'Maury, he's been beaten.'
Anderson went behind his desk and sat down. 'I don't know what to do, Katherine.'
Katherine realised she'd finished her cigarette. She stubbed the butt in a crystal ashtray and lit another. 'Do we have the equipment?'
Anderson nodded. 'Sure. We were planning to sell them to the Serbs. They're all ready to go, complete with SerboCroat instruction manuals.'
Katherine blew a tight plume of smoke up to the ceiling. 'So we do as they say.'
'You realise that with the cash we're talking about a million dollars, give or take?' Anderson said.
Katherine's eyes hardened. 'And you realise that we're talking about my husband,' she said coldly. 'Give or take.'
Anderson held her glance for several seconds, then he nodded.
'I'll make the arrangements,' he said quietly.
'Do that, Maury,' Katherine said. 'Do whatever it takes.'
Over the weeks of his captivity, Mersiha opened up slowly to Freeman like a flower sensing the morning sun. It started with her wishing him good morning when she came to empty his bucket, and then she began to ask him if there was anything he wanted. He asked for a razor and soap and when she finally brought it to him she sat on her heels and watched openmouthed as he shaved.
Her English was surprisingly good. Mersiha explained that her mother had been a teacher of languages – English, French and Hungarian – and that before the war she'd spent most evenings at the kitchen table studying. Freeman asked her what had happened to her parents but she'd answered with just one word: dead. She resisted any further probing and Freeman realised that if he pushed too hard he risked damaging their fragile relationship.
Despite her new willingness to talk to him, the girl left Freeman in no doubt that he was still her prisoner. She never got within range of the chain which kept him bound to the boiler, and the Kalashnikov never left her hands. And while she smiled and sometimes even laughed with him, he was always aware of a hardness in her eyes which belied her years.
Freeman wondered what she would do if her brother's demands were not met, whether she would still be prepared to kill him. He decided that she would, without hesitation.
The black limousine pulled up almost silently and the back door opened. Maury Anderson could see nothing through the darkened windows but he could smell Sal Sabatino's cologne and cigars. He climbed into the luxurious car and closed the door behind him.
The man sitting in the back seat made even the stretch limousine feel cramped. He sat with his legs wide apart, his ample stomach threatening to break free from the constraints of his tailored trousers. He had a big cigar in his right hand and a glass of red wine in his left. 'This better be fucking important, Maury,' he said. He jabbed the cigar at Anderson, punctuating his words.
'It is, Mr Sabatino. This could be what you've been waiting for.'
Sabatino's smooth-skinned plump face was covered with a thin film of sweat despite the limousine's air-conditioning. He took a long sip of wine and studied Anderson with eyes that looked like they belonged to a dead fish.
'The company's going to need cash to get Tony out. A lot of cash. The banks sure as hell won't give it to us, so it gives me a reason to look for outside investment. And who do I know who wants to invest?'
'How much?'
'As much as you want, Mr Sabatino. With Tony out of the way, I'll be able to approve it. His wife's too upset to even think about company business. She'll leave it up to me.'
Sabatino nodded. A gold crucifix glittered at his throat under his open-necked white silk shirt. 'I want more than just a part of the company, Maury. I want it all.'
'I know that, Mr Sabatino. But this is a start.'
'Just so long as you know it's just a start.' He flicked the ash from his cigar and it sprinkled over the carpet. Anderson made no move to leave and Sabatino raised an eyebrow. 'Is there something else?'
'I don't suppose you have any…'
Sabatino put his head back and laughed. He stuck his cigar between his lips and took out a small package which he handed to Anderson. 'Enjoy yourself,' he said.
The limousine pulled away leaving Anderson standing on the roadside. He could smell the cologne long after the car had disappeared from sight.
Katherine Freeman put Buffy's food bowl on the kitchen floor and as the dog attacked the meat and biscuits she went through into the sitting room and poured herself a drink. She dropped down on to a sofa, kicked off her shoes and lit a cigarette. Her hand trembled as she inhaled. In the kitchen, Buffy's nose banged the bowl against a kitchen cabinet in her eagerness to get at the food.
'Damn dog,' muttered Katherine under her breath. Buffy was pretty much Tony's dog, but the retriever seemed not even to be aware that her master had been missing for more than two months. All she wanted to do was eat, sleep and play with her frisbee. The first thing Katherine intended to do after Tony got back was to tell him how disloyal his dog was. Well, the second thing maybe. Or the third. The telephone rang and she jumped.
She took a sip of brandy and Coke before picking it up. If it was bad news, she'd rather hear it under the influence of an anaesthetic. It was Maury Anderson and she steeled herself for the worst as she always did when he called. 'Good afternoon, Maury,' she said, fighting to keep her composure. She realised she was only a step away from screaming.
'Good news,' Anderson said, as if sensing how tense Katherine was. 'The consignment has arrived in Italy.'
'When will they let Tony go?' Katherine asked. Buffy wandered in from the kitchen, sniffing as if searching for more food.
'It won't be long now,' he assured her. 'Their middle-man will inspect the goods, then they'll be shipped over to Serbia. The terrorists have promised to release Tony as soon as the crates are on Serbian territory.'
'Do you believe them?'
'Maybe. But I've got a fall-back position. I've met some people in the security business who say they can help. They've dealt with kidnappings before. If the Serbs screw us around, they'll move in.'
'In Sarajevo?'
'They've got contacts there. Are you okay?' he asked, the concern obvious in his voice.
'I'm fine,' she replied. 'Under the circumstances.'
'I could come around,' he said.
Katherine took a mouthful of brandy and Coke as she considered his offer, but then declined, telling him that she preferred to be on her own. She stayed on the sofa for most of the day, chain-smoking Virginia Slims and refilling her glass at regular intervals. From time to time she looked over at a collection of framed photographs on the sideboard. Two in particular held her attention: a formal wedding portrait of her and Tony under a huge chestnut tree, taken just minutes after they had exchanged vows, and a smaller photograph of Tony and their son, Luke, laughing together as they played basketball, taken just two days before Luke died.
Mersiha sat cross-legged on the concrete floor, cradling her Kalashnikov in her lap as she watched Freeman shave. She tilted her head from side to side like a small bird, and when he shaved under his chin she lifted her head up, gritted her teeth and tightened the skin around her neck as he did.
'Why do you do that?' she asked as he splashed water over his face.
'Shave, you mean? Because it feels better. Doesn't your brother shave?'
Mersiha giggled. 'His skin is like a girl's,' she said. 'Do all Americans shave?'
'I'm not American. I'm Scottish.'
'Scottish?'
'From Scotland. Next to England. The English come from England, the Scottish come from Scotland.' He rinsed his razor in the bowl of cold water.
'But you live in America?'
Freeman nodded. 'My wife is American. What about your father? Didn't he shave?'