Part 64 (1/2)
CHAPTER.
TWENTY.
h.e.l.lo?” ”It's me.”
Charlotte caught her breath, knowing Derek could only be telephoning her at Ockham House if something had gone drasti-cally wrong. It was not yet ten o'clock on Thursday morning. Another nine hours were due to have elapsed before they spoke again. She wanted to ask what had happened, but could contrive no way of doing so without arousing the suspicion of any of Golding's men who might be listening. And the recent increase in whirrs and clicks on the line had convinced her they were listening-all the time.
”Don't say anything,” Derek continued. ”Just be where you would be at seven-in half an hour. We'll talk then.”
392.
R O B E R T G O D D A R D.
In his hotel room in Corunna, Derek put the telephone down and looked across at Frank, profiled against the picture-windowed vista of sea and sky. ”So far so good,” he said. ”I wonder how she'll react when I tell her what you have in mind.”
”What we have in mind,” growled Frank. ”You agreed it was the only course left open to us.”
Derek could not deny he had. But that had been last night, after he had found his room at the Reyes Catolicos ransacked and they had quit the hotel in a panicky scramble; after they had driven fast along winding roads up into the hills north of Santiago and taken to rough forest tracks until they were sure n.o.body was following; after they had waited and watched for hours in the inky darkness until they were absolutely certain they had made good their escape. At dawn, they had headed for Corunna, the provincial capital, a modern city crouching grey and wind-scoured on the rocky rim of the Atlantic Ocean. Here, a busy urban populace had supplied much-needed camouflage and a couple of rooms in a high-rise hotel overlooking the sea an ideal sanctuary. And here Derek, his nerve and judgement patched together with food and rest and hot running water, had begun to question the strategy to which he had earlier given his unqualified consent.
”Having second thoughts?” asked Frank.
”No. Not exactly. It's just-”
”It's just you can hardly believe now you were in that back-alley, with a knife at your throat. Or that sweet reason isn't going to win Delgado over.”
”I suppose so.”
”Well, you were. And it isn't.”
”Will your way work any better?”
”I'm not sure.” Frank turned and stared out for a moment at the gulls wheeling and screeching over the harbour. Then he said: ”But, if it doesn't, nothing else will.”
Ten minutes after Charlotte had reached Derek's house, the telephone rang and she found herself talking to him again, this time more freely. When she heard what form Delgado's answer had taken, she did not know who to feel more anxious for: Derek, whom she had led into greater danger than either of them had antic.i.p.ated; or Samantha, whose freedom now seemed more unattainable than ever.
H A N D I N G L O V E.
393.
Her instinctive reaction was that the time really had to come to tell the police everything they knew. But, to her surprise, Derek did not agree.
”Frank thinks-we both think-there's one other approach worth trying. We reckon it stands an excellent chance of success.”
”What is it?”
”It's why I phoned you this morning rather than this evening. We can't risk any further direct contact with Delgado. But he does take us seriously now. He's bound to. So, if we could negotiate with him indirectly, through an intermediary . . .”
”What intermediary?”
”You, Charlotte. Frank's plan is to place an advert in tomorrow's International Herald Tribune, using the wording the kidnappers stipulated, but specifying they should telephone you there-on my number. That should keep you one step ahead of the police. You could call us here to tell us their response.”
”Their response to what?”
”Our terms. Release Samantha immediately or we'll take Vicente Ortiz's statement to the Spanish press.”
”You wouldn't.”
”Delgado must believe we would. You must persuade him.”
”But . . . the risks are . . .”
”Appalling. As they have been all along.”
”You think they're worth taking? I mean you, Derek. You think this is what we should do?”
There was a lengthy pause, during which she sensed rather than heard him bite back several possible replies. Then he said: ”If we go to the police now and name Delgado, there's insufficient time left for them to make discreet enquiries. They may well end up alerting Delgado to their suspicions long before they're able to establish where Samantha's being held. What happened last night leaves me in little doubt how Delgado would respond in such circ.u.mstances.”
She realized then, as she supposed Derek must already have realized, how irrevocable their decision to go it alone had proved. At some stage of which neither had been fully aware, they had pa.s.sed the point of no return. There was no way back now. There might indeed be no way out at all. But, if there was, Frank's plan offered the only hope of finding it. ”All right,” she said. ”We'll do it.”
394.
R O B E R T G O D D A R D.
Charlotte telephoned the International Herald Tribune offices in Paris straightaway. After parting with her credit card number, she obtained a guarantee that all editions of Friday's paper would carry, prominently displayed in the personal column of the cla.s.sified advertis.e.m.e.nts: PEN PALS CAN BE REUNITED. ORWELL WILL PAY. CALL 44892315509. Then she called Derek again to confirm it would appear.
”Well done, Charlotte. I'll buy a copy here. After our brush with them in Santiago-and our subsequent disappearance-I don't think they'll be able to resist making contact.”
”And when they do?”
”You must convince them we mean what we say. There really is no other way.”
He was right. But Charlotte suspected he would have preferred to be wrong, would infinitely have preferred, like her, to find some safe and secure alternative. When the telephone rang a few moments after she had put it down, she thought for an instant he might have done just that. In her eagerness to believe he had, she grabbed at the receiver and said ”Derek?”
”Tunbridge Wells 315509?” a gruff male voice enquired.
”Er . . . Yes.” Charlotte winced at her own stupidity. She should have claimed he had the wrong number, put the telephone down and refrained from answering when it rang again.
”Can I speak to Mr Derek Fairfax, please?” The gruff voice was vaguely familiar, but Charlotte could not quite place it.
”No . . . I mean, he isn't here.”
”Who am I speaking to, may I ask?”
”I . . . I might ask the same of you.”