Brian Freemantle - The Predators

Andre Poncellet picked up as soon as Smet finished, describing as ‘overwhelming’ the response within Brussels to the previous night’s television and that day’s newspaper publication of the kidnap computer graphics. It was going to take several days – maybe even longer – to investigate every one.

Claudine always regarded what she did as a contribution to an investigation, not its most important element, and was content for the practical discussions to dominate the meeting. It was, she acknowledged, the first time this supposed overall planning group had been given the opportunity to operate in anything like a proper, practical way. Consciously Claudine let the discussion swirl about her, always aware of it, listening to it, but at the same time instinctively lapsing as well into people-watching.

From their earlier encounters she hadn’t expected quite such a forceful emergence from Jean Smet, although she accepted Blake’s direct approach that morning had lifted the Justice Ministry lawyer’s participation beyond its original liaison remit. Andre Poncellet was showing no surprise at the other Belgian’s occupying centre stage: seemed prepared, even, to surrender a leading role to the man.

Claudine’s greatest concentration was upon John Norris. When she’d first entered the room in which Norris was already waiting she’d been briefly gripped by the fury she’d felt finding herself tiptoeing around her hotel room, actually taking care to avoid cupboard-closing or clothes-rustling noises. She was completely controlled now, still angry but able to find an excuse for what had happened in the man’s illness. She hoped it wouldn’t be too much longer before she was able to reach Sanglier: certainly before the day was out. His not being available was a nuisance.

Norris appeared as attentive as everyone else, but there was an artificial studiousness about the way he was avoiding her gaze: several times it seemed difficult for the man to stop himself smiling in a situation in which there was no reason to smile. And he was making no contribution to the discussion.

She was frightened, Norris decided: guessing how close he was although there was no way she could know how he’d got there. She’d have to wait to learn that: wait for the confrontation. He’d look directly enough at her then. Face her down: force an admission. He had enough on tape from the hotel recording. Words that could only have one meaning: words that told him she was involved in the kidnapping and how scared she was at being caught out.

The Americans send a negotiator?

He’s the problem.

She didn’t know the half of it. She’d even conceded that, too. There are a lot of problems we didn’t expect.

Other parts of the conversation presented themselves in his mind, each as damning as the other.

Can you handle it?

I’m going to have to.

She wasn’t going to be able to, though. Not after that morning’s computer chase that they were all so excited about: that he was excited about, because it had given him the positive tie-in. From Bonn to Rome: to Rome and the convenient money-managing expertise of an American Express office. Which fitted perfectly with another part of last night’s taped exchange.

Aren’t you going to Rome?

‘What about the message itself?’ Norris was suddenly conscious that Poncellet was directing the question not to him but to the woman.

Claudine did not bother with the pretence of including Norris, consciously subjugating her still lingering medical distaste. ‘It worries me,’ she admitted bluntly.

‘Why?’ demanded Smet.

‘It hasn’t taken us any further forward,’ said Claudine. ‘The ambassador and his wife performed brilliantly last night. Psychologically it should have got a different response.’

‘Perhaps your advice was wrong,’ said Norris at once. McBride was a separate issue but Norris was sure he had something there, too. The indictments against Luigi della Sialvo were all for illegal arms dealing with Baghdad during the Gulf War, obtaining weaponry from a corporation that at the time had been McBride’s chief rival and was now the subject of four separate and enjoined indictments. Norris found it difficult to believe that whoever in the Bureau had checked out McBride before the ambassadorial appointment hadn’t taken the inquiry further, comparing the computer-recorded volume of material leaving McBride’s company against End User certificates for the Far East – della Sialvo’s favoured route – during Operation Desert Storm. He’d put an ‘Utmost Priority’ tag on his request, after studying the indictments, so he expected to hear within twenty-four hours. It didn’t matter whether McBride was a close personal friend of the President or a major campaign contributor. If he’d broken the law he had to answer to it.

‘My advice wasn’t wrong,’ insisted Claudine, confronting the American verbally as well as physically. ‘This isn’t a response to the broadcast. This is an angry message.’

‘What’s there to be angry about?’ queried Harding. ‘McBride pleaded: virtually said he’d pay anything.’

‘I don’t think the anger is directed at us,’ said Claudine. ‘I think there’s some disagreement among the people who’ve got Mary: irritation that subconsciously came through in the message.’

Oh, this was clever, thought Norris: trying to confuse them all with psychological double-talk no one could recognize except him.

‘Couldn’t it be reasserting the control you say is so important to them?’ suggested Smet.

The lawyer now very clearly considered himself an active player in the group, decided Claudine. Why not? He was a lawyer and all his questions and comments so far had been valid. She said: ‘There’s an aggression that wasn’t in the earlier contacts. And this one, incidentally, was written by yet another person, so we know there are at least three.’

‘What could the disagreement be about?’ wondered Blake.

‘The most obvious reason is that they’re not unanimous over how to continue the situation,’ said Claudine.

‘What situation?’ protested Harding. ‘They’ve hardly started yet!’

‘That’s another thing that worries me,’ conceded Claudine quietly.

‘You think the danger’s sexual? Or worse even than that?’ asked Poncellet.

‘I don’t know,’ said Claudine, unhappy at a further admission. ‘But I think there’s more now to the arrogance that I talked about in the beginning.’

‘Like what?’ demanded Smet.

Claudine paused, briefly unsure whether to express the fear. ‘They’ve snatched a child: not just a child, the daughter of an American ambassador. They should be frightened: apprehensive at least. But they’re not: not enough. So they’ve done it before: snatched a child and not been caught.’

‘We’re still working through investigations over the past three years, re-interviewing child sex suspects against whom no charges were brought as well as convicted paedophiles,’ said Poncellet. ‘Everyone will be compared to the computer graphic, obviously.’

‘Any women involved?’ demanded Blake.

Poncellet looked uncomfortable. ‘Not that I’m aware of: I’ll make a specific check.’

‘Could the sort of disagreement you think this message shows be making them careless?’ asked Harding, smiling apologetically to the German in advance. ‘Kurt wasn’t able to follow a trail before.’

‘They had to risk it this time,’ said Claudine quickly, seeing Volker’s offended frown. ‘They had to let us pick up the school address: that’s the proof the message is genuine, not a crank response from last night’s broadcast. They had to leave it on the screen long enough for it to be recognized: Kurt’s genius was in having created a program that identified it in seconds – far more quickly than they probably expected – and then being able to follow it back as far as he did.’