Page 5 of Mann Hunt (The Declan Hunt Mysteries)

Declan tumbled out of bed Sunday morning after another restless sleep. He had thought his night at The Greek would have helped, but there’d been more bad dreams. They seemed to be coming more frequently.

Declan decided he could afford to skip his daily workout. He stood in the shower letting the stream of hot water pelt his body. He looked down and saw the deep purple and blue bruises on his torso from Friday night’s altercation. Declan admired the guy who’d done this. He knew what he was doing—making a point to be remembered. A lesser man would have just killed him, but killing led to bodies, and bodies led to the police. It was too high a price to pay for people like Brick Wall.

Declan finished his shower, slowly dried off and dressed. Then he made his way down to his desk and sipped a coffee. His cell phone rang and he was tempted to let it go to voicemail until he saw the name of the caller—Attwal.

Saanvi Attwal had approached him several days earlier. Her husband, Palvinder Attwal, had been kidnapped. He was a well-known accountant in Calgary who, unofficially, handled the accounts of some of the less reputable members of Calgary’s “business” world.

Obviously, she couldn’t go to the police with this matter, and Declan had a reputation for discretion and results.

Declan answered, “Good morning, Mrs Attwal.”

“Mr Hunt,” she said, as if he had been the one to call her.

“I haven’t found him yet. I looked into one possibility Friday night,” he said, “but there was no sign of your husband. Have they been in contact with you since we last spoke?”

“They have,” she answered coldly. “They called last night before supper. They said that if I didn’t turn over all of the files my husband had relating to them, that their relationship with him would be terminated—”

Declan suspected that the business relationship would not be the only thing that was terminated.

“—and that if they found out that I had withheld or copied any files, they would make sure that my whole family would be disappeared.”

“That’s the word they used? Disappeared?”

“Disappeared. That is what the man said.”

“And do you know where the files are?” Declan asked.

“On his computer, of course. Did you think he would keep records like that on paper?”

“If they just require the computer files, why don’t you just turn over your husband’s computer to them?”

“Because all of Palvinder’s client files are on that computer. Really, Mr Hunt, I’m beginning to doubt that I chose the right man for the job.”

Declan hated being treated like a child.

Saanvi continued, “The computer contains accounts of a number of his clients, some of whom are undoubtedly competitors of the men who are holding Palvinder. My husband and his clients would prefer not to have these files turned over to them. It would not be good for…business…or Palvinder.”

“I can understand that. Can you access the contents of the computer and remove the other accounts?”

“Do you think I wouldn’t have already done that if I could? The computer is protected.”

Declan thought for a moment. “Mrs Attwal,” he said, “I believe I can get in touch with people who can break into that computer and remove all but the kidnappers’ files. Would you be able to get it here to my office?”

From the pause on the line Declan could sense her weighing her options.

“It would be best if I didn’t come to your office,” she said. “And you shouldn’t come here, just in case my house is being watched. I will have the computer brought to you by someone I trust. You will have it in the next few hours.”

“Good. Now, how would I recognise the files that belong to the kidnappers?”

There was another pause on the line. “Search for the word ‘Monarch’.”

She hung up. Now, all that he had to do was find someone who could crack the security on the computer.

He pondered his options and searched through contacts he could trust, but none were suitable for the job. Two hours had passed when Declan heard the ground floor door open then light footsteps coming up the stairs. There was a gentle knock.

When Declan opened the office door, there was a young girl, no more than ten, standing in front of him. She wore a backpack emblazoned with a ladybug. She walked past Declan, over to the couch and removed her pack.

“Mr Hunt?” she asked.

“Yes. That’s me.”

“Thought so.”

She opened up her pack and pulled out a very heavy laptop and power adaptor, which she placed on the coffee table. Then she zipped up her pack, put it back on and left the office, closing the door behind her.

Declan smiled, took the laptop into his office and plugged it in. He looked it over. Declan was not a technical person, but even he could tell that this was no off-the-shelf machine. There were no identifying maker marks on the matte-grey chassis. This was a custom-built job. Military grade.

He opened it and immediately spotted a problem. He picked up the phone and placed a call.

“You got the computer?” Mrs Attwal said as soon as she answered.

“I did, but there’s a problem. It requires someone’s fingerprint to access it.”

“Oh?”

“Do you know anyone, other than your husband, who might have a fingerprint registered on this computer?”

“No. It would only be Palvinder’s.”

She paused for a moment. “But not to worry. I will deal with it.”

Declan asked, “How?”

But it was too late. She had already disconnected.

What the hell is she going to do?

* * * *

Saanvi Attwal waited by the phone. She prided herself on being a strong, take-control person. She reviewed the facts. One—under no circumstances would her husband divulge one of his client’s secrets to another. She knew he would never turn over the computer to them. Two—she knew that without him, the computer could not be opened. Three—she knew she could not bear to see anything happen to that silly old fool. Four—she could do nothing to hurt him.

The phone rang. The display said Unknown number.

“Hello.”

“Well? Do you have the computer files?”

“I…I am working on it. I must speak to my husband. He’s the only one who can make this happen. Please. Just for a minute.”

There was a long pause. She heard a scraping sound, like something being dragged. Then—

“Saanvi? Is that you?”

“Yes, my silly old man. I have no time. The computer—it requires your fingerprint to open it.”

“My dear wife, you have been so strong through this whole ordeal. I will take care of everything. Give the children my love.”

The call was disconnected.

* * * *

A large man yanked the phone away from Palvinder Attwal. “Is she going to give us the computer?” he asked.

“No. She is far too smart for that. We both know that if you get it, there is no guarantee that I will see the end of the day—your competitors will see to that.” Mr Attwal paused. “Look, I understand—this is all about business. And you are wise enough to know that business goes both ways. You need certain files so you can continue to function, and I need other files to stay alive.” Mr Attawl chose his next words carefully. “If you let me go, I will return with all of your files and we can agree that our business relationship is at an end. No harm, no foul as they say.”

“They say that, do they? I say you don’t leave here until I get what my employer wants.” The large man shoved him into a tiny room and began to close the door.

“Wait. There is another solution to this problem,” the accountant said, then proceeded to explain what could be done.

His screams echoed off the walls as they took him up on his offer, and took a little something extra for their troubles.