Оливер Блик - Protocol for a Kidnapping

“None,” I said.

“My country regards kidnapping as a most reprehensible crime.”

“Most countries do.”

“If the kidnappers were caught and brought to swift justice, it would serve as a strong deterrent to any similar attempts in the future.”

“I might argue that,” I said, “but I wouldn’t argue that whoever caught them would increase his chances for promotion.”

Bartak closed the thin green folder carefully. He locked his hands together and rested them on top of it. He frowned to show that he was displeased with my remark. He then pulled his chin back toward his Adam’s apple to indicate that despite his displeasure he was going to make his proposal anyway. I waited.

“For many reasons, Mr. St. Ives, not the least of them being the simple, humanitarian ones, we have offered our full cooperation in securing the release of your ambassador. At the same time we cannot afford to appear indifferent toward the perpetration of the crime. Our chief interest lies in the safe return of Mr. Killingsworth. But we are vitally concerned with punishing the kidnappers. We believe that we have a plan which, with only a small measure of cooperation from you, will enable us to do both. It will also serve—”

I decided to cut him short. “If you have such a plan, Mr. Bartak, I’m sure it’s a good one, but I don’t want to hear it.”

He had a young face, one not yet old enough to conceal surprise, especially at something unpleasant, and for a moment he looked like a four-year-old who’s just learned the hard way that old Ruff can bite.

The frown returned to his sloping forehead, his stubby nose wrinkled as if it smelled gas, and his wide, thick mouth screwed itself up into something that lay between a pout and a snarl. The calm was gone from his voice, too, and when he spoke the words came tumbling out over each other as if in frantic haste to leave so that they could jump up and down on me.

“I must regard your remark as an insult directed at my government and myself!” he said, almost sputtering. “Your discourtesy endangers all chances for cooperation and, furthermore, it could endanger the life of your ambassador. This is no simple matter, Mr. St. Ives. I must point out that your refusal to cooperate with us in so important an undertaking may well cause my government to review its arrangements with the United States in other—”

I decided to break in again before I started World War III. “I’m deeply sorry if you interpreted my refusal to listen to your proposal as an insult, Mr. Bartak. It wasn’t meant to be and I apologize if it created such a misunderstanding. However, you must understand that as the private intermediary in this transaction I have certain obligations to the kidnappers as well as to the victim.”

I was going to continue but he interrupted, still excited. “You admit your obligation to criminals!” It seemed like a good point and he grabbed it and would have been off down the sidelines unless I pushed him out of bounds.

“Ambassador Killingsworth’s life, Mr. Bartak, may well depend on whether I fulfill my obligations to the criminals.” That got his attention, so I gave him the rest of it. “They didn’t hesitate to kidnap him. They won’t hesitate to kill the only witness to their crime if they suspect even the slightest trickery. So yes, you might say I have an obligation to the kidnappers and that obligation is to keep them happy and content.”

Bartak shook his head. He was a stubborn one. “The plan that you so rudely rejected, even before you knew its content, was designed with Mr. Killingsworth’s safety foremost in mind. We have cooperated fully with your government in this entire matter, even to the point of releasing Anton Pernik. I assure you that we would not advance a plan that would endanger the life of the ambassador.”

“No, I’m sure you wouldn’t,” I said. “But if I were a party to it, and something did happen, then it would be my responsibility. I won’t take that chance, not only because I’m concerned with Ambassador Killingsworth’s safety, but because I’m also very much concerned with mine.”

Telling them that you are a coward is always the easiest way out. They can understand that whether they are a Chicago detective bureau lieutenant or a high official in the Ministry of Interior. It also makes them feel superior. It made Bartak feel that way and he leaped at the chance to show me just how much.

“There is the distinct possibility, Mr. St. Ives, that the plan I spoke of does not depend entirely upon your cooperation.”

“I didn’t think that it would,” I said, “but I still don’t want to know what it is. This way I go into negotiations with what the lawyers call clean hands. If something goes wrong with your plan, neither you nor the kidnappers can blame me, because I know nothing about it. Is that satisfactory?”

Bartak thought about it for a moment. To help him do it, he drummed his fingers on the surface of his nicely polished desk. “Yes,” he said finally. “We have not entirely lost the element of surprise because you are certainly in no position to warn the kidnappers.”

“You’re right,” I said. “I’m not.”

He nodded his head, well satisfied with himself and with the way the morning had gone, and for all I knew, with his prospects for rapid advancement.

“Can I be of any further service to you, Mr. St. Ives?”

“I need the papers that will allow Anton Pernik and his granddaughter to leave Yugoslavia.”

“Of course,” he said and drew the fat blue file toward him, opened it, and took out a thick brown envelope. Before handing it to me, he said, “You understand, of course, that these papers are only exit permits. They are not passports. Once Pernik and his granddaughter have crossed its border, Yugoslavia is no longer responsible for their safety and well-being. They forfeit their rights to citizenship.”

“I understand,” I said and accepted the envelope.

Bartak rose. He was shorter than I’d thought, not more than five-foot-two or three. It may have been why he hadn’t risen when we came in. Or it may have been that his height didn’t concern him at all, but I doubted that, preferring to believe that he was the Ministry’s resident authority on Napoleon.

“I hope you also understand something else, Mr. St. Ives,” he said.

“What?”

“I hope you understand that while our concern for the safety of Ambassador Killingsworth is tremendously grave, that same degree of concern cannot be extended to Anton Pernik and his granddaughter.” I was about to tell him that I understood that fully, but he hurried on. Smoothly. “Or, for that matter, to you.”

It was my second press conference within five days and it was pointless to argue about which of them had been the better farce. The one about the rats in New York probably had contained more substance while the one in Belgrade seemed to have more style, perhaps because of the international press corps. There weren’t three paragraphs of hard news in either of them.

But the one at the Metropol hotel did serve to help establish my bona fides as a private citizen who was what he said he was: an industrious, hardworking go-between and not what the press wished that I was: a tool — unwitting or otherwise — of the CIA or the State Department or something equally flamboyant.

They asked me some questions and I told them some lies when I had to and the truth when there was no point in lying. We traded a few remarks and, upon request, I gave them a couple of brief, overly lurid accounts of two other kidnappings that I’d been called in on. The Italians like those. Or perhaps they just liked Arrie Tonzi’s translation which she rendered in a melodramatic tone accompanied by appropriate gestures.