Brian Freemantle - The Predators

‘I’ve heard the statistics,’ said Sanglier. ‘I’m not underestimating how delicate any negotiations are going to be.’

The implication startled Claudine. ‘I’m to be the negotiator, if it is a kidnap?’

‘That was the specific request from Belgium,’ disclosed Sanglier. ‘They say they haven’t got a qualified negotiator.’ Which was a lie, he was sure: Europol was only ever asked to help when a national government wanted to escape the responsibility. One of the first things he intended to propose when he transferred to politics was that Europol should be empowered under federal legislation, like the American FBI, automatically to investigate major crimes. Kidnapping – as it was in the United States – would obviously be a federal offence. Quickly he finished: ‘If it comes to negotiation, Europol will have the unquestionable authority and jurisdiction. If it’s murder we will still be the responsible investigating force, in view of who it is. And there will be the same need for your involvement.’

‘I haven’t heard anything about it on a newscast,’ said Blake.

‘The Americans have asked for a publicity black-out.’

‘Which means they want to negotiate – themselves – and possibly pay any demanded ransom,’ said Claudine. ‘And that’s two different things. Negotiating we’ve talked about. Paying we haven’t.’

‘Ultimately I suppose that’s the decision of the parents,’ said Sanglier.

Claudine and Blake erupted in unison, stopping just as abruptly. Blake waved his hand invitingly to Claudine and said: ‘After you.’

‘Paying should be the last resort, not the first,’ insisted Claudine. ‘If they get the money there’s no reason to keep the child alive. If she is still alive, that is.’

‘I agree,’ Blake confirmed.

‘And I agree with both of you,’ said Sanglier. ‘We haven’t established that it is a kidnap yet. So we can’t answer any of these questions. We have to wait.’

Claudine hesitated, aware that Sanglier had avoided a commitment. ‘We’ll operate out of Brussels this time?’ Their previous investigation had been into a Europe-wide series of horrific murders committed by a Triad group terrorizing young illegal immigrants into prostitution: without a central focus a co-ordinating incident room had been established at Europol’s headquarters at The Hague.

‘I would have thought that was obvious,’ said Sanglier.

‘We’re going to need proper communications from the beginning,’ declared Claudine.

Now it was Sanglier who hesitated, looking at her steadily. ‘You want Kurt Volker?’

‘He’s brilliant.’

‘He also operates unconventionally,’ Sanglier reminded her, knowing the protest was a weak one: because it had been expedient, during the Triad investigation he’d unwillingly condoned the German expert’s method of hacking his way through every computer system in Europe like some lost explorer cutting a path through jungle undergrowth.

‘Our previous case was Europol’s first. And established the need for its existence: our existence. We wouldn’t have been able to do that without Kurt,’ Claudine said simply, confident she had an unarguable case. She went on: ‘If America’s involved – the very FBI that we’re modelled upon – we can’t afford to fail, any more than we could have the first time. At any time.’

‘I’ll have to see if he’s available.’

‘He is,’ said Claudine. ‘I checked before coming here.’ She stopped short of adding that the German was as anxious as she was for another assignment.

‘That was extremely prescient of you,’ said Sanglier testily.

It had to be the father, concluded Claudine: the fear – maybe even the knowledge – that the old man didn’t fully deserve all the homage for his wartime exploits, and that Claudine knew it. Would she ever be able to find a way to tell this confusing, deeply uncertain man that his father’s genuine bravery totally justified every accolade and honour?

Blake said: ‘Will you work from Brussels with us?’

Sanglier shook his head, intending to be instantly available for any call from Paris. ‘Not on a day-to-day basis. Brussels is easily reached. I’ll come as and when I judge it necessary.’

As they rose to leave Sanglier said: ‘This could be even bigger than the Triads. Don’t forget that.’

Claudine doubted that they would be allowed to.

On their way back along the corridor Blake said: ‘You two have any personal problems the last time?’

‘Not really,’ said Claudine. If she were right about Sanglier the bastard had virtually offered her to his lesbian wife, which was difficult to conceive, unless he was sexually perverse. It could explain their marriage, she supposed. ‘Why?’

‘Thought the atmosphere was a little chilly at times.’

‘Just professional, as I told you on the way here.’

‘He’s right about its importance.’

‘Unless she’s found, safe and well, by the time we get to Brussels.’

He stood directly opposite her in the elevator, looking at her unblinkingly: his eyes had a strange blueness, seeming to vary from light to dark. He said: ‘Well, how did I do?’

‘You could have been a little more deferential,’ replied Claudine honestly.

The easy smile came at once. ‘What the hell! He can’t put electrodes on my balls or shoot me, can he?’

Shit, thought Claudine, at once recognizing the psychological flaw. He’d survived Ireland and convinced himself he was invulnerable. So everything now had to be a test, pushed to the limit. Such people were dangerous.

Claudine did not return to her own office but went immediately to Kurt Volker’s on the floor below. The plump, habitually dishevelled German beamed at the announcement but agreed there was no purpose in his travelling with her to Brussels until they learned what sort of investigation it was.

The man gestured to his terminals. ‘I don’t really need to be with you at all. These can take me anywhere I want to go without getting out of my chair.’

‘I’d feel more comfortable with you closer,’ said Claudine.

‘I’ll be there,’ he assured her.

The late afternoon train connections gave her time to lunch with Hugo Rosetti, although in the cafeteria not in one of the better restaurants outside the Europol building. The forensic pathologist was already at a table when she arrived.

‘A lot of supposition,’ he said, after she outlined the assignment.

‘That’s what Kurt said. It’s the familiar Europol shell game, everyone shuffling responsibility.’

‘It might not even be a case at all.’

‘Let’s hope it isn’t. She’s just ten years old.’ Claudine abruptly cut herself off, alert for any reaction from the Italian. Sophia had only been three when she’d died, in a car crash with Rosetti at the wheel, so the circumstances were entirely different, apart from the loss of a daughter. But she always tried to avoid reminders. Rosetti gave no reaction.

‘Kurt’s part of the team?’ questioned the Italian, as their meal arrived.

‘We’re going to need him, if it turns out to be a crime.’

‘But not a pathologist?’ They’d met when Rosetti was appointed to the Triad investigation.

‘We don’t have a body yet. Hopefully we won’t get one.’ She paused, momentarily uncertain. What the hell, she thought. ‘And it might be a good idea for us to give each other a little space, don’t you think?’

He sipped his wine, to give himself time. ‘Do you?’

Now it was Claudine who didn’t immediately reply. ‘I believe you know how I think. And how I feel.’

‘And you know how I feel.’

Claudine pushed her plate aside. ‘Round and round we go in a circle.’