Pandora's Box (54 page)

“Sophia?” he asked, knowing that Tavish would have another look on his face if they had found Sophia.

Tavish shook his head, handing him the cup and sitting at the foot of the bed. “A few minutes after you slept, they found Maria in Chalfont St. Peter—”

What?
“Is she okay? And the Jaguar? Why didn’t you—”

“Easy, easy. You needed rest. Maria is okay. She was blindfolded and left in the woodlands there. She’s not sure when they left her, but it was very cold so she thinks it was dark out. Eventually she managed to take the blindfold off but got lost. She was thirsty, hungry and very nervous but other than that she was fine. They took her to the hospital and Detective Martins is already with her. They set the Jaguar on fire. In fact, this was their first mistake. The fire was set from the inside. Isabel said that as the car is bulletproofed, it burned so there is practically nothing left to be analyzed. The windows didn’t break as they would in a normal car and the armor held on until the car exploded like a bomb. Many people called the police complaining about an attack and other bullshit in the area and one curious pervert sent a video to BBC. It was the Jaguar blowing up on a walkway under the M25. It even cracked the asphalt. As soon as they realized it was Sophia’s Jaguar they started looking for Sophia and found Maria.”

Alistair could see that Tavish was hesitating. He washed the dread down with hot coffee. Putting the cup on the bedside table, he thundered in frustration, “Say it, for Christ’s sake!”

Heaving a sigh, Tavish looked at Alistair. “Maria said Sophia was never in the Jaguar. The woman who we thought was Sophia in the backseat was one of the criminals. In Maria’s jacket pocket, there was a message with a telephone number, instructions and a polaroid of Sophia, unconscious, taken at two-oh-seven still in Atwood House. They’re asking for fifty-million pounds, in cash. You have two days, well, technically until Monday two o’clock,” Tavish swallowed audibly, “but all our personal family’s accounts, including the bank’s, and Leibowitz Oil’s, have been frozen by the prime-minister’s direct order. We still have access to the
other
one. The one you changed recently after the Brazilian politician’s blackmail. I checked it already. However, Isabel has already informed me she has orders not to allow us negotiate and they have expanded the search for Sophia, involving National Crime Agency and Organized Crime Command.”

“Christ!” Alistair bent forward at the waist, his arms hugging his stomach, gasping for air as a great pain slashed through him. He knew how difficult it would be to get around the government’s actions to prevent any ransom from being paid.

The deep, eviscerating ache he felt at that moment told him two things, both equally tragic: even being the major shareholder of one of the most important banks in the world, it was legally impossible to withdraw or transfer that amount of money, much less in cash, without it being known by the government and he had no deed or agreement to justify it; Sophia’s life was in grave danger, and all of his wealth could do nothing to change that.

Walton-on-Thames. Scott’s mother’s house.

11.30 a.m.

“The police have confirmed that the car found burning under the M25 belonged to the Marchioness of Ells, Lady Sophia Leibowitz MacCraig, the owner of Leibowitz Oil. The police said the family hasn’t contacted them yet, so they are still waiting to initiate a search. Lady Ell’s family is not available for comments. We have exclusive mobile footage of the car.” 

Scott froze in the middle of the small living room and couldn’t believe his eyes as the image of Sophia’s Jaguar on fire appeared on the screen. 

He dropped the remote control as if it had burned his hand with the same tall flames that engulfed the car and his throat closed up as if suffocating from the black smoke that came off it in great waves. 

“Oh, my God!” He sat on the sofa, frightened and shocked. He chided himself, “I should have known better.”

His mother sat beside him, watching as Sophia’s smiling face appeared on the screen. The reporter continued talking about her disappearance and a spokesperson for the Missing Persons Bureau made a statement, explaining they couldn’t search for a person who wasn’t reported missing. “Isn’t this the lady that you talked about so fondly? The one with a charity foundation?” 

Scott almost gagged. He suspected it was not a simple case of a missing person. He wondered who was involved in her disappearance, what they wanted and how he could help.

He was repulsed by his own inconsequential actions; Sophia hadn’t done anything to him. Or to Ethan. He should not have helped Ethan stalk Sophia, giving Ghost the directions to set the surveillance, and the final move, discovering Devon’s needs and sending them to Ghost, so he could be bribed to be the mole inside her house.

In fact, he could bet Ethan hadn’t thought things could get so out of control. 

“Poor girl,” said Scott’s mother. “I’ll pray for her.” 

With an idea in mind, Scott stood up. He knew prayers alone wouldn’t help Sophia now. “Pray, Mother, do pray. Meanwhile, I’m going to Ashford Steel to finish some important work I need to do. I don’t know what time I’ll be back.” 

London, Broadway, Scotland Yard.

1.30 p.m.

“Closer please,” Isabel requested. The video operator zoomed in and made the image clearer. “So, try again, Mr. MacCraig. If this is not your wife, do you have any idea who it could be?”

“Nae,” Alistair mused, running two fingers over his jaw. “I can’t distinguish the face in the shadows.”

When he was having breakfast, he remembered Devon’s story and his desperate need of money to help his baby son. He called Isabel, telling her that Devon had probably driven the Jaguar under coercion. She informed him that all the airports and roads out of the UK were on high alert, but so far, Alberto was still at large. Since one o’clock they had been watching and re-watching the video with the hope of identifying the dark-haired woman.

“Shall we start it again from the beginning?” Isabel asked, noticing Alistair’s tired body slumped in the chair.

Of course!
He straightened. “As many times as needed.”

2 p.m.

“This is what we have so far: these are Sophia’s sunglasses and bag; the woman is wearing one of Sophia’s dresses that was at the laundry; her hair color is the same, but slightly shorter, probably a wig.”

“Also, detective, Sophia doesn’t cross her legs like that,” Tavish pointed out the moment the woman uncrossed and crossed her legs.

“How does Sophia cross her legs?” Alistair was surprised by the remark.
Sexily?

“Detective, can you play that again, please?” Tavish asked.

Isabel signaled for the video operator to rewind the video a bit and start it from the point just before the woman uncrossed her legs.

Tavish tilted his head to the side fixing his gaze on the screen, wondering how he would explain what he was seeing. “Hmm. I can’t exactly picture how Sophia crosses her legs, but she would never do it like that; or sit like that. It’s feminine and sexy, aye, but too… unpolished… This woman… This woman is—”  He snapped his fingers in the air as he found the right way to put it. “She has no sexual inhibitions at all.”

No sexual—
“Fucking bitch!” Alistair exploded out of the chair, the fury making him fist his hands by his sides. He paced the small room, muttering, “That fucking bitch!”

Tavish watched his brother curiously for a moment, then hissed, “Emma Miller.”

“Aye. Emma Miller,” Alistair placed his big hands wide opened on the table and pinned Isabel with his glare. “How did she enter my house?”
My sacred home.

“We still don’t know. Either she is the one who was sitting beside the driver with a cap and gloves or she was in the back of the van. Its big rear doors, when opened, blocked the kitchen’s door camera. They knew what they were doing Mr. MacCraig.”

“Arrest her. If the prosecutor makes a deal with her - any deal, detective Martins - you’ll have a murder case on your hands, because I’ll kill her myself.”

Tavish didn’t say a word, but he swore to himself in that moment, Emma would pay for what she had done. Inside a prison or not, he would find a way to see her life made into a living hell, as he had promised her the night he went to her apartment.

Tavish MacCraig’s Apartment.

Monday, March 27
^th
, 2011.

7 a.m.

Even though Tavish had prescribed Alistair a sleeping pill, he had barely closed his eyes at night. Every time he did, Sophia appeared in his dreams.

When, in his last nightmare, he found her dead, pierced by the spikes on Nathalie’s grave, he gave up sleep.

He took a long, warm shower, trying to clear his head from the horrible images, but it hadn’t helped.

Nursing a steaming black coffee, he called Isabel for news.

There was no sign of Alberto yet.

Emma Miller had been arrested trying to leave for Paris on the Eurostar. She was being interrogated.

Devon and the van had been found. As they had done with the Jaguar, the criminals had set the van on fire. Though Devon had been shot three times in the chest, he had managed to crawl out of it, breaking one of its windows and ask for help before the van exploded. He was undergoing surgery, but the doctors didn’t have a good prognosis.

The hackers were still having a hard time breaking into John Franklin’s computers. He had set up a security system that frequently changed his password.

And there was no trace of Sophia.

He hung up and stared out of the window unseeingly, thinking of a way around the prime-minister’s orders, but no good idea formed on his mind.

Alistair was sure he was existing in a limbo.

He had imagined so many good things for his life with her. But his dreams had been shattered as she slowly disappeared into an abyss where the borders were blurred and more and more of his life disappeared down it with her.

Somewhere in the United Kingdom.

In a dark, cold and humid place.

3 p.m.

“Very well, I have waited enough. Since I hate to be obvious, let’s keep your finger. For the moment.” With all the calm of a man discussing the weather, Uó circled the chair Sophia was tied to, cleaning his nails with his big steel knife. “What is it going to be?”

“Money. Money! He needs more time. You have to understand, it’s not possible to withdraw, in cash, more than fifty-thousand pounds or dollars or even
reais,
without a contract or a deed. It’s forbidden by law. Not here, not in the United States, not even in Brazil—”

He slapped her with the back of his hand with so much force, she though he would break her neck. Her teeth cut her bottom lip and blood flowed down her chin and neck.

Fisting her hair, he hissed with his foul breath, “Lying bitch. He is fucking rich. He has a fucking bank. He has access to many accounts. He can withdraw money from the clients’ accounts.”

Oh, God! How stupid can he be!
“Having a bank only makes things worse, can’t you see? Please, one more day,” she implored. “This is a civilized country. People have to justify such huge withdrawals. Even if he could withdrawal the minimum from all the accounts, the many withdraws necessary would call attention. Besides, money sometimes is virtual. It’s not as easy as you think.”

“Ah, yeah. You’re a fucking intelligent bitch, aren’t you?” His eyes squinted and his face contorted in an evil smile. He turned to one of his men. “I know where we are going to start.”

Stupid move, Sophia!
“Time. He needs time.” Panic took charge of Sophia and she started to shake uncontrollably. She closed her eyes and begged, “Please, please, please!” 

“I’ve waited enough. I’m sending a little warning.” Uó’s knife pierced the hollow of her neck.

Sophia flashed her eyes wide, too scared even to scream, even to breathe, as she felt another rivulet of blood run down her body.

“I’m going to enjoy cutting you up piece by piece, till I receive my full fifty-million.” His raucous laugh filled the cavernous room and he turned to another one of his accomplishes. “You ready to film?”

The man nodded.

Uó circled the chair slowly twice and stopped behind Sophia’s chair and fisting her hair in a hand. “Better stay still, you cunt. You don’t want me to do this wrong. Start begging.”

Oh, Alistair Connor, please, come quick.
“Hello, Alistair Connor.” The first sob broke from Sophia’s body when she felt the knife touch her skin again.

Chapter 32

The City of London Bank Headquarters,

Alistair’s office.

4.30 p.m.

With a brief knock on the threshold, Tavish entered Alistair’s office.

Alistair turned his head, looked at his brother’s face with weary eyes, before turning back to the Thames. He took a deep breath, as his gaze automatically slid over the distance as if it could find Sophia.

“I take it there is no news?” Tavish asked softly. He knew the answer. He’d read it on Alistair’s disheartened face.

“Not yet,” Alistair answered. “Munro had the chopper, MacDouglas had the G6 and even Ashford has his plane available, so we don’t call too much attention or concentrate all the money on only one place. Everything is ready… but that telephone number doesn’t answer anymore.”

“You have the money?! How?”

“I was going to Andorra,”
to pick up the money personally,
“but I remembered our moves are being monitored and the plane could be searched when we landed here again. So, Father and I met Ashford for a lunch and we set a plan. As Father didn’t oppose, I asked him to sell Mother’s most beautiful diamond set to a dealer Ashford knew. It was a bargain, as things this rushed are,” he said in a small, ashamed voice.
But worth compared to Sophia’s life.