“If we go in unprepared, the risk to Gemma’s well-being would be greater than the risk of us taking a few hours to plan properly.”
“How do you know that?” Alaric hesitated, so I pushed harder. “Please, just tell me what’s going on. I can handle it. The not-knowing is a hundred times worse.”
He waited until we were back in the car until he answered, and with hindsight, I was grateful to be sitting down.
“Acquaintance kidnappings account for twenty-seven percent of abductions, and of those, seventy-four percent of the victims are killed within the first three hours. That goes up to eighty-nine percent after twenty-four hours, and we’re already past that window. Working on the slim possibility that Gemma’s still alive, how do you think Ryland will react if we knock on his door? Based on past experience, he’s more likely to go on the offensive than invite us inside.”
My blood chilled to an icy paste, and I fought for breath as my heart struggled to push the viscous liquid through my veins.
“Oh.”
“At Sirius, we work on the basis of the six Ps.”
“What are those?”
“Proper Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance. I want to find Gemma, and we will, but I’m not walking into that building blind. I don’t find getting shot at quite as exhilarating as I used to.”
The icy paste froze solid. “You think you’ll get shot at? But guns are tightly regulated in England.”
Although my father and Piers had shotgun licences, and they were both pillocks. The amount of Scotch they drank before shooting meant they rarely hit what they were aiming at, which was both a good thing and a bad thing, depending on how you looked at it.
“There are more guns around than you’d think, and I don’t particularly enjoy knife fights either.”
“Perhaps we should call the police? If we told them everything we know…”
“It wouldn’t be any faster. They’ve got more red tape, and they rely on warrants rather than breaking and entering.” Alaric reached over to squeeze my hand, and the warmth brought a hint of life to my circulation. “This is our priority, and we’ll move as fast as possible, I promise. Will you trust me?”
For the third time since we met, I nodded in answer to that question. After the number Piers did on me, I barely trusted anyone, but yes, I trusted Alaric.
“Please could I get three portions of koshary and three falafel sandwiches?”
With Alaric and Ravi busy studying satellite photos and maps of Hounslow, I fell back into the role of errand girl. Everybody needed to eat. The new place around the corner allegedly sold authentic Egyptian street food, but Alaric said it was nothing like the real thing. Cairo was a dusty hubbub of people and cars, apparently, not gentle sounds of sitar music and clinking china. But service was quick, and within ten minutes, I was on my way back to Judd’s townhouse with a bag of food.
Or at least, I was until my father rang. The thought of answering made my stomach sink, but I’d already put off calling him for two days, and he didn’t take kindly to being ignored. What did he want? Was my presence required at another get-together? Had my sister suffered a wedding-related crisis?
No, it was much, much worse.
“Bethie, why didn’t you call me back?”
“Because I was working.”
“I thought you got sacked?”
“I got a new job. And I had prep to do for this week’s tasks.”
I wasn’t about to mention Gemma—rather than concern or sympathy, I’d most likely get a reminder not to associate with somebody who lived in North Acton.
“Not much of a job if you don’t get weekends off, is it?”
Gee, thanks for all the support. “Did you call for a particular reason, Daddy?”
“As it happens, I did. Piers raised concerns regarding that McLain chap you were with on Saturday.” I bet he did. “Concerns I share now that I’ve done some digging.”
“You did what?”
“You’re my daughter, Bethie. I care about you, and it’s not good for you to be associating with that con artist.”
Oh, this took the biscuit. Why couldn’t my father keep his nose out of my life, just for once?
“Alaric isn’t a con artist.”
“He’s a con artist and a thief. Ambassador McLain tried to get it brushed under the carpet, but his son stole ten million dollars, then did a moonlight flit with the money. Goodness only knows where he’s been for the last eight years.”
I almost dropped the bag of food, and a blonde woman swore at me as I stopped dead in the middle of the pavement.
“Ten million…what?” I was beginning to sound like a stuck record.
“The man walked off with ten million dollars in cash and diamonds, money that was meant to pay a ransom by all accounts. He kept the lot, and rumour says he almost got several of his colleagues killed in the process.”
My legs threatened to give way, and I slumped against a wall as if I’d had vodka for breakfast instead of coffee.
“No, you’re wrong. Alaric didn’t do that.”
“I heard it from a friend of the ambassador.”
“Then he lied. I mean, if Alaric had stolen that money, he’d be in jail, wouldn’t he?”
“My source said he’s a sneaky son of a bitch. The FBI could never prove he’d done it, but they sure as hell fired him.”
Could it be true? Alaric himself had told me that he used to be an FBI agent, but he wasn’t anymore. And he hadn’t been particularly forthcoming about his past, even when I’d unloaded on him about my troubles with Piers.
I gave my head a quick shake to clear the insanity. What was I thinking? Alaric wouldn’t steal a bloody ransom of all things. Look at what he was doing for Gemma—he was in the business of saving people, not putting them in danger. And he didn’t exactly live extravagantly. Surely if he had millions in cash lying around, he’d be sunning himself on the beach instead of working? He didn’t even own a house, for crying out loud.
My father’s words didn’t add up.
“Daddy, that’s just not true.”
“Has he brainwashed you? I thought I taught you to be smarter than that.”
Actually, schoolteachers and a succession of nannies had taught me to be smarter than that. My father had had little input into my upbringing. And Alaric hadn’t brainwashed me. He’d helped me. Yes, our initial meeting had been a bit fraught, and he’d made me lose my mind somewhat at the party on Saturday evening, and okay, he was a seriously smooth liar, but a thief?
I was the one who’d been transporting stolen goods, something else Alaric had been remarkably understanding about.
“There’s no way Alaric stole ten million dollars.”
“Are you saying I associate with liars?”
“Of course not,” I said on instinct, years of placating my father ingrained in my psyche. People in his circle lied all the time, usually about affairs, but what was another fib between friends? “What if perhaps they made a mistake?”
“It’s McLain who made the mistake by betraying his employer. Bethie, you need to steer well clear of that man.”
“But…but…”