Dick Francis - The Danger

She looked at him with absolute shock, and I thought that until that moment she hadn't realised that paying a ransom was a very cruel business.

I drove Cenci to his office and left him there to his telephone and his grim task with the banks. Then, changing from chauffeur's uniform into nondescript trousers and sweater, I went by bus and foot to the street where the siege might still be taking place.

Nothing, it seemed, had changed there. The dark-windowed ambulance still stood against the kerb on the far side of the road from the flats, the carabinieri's cars were still parked helter-skelter in the same positions with fawn uniforms crouching around them, the television van still sprouted wires and aerials, and a commentator was still talking into camera.

Daylight had subtracted drama. Familiarity had done the same to urgency. The scene now looked not frightening but peaceful, with figures moving at walking pace, not in scurrying little runs. A watching crowd stood and stared bovinely, growing bored.

The windows on the third floor were shut.

I hovered at the edge of things, hands in pockets, hair tousled, local paper under arm, looking, I hoped, not too English. Some of the partners in Liberty Market were stunning at disguises, but I'd always found a slouch and vacant expression my best bet for not being noticed.

After a while during which nothing much happened I wandered off in search of a telephone, and rang the number of the switchboard inside the ambulance.

'Is Enrico Pucinelli there?' I asked.

'Wait.' Some mumbling went on in the background, and then Pucinelli himself spoke, sounding exhausted.

'Andrew? Is it you?'

'Yes. How's it going?'

'Nothing has altered. I am off duty at ten o'clock for an hour.'

I looked at my watch. Nine thirty-eight. 'Where are you eating?' I said.

'Gino's.'

'OK,' I said, and disconnected.

I waited for him in the brightly-lit glass-and-tile-lined restaurant that to my knowledge served fresh pasta at three in the morning with good grace. At eleven it was already busy with early lunchers, and I held a table for two by ordering loads of fettucine that I didn't want. Pucinelli, when he arrived, pushed away his cooling plateful with horror and ordered eggs.

He had come, as I knew he would, in civilian clothes, and the tiredness showed in black smudges under his eyes and in the droop of his shoulders.

'I hope you slept well,' he said sarcastically.

I moved my head slightly, meaning neither yes nor no.

'I have had two of the top brass on my neck in the van all night,' he said. 'They can't make up their fat minds about the aeroplane. They are talking to Rome. Someone in the government must decide, they say, and no one in the government wanted to disturb his sleep to think about it. You would have gone quite crazy, my friend. Talk, talk, talk, and not enough action to shit.'

I put on a sympathetic face and thought that the longer the siege lasted, the safer now for Alessia. Let it last, I thought, until she was free. Let HIM be a realist to the end.

'What are the kidnappers saying?' I asked.

'The same threats. The girl will die if they and the ransom money don't get away safely.'

'Nothing new?'

He shook his head. His eggs came with rolls and coffee, and he ate without hurry. "The baby cried half the night,' he said with his mouth full. 'The deep-voiced kidnapper keeps telling the mother he'll strangle it if it doesn't shut up. It gets on his nerves.' He lifted his eyes to my face. 'You always tell me they threaten more than they do. I hope you're right.'

I hoped so to. A crying baby could drive even a temperate man to fury. 'Can't they feed it?' I said.

'It has colic.'

He spoke with familiarity of experience, and I wondered vaguely about his private life. All our dealings had been essentially impersonal, and it was only in flashes, as now, that I heard the man behind the policeman.

'You have children?' I asked.

He smiled briefly, a glimmer in the eyes. 'Three sons, two daughters, one… expected.' He paused. 'And you?'

I shook my head. 'Not yet. Not married.'

'Your loss. Your gain.'

I laughed. He breathed deprecatingly down his nose as if to disclaim the disparagement of his lady. 'Girls grow into mamas,' he said. He shrugged. 'It happens.'

Wisdom, I thought, showed up in the most unexpected places. He finished his eggs as one at peace with himself, and drank his coffee. 'Cigarette?' he asked, edging a packet out of his shin pocket. 'No. I forgot. You don't.' He flicked his lighter and inhaled the first lungful with the deep relief of a dedicated smoker. Each to his own release: Cenci and I had found the same thing in brandy.

'During the night,' I said, 'did the kidnappers talk to anyone else?'

'How do you mean?'

'By radio.'

He lifted his thin face sharply, the family man retreating. 'No. They spoke only to each other, to the hostage family, and to us. Do you think they have a radio? Why do you think that?'

'I wondered if they were in touch with their colleagues guarding Alessia.'

He considered it with concentration and indecisively shook his head. 'The two kidnappers spoke of what was happening, from time to time, but only as if they were talking to each other. If they were also transmitting on a radio and didn't want us to know, they are very clever. They would have to guess we are already listening to every word they say.' He thought it over a bit longer and finally shook his head with more certainty. "They are not clever. I've listened to them all night. They are violent, frightened, and…' he searched for a word I would understand '… ordinary.'

'Average intelligence?'

'Yes. Average.'

'All the same, when you finally get them out, will you look around for a radio?'

'You personally want to know?'

'Yes.'

He looked at me assessingly with a good deal of professional dispassion. 'What are you not telling me?' he said.

I was not telling him what Cenci passionately wished to keep private, and it was Cenci who was paying me. I might advise full consultation with the local law, but only that. Going expressly against the customer's wishes was at the very least bad for future business.

'I simply wonder,' I said mildly, 'if the people guarding Alessia know exactly what's going on.'

He looked as if some sixth sense was busy doubting me, so to take his mind off it I said, 'I dare say you've thought of stun grenades as a last resort?'

'Stun?' He didn't know the word. "What's stun?'

'Grenades which more or less knock people out for a short while. They produce noise and shock waves, but do no permanent damage. While everyone is semi-conscious, you walk into the flat and apply handcuffs where they're needed.'

'The army has them, I think.'

I nodded. 'You are part of the army.'

'Special units have them. We don't.' He considered. 'Would they hurt the children?'

I didn't know. I could see him discarding stun grenades rapidly. 'We'll wait,' he said. 'The kidnappers cannot live there for ever. In the end, they must come out.

Cenci stared morosely at a large cardboard carton standing on the desk in his office. The carton bore stick-on labels saying FRAGILE in white letters on red, but the contents would have survived any drop. Any drop, that is, except one to kidnappers.

'Fifteen hundred million lire,' he said. 'The banks arranged for it to come from Milan. They brought it straight to this office, with security guards.'

'In that box?' I asked, surprised.

'No. They wanted their cases back… and this box was here.' His voice sounded deathly tired. 'The rest comes tomorrow. They've been understanding and quick, but the interest they're demanding will cripple me.'

I made a mute gesture of sympathy, as no words seemed appropriate. Then I changed into my chauffeur's uniform, carried the heavy carton to the car, stowed it in the boot, and presently drove Cenci home.