Brian Freemantle - The Predators

Five streets away Robert Ritchie shouldered his way into the familiarly crowded bar on the rue Guimard, checking himself at the unexpected sight of the Englishman at the same table as Harding and McCulloch. He realized at once that they’d seen him so he had to continue, saying ‘Hi’ and glad-handing as he made his way through the crush.

Ritchie didn’t say anything when he reached their table. McCulloch said: ‘He’d already found the wire: both of them. And made you, the first night. I always said you were shit at surveillance. Their commissioner’s coming in this afternoon to stop the whole fucking nonsense.’

‘She’s with Norris at the embassy now,’ disclosed Ritchie. ‘I checked the transcript. He called her room, just over an hour ago: said something had come up that was too important to tell her over the phone.’

‘Nothing has come up,’ said Blake.

She had to bring him back from the edge, give him the thread. Her life hung upon her being able to open whatever door there might be to what remained of his rational, reasoning mind. If nothing did remain, then it was almost inevitable he would shoot her. From a metre away, he couldn’t miss. ‘We were supposed to work as a team, you and I.’

‘Inveigled yourself in, so they’d know everything we were doing, right?’

It would be a mistake to pander to the delusion, letting it grow. ‘I’m not involved with those who’ve got Mary Beth. I couldn’t be.’

‘No one saw it but me.’

He was closed off against her. ‘What did you see?’

‘You getting inside. Knowing everything we were doing.’

‘It made you angry, didn’t it, my replacing you?’

Trying to change the order, making him answer questions again. ‘Didn’t replace me. Thought you did but you didn’t. I’m still in charge.’

Why wasn’t she frightened when a gun was being held unwaveringly on her from point blank range? There were feelings – anger at being tricked, frustration at not being able to reach him mentally – but no actual gut-dropping fear. She isolated the pride – the boastfulness – in the man’s remark, wondering if it might be the chink she was seeking. There was the sudden flurry of movement behind her, obviously from the only door. She didn’t turn.

‘John!’ said a voice she recognized as Harding’s. ‘What’s the problem here, John?’

‘No problem: sorting everything out,’ said Norris, his eyes flicking over Claudine’s shoulder. ‘No need for you here: no need for any of you. Get out!’ The gun came up towards her.

‘We don’t need the gun, John. Let’s put the gun down, OK?’

‘Get out!’

‘Do as he says,’ insisted Claudine, still not turning.

‘John, I tell you what I’m going to do,’ said Harding. ‘I’m going to come on in here. Help things along a little.’ There was a nervous laugh. ‘It’s my office, for Christ’s sake! Guy’s gotta be able to get into his own office.’

‘Don’t need help!’ shouted Norris, his voice cracking. ‘My case. I’ll bring it in.’ The gun abruptly shook, in his fury.

‘OK! OK!’ said Harding urgently. ‘Everything’s down to you.’

There was renewed sound from behind and Claudine guessed more people had arrived. She heard McBride say: ‘Norris! John! This is the ambassador. You hearing me?’

‘Of course I’m hearing you.’ He wasn’t looking away from Claudine now.

‘What’s going on here?’

‘Getting your daughter back, sir. That’s what I was sent here to do.’ The gun wavered up and down, gesturing to Claudine. ‘She knows where Mary is. She’s going to tell me.’

‘Good man,’ said McBride. ‘Well done. I want you to put the gun down and we’ll take Dr Carter back to my office and she can tell me herself. Then I’m going to cable your Director just how damned well you did on this.’

‘She’s got to tell me, no one else!’ Norris’s thumb moved, visibly, flicking off the safety catch.

At the doorway McBride whispered to Harding: ‘Could you hit him from here? Disable him?’

‘He’s half hidden by her. He’d know what I was trying to do – see my gun – if I moved along the inside wall for a full shot,’ replied Harding, soft-voiced. ‘Oh shit!’

‘I could hit him,’ offered Blake. ‘But his reflex would be to pull his own trigger. He couldn’t miss her.’

Claudine, unaware of the import of the hushed conversation, said loudly; ‘Please be quiet, everyone. Let us alone.’

‘Yes,’ said Norris distantly. ‘That’s what I want, everyone to be quiet. Everyone except her.’ He was confused by so many people. He was pleased that McBride, all of them, were going to witness how good he was: be taught how to interrogate a felon properly. But he’d lost his concentration. Couldn’t think how to pick up the questioning. The gun felt suddenly heavy. He couldn’t remember why he’d pulled the weapon. Had she pulled hers, to challenge him? Couldn’t see it. To frighten her, he remembered. That was it, to frightened her!

Claudine could detect the rustle of movement behind her but no one was speaking. It was important that they didn’t. She didn’t want any more anger: didn’t want him to lose what little self-control, if any, was left. He was fixated on her involvement, so she couldn’t positively confront him; that would make him angry, too. And he’d defied the ambassador, the ultimate authority: the sort of authority to which he’d always deferred in the past. So there was an absolute refusal any longer to acknowledge anyone as his superior, either officially or professionally. It made his paranoia, his delusion, absolute, and him a totally dangerous man, clinically a psychopath: a psychopath sitting a metre away pointing at her a gun with the safety catch off. What was her entry to someone who believed himself above all others? She’s got to tell me, no one else, she remembered: not the ambassador, or his Director in Washington. Only John Norris, God-like among the little people. So he was the entry. The only way to get through to John Norris was through John Norris, the one person he’d listen to: the only person whose opinion made any sense to him. Extremely careful to infuse admiration and to make it a statement, not a question, she said: ‘You must feel very satisfied, holding me here like this.’

‘I haven’t got her back yet.’

No, thought Claudine, anxiously: Mary Beth mustn’t come into the conversation. ‘I feel very inadequate.’

‘You were. Are.’ Norris shook his head, against the thickness. The gun rattled against the desk top. Everyone stiffened.

There was no way of guessing how long it would be before Norris completely collapsed. It wouldn’t be long. Stressing the admiration even more, she said: ‘And you’re the master.’

She was helpless: admitting it. And those at the door were quiet now, attentive like his audiences at Quantico: attentive and respectful. ‘You were careless, taking calls at the hotel about Rome and saying how worried you were about me.’

There was an opening! She risked a question at last. ‘Is that the way, trusting no one?’

He smiled, first to Claudine and then to the men behind her: lecturing was always satisfying. ‘I always know a lie. Can find guilt.’

Claudine hadn’t wanted to put another question until she was surer but she didn’t have a choice. ‘How can you decide who to trust?’ Norris had been responding with reasonable coherence, not taking too long to reply, but now he hesitated, frowning, and Claudine thought, Dear God, don’t let him slip away: don’t let me lose him. She didn’t think she’d get him back even to this uncertain rationality if he drifted away.

‘We check everything, don’t we?’ he said, his face clearing, his voice even.