Frederick Forsyth - The Negotiator

Vice President Odell cleared his throat.

“Mr. Quinn, we have asked you here because we are considering asking you to take on the task of negotiating the safe return of Simon Cormack.”

Quinn nodded. He assumed he had not been brought this distance to discuss football.

“You have an update on the situation in London?” he asked.

It was a relief to the committee to have a practical matter brought up so early. Brad Johnson pushed a teletype printout down the table to Quinn, who studied it in silence.

“Coffee, Mr. Quinn?” asked Hubert Reed. Treasury Secretaries did not normally serve coffee, but he rose and went to the urn that now stood on a table against the wall. A lot of coffee had been drunk.

“Black,” said Quinn, reading. “They haven’t been in touch yet?”

There was no need to ask who “they” were.

“No,” said Odell. “Total silence. Of course there have been hundreds of hoax calls. Some in Britain. We’ve logged seventeen hundred in Washington alone. The crazies are having a field day.”

Quinn went on reading. On the flight, Weintraub had given him the entire background. He was just coming up to date with developments since. There were precious few.

“Mr. Quinn, would you have any idea who might have done this?” asked Donaldson.

Quinn looked up.

“Gentlemen, there are four kinds of kidnapper. Only four. The best from our point of view would be amateurs. They plan badly. If they succeed in the snatch, they leave traces. They can usually be located. They have little nerve, which can be dangerous. Usually the hostage-recovery teams move in, outwit them, and get the hostage back unharmed. But these weren’t amateurs.”

There was no argument. He had their attention.

“Worst of all are the maniacs-people like the Manson gang. Unapproachable, illogical. They want nothing material; they kill for fun. The good news is, these people don’t smell like maniacs. The preparations were meticulous, the training precise.”

“And the other two kinds?” asked Bill Walters.

“Of the other two, the worse are the fanatics, political or religious. Their demands are sometimes impossible to meet-literally. They seek glory, publicity-that above all. They have a Cause. Some will die for it; all will kill for it. We may think their Cause is lunatic. They don’t. And they are not stupid-just filled with hate for the Establishment and therefore their victim, who comes from it. They kill as a gesture, not in self-defense.”

“Who is the fourth type?” asked Morton Stannard.

“The professional criminal,” said Quinn without hesitation. “They want money-that’s the easy part. They have made a big investment, now locked up in the hostage. They won’t easily destroy that investment.”

“And these people?” asked Odell.

“Whoever they are, they suffer from one great disadvantage, which may work out to be good or bad for us. The guerrillas of Central and South America, the Mafia in Sicily, the Camorra in Calabria, the mountain men of Sardinia, or the Hezb’Allah in South Beirut -all operate within a safe, native environment. They don’t have to kill because they are not in a hurry. They can hold out forever. These people are holed up in Britain of all places; a very hostile environment-for them. So the strain is on them already. They will want to make their deal quickly and get away, which is good. But they may be spooked by the fear of imminent discovery, and cut and run. Leaving a body behind them, which is bad.”

“Would you negotiate with them?” asked Reed.

“If possible. If they get in touch, someone has to.”

“It sticks in my craw to pay money to scum like these,” said Philip Kelly of the FBI’s Criminal Investigations Division. People come to the Bureau from a variety of backgrounds; Kelly’s route was via the New York Police Department.

“Do professional criminals show more mercy than fanatics?” asked Brad Johnson.

“No kidnappers show mercy,” said Quinn shortly. “It’s the filthiest crime in the book. Just hope for greed.”

Michael Odell looked around at his colleagues. There was a series of slow nods.

“Mr. Quinn, will you attempt to negotiate this boy’s release?”

“Assuming the abductors get in touch, yes. There are conditions.”

“Of course. Name them.”

“I don’t work for the U.S. government. I have its cooperation in all things, but I work for the parents. Just them.”

“Agreed.”

“I operate out of London, not here. It’s too far away. I have no profile at all, no publicity, nothing. I get my own apartment, the phone lines I need. And I get primacy in the negotiation process-that needs clearing with London. I don’t need a feud with Scotland Yard.”

Odell glanced at the Secretary of State.

“I think we can prevail on the British government to concede that,” said Donaldson. “They have primacy in the criminal investigation, which will continue in parallel with any direct negotiation. Anything else?”

“I operate my own way, make my own decisions how to handle these people. There may have to be money exchanged. It’s made available. My job is to get the boy returned. That’s all. After he’s free you can hunt them down to the ends of the earth.”

“Oh, we will,” said Kelly with quiet menace.

“Money is not the problem,” said Hubert Reed. “You may understand there is no financial limit to what we’ll pay.”

Quinn kept silent, though he realized that telling the kidnappers that would be the worst route to go.

“I want no crowding, no bird-dogging, no private initiatives. And before I leave, I want to see President Cormack. In private.”

“This is the President of the United States you’re talking about,” said Lee Alexander of the CIA.

“He’s also the father of the hostage,” said Quinn. “There are things I need to know about Simon Cormack that only he can tell me.”

“He’s terribly distressed,” said Odell. “Can’t you spare him that?”

“My experience is that fathers often want to talk to someone, even a stranger. Maybe especially a stranger. Trust me.”

Even as he said it, Quinn knew there was no hope of that. Odell sighed.

“I’ll see what I can do. Jim, would you clear it with London? Tell them Quinn is coming. Tell them this is what we want. Someone has to get him some fresh clothes. Mr. Quinn, would you care to use the washroom down the hall to freshen up? I’ll call the President. What’s the fastest way to London?”

“The Concorde out of Dulles in three hours,” said Weintraub without hesitation.

“Hold space on it,” said Odell, and rose. They all did.

Nigel Cramer had news for the COBRA committee under Whitehall at 10:00 A.M. The Driver and Vehicle Licensing Center in Swansea had come up with a lead. A man with the same name as the missing former owner of the Transit van had purchased and registered another van, a Sherpa, a month earlier. There was now an address, in Leicester. Commander Williams, the head of S.O. 13 and the official investigating officer, was on his way there by police helicopter. If the man no longer owned it, he must have sold it to somebody. It had never been reported stolen.

After the conference Sir Harry Marriott took Cramer to one side.

“ Washington wants to handle the negotiations, if there are any,” he said. “They’re sending their own man over.”

“Home Secretary, I must insist that the Met. has primacy in all areas,” said Cramer. “I want to use two men from Criminal Intelligence Branch as negotiators. This is not American territory.”

“I’m sorry,” said Sir Harry. “I have to overrule you on this one. I’ve cleared it with Downing Street. If they want it that way, the view is we have to let them have it.”