Seventy-two hours. He needed seventy-two hours and that should get them through the worst of it. She wasn’t too badly hooked and there was no question of her dying of withdrawal. He knew he could nurse her through it, knew he could get her off smack and get hooked on Neal, because that’s what it took. Three days of this and she’d belong to him as if he bought her at an auction. More than that, because she’d want it, too. That’s the way junkies are, and it takes a long time before they get to a place where they can stand up by themselves. So he’d wean her off the dope, and tell her he loved her, that he’d be her new man and take care of her, that they’d take the money and split and live happily ever after. Then he would whip her on an airplane and take her back and hand her over and that would be that. And it’s a shifty world, but there would be plenty of time to reflect on what a dark hole the universe is when this particularly shifty job was over. And he wasn’t letting her out of his sight, because she wasn’t going to be any Halperin kid. All he needed was seventy-two hours… seventy-two mean, sweaty hours-especially for Allie.
The ringing of the phone cut right through him. Made his heart jump a little before he reasoned that it was probably a friend of Simon’s who didn’t know his schedule. He went into the sitting room and lifted the receiver. “Hello.” “Hello, rugger.”
Neal edged to the window and inched the curtain aside. Colin probably didn’t have a gun, much less a rifle, but there was no sense taking chances.
Colin waved to him from the phone box-a cheery little wave accompanied by a wide grin. Vanessa was with him. He couldn’t see Crisp, which meant that he was out back-along with God knows how many others. Neal closed the curtain and stepped back into the middle of the room. “Hello, Colin.” “You’re dead. She with you?” “No.”
“Lying bastard. She’s dead, too.” “Come on up. We’ll talk.”
“I’ll be up, all right, rugger. Not to worry. When I’m ready.” He rang off. Neal’s mind raced. Come on, think. Cut through the fear and think. You weren’t followed; you’re sure of that. Sure or just arrogant? No, sure. Okay, who knew about this place? Simon. He’s out. Kitteredge, Levine, and Graham. Couldn’t be Kitteredge; makes no sense. Levine and Graham. Say it ain’t so, Joe. And how would they hook up with Colin? Unless they knew about him all along. Unless I was sent to make Liz Chase happy, while the Senator and everyone else wanted Allie to stay lost. So when I find her… I’m written off. I should have seen it. No files on the kid. Fed the Mackensen bullshit story like it’s gospel. No backup. No partner. Check in every day, let us know how you’re doing… Well, I’m doing pretty shitty right now, Ed.
It’s 11:15, give or take. Colin is waiting for the small hours, when screams can be written off as nightmares. When the streets are quiet. No passersby. Then he’s got you.
The fear hit him again. The slash of the knife across his face. There was no way he could take Colin, no way.
Knock it off, Neal. Think. Run it through. You could call the cops. And tell them what? That you’ve kidnapped a girl? Fed her drugs? She’s tied up in the other room? Not a good choice. Okay, deal. You have the books. Trade him the books for Allie. Why should he? He can have it all. But he needs the name of the buyer for it to do him any good. Bargain there. No, he can get that out of you. You’ll talk. Colin holds a knife to Allie’s face. Shit, babe, be honest. If he holds a knife to your face, you’ll tell him.
And where would you go? Even if you got out of here, where would you go? You could make a break for it. Throw her over your shoulder and run for the tube. It’s closed, moron, and you’d never make it five steps. A cab? Same. That leaves the car. Down the back stairs and into the garage. Assuming you make it, where could you take her? Fuck her. Maybe you can handle Crisp on the back stairs and make it to the car, but not with her. Dump her, babe.
Right, he thought. Then you’ll have another face to add to the Halperin collection. So work backward. Go from the solution to the method. Where would you like to be? What’s the ideal? Safe, quiet, isolated. A place the office doesn’t know about. Think, think, think… a place you can hear your own heartbeat. How about a cottage in the Yorkshire moors?
Where did Simon say it was? Get to work, Neal.
He started to search the apartment.
Neal found what he was looking for almost immediately. Maybe his luck was changing. It was a road map of Britain, with the route to Simon’s Yorkshire cottage marked in bright orange, and notes on how to proceed on the unmarked roads. Neal went to the phone and dialed. It rang a long time.
“Dad?”
“Where are you?”
“Just listen, because I don’t have much time. There’s some stuff you have to know…”
Neal sat down on the edge of the bed. Allie was still sound asleep. Her face and hair were damp with sweat. He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand.
“I’m sorry, kid. I screwed it up. I tried to help you out and ended up getting you in more trouble. I’m really sorry.”
He figured he still had an hour or so before show time. He didn’t feel like sitting around letting the fear eat him out. He thought some more about Joe Graham and then did a very Joe Graham thing.
He cleaned. The place was a mess anyway, and that was hardly the way to repay Simon’s hospitality. He found a broom and a mop, some powdered cleanser and floor wax, and set to work. He vacuumed and dusted, polished furniture and scrubbed and waxed the kitchen floor until the sucker gleamed like ice.
When he was done, he felt much better. Then he sat down with a book to wait it out.
The footsteps woke him. He could hear Colin trying to sneak up the front stairs. He checked his watch and was surprised that it was quarter to four.
The steps paused on the landing. He heard fumbling. He saw the thin piece of metal slip the lock. The door opened just a crack. Apparently, Colin didn’t fancy getting whacked in the face with something hard and heavy. Too bad. Neal felt the sickening bile of fear rise. He fought to hold it down as Colin’s foot pushed open the door. Colin stood in the doorway, both hands tucked inside his leather jacket. Which hand has the knife? Neal wondered. He remembered playing that game with the old Italian men in the neighborhood. Which hand has the candy? He’d never been very good at it then, either.
Colin said, “You’ve been trying to ring but the line was engaged, right?”
What if I give up, Colin? What if I throw up my hands and say you can take the book, take Allie? Instead, he said, “You should have come with an army, Colin.”
Colin stepped in and locked the door shut behind him. “For you, rugger? Mind, I’ve seen you fight.”
“You want a cup of tea? A beer?”
“We can start with a book.”
“Start and finish.”
Colin shook his head.
“Where are we, Neal? Whose place is this?”
Neal saw Colin’s left wrist tighten. So it’ll come from that side if it comes. When it comes.
“A friend’s.”
“Are you ripping him off, too?”
As a matter of fact…
“I’ll give you the book. You leave Alice.”
“True love, is it? The book’ll do me no good without the name of the buyer.”
“Okay, I’ll toss that in, too.”
Colin took a tentative step toward him. Neal backed away.
Colin said, “You’re not in much of a position to toss anything, are you, Neal lad? I think I’ll take the book and the girl. And you’ll give me the name.” The knife flashed out of his left pocket. He held it, blade turned flat, level with Neal’s eyes, no more than a foot away.