‘You guys are gonna be . . . so screwed . . . when my husband catches you,’ Nina managed to say before her surroundings swirled away into a dark void.
His bruised muscles now tense and stiffened by the long flight, Eddie took a cab back into Manhattan. He tried to phone Nina, but was diverted to voicemail at the apartment, in her office and on her cell phone. Slightly annoyed, he called Lola.
‘Afternoon, Eddie,’ came the reply. ‘How was France? Did you see the Festival of Lights? I’ve heard it’s beautiful.’
‘It was . . . bright,’ he settled upon. Nina obviously hadn’t updated her on the previous night’s events. ‘Listen, do you know where Nina is? I can’t get hold of her.’
‘I’m not sure - I haven’t seen her today. She must be in another UN committee meeting.’
‘Stuck in a plane or stuck in a meeting? Not sure which is worse.’
‘At least on a plane you can watch a movie. Anyway, I’ll tell her you called when I see her.’
‘Okay. Thanks, Lola.’
Finally reaching home, he lugged his bag to the apartment. ‘Nina, you in?’ he called as he opened the door. No answer. He dumped his luggage and headed to the kitchen for coffee.
A man was sitting in one of the lounge chairs, pointing an automatic at him. ‘Don’t move, Mr Chase.’
Eddie assessed him in a flash. Eastern European accent, probably Bosnian; big, well muscled, a face that had seen a lot of action. Definitely ex-military.
One of Fernandez’s men? Here for revenge?
Even though his travel-induced lethargy had been instantly blown away by a surge of adrenalin, he feigned tiredness. ‘Who’re you - and where’s Nina?’
‘Safe, for now. My employers want you to get something for them. Do it, and she will be released.’
‘Your employers? The Khoils, at a guess.’
That surprised the man, but he quickly recovered, indicating a cell phone on a table. ‘Yes. They want to talk to you. The number is already entered.’
Keeping a wary eye on the gun as it tracked him, Eddie picked up the phone and pushed the call button. The screen lit up, giving him a glimpse of the number before it was replaced by an animated ‘Dialling . . .’ icon: from the unusual prefix code, 882, he realised he was being connected to a satellite phone.
A click, the ghostly echo of the signal being bounced off an orbiting relay . . . then a calm voice. ‘Hello.’
‘All right, Khoil, you fuckwit,’ said Eddie, recognising Pramesh Khoil’s flat, precise tones. ‘What d’you want?’
A brief pause, the time-lag of the satellite transmission. ‘There is no need for rudeness, Mr Chase.’
‘I can do violence instead.’
‘Your macho posturing is exactly what I predicted. I am not intimidated. Now listen carefully. As Mr Zec has informed you, we have taken your wife hostage.’
‘Zec?’ Eddie glanced at the man in the chair, the unusual name echoing faintly in the recesses of his memory.
‘We want you to obtain the Talonor Codex and deliver it to Mr Zec. If you do this, your wife will be released. If you do not, she will be killed. Today is Tuesday; you have until the end of Thursday.’
There was a background noise that was all too familiar after the last several hours: jet engines. Khoil was on a plane, which probably meant Nina was too . . . ‘You’ve fucked up, you know.’
‘Pardon?’
‘I can’t get the Codex for you. Nobody can, except Nina. You need her handprint to open the vault. And since I’m guessing you’re flying her away from the vault, well . . .’
‘I am aware of the vault’s handprint scanner. Your wife’s hand will be provided to you.’
Cold clutched at Eddie’s heart. ‘If you’ve fucking cut off her hand I promise you I will hunt you down, and cut off your fucking hand, and use it to pull your fucking heart out through your arsehole!’
‘Fantastical threats are not necessary - you misunderstand me. Your wife’s handprint will be provided.’
‘It will, will it? Let me talk to Nina.’
Khoil spoke to someone in Hindi. There was a faint hiss, followed by a nauseated groan.
Eddie knew who had made it, and felt a rush of relief. ‘Nina!’
‘Ohh . . . Eddie?’ she said, groggy and confused. ‘What’s . . . oh, shit. Eddie, these assholes have kidnapped me - they drugged me!’
‘You’re gonna be okay. I’ll take care of it.’
‘Eddie, they want you to steal the Codex for them. You can’t let them get it.’
‘If it’s how I get you back, then yeah, I can.’
‘No, absolutely not! I don’t know why they want it, but it’s got to be for something bigger than just its monetary value. It’s—’
‘Shut that red-haired witch up!’ said a woman’s shrill voice. Vanita Khoil. The sound of a scuffle came over the phone.
‘Nina!’ Eddie shouted. ‘Khoil, put her back on!’
There was another hiss. ‘Son of a bit . . .’ said Nina, her cry tailing away to nothing.
‘She is not hurt, only unconscious,’ Khoil said, retrieving the phone. ‘If you obtain the Codex for us, you will have her back. If you do not, or if Mr Zec tells me you have tried to contact the authorities - or he does not check in, for any reason - we will kill her. Now, give him the phone.’
Raging impotently, Eddie did as he was told, then paced the length of the room. Zec listened to Khoil, finally saying, ‘Understood, ’ and ending the call.
Eddie rounded on him. ‘So how the fuck am I supposed to get the Codex out of the vault? I can’t just walk out with the thing under my arm.’
‘Not my problem,’ said Zec, standing. ‘My job is just to deliver it to Khoil - and make sure you don’t try anything stupid.’
‘I’m not stupid enough to risk Nina’s life over some old book. You’ll get it - fucked if I know how, but I’ll work something out.’ He turned away again, pacing back down the lounge . . . until his gaze fell on the photo of his late friend. ‘Zec! Hugo Castille said he once worked with a guy called Zec, in Bosnia. That you?’
Zec glanced at the picture. ‘Yes. I saw the photograph. Our profession is a small world, no?’
‘It’s not my profession any more. But Hugo wouldn’t have worked with you if you weren’t a good bloke. So why’re you working for this arsehole Khoil?’
‘Why does a mercenary work for anyone?’ Zec asked rhetorically. ‘I was Urbano Fernandez’s second in command. Khoil asked me to take his place.’
‘You know Khoil had Fernandez killed, right? That lass with the glass eye almost sawed his fucking head off.’ Zec seemed disquieted by the revelation, but said nothing. ‘That’s it? No loyalty to your mate, just take the cash from the people who killed him? I guess Hugo was wrong about you.’
‘I need the money,’ said Zec, annoyed. ‘I have a family now, a son - I want to give them a good life, somewhere better than Sarajevo.’ He realised he had perhaps opened himself up too much, and the inexpressive mask slammed back down. ‘But the only thing you should think about for the next two days is how to get the Codex.’
‘Oh yeah, that’ll be a doddle, getting something the size of a bloody paving stone out of a top-security vault without anyone noticing.’ He gazed at the picture of Hugo for a long moment, then turned back to the Bosnian. ‘I’ll need some help.’
9
India
Nina awoke to find herself in a palace.
She had expected the plane, or a cell. But she was lying on a four-poster bed draped in fine silk, in an airy room decorated by colourful friezes on the walls and ceiling. The doors and shuttered windows were all arched, the style distinctively - almost stereotypically - Indian.