their disposal to help with locate Sophia.

Isabel had sent a team to the laundry’s address but the van wasn’t parked on its garage.

Instead, they found a printed note taped to the garage door:
‘The closer you get, the further away she will be.’

In an effort to locate the laundry van and the Jaguar, two detectives had taken control of his and Sophia’s desks, contacting all the local authorities that ran them, and Scotland Yard had ordered road blockades to stop all Black Amethyst XJ Jaguars and any van that matched the description of the laundry van.

Alistair couldn’t believe the police had no access or control over all the CCTV cameras in London.

His head was hurting so much he was sure his brain would melt.

Unable to stand still while no more news came, he wandered through the house, Sophia smiling to him in each little detail he didn’t usually notice.

An officer blocked the entry to the dining room, where another detective was interrogating Steven but all he noticed were the fresh pink and orange orchids in an amazing arrangement in the Baccarat vase in the hall; flowers that Sophia chose personally every fifteen days.

He walked on, officers and detectives moving out of his way with understanding looks on their faces, until he found himself in the empty kitchen.

On the counter, there were the remnants of the chocolate cake Sophia had baked on Friday. He realized he hadn’t eaten since five in the afternoon, when he had some ice-cream with Gabriela.

Despite not being hungry, he cut himself a piece, just to feel close to Sophia.

He sat alone in the kitchen, swallowing the scrumptious cake over a huge lump in his throat and salty tears on his lips.

Alistair wondered why his life was always giving him a small taste of wondrous, followed by a glass full of bitterness.

Somewhere in the United Kingdom.

In a dark, cold and humid place.

3.30 a.m.

Sophia awoke feeling bruised and battered, but not on the move anymore.

She was lying on a hard, uneven, rocky humid ground. The absence of light was total. Her breathing was loud and raspy due to the drug-induced sleep and the temperature was so low, her teeth were clacking. She was barefoot and her light wool dress not heavy enough for the freezing cold.

What happened? I need to think. I have to concentrate.

She tried to flex her hands and feet to alleviate the numbness from the tight cuffs on her wrists and tied ankles, but they were so tight that a fierce pain shot through her whole body, making her scream. Her head swam and for a moment bright stars flashed in her head.

“Hello?” Her throat hurt and her voice was so hoarse it could be barely heard. She tried once more, “Hello? Is there anybody here?”

Sophia was hungry and thirsty. She was nauseated. She was frightened to her core.

One kidnap in the family is more than enough.
She laughed out loud. Hysteria threatened her for a moment but she clamped it firmly inside.
I can’t lose control. I can’t break. Alistair Connor is coming. Soon.

Very slowly and carefully, on her back, she scooted on the ground, until her lower back bumped on an even more humid wall. Using her back as support, she tried to stand up but her tied ankles didn’t allow it. Resigned, she sat and waited.

Terror, frustration, fury and boredom dominated her at the same time. But, then again, maybe that was the point of it all.

Minutes turned into hours and she lost track of time.

Atwood House, In the downstairs TV room.

4.30 a.m.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. MacCraig. The criminals uploaded their own video feeds to many CCTV cameras throughout the city at exactly the same time during the whole day. Our hackers located a computer server on the outskirts of London. Officers are on their way. However, we have only covered a tiny portion of the CCTV systems.”

“And here I thought we were sleepwalking into a society of surveillance,” he sneered, and dropped heavily on the sofa. “So, they hacked the CCTV cameras and Alberto probably chose the roads that weren’t being recorded.” 

“Mr. MacCraig, no one disappears like this. No crime is perfect. They always make a mistake. In terms of distance, eighty percent of missing persons are found within a perimeter of fifty kilometers. She’s most likely to be found very close by. We’re going over all of the 999 calls that have come in since she disappeared, looking for any indication that this is a tiger kidnapping.

“
Tiger
kidnapping?” asked Alistair.

“A tiger kidnapping usually involves an abduction of a person or thing someone highly values. Instead of asking for money, the criminals demand that a second crime be committed on their behalf. It could be anything from robbery, murder, to planting a bomb
or
kidnapping your wife. A person or item held hostage is kept by the captors until their demands are met. We have a call from a hysterical mother who was held at gunpoint by masked men who didn’t speak English. All they did was take photos of the woman and her baby, holding guns to their heads. Then they sent the photos by text message to another cell phone.”

Somewhere in Alistair’s confused and tired mind an intuition shimmered, but it disappeared before he couldn’t exactly pinpoint what it was that he should remember.

Silently, an officer entered the room and delivered another sheet of paper to Isabel and she grimaced.

“What is it?” Alistair demanded, with his heart drumming so loud in his ears he doubted he would hear her answer.

“A man called John Franklin was found, shot dead in the trunk of a car in the parking lot at Heathrow airport yesterday, with a first class ticket for Dubai hidden in his boxers. He had no ID and no money. He was identified a while ago. No family, no friends, and we found an uncommon amount of computer hardware in his apartment, including a private server, but he worked as a private detective. We’re already working on his computers at our lab to see if we can find evidence that he was behind the blocked CCTV footage.” Isabel’s face showed confidence as she spoke, “Mr. MacCraig, we’re going to get them, they are leaving a trail of blood and dirt. According to the statistics, CCTV cameras have helped in many cases. We have more than a hundred-and-fifty officers and forty detectives involved in the investigation. Eventually, we’ll locate them somewhere.”

According to the statistics? Eventually?
He was tired of hearing all those numbers and statistics. All the new searches, brilliant ideas and fantastic plans turned out to be dead ends, so he didn’t know what Isabel meant by
eventually
.

Tavish sat beside him and tried to soothe him somehow, “Brother, you need some sleep. Come over to my place. The rest of Sophia’s family is arriving in a few hours. Maria’s family is arriving too. You need some rest.”

And what am I supposed to say to Gabriela?
Alistair was glad that she was sleeping at Alice’s and that Sophia’s twin sisters, who had arrived an hour ago in his G650, were going to distract and take care of her.

“Lieutenant-Colonel, that’s a good idea,” said Isabel to Tavish. “We need you back here in a few hours to go through any new leads, Mr. MacCraig.”

I can’t sleep! I haven’t heard from Sophia for more than twelve hours!
“And while we sleep? What happens to Sophia?”

“We will continue to the search and to monitor the CCTV cameras. In two-thousand-nine, ninety-nine percent of Scotland Yard murder cases used CCTV footage as evidence.”

Murder cases! Oh, fuck.
Alistair’s lips thinned in a harsh line and he fisted his hands. He stood up to his full height and looked down at the small woman. A lock of his ink-black hair slashed his forehead and left eye, contrasting with the blinding rage shining inside the depths of his forest-green stare.

Isabel thought that if looks could kill she would’ve dropped dead. “Mr. Mac—”

In an even voice, loaded with rage, Alistair interrupted her, “Tell me, Detective Martins, will you locate my pregnant wife before, or after she is dead?”

Somewhere in the United Kingdom.

In a dark, cold and humid place.

9 a.m.

Sophia woke up with a clear head. She was not confused as she was when she first woke up. Her body protested the mistreatment.

They’ve probably been throwing me on the ground like a burlap sack.
She breathed, testing her whole body, but she judged that the damage was worse on her left shoulder and the left side of her face.

Her cuffed hands encompassed her stomach. She swore to herself that she would be with Alistair and Gabriela again. Their connection was too ingrained, too deep, and now she had to be strong for the little life growing inside her.

Sophia was living such a rare love story that she wouldn’t allow it to be thrown away like tea leaves at the bottom of a cup.

Breathing shallowly to keep the nausea away, she took inventory of her surroundings as her eyes adapted to the darkness.

She was in a humid room, with stone walls and heavy chains. She could not place it at first, then a shock went through her as she understood she was in a dungeon; a place in which surely no one in their right mind would want to be left alone, especially Sophia. Goosebumps rose on her arms as she thought she had been entombed and left alone to die with moths, bats and rodents.

“Hello? Is there anybody there?” she shouted, hysterically. “Hello! HELLOO! HELP ME! SOMEONE!”

A door somewhere creaked open, exactly like doors did in scary movies and many stomping footsteps sounded on the stairs.

This is no rescue.
On the verge of tears, Sophia knew there was no sense fooling herself about it.
Be calm. You’re alive, your little warrior is alive, Gabriela is well and waiting for you. And Alistair Connor is coming.

Sophia closed her eyes tight when bright lights invaded the dungeon. The sound of the men’s boots echoed and rasped eerily loud on the rough floor as they approached her.

Six criminals stopped a couple of feet away from her.

She heard one man approaching a few more steps and stop.

The silence stretched on.

They know what they are doing. They are used to it.
Finally, terrified, Sophia opened her eyes to see masked faces in front of her. Even though the fear was paralyzing, she felt compelled to speak. “Why are you doing this? I’m very wealthy, I can pay you more than anyone is paying.”

I sound so weak.
Her voice shook and she hated that.

The man nearest to her cackled and replied in his uncultured Portuguese, “Cunt, I haven’t understood a word of what you said, but I’m fucking sure you can understand me.”

At first, Sophia didn’t work it out as she didn’t recognize the voice and couldn’t see his face under the mask.

But then, he pulled the mask off, throwing it on the ground.

Looking at his raised four-fingered left hand, turning it slowly from one side to another as if appreciating it, Uó said, “You have something that is mine.”

Mayfair. Tavish MacCraig’s Apartment.

11 a.m.

Her scent was all around him, soothing him as he drew each deep breath.

He curled closer into her soft and supple body, as if they could become one, but he couldn’t get a firm grasp on her.

Frantic, he struggled, desperate to lock his body to hers, but it was no use. Panic rushed in as Sophia began to fade as fast as Alistair’s mind rushed to consciousness.

The reality that it had been only a dream tore his wounds open again, fresh pain oozing from every pore of his body.

The soft knock sounded again. It was that sound which had taken Sophia away from him. He looked at his watch and sat on the bed, rubbing his stiff neck.
Fuck! Ten o’clock.
“Come in.”

Tavish entered the bedroom with a steaming cup of coffee. “‘Morning, Brother. Sorry to disturb your sleep, but I brought news.”