Authors: Emma Kavanagh
I know my sister. She’s not done. I can see her arguing internally, and I sit, wait. It happens like this, as she rolls the thoughts over in her head, has all the arguments already so you don’t have to. Then she says, ‘Okay, and there’s this.’
Moves the mouse. A new screen. An eagle crest.
The Cole Group.
‘He worked for them.’
I study the screen, a dislocating sense of déjà vu. Struggle to place the name.
‘Hey. Dom’s work desk. He had a brochure from the Cole Group. I wondered why. This must be it. Because they were Chambers’ employers.’
Leah nods, looking at me, eyebrow raised, waits for me to get it.
‘What?’
‘The Cole Group. It’s run by Selena Cole. Or was run. Or was started by. I’m unclear at the moment.’
‘Who?’
She gives me a long-suffering look. ‘Selena Cole. The woman who vanished. My missing person case?’
I nod. Slowly. Have no idea what the hell I am supposed to make of this.
‘So you think …?’
Leah sighs stormily. ‘I have no idea what I think. What do
you
think?’
I shrug. ‘Hell, I’m just happy I’m keeping up with this conversation.’
She rolls her eyes, clicks off the screen, back to e-mail, continues to scroll through. I watch her, her forehead furrowed.
‘Bollocks.’ She says it loud enough that it startles me.
‘What?’
‘Look at this!’
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Hey you,
Wow, this is weird. I don’t know what to say to you.
I can’t believe this. I can’t believe that what happened happened. I’m sorry, does that sound bad? I don’t mean it to, but I guess the thing is, I never thought of myself as the cheating type. I hate that word. Is that what I am now? A cheater?
I need to tell you, I’ve never done this before. I know that sounds clichéd, but it’s true. I’ve never cheated, not once. Not on anyone. I never thought I could. I know that doesn’t make what I’ve done any better, but somehow I’m using it to, I don’t know, justify things.
Maybe it’s because it’s you. I mean, there’s so much history with us. When we were together, it was so good. I know it didn’t end well, but then what relationship does end well? You were so important to me. I don’t think you realised quite how important. Not back then. Maybe that was my fault. Maybe I should have made it clearer how I felt about you when it could still have made a difference.
Getting over you nearly killed me. I don’t mean to be dramatic, but it’s true. It took me such a long time to get to a point where I could feel about someone the way I felt about you. I dated, obviously. But it was never the same. I just kept replaying how things went between us, over and over again. I don’t know why. It’s not like I could change any of it.
If I wasn’t clear then, let me be clear now. You were everything to me. I loved you more than I can possibly say.
Sometimes I regret what I did. Ending it, I mean. It was all so complicated, so confused. I didn’t handle it well, I know that now. But I wanted you to be happy. I needed you to be happy. And at the time, it seemed to me that you would be happier without me and all my baggage. I came to regret that decision.
But the truth is, that was all a very long time ago.
We have both moved on. We have both met other people, built lives of our own.
I know you’re not going to want to hear this, and to be honest, I feel like a prick saying it after what I have done, but I love Isaac. He means the world to me. As much as you once did. We have built a life that works and we are happy.
I don’t know what to do next.
I need some time. I need to figure out where I go from here. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but please, be patient with me.
I do love you.
D
I let my eye trail down the e-mail. ‘Holy hell. Dominic was cheating.’
‘Yes, he was,’ says Leah distantly.
‘Maybe,’ I say, trying to push us back on track again, ‘maybe he was seeing Chambers. Everyone said they seemed really close. Like, not client–solicitor close, but you know, close. It would certainly add another layer of motive.’
She frowns. ‘Is Beck Chambers gay?’
‘I don’t know!’ I whine. ‘Crap!’
Leah taps her fingernails on the desk. ‘Or …’
‘What?’
‘Or Isaac found out.’
‘Finn?’ The SIO’s voice rings through the room, and I feel rather than see all heads swivel towards me. ‘A word?’
I stand up, try to keep my shoulders back, but there’s something about a summons to see the boss that makes you small, a schoolboy in trouble. His office is tucked away at the back of the major incident room, pretty modest, seriously impersonal. He waves me to a seat. Perches on the edge of the desk. He’s a big man, must be six foot five if he’s an inch, with a shock of steel-grey hair, a rough-cut beard. Essentially Tom Selleck on a bad day. He gives me a look. I’m pretty sure it’s supposed to be sympathy.
‘We’re releasing Beck Chambers.’
I stare at him, at a loss for words.
He waves at the phone on his desk. ‘I just got a call from the DI down on the surveillance team. Turns out they were running an op on Monday evening, surveilling a known dealer in the centre of Hereford.’
‘Okay?’
‘They picked up Chambers making a purchase. Seven o’clock.’ He’s watching me, lips compressed. ‘They had eyes on him for most of the evening. Apparently he had a couple of drinks in a couple of bars. Crossed back and forth over their operational area. He’s covered. Right up until about midnight. He’s not our guy.’
A Hero, Then a Hostage
Oliver Lewis
(Originally published in
USA Today
)
It was gone eight, night falling fast across the glittering slums of Mexico City. A warm night, a storm approaching in clambering clouds that filled up the bowl of the valley, the volcanic peaks that ring the city vanishing into the ominous grey.
Beck Chambers was returning to his apartment, a perfunctory affair suited to a single man with a nomadic way of life. If you saw Beck, you would think that few people would be safer, even in a hotbed of violence like the Mexican capital. He was, after all, ex-military, a former member of the Pathfinder Platoon, 16 Air Assault Brigade, special forces in all but name. And he looked it, built like a slab of rock; looked like he could take care of himself, that he would be the last person you would cross.
But this was Mexico City, where the rules do not apply.
At 8.06 p.m., Beck returned to his apartment in the Alameda district, tired from a long day, bracing for another long day to come. As a security operative (a bodyguard, for those not in the know), he was at his client’s constant command. This night, the night of 13 July, was an early one. He was used to being kept far later. The irony of this would return to him many times in the months ahead.
He opened the front door of his apartment building and vanished inside.
Twenty-four hours later, Beck’s client placed a call to Beck’s employer. My bodyguard didn’t show up to work today.
The violence and danger that lace countries like Mexico have become a gift for the security industry. Myriad companies operate throughout Latin America, protecting the wealthy from their lesser brethren. In 2010, Hector Security was just one of many; small, enjoying a limited success within its zones of operation. Started by a former US Army Ranger, Hector Security had a reputation for being cheaper than most, a no-nonsense approach. Sometimes, when you talk to people in the know, the words ‘cowboy operation’ will be used.
So that day, 14 July 2010, a phone call was received at the headquarters of Hector Security in Galveston, Texas. Your man didn’t show. In a different operation, with different standards, this might have meant something. But Hector Security was used to this sort of thing, its operatives dropping in and out of employment. Sometimes there were psychological struggles – most of its employees were ex-military, most of them had seen action, most of them had scars. Sometimes it was alcohol or drugs. Whatever. The firm barely batted an eyelid. An apology, a quick scout around, and within two days a new security operative had taken over where Beck Chambers had left off.
And Beck remained simply gone.
It shouldn’t be that easy to disappear. The human in us rails against that, that we should be able to just vanish without leaving as much as a ripple. And yet why not? Beck had no family. A nomadic lifestyle that left friendships as tenuous affairs.
It took two months for the repercussions of that night to hit full force. One lunchtime in September, a phone call was made to Hector Security HQ. We have your man. You’re going to have to pay to get him back.
The first question they asked was ‘Which man?’
Later examination of CCTV footage would reveal that on the night of 13 July, Beck Chambers had walked into his apartment building and was immediately attacked, incapacitated by a blow to the head, crumpling to the ground. If you watch the grainy footage, you then see a second attacker moving into camera shot, checking Beck, presumably to ensure that he is unconscious and not dead, then quickly making a call on a mobile phone.
There is no sound on the footage, but by that point, you really don’t need it.
This is Mexico, one of the world’s front-runners in the kidnap-for-ransom business. And they have just acquired a new commodity.
It takes a minute, a minute and a half at the most. Then the men look out of the front door, hurriedly drag Mr Chambers on to the street. It is small satisfaction that the task appears to be a struggle.
It turned out that as many as a dozen people saw Beck being loaded into the waiting van by masked men.
The Federales were not called.
No witness recorded the registration plates of the van or could describe the attackers.
There are procedures in a case like this. Kidnap and ransom is a steady-stream business, especially when you operate out of some of the world’s most dangerous countries, and so firms take precautions. They insure themselves against kidnap, they ally themselves with K&R consultants, and, should the worst happen, they pull the trigger, bring in the big boys, the ones who know how to put right a bad situation.
Most firms.
Not Hector Security. It is unclear exactly why they didn’t simply place a call to their insurers, get help, the backing that would ensure a smoother ride. Some speculate that they had let their insurance lapse, that these cowboys were riding bareback, risking the lives of their employees to save a few dollars.
Whatever the reason, the call was never placed and Hector Security decided to handle things themselves.
Negotiations did not go well.
An attempt was made to bring the purportedly high ransom demand down, but the negotiator for Hector Security only succeeded in infuriating the kidnappers. Instead of securing a proof of life, video footage was delivered of Beck Chambers apparently having his throat slit.
This was then followed by a month of silence.
The security industry is an incestuous one. Everyone knows everyone and there are few real secrets. When word of the situation trickled through to the Cole Group, a boutique K&R firm operating out of the UK, one of its founding members decided to intervene.
Call it a goodwill gesture. Call it an attempt to right the wrongs of a failing fellow company. Whatever the motivation was, Ed Cole, after much discussion in-house, flew to Mexico City.
At this point, Beck had been in captivity for two and a half months. His location was unknown, his condition was unknown, his captors were unknown. Ed Cole remained unfazed. He knew the area, knew the people, even knew the criminals who operated there. He got a message through to the kidnappers, informing them that there was a new sheriff in town.
Ten days after his arrival, contact was finally made. It was a rough road ahead. The previous failed negotiations had left a bad taste in their wake and the kidnappers were jumpy.
Kidnap for ransom happens all across Mexico, and its perpetrators are widespread and varied. But as luck would have it, the Coles had dealt with this group before. Unlike many of the groups operating in the region, they appeared to have made it a policy to target foreign victims, presumably in the hope of amassing a higher payment.
A request was immediately made for proof of life. No word had been heard from Beck in over a month. No one knew if he was dead or alive. Would there even be a hostage to negotiate for?
At 3 p.m. on 25 October, Ed Cole received a phone call. On the other end was an exhausted, hollowed-out Beck Chambers.