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asked her for a full background check on Becky and Peter Sinclair and to keep digging until she found everything she could. All other jobs would have to wait, including those that boosted their profit margins with the provision of insider information. This case had just become their number one priority.

CHAPTER SIX

    Archer quietly interviewed members of staff out on the terrace, while keeping a watchful eye on his new client through the window. He hadn’t eliminated Sinclair yet, but the kidnapping seemed more likely to be motivated by ransom money or revenge. At three p.m. he heard the phone and saw Sinclair jump awkwardly to his feet and hit the speaker button after the third ring. Archer ran inside to listen.
    â€œSinclair,” he said calmly, despite the sudden movement.
    â€œListen carefully. If you want to see your wife again you need to get five million dollars in cash in a suitcase like before plus a half-litre flask of flawless cut diamonds, just like the hot ones from Botswana.” The electronic voice changer lowered the pitch and made the call mechanical and far more threatening than a natural voice.
    â€œI want to speak to my wife,” Sinclair shouted.
    â€œShut up and listen,” the distorted voice snapped back.
    â€œNo, you shut up and listen. Put her on the phone now otherwise you’ll get nothing else and I’ll come after you with everything I’ve got.”
    The line went dead.
    Sinclair stared at the phone in shock and then glared at Archer. His face tightened and flushed red in anger. He picked up a crystal paperweight and threw it down at the desk. It bounced off and landed on the floor. Jones jumped up and put it back in its place. Sinclair sat back uneasily with his eyes closed and his head resting on his chest.
    Five minutes later the silence was broken and the phone rang again. Sinclair braced himself, sat up straight and pressed the speaker button after two rings.
    â€œPeter. Are you there?” A woman’s voice, undistorted, nervous, out of breath.
    â€œBecky. Is that you?” Sinclair started trembling.
    â€œHelp me. Do whatever they say. Please help me. I want to come home.” Everyone in the room heard her scream and then a muffled sound and a bang like the phone had been dropped. Sinclair jumped to his feet, thumped the desk and kicked his chair backwards.
    The distorted voice returned. “Get the money and the diamonds and we’ll call you in two hours with instructions on where to make the drop.”
    â€œWhen will I get her back?”
    The line went dead.
    Sinclair was shaking. He made a private call on the cylindrical handset next to the conference phone. He turned his back and spoke quietly, but Archer overheard him mention five million dollars and a half-litre flask of diamonds from Botswana in half an hour. “Make sure we’re ready to go again in two hours,” Sinclair ordered.
    Archer walked to the lobby and called Zoe. The kidnapper’s call had been too short. She couldn’t trace it back far enough. She would try again with the next call.
    â€œI’ll call you when I find something useful,” she said and ended the call.
    Archer returned to the living room. Three of the men walked out to the terrace and started smoking. The other two including Jones sat in armchairs and waited in silence.
    Sinclair was still seated, staring at the portrait on the wall.
    â€œCan we talk somewhere private?” Archer asked.
    Sinclair got up stiffly as if in pain and said, “Follow me.” Archer followed him to the rear hallway and up the stairs to the tenth floor. A quiet floor with what looked like guest bedrooms and a large private study. Was this the retreat where he schemed and plotted?
    The study was full of trophies, including a picture of Becky riding a horse through the surf on a beach, with a bronze sculpture of a female rider and horse below. It was a classical study in contrast to the rest of the