Ghostwriting by Eric Brown Page A

taunting faces, startling sounds and strange sights. His mind was full of the nightmare of what Caroline might have suffered at the hands of the cultists.
    Then suddenly, and to his overwhelming relief, he was standing outside his hotel, the building a sanctuary from the surrounding chaos. He hurried to his room and ordered whisky from room service. He read through Caroline’s notes again, then took a picture of her from the bedside table and stared at her smiling face.
    He sat beside the window, bottle in hand, and considered what to do next. He should go to the police, of course, present the facts to the official representatives of the law... but he surmised that he would gain little satisfaction from that quarter.
    Then he recalled what Begun had told him about the Kurti sect: that no one knew where they based themselves... But had not McAllister mentioned that he had taken Caroline to a certain Taipusan ceremony?
    He was startled by a ringing sound from the corner of the room. He looked up, noticed the bottle in his hand. It was half empty. How long had he been drinking? The ringing continued.
    He staggered across the room and snatched up the receiver. A smooth voice said, “Mr Madison?”
    “Speaking”
    The voice almost purred, mocking. “Mr Madison, this is Mr Krishnan.”
    “Yes...”
    “I understand that you have been looking for your wife, Mr Madison.”
    His heart leapt. “Who are you?”
    Krishnan purred, “Would you care to learn the whereabouts of your wife, Mr Madison?”
    He felt suddenly dizzy. “You know?”
    He could almost see the smile on the Indian’s smug face as Krishnan replied, “Oh, I know...”
    “What the hell have you done to her?” Madison cried.
    “If you really wish to find out, then come with me, Mr Madison,” the smooth voice coaxed.
    “Where are you?”
    “Leave the hotel immediately. We will pick you up.”
    “Wait!”
    The line went dead.
    Madison smashed the receiver down and sat staring at the opposite wall.  
    He had no option, of course, but to place his fate in the hands of the faceless Krishnan, even though he suspected that in doing so he would be endangering his own safety.
    Choking on a sob, he hurried from the room.

    ~

    The street outside the hotel was busy with pedestrians. Hardly had Madison set foot on the sidewalk than a tall figure in a dark suit and sun-glasses took his arm and unceremoniously steered him towards a waiting car. As soon as he was in the back seat the car drove off, swerving through the traffic at speed.
    “What have you done to my wife?” Madison asked.
    “An old Hindu saying, Mr Madison – in certain situations, silence is wisdom.”
    Madison lay his head back, trying not to dwell on what Begum had told him about the Kurti sect.
    The drive through the teeming city seemed interminable. An hour passed, perhaps longer. Long after Madison thought they should by now have left the city and entered the countryside, dim slums passed by on either side, and surging crowds filled the streets. He wondered if they were driving him around in circles, so that he might find it impossible to return to where they were taking him.
    At last the car rolled to a stop and the engine cut. The silence was blessed, until the lesser noise from the city intruded.
    “Where are we?”
    He felt a hand on his arm, helping him from the car.
    He climbed out, stretching his legs with relief. The thought that soon he might find Caroline, or perhaps what had happened to her...
    “Come!” Krishnan took his upper arm and hurried him away from the car.
    They passed down a narrow alley between two buildings, all the while Krishnan gripping his upper-arm.  
    Madison stepped between drifts of rubbish and scurrying rats. The area stank, and Madison gagged, almost retching on the miasma of rotting vegetation and faeces.
    Then he heard the cry from up ahead and stopped. Krishnan urged him on. “Come. Do not fear. This way.”
    The cries continued. They seemed to come from