Brian Freemantle - The Predators

*

Claudine went back to McBride’s office fifteen minutes before the expected call. McBride was at the open cocktail cabinet, the Jack Daniel’s bottle already in his hand. He turned and said: ‘You want anything?’

‘No,’ said Claudine. ‘And I don’t think you should.’ Damn! Something else she’d overlooked.

‘Listen to her if you won’t listen to me,’ said Hillary.

‘I can handle one.’

‘I don’t think you need it.’ When he stayed with the bottle she said: ‘She’d be winning, before you even started to talk.’

McBride shrugged, replacing the whiskey and closing the doors. ‘I’m OK.’

‘I know you are.’

‘I wish I knew it as well,’ said the other woman.

‘You’re not helping, Mrs McBride,’ said Claudine. ‘In fact, you’re making things more difficult.’

‘Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?’

‘Let’s think about helping Mary, shall we?’ said Claudine, refusing the argument.

‘What if she doesn’t call?’

‘She will.’ The woman was too unpredictable for such a guarantee and Claudine accepted she’d lose credibility if there was no contact, but McBride couldn’t be allowed any doubt. She didn’t like the nervousness obvious from his pacing round the study but said nothing. Hillary lounged contemptuously in a chair. As he walked McBride constantly checked his watch. To calm him, Claudine sat easily in her already arranged chair, positioned the special, large-faced clock with the sweep second hand where they would both be able to time the call and then toyed reflectively with the prepared jotting pad before beginning to write a series of quick, tom-off notes.

‘What are you doing?’ demanded the ambassador.

To her relief he stopped moving. ‘There are things I can anticipate. Prepare for.’

‘What?’

‘Things she would expect you to say.’

‘I thought we’d been through all that.’

‘Reminders,’ said Claudine.

‘It’s time!’

‘She’ll make us wait.’

‘How long?’

‘As long as she likes. But she’ll call.’

He started walking aimlessly again. Claudine said: ‘It’ll be better if you sit down. You’ve got to be ready.’

McBride completed a circle and came back to lower himself into his chair. It was so large his feet only just touched the ground. His hands were shaking and his forehead was sheened with perspiration. There were three concealed call buttons, on the left of the knee recess. She wondered what they were for. The clock was registering four minutes after the time of yesterday’s call.

McBride had got as far as ‘She’s not-’ when the phone rang. All three jumped, McBride more than the women. Claudine knew the transfer from the main switchboard would have already been delayed for a few seconds, for the scan to begin. McBride stared at the instrument, transfixed.

‘Pick it up,’ said Claudine calmly.

McBride did so, hesitantly, but remembered to look sideways to her so that both receivers came off their cradles together. ‘Hello?’

‘McBride?’ The voice was faint.

‘Yes.’

‘How do I know?’

Claudine mouthed ‘You must tell me’ and the American repeated the words aloud.

‘What’s Granny McBride’s birthday?’ asked the caller.

‘August second,’ replied the ambassador at once.

‘And grandpa’s?’

‘Grandpa’s dead.’

‘When did he die?’

‘Two years ago. November.’

There was a laugh, overlaid at the end by outside traffic noise. ‘Hello, Mr Ambassador!’

Quickly Claudine slipped across the first of her notes. It read: ‘Horror. She’s maimed your child.’

McBride said: ‘You’ve hurt Mary! Badly. Please give her back, so I can get her treated: get her to hospital!’

There was a pause at the other end. Claudine nodded approvingly to the man beside her. The line had been open for almost two minutes.

‘She’s been properly treated.’

‘Who by?’ mouthed Claudine.

‘By a doctor?’

‘How?’

‘She’s not in any pain.’

Claudine’s second note read: Anger but not hatred. Frustration.

‘Bastard,’ said McBride. ‘Why? I want to pay to get her back: pay anything.’ He was performing far better than Claudine could have hoped.

‘I wanted you to know you’ve got to do everything I demand…’

The line faded into silence and McBride said urgently: ‘I didn’t hear! The line’s gone…’

‘… demand or something worse will happen to her,’ echoed down the line as the volume returned.

‘No!’ protested McBride, unprompted. ‘There’s no need to hurt her any more. Just tell me what you want and I’ll do it: let’s just end this.’

‘We want two hundred and fifty thousand dollars,’ announced the woman.

Claudine had been making profile notes throughout. She pressed down at the ransom figure so heavily the pencil point broke. She switched to another, angry at her over-reaction, important though the demand was. Hurriedly she passed another note.

Responding to it McBride said: ‘You can have it now! Tonight! Tell me how to deliver it and you can have it tonight… so I can get Mary back tonight…’

Four minutes, Claudine saw. Surely with the sort of technical equipment at the other side of the embassy they would have got a fix by now!

‘All in good time: I can’t have us walking into a trap.’

‘I promise…’

Before Claudine’s headshake registered with McBride the woman cut him off. ‘I know that won’t be true, so don’t lie. You don’t want Mary coming to any more harm, do you?’

The man opened his mourn to speak but Claudine held up a stopping hand, mouthing her instruction.

‘I’m sorry… I didn’t mean… I’m so desperate to get Mary back,’ stumbled McBride obediently.

The volume collapsed into static. Almost six minutes, noted Claudine. The words were indistinct when the sound came back. Then the voice said: ‘Guess you didn’t hear that: I lost you too. And how’s the clever lady today? I know you’re there, Claudine!’

The remark reverberated through Claudine’s head like a pistol shot. She’d been right in thinking she’d missed something but she wasn’t missing it any more and the recognition was so astonishing that momentarily Claudine’s mind blocked. She was conscious of McBride’s startled expression and of his intention to speak and urgently shook her head. She said: ‘I’m very well, Mercedes. Trying to be a clever lady yourself?’

The laugh was uneven. ‘It was obvious you’d listen in. Just as it’s obvious they’ll be trying to trace this call. That’s why I won’t be talking to you much longer.’

Could she do it! She had to, Claudine told herself. There was a risk but she’d already made up her mind about the chances of getting Mary Beth back alive. Abandoning everything she’d rehearsed with the ambassador, she embarked on an approach she’d considered at the very beginning. ‘We’re having the toe scientifically examined, to establish if it’s from Mary.’ She held her free hand up against any interruption from McBride.

‘Your idea?’

‘Yes,’ said Claudine. ‘And I’ve got a lot more.’ Bite! she thought desperately.

‘The clever psychologist, imagining you know my mind!’

Claudine felt another sweep of disbelief. ‘Oh, I know your mind very well, Mercedes: probably better than you know it yourself.’ There was so much to think about: considerations to weigh. But later. Not now. Now her entire concentration had to be upon every nuance and word of this conversation.

‘You’re a conceited fool!’

Claudine was pleased at the irritated edge in the woman’s voice. ‘One of us is, Mercedes.’ She hoped the woman discerned the contempt she was trying to infuse into her voice every time she uttered the ridiculous assumed name.