Crawford lay on the camp bed, scarcely breathing, listening to the footsteps descending the stone steps. Whoever had entered the room was moving slowly, as if with caution. Crawford heard something being placed on the ground, then there was an extended silence.
He opened his eyes slightly, hoping to gain some idea of what was happening. There was nothing in his line of sight that provided any insights, and, for the moment, he preferred not to reveal that he was conscious.
He heard footsteps again, this time moving away from him. A voice said, ‘You awake yet?’
Crawford remained motionless, then stirred on the creaking bed, making what he hoped was the sound of someone recovering consciousness. ‘What–?’
‘You awake yet? Looks as if you probably are.’
Crawford felt a judder as something struck the bed. He made more noises and rolled over. The bed shook from another blow. It felt as if the bed was being kicked.
‘That ought to wake you. You’ve been out long enough.’
It was a man’s voice. He rolled over again and sat up, blinking as if he’d only just been exposed to daylight. ‘I don’t–’
‘That’s more like it.’ The man was at the foot of the steps. If he had kicked the bed a few seconds before, he’d clearly moved back as Crawford had stirred. His face was covered by a balaclava-type mask, only his eyes visible. His stance was calm and confident, but Crawford thought he could detect an underlying tension. ‘We need you to be ready.’
Crawford looked around him, as if seeing the room for the first time. ‘What the hell’s going on? Where am I?’
‘It doesn’t matter where you are,’ the man said. ‘And you’ll find out soon enough what’s going on.’
Crawford moved himself into a sitting position. ‘Who the hell are you? You can’t just snatch someone from their own home.’
‘That’s exactly what we’ve done. Scandalous, isn’t it? But there isn’t a lot you can do about it.’
Crawford pushed himself to his feet, trying to look as if he was having difficulty standing. He noticed that the man had taken an involuntary step backwards.
For a moment, Crawford contemplated whether he’d be able to take on the man if that was the only way of forcing his way out of here. The man looked substantially younger than Crawford, but he was relatively slight and Crawford kept himself in decent shape. On the other hand, he didn’t know what steps the man might have taken to protect himself. He didn’t even know if the man was alone, or if there might be others waiting upstairs.
If it came to it, Crawford might have to take the risk. For the moment, he decided he was better taking stock and trying to learn as much as he could about what was going on here. He’d always seen himself as good in a crisis, and he was surprised by how calm he was still feeling. The use of the mask was a positive sign. It meant the man was concerned about Crawford being able to recognise or describe him subsequently. And that, he told himself, meant they were at some point intending to release him from here.
‘Food,’ the man said, pointing towards the end of the camp bed. On the floor was a plate containing half a baguette, a lump of pallid cheese and an apple. Before Crawford could offer any response, the man turned and climbed hurriedly up the steps.
As the door closed and locked above him, Crawford sat down on the bed and reached over to pick up the plate. The food looked far from appetising, but there was little point in starving himself in the face of whatever might be coming his way. He broke off pieces of bread and cheese and began to eat.
Crawford had little doubt his kidnappers knew exactly who he was. He wasn’t a particularly wealthy man in his own right, but he had access to very considerable amounts of other people’s money. He had a reputation for utter trustworthiness in his handling of those assets, and that was something he wouldn’t sacrifice without a real fight.
The problem was that he had no idea what kind of fight he might be facing.