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  The hospital was a twenty minute taxi ride. Located in a lush, park style setting, it was a private facility and seemed quite small for a hospital in Nick’s opinion. Two storeys, with a very modern bright white exterior and a squeaky clean shiny interior to match. The reception area was spacious, with only a few people occupying some of the half dozen or so elegantly upholstered sofas facing the desk. One wall was taken up with a painting, showing a figure seated on a richly decorated throne. It was bare chested and wore yellow silken trousers, a garland of flowers and a richly jewelled crown. With four arms and the head of an elephant. Nick recalled seeing a similar little plastic lookalike dangling from the taxi driver’s rear view mirror. He approached the desk.

  The young woman seated behind it raised her eyes from her book. ‘Can I help?’

  ‘I’m enquiring after a Mr Marsh.’

  ‘First name?’

  He told her. She assumed an expression of detached efficiency as her fingers flew over the keyboard and once the record came up she spent a minute checking the details, before asking him if he was a relative.

  Some embellishment would be needed if he was to get much further. ‘Business acquaintance, actually. Quite important business. I expected to meet Mr Marsh, but then found out he was here. Is he alright?’

  ‘I don’t know if he can have visitors. Just a minute.’ She picked up the phone and dialled what he assumed was an internal number. After a few words, she turned back to him. ‘There is a doctor coming. Take a seat, he won’t be long.’

  Nick did as instructed. He was studying the multi-armed elephant man when the doctor arrived.

  ‘That’s Ganesh,’ the doctor announced. ‘And I’m Dr. Cameron.’

  He was a Scotsman, about thirty Nick estimated. Complete with ginger hair, white coat and stethoscope.

  Nick stood up. He hadn’t been expecting a European. ‘Who’s Ganesh?’

  ‘A popular deity, he removes obstacles, amongst other things. The place is named after him. He’s an inspiration, especially to some of the surgeons. They take the removing obstacles thing quite literally.’

  ‘I see.’ Nick wondered if his expertise extended to removing bans on visitors. He looked at Dr. Cameron curiously. Cameron smiled.

  ‘Surprised to see a Scot working here are you? Let me tell you, the facilities here make the Glasgow Royal Infirmary look pretty ordinary.’ Then it was his turn to look curious. ‘What’s your connection to Mr Marsh?’

  Nick repeated his assertion regarding important business. ‘He will definitely want to speak to me if possible.’

  Dr. Cameron looked slightly troubled, but after a second’s deliberation made a decision. ‘Come with me. He is sedated, but conscious.’

  ‘What’s wrong with him?’

  ‘We can’t be 100 percent certain, but we think he’s been poisoned.’

  ‘What?’

  Cameron grimaced. ‘Toxicology can’t identify whatever it is and it’s working quite slowly. At the moment we are keeping him hydrated and as comfortable as possible. His liver is under a lot of stress, though.’

  ‘What’s the prognosis?’

  ‘To be honest with you Mr Severance, I’m not overly optimistic.’

  Nick’s thoughts were in turmoil as he followed Cameron down the hall. Marsh, who had undoubtedly lied to Rebecca about the tomb’s existence, might now be a victim of his own bad choices. Whoever he might be in league with had no compunction about killing people. He had to know what Marsh had to say.

  They came to the door of a single room at the end of the hall. Dr. Cameron opened it and beckoned Nick in. The doctor advanced to the foot of the bed and took a long look at his patient.

  ‘Someone to see you, Mr Marsh.’ Then he looked at Nick. ‘Ten minutes at the most, OK?’ Nick nodded. Cameron stepped out.

  Alexander Marsh was semi-upright and attached to a drip on a stand, by one side of the bed. He was attached to a heart monitor on the other side, which beeped softly with a monotonous regularity. His face looked haggard and thin and his eyes were glazed with some analgesic; morphine perhaps. Nick stood on the spot recently vacated by Dr. Cameron. Marsh seemed to look more through him than at him, and of course he hadn’t a clue who his unexpected visitor might be.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ The voice was slurred.

  ‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Nick Severance from London. Investigating the murder of Simon Wood. You met Simon, remember?’

  The eyes flickered. ‘I did. And?’

  ‘And Rebecca Slade, too. You told her not to visit Chipra, because there was nothing to find. But there was something, wasn’t there? She found it and now I can’t find her.’

  Nick thought he saw a twitch of alarm on Marsh’s face. ‘How hard have you looked?’

  ‘She’s been missing four days now. She disappeared the night she returned to Kolkata and sent me these.’

  Nick stepped to the bedside gingerly, wary of disconnecting anything. He held up a printout, showing two photos of the golden lions.

  ‘Seen these before?’

  The eyes widened and Marsh reached up a hand, snatching the printout. ‘My God, is this..?’ He stared for a moment, then his arm dropped heavily back again.

  Neither man spoke. Marsh seemed to be deliberating something and Nick thought it best to let him get on with it. The beeping heart monitor had picked up the pace a little, it seemed those deliberations were causing some stress. Nick watched, and waited.

  Marsh focused again. ‘Are you really a DCI?’

  Nick took out his warrant card and held it up. Marsh grunted in acknowledgement.

  ‘The bitch poisoned me.’

  ‘Which bitch?’

  ‘She did a good job. They can’t work out what it is, or reverse the effects. Barring a miracle, I think my time is up.’

  It was a fatalistic attitude to Nick’s mind. Perhaps realistic, given the circumstances.

  ‘Tell me what happened.’

  ‘I have an arrangement with someone in Europe,’ said Marsh. ‘When some object of value comes to my attention, I let him know. I act as a middleman and take a commission. The object in question may have been acquired illegally by the seller, but nobody gets hurt in the exchange. Until Mr Wood.’

  This extended speech was costing Marsh some effort. He beckoned to the jug of water on the nightstand, just out of reach. Nick poured him a glass and Marsh took it with a shaking hand. He sipped slowly and then continued.

  ‘When Simon Wood first contacted me, I was already aware that the tomb might exist, through someone else. We were making arrangements to excavate it, but Mr Wood’s visit made the matter more urgent. We put people on site immediately and a week later they found those lions you showed me. First time I’ve seen a photo, though.’ His voice trailed off and he paused for more water.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Then your Ms Slade showed up. When she said Mr Wood had been murdered, I thought there must be a connection. I tried to warn her off by saying there was nothing there.’

  ‘Didn’t work.’

  Marsh sighed. ‘Then Sylvie arrived. She was on her way to Chipra to see for herself, but she wanted to meet with me first.’

  Nick’s heart missed a beat. ‘Sylvie Dajani?’

  ‘Yes.’ Marsh looked at him questioningly but Nick showed no sign of elaborating, so he went on. ‘She wanted to discuss my fee. We went out for dinner and that’s when she must have put something in my food, or drink.’

  And now here you are, thought Nick. ‘Did she tell you what they’re going to do?’

  ‘They will remove the four lions and sell them. It will take some doing, they need to bring in articulated trucks and a bigger crane, to start. And although they told the local headman they were from the ASI, there will still be palms to be greased. If they work quickly enough…’

  He was exhausted. He passed his half empty glass to Nick and then let his head slump back and his eyes close.

  The door opened and Dr. Cameron was back. H
e looked at Nick and tapped his watch. ‘Time’s up.’

  Nick looked at Marsh, not knowing whether he should feel any sympathy for the man’s predicament. Not a pleasant way to die.

  ‘Tell me, what was your fee?’

  The eyes stayed closed. ‘Ten percent.’

  ‘Thanks for talking to me.’ A fee you won’t be collecting now he reflected, as he left the room and strode alone down the hall. Dr. Cameron had stayed behind to minister to his patient. He asked the girl on the desk to get him a taxi and as he waited he took another look at Ganesh. The elephant god was doing his job today. The link to Simon’s murder had come unequivocally in the form of Sylvie Dajani, and if you were being charitable you could say that was one obstacle to knowledge removed. It still left him with no clue as to Rebecca’s whereabouts, or even if she was still alive. If Sylvie Dajani was involved in her disappearance then she might well be dead, but as she hadn’t been killed at the hotel there must have been a reason for her abduction. All he had to do was figure out what it was.

  Chapter 8

  They’d been driving all night, it seemed. Rebecca was drowsy, she had been forced to drink something containing a sedative and shortly afterwards she passed out. Now she felt her consciousness returning in short disoriented bursts, like a scuba diver ascending from a deep dive and stopping at intervals to decompress. She couldn’t quite make it all the way up. Then her mind broke the surface and she remembered where she was.

  They were on a two lane highway. The headlights illuminated the stretch of road ahead, but it was pitch dark on either side. Looking out the side window she could make out the shadows of trees and bushes as they sped by, but even in broad daylight she knew she’d have no idea where she was. When she began to raise a hand to push her hair back from her face it felt unnaturally heavy, and she realised both hands were tied together in her lap. She snorted in frustration.

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  Rebecca started and looked across the back seat. Her abductor had removed the headgear and was looking back at her with what seemed genuine curiosity, if not concern. Rebecca took a moment to study her. She was well groomed, not a jet black hair out of place. The olive skinned face was well proportioned, with full lips and an aquiline nose. Rebecca would have found it a beautiful face had it not been currently marred by the eyes, which seemed just as dark, unfathomable and unfriendly as they had when they were the only part of her visible.

  ‘I’m alright.’

  ‘Let me.’ She reached across and gently used her fingers to brush Rebecca’s hair behind her ears. ‘That’s better.’

  Rebecca tried not to flinch. ‘Who are you?’

  She seemed to mull this over, before answering. ‘You can call me Rashida. No need to introduce yourself, I know who you are.’

  It took a few seconds before Rebecca, in her slightly groggy state, remembered. ‘Rashida. Of course.’

  ‘And this is Abdul, our driver.’ Abdul, a powerful looking middle aged Indian with hands to match the rest of him, raised a finger from the steering wheel in acknowledgement.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Your knowledge.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘You’ll see soon enough. In a couple of hours we will arrive, then there’s something we want you to do for us.’

  Rebecca pulled her gaze away from the unrelenting eyes and stared at the road ahead. ‘And if I refuse?’

  ‘You won’t do that. Just relax now and don’t make any sudden movements. Enjoy the drive.’

  I doubt I’ll do either of those things, thought Rebecca. She looked at her bound hands. There was nothing she could do to change things while she was restrained like this. She exhaled a long slow breath, kept her eyes fixed firmly on the road, and waited.

  They turned off the highway shortly afterwards. The road was smooth for about an hour and then it became progressively more bumpy as they continued into what seemed to Rebecca like the middle of nowhere. They passed through one small village that showed no signs of life and then half an hour later Abdul brought the car to a stop. They were in a wooded area, surrounded by bushes and trees on both sides of the road. Abdul turned and looked at her and for a moment she thought they might have stopped to dispose of her. She felt a shiver ripple up her spine. Then Abdul got out of the car, muttered something incomprehensible and was promptly lost in the darkness.

  A minute later, he was back. He turned the car into a dirt road dividing the foliage and then a moment later stopped and left the car again, to lock the gate he’d just opened to let them in. The road was wide and potholed in places and the car lurched alarmingly when they encountered one, even though Abdul slowed down to lessen the impact. After fifteen minute of this Rebecca could see lights through the trees and then the woods opened into a clearing. It was occupied on one side by a row of wooden huts, in front of which stood several pick-up trucks and an articulated lorry, laden with a shipping container. Behind it, the land sloped away gradually towards a small lake. The area was lit by floodlights mounted on tall wooden posts and the hum of a generator somewhere in the background gave a clue as to the power source.

  Abdul found a space near the first hut in the row and cut the engine. He got out and Rebecca heard him speak to someone behind them. She hadn’t seen anyone up to this point, so when a man answered as he passed her door she thought he must have been keeping watch somewhere in the shadows. He was only partially visible from where she sat, but she could see the shape of a rifle slung from his shoulder.

  ‘Time to get out,’ said Sylvie. ‘Stay there, I will come around and open the door.’

  Rebecca clambered out, feeling hampered by her bound hands. She stood unsteadily after the long drive, or perhaps the drug she’d been given had made her a little woozy. Abdul led the way and she followed him towards the hut, with Sylvie close behind. As she looked beyond the lake, she could see the pale blue haze of a brightening sky overhead. As though in implicit acknowledgement of the dawn, the floodlights softly hissed and died. She blinked as her vision adjusted and then Abdul opened the door and she followed him in.

  It was sparse inside. A large wooden table and several chairs took up half the room, and a few feet to the side there was a curtained partition bisecting the rest of it. A kitchen sink unit with a portable hotplate and electric kettle on the worktop stood against the far wall. The only window Rebecca could see was above the sink and it was barred. A richly textured Persian rug was laid between the table and the partition, in what must have been an attempt to bring a touch of colour to this otherwise drab place.

  The room’s only occupant was seated at the table, studying something on the screen of a laptop computer. He looked around as they entered and then stood up.

  ‘You can untie her,’ he said.

  Abdul moved forward to comply and Rebecca stood quietly as he deftly unknotted the rope bindings. She rubbed her chafed wrists.

  ‘Sit down, Ms Slade.’

  Rebecca did as she was told. Sylvie took the chair opposite, while Abdul took up a station by the door. The man giving the orders sat next to her.

  ‘I’m sorry we have to bring you here like this,’ he said.

  Rebecca said nothing. She stared at the latest player in this unwelcome drama, taking in his silver hair and dark features. Not Indian, she thought. Somewhere in the Middle East, the same place Rashida, if that was her name, came from. He was wearing a good quality lightweight suit, the jacket draped over the chair next to him, and he struck her as someone too urbane for these surroundings. The city was his natural habitat.

  ‘Who are you?’ She hoped she sounded more self-assured than she felt.

  ‘It’s not important who I am. What is important is that I need you to help us, and quickly.’

  ‘Why should I do that?’

  He looked slightly affronted. ‘I think you should be asking how, not why.’

  Sylvie said something Rebecca didn’t understand and for a few minutes she and the man who shunned intr
oductions conducted their own private dialogue. Then Sylvie switched to English.

  ‘The tomb at Chipra. You were there, weren’t you?’

  Rebecca nodded.

  ‘You saw what was inside, then. Well, to keep it short, we now have what you saw in our possession.’

  There was a gasp of disbelief. ‘The lions, you mean. How did you get them out? They must weigh a ton. I don’t believe it.’

  ‘It wasn’t easy, of course. We made a bit of a mess getting in, but the statues came out in perfect condition.’

  ‘And they weigh four tonnes apiece, actually,’ said the urbane one. ‘Solid gold. Can you imagine their value, Ms Slade?’

  ‘They are priceless, beyond monetary value.’

  ‘We disagree. With gold at $1200 an ounce, we can put a precise value on each one. Just over $150,000,000. And we have four of them.’

  Rebecca laughed, despite her fear. ‘Who do you think will buy them?’

  Sylvie gave her a scathing look. ‘There are always collectors with a great deal of money who are in the market for rare and beautiful objects. At the right price, of course. But that’s not your concern.’

  ‘What exactly do you want from me?’

  Sylvie pointed at the laptop. ‘We want you to write up everything you know about their provenance. Details about that period in history, who is buried there, how the lions may have been created. How exclusive they are. Point out the fact that only a handful of people even know they exist. Think of it as a sales pitch, if you like. About one thousand words should do it.’

  ‘Surely you could do that yourself.’ Rebecca immediately regretted speaking, cursing herself inwardly for jeopardising what little leverage she had.

  ‘You’re the historian, you know about the Mauryan era. Your account will carry authority. And when you’ve finished, you can sign it and add your credentials.’

  ‘And when I’ve done that?’

  Sylvie smiled. ‘Don’t worry, Ms Slade. We will leave you here locked up until we’re a safe distance away. Then we will alert the authorities.’

  I doubt that very much, Rebecca thought. She looked at Sylvie, who she knew must be reading her mind at this moment. There was no choice.