Майкл Ридпат - The Marketmaker

‘We wait for the kidnappers to get in touch. It may be quick, or it may take several days.’

Just then Cordelia burst into the room, and ran to her father. He held her, his tall frame stooped over her, protecting her. I could see his expression, it was still firm, but they clung to each other for a long time.

Nelson caught my eye, and we left the room. We moved into a smaller sitting room with a TV in it.

Nelson turned to me. ‘He’s taking it well at the start. Some of these tough businessmen do. But it won’t last. It’s hard when it’s your daughter.’

‘I’m sure it will be.’

‘Are you a good friend of hers?’

The question was innocent, but the look that accompanied it was not. I nodded, letting Nelson draw his own conclusions.

‘I work with Isabel,’ I said. ‘I believe our firm has some kind of kidnap insurance.’

‘That’s technically illegal in Brazil. But I know some of the firms in London who operate in that area. Tell your employer to get their insurers to contact me here.’

‘OK,’ I said. We were trusting a lot to this man’s judgement, I thought. But Ricardo had said there was a procedure, and I was glad we had someone on our side who knew it.

There was one thing I had to ask him. ‘When I escaped, I left her with the kidnappers. I feel bad about that. I think I should have stayed with her. To help her.’

Nelson took hold of my arm.

‘One of the most common reactions to kidnapping from the relatives or friends of the victim is guilt. Guilt that they should have done something to prevent their loved one from being taken. It’s always a waste of time, and it can get in the way of thinking rationally about how to set the victim free.’

‘But I could have cheered her up if I’d stayed with her. Helped her through it.’

Nelson lowered his voice. ‘Frankly, Nick, you are lucky you did escape. Isabel is safe. She has a rich father willing to pay a fair ransom. You? You could easily have been killed to show that they mean business. You’re better off here.’

I shuddered. Perhaps Nelson was right. But I would do anything, anything I could to get Isabel out.

I spent the day at the Pereira apartment. A policeman came, a detective called Da Silva wearing the same sort of bad suit and loud tie that detectives all over the world wear. As Nelson had suggested, he promised to keep a low profile. Apparently, by focusing on the methods, or modus operandi of the kidnap gangs, the police were having some success in making arrests. Certainly more than they had in surprising a drop with all guns blazing. Da Silva interviewed me for an hour, asking me for every conceivable detail I could remember. Then he organized a tap on the phone, and asked to be kept informed on a daily basis.

The waiting was difficult, and it had only just begun. Luís tried to carry on with the bank’s business, but he couldn’t concentrate. So he paced around restlessly, picking up papers and documents, occasionally talking to me or Cordelia.

Cordelia insisted on staying. She too tried reading, but in the end she turned on the TV in the small sitting room, and sat staring blankly at it.

I was very tired: I hadn’t slept at all the previous night. But I couldn’t sleep now. I spent the time trying to control the agitation inside me. I wanted to scream, shout, do something. But, of course, there was nothing to do.

I became morbid, I couldn’t help it. I found myself snatching at the memories of things Isabel and I had done together as if they would be the last. This was ridiculous. The most likely thing was that she would be released unharmed, and I would see her again. But I could only force my brain to think of the most probable outcome for a few minutes. It would always drift back into thinking the worst.

Nelson stayed too, but remained inconspicuous. I spoke to Ricardo and put Nelson in touch with the kidnap insurance broker at Lloyds who had written the Dekker policy. They seemed to know of Nelson, which was encouraging. Under the policy the insurance company would cover a ransom paid by the family or Dekker up to a limit of a million dollars.

The phone rang on and off all day. Luís wanted to keep in touch with the office. He told them his daughter was ill and needed him. He wasn’t very specific and it didn’t make much sense, but he was the boss so no one could argue.

I stayed for supper, and then went back to the hotel. It seemed empty without Isabel. I went up to her room, and packed her stuff. I felt uncomfortable, gathering together her small personal belongings. It seemed a strangely domestic thing, as though at the moment we had been torn apart, we were making a step closer. The irony made me feel sick.

I returned to my room with her case, and got ready for bed. The phone rang. I looked at my watch. Eleven o’clock. I picked it up. ‘Hallo?’

‘Mr Nicholas Elliot?’

The voice was harsh, the accent so strong I could barely distinguish my own name. My heart-rate quickened.

‘Yes?’

‘I have your friend. You give me one million dollars. I let her go.’

My mind raced. I knew I wasn’t the person to carry out this negotiation. I needed to get them on to Luís and Nelson.

‘I am not her friend. I just work with her,’ I said.

‘If you not give me one million dollars, she dies!’ the voice said. The accent was so pronounced and the words so melodramatic that it hardly seemed real. But it was.

‘No, wait! You telephone her father. This is his number,’ and I read it down the phone. ‘He will talk to you.’

‘OK,’ said the voice, and the phone clicked.

I hung up and raced to dial Luís’s number before the voice. He answered, tense. I told him what to expect. I said I would be right round.

It took me fifteen minutes to jump in a taxi and get there. Luís and Nelson were deep in conversation, with Cordelia listening.

‘They want a million dollars,’ said Luís. ‘They want it dropped off on Wednesday morning at two a.m. They say if I don’t pay, they’ll kill her. I told them to call back in the morning.’

It was Monday night. Wednesday morning was just over twenty-four hours away.

I could see that there was some tension between Nelson and Luís. ‘What’s the problem?’ I asked.

Luís glanced at Nelson. ‘A million dollars is nothing for Isabel’s life. I want to pay it.’

‘And I feel we should ask for proof of life. Something to show that they’ve got her, and that she’s alive,’ the little man said. ‘And then we should negotiate the price down from there. They will expect it.’

‘But we know she was alive when they took her. I don’t want to anger them. Believe me, I can afford a million dollars.’

For the first time, Luís was showing signs of strain. Nelson paused to defuse the situation, and then spoke calmly. ‘We don’t know they’ve got her. It might be a hoax.’

‘How can it be a hoax? No one knows she has been kidnapped, do they? Just us and the police.’

‘What is this proof-of-life business?’ I asked Nelson. ‘Do you want a photo of her with a newspaper?’

‘No, that can be faked. The best thing is to ask them a question that only Isabel will know the answer to. If they call back with the correct response, then we know they have her and she is alive.’

Both Luís and Nelson were looking at me. They wanted my advice. I wasn’t going to duck the responsibility.

‘Why don’t you do what Nelson suggests? If they have Isabel, it can’t hurt, can it?’

Luís sighed, and rubbed his temples. ‘OK’ He nodded.

I slept in the guest room at Luís’s apartment that night. Or, rather, I didn’t sleep, but I lay down under some covers and let my brain tumble.