It had been a gloriously sunny day in the Wicklow Hills, and Sabrina had spent most of it by the pool listening to music in her earphones and reading photography magazines. Every so often she’d slip into the water and swim a couple of lengths. All the while, she’d been trying hard to forget about her brother’s odd behaviour and the phone call from Rory.
A practical joke? She knew Rory well, better than most aunts knew their nephews, probably even better than Adam knew his son. He was a serious kind of boy, maybe even a little too serious sometimes. A thoughtless prank like pretending to be kidnapped just seemed beneath him somehow.
Then again, she’d thought, he was at the age where you could expect to start seeing behavioural and attitudinal changes. And maybe, in fact, as she’d turned it over in her mind, discovering the humorous side of his personality could be good for him. As for the tennis camp, it occurred to her that there might be more to that than met the eye. Maybe there was a girl involved, a teen romance going on there. Perhaps something that Adam didn’t even know about. It was possible. Kind of sweet, too.
In any case, the alternative was unthinkable. Her nephew kidnapped, her brother acting cool about it? Completely absurd. Now she’d started to feel bad about the way she’d overreacted with Adam earlier. He was clearly under a lot of stress.
By the time her thoughts had worked their way round that far, the sun had started to dip behind the clouds and it was getting too chilly to stay out in her swimsuit. She’d wrapped a towel round herself, taken her iPod and magazines inside, showered and dried her hair and pulled on jeans and a blouse.
After a light dinner she’d settled in front of the TV and flipped through channels for a while, then got bored with the rubbish that was on and started combing idly through the ads in the back of one of the photography magazines. By chance, she came across a juicy special offer on a tele-photo lens, a top-notch piece of kit that she’d been toying with the idea of buying for a while. ‘For more information, view our website’ the ad proclaimed.
It was an attractive enough prospect to make her start thinking about logging on to Adam’s computer and checking out the site. She got up from the sofa and padded upstairs in her bare feet.
But his study door on the top floor was locked. Damned if she knew what the password was for that one.
Then it occurred to her that she could use the PC across the hall in Rory’s room. He’d often allowed her to go on it, and she was sure it wouldn’t be intruding on his privacy if she used it in his absence. She gingerly tried the handle on his door and found it open.
She went inside. The room hadn’t changed much since the last time she’d seen it. Going over to the desk, she was about to turn on his computer when she accidentally nudged the mouse with her hand and to her surprise the screen flashed awake. Why had he left it on standby if he wasn’t going to be around for two whole weeks?
The screen had opened up in Rory’s Outlook Express email program. She was about to close that box and go to Internet Explorer when she saw that there was a new message incoming. When the mail appeared on the screen, she saw that it was from someone called Declan. It was just a one-liner in reply to an email Rory had sent.
‘Cool. Just watched it. Best one yet!’
Sabrina’s eye flashed down the screen, and it was with a jolt that she saw the date on Rory’s original message.
Yesterday.
She frowned. And the time the message had been sent was only about two hours before she’d arrived at the house.
She read it again, and the shivers down her back got colder. Could Rory have sent the message from another source, maybe at the tennis camp? She was no expert, but she was pretty sure that if the reply had come here, Rory’s message must have come from here too.
She turned away from the desk. Saw Rory’s mobile phone lying among the rumpled sheets on his bed. The phone he took everywhere with him. The one he’d supposedly spoken to Adam on from the tennis camp.
‘Oh my God,’ she said out loud. ‘What the hell’s going on here?’
Next morning at eight o’clock sharp, Dorenkamp came for Ben and the team and escorted them to the main residence to meet Steiner. Ben was aware of Neville and the others gaping around them as the PA led the way inside the palatial house, into a hallway about a square mile in size. In its centre was a life-size cast of a medieval warhorse in full dress, rearing up dramatically on its hind legs and carrying a knight with plumed helmet, spiked mace and a shield with a red lion rampant herald. Maybe a ton of glittering armour plate in total between animal and rider, and Ben was fairly sure it wasn’t reproduction antique. He paused a moment to admire it, then walked with Dorenkamp across the hall and through another doorway. The rest of the team followed a few yards behind, talking in low voices.
‘Tell me, Mr Hope,’ Dorenkamp said. ‘How much do you know about Maximilian Steiner?’
‘Very little,’ Ben admitted.
‘Try to avoid asking him too many direct questions,’ Dorenkamp said. ‘If there’s anything you need to know, I would request that you address your queries to me. Herr Steiner is a very private man, and doesn’t tolerate intrusion into his family life. He is notoriously hard to interview, and relatively few people even get to have an audience with him.’
‘Sounds like I’m going to meet royalty,’ Ben said.
‘In some circles that’s exactly what Maximilian Steiner is,’ Dorenkamp replied. ‘One thing. You may find him cold. Many people do. But that is just his manner, and you shouldn’t be put off by it. I have known him for many years and I can tell you that he’s a good man. Behind the scenes he is a tireless campaigner against violence in all its forms, a staunch opponent of the international arms trade. He donates a vast amount of money each year to support many worthy causes. The fact that he does so anonymously only reflects his desire for privacy.’
‘If I’m going to protect him, I need to know everything,’ Ben said. ‘I need total access to every part of his life. I respect his desire for privacy, but there can’t be any secrets.’
Dorenkamp nodded thoughtfully. ‘Very well. We’ll see what can be done.’
‘Tell me about the kidnap attempt,’ Ben said as they walked.
‘It happened three weeks ago. Herr Steiner and his wife were on their way to a family wedding in one of the limousines. As they drove, they came across what at first appeared to be an accident. There was a car in the middle of the road, which seemed to have skidded to a halt, blocking the way. Next to the car was a man lying on the ground, apparently injured. A woman was with him, shouting for help as Herr Steiner’s car arrived on the scene.’
‘It’s an old ploy,’ Ben said. ‘Exploiting people’s humanity to trap them.’
‘Naturally, the Steiners had their driver stop at the scene, in order to help. But in the very next instant, a van suddenly appeared with more men who tried to grab Herr Steiner and drag him inside it.’
‘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
