Abruptly he then reached into a drawer and came up with an address book. He began to search it for a number. “A million dollars cash,” he said with a wry face, “is quite a chunk of money to raise quickly and deviously — even for me. So I’d better get the ball rolling tonight.”
He reached for the phone.
The ransom call came at six twenty-five the next evening. Tillman answered, and Fred Hammond picked up an extension phone at the same instant.
“Mr. Stanford Tillman?” a male voice, soft and cool, inquired.
“Yes, yes, Tillman speaking.”
“You have the money? One million in fifties and hundreds?” Though the enunciation was careful, the grammar good, there was the mildest hint of a foreign accent.
“Yes, the money is here in a suitcase, ready for delivery.”
“The bills are old and unmarked?”
“Yes, as you demanded.” Tillman contained an urge to shout an obscene threat.
“Very well. Now, sir, you will leave with the ransom at once for San Francisco in your private plane. But for the pilot, you will travel alone. A reservation has been made for you at the Wellington Bayview Hotel. You will check in and go to your room, you will not leave it until you have further instructions. Is that clear?”
“I understand, yes.”
“You may have a considerable wait, perhaps a day or two. Do not use the phone, simply wait. Your contact will say, ‘I have a message from Andrea.’ Do not take orders from anyone who does not use this identification.
“We will be watching. We will be able to detect the police by the most sophisticated means. If they are present, we will chop off your wife’s hand and mail it to you — the left one with the rings. Next, you will receive a foot, and then—”
“Why, you filthy—”
“And then, if you are still not persuaded, we will make you a present of her beautiful head. Now, one minute has passed and we will allow you fifteen seconds to speak with your wife.”
There was a pause. In the background, Tillman could hear what seemed the hollow rumble of traffic crossing a bridge, the deep bass of a ship’s horn.
“Hello — Stan?”
“Yes, Andrea, yes, darling, it’s Stan. Are you all right?”
“Yes, and that’s the only question I can answer. But, Stan, I’m so frightened! These people are going to do some horrible things to me if you don’t pay, or if you bring in the police. I’m convinced they’ll kill me if you don’t deliver the money. Darling, I love you — and please hurry! Because I can’t bear another day in this—”
Andrea was sliced off. The line was empty.
“Well,” Tillman said grimly, “what do you think, Fred?”
Hammond ran fingers nervously through the gray bristle of his hair. “I don’t think they’re bluffing,” he answered. “Sometimes from a voice you can get the personality, the character of a man — and that one is a little colder than death.”
Tillman nodded. “I got the same feeling. The threat he made about Andrea’s hand... It makes me shudder. Because I have this conviction that he means it absolutely, means it literally. He’s psychotic, demented. If I could have just one minute alone with him!”
“Did you notice the foreign accent, sir? Very slight, I had to strain to catch it.”
“Yes. I’d say he’s a Latin type, well-educated. What else did you notice, Fred? How about sounds in the background?”
“There was traffic noise, definitely. Heavy traffic nearby, with that hollow drumming of wheels on a bridge.”
“I agree,” said Tillman. “They were in a building near a bridge, over water, I think. Just before Andrea came on, I heard the blast of a ship’s horn. It was unmistakable.”
“San Francisco Bay?”
“Possibly, yes. It would make sense, since that’s where I’m to deliver the ransom.” Tillman stood. “I’d better get moving, Fred. You call Mike at the airport and tell him I’ll be taking off for San Francisco within the hour. He’s been alerted to stand by until further notice.”
“You want me to cover with an excuse for the quick trip, sir?”
“If he asks what it’s about, say you overheard talk of a big business deal in the works.”
“All right, sir. And then I’ll be waiting in the limousine for you.”
“I’ll be only a minute.” In passing, he dropped a hand to Fred’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re on my team, Fred. It’s a terrible time for me, the worst in my life. And I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
With a million dollars cash in an outsized suitcase, Stanford Tillman arrived that night at the Wellington Bayview in San Francisco. There was indeed a reservation in his name and after checking in, he ascended to a room perched high above the city, having a grand view of the bay and the Golden Gate Bridge. For a period he stood by the window, wondering if perhaps somewhere out there, in a sordid, makeshift prison, Andrea waited in terror for him to buy her freedom. Although it was one of the highest ransoms in history, Tillman was eager to pay it, had given no thought to the money, except as a means to an end.
He left the window and after stripping off his jacket and tie, sat in a chair with his feet propped by the big suitcase — that million dollar ottoman. His face was grim.
Near one a.m. he closed his eyes for the first time, and fitfully slept upright in the chair, though the room was fully lighted. A few minutes after two, the phone rang. Instantly awake, he lifted the receiver.
“Stanford Tillman,” he said.
“I have a message from Andrea.” It was the same icy-smooth voice.
“I’m listening,” said Tillman.
“You have it with you?”
“Yes.”
“Go to the lobby at once. Ask at the desk for an envelope in your name. It will contain an aerial map. Return to your room with the map, and hurry. There will be another call with final instructions for the delivery. You have exactly five minutes. If you miss the next call, there will not be another.”
Tillman put up the phone, glanced at his watch, pulled on his jacket and went out the door. Locking it, he plunged down the corridor to the elevators.
“Someone left an envelope for me,” he told the clerk, then gave his name and room number.
After a puzzled search, the clerk shook his head. “Sorry, Mr. Tillman, there’s nothing at all for you, sir. Perhaps a bit later. Would you like me to—”
“No, never mind,” Tillman said. He dashed off to the elevator and returned to his room.
He wasn’t at all surprised to find the suitcase gone. There was another of those geometrical, block-printed notes on the bed:
If the count is correct, your wife will be driven back to Los Angeles tonight and released. Be patient. If there is a delay, do not call police!
Tillman sighed. Another torturous wait; was it a stall? Well, he would give them all that night, plus six hours’ leeway. No longer; and the minute Andrea was safe at home, the hunt would be on!
It was midmorning of the same day, but Andrea did not know that it was daylight because her watch had been taken and the third-floor room had no windows. There was air-conditioning, however. From a vent near the ceiling, chilled air drifted down.
The room, with an adjoining, windowless bath, was furnished with a bed, a couple of chairs and a table. There was also a lamp which she left burning to dispel her fear and loneliness. The cell was entered by means of a concealed panel made of metal but finished on the outside to match the exterior wall. The room was soundproof and Andrea had been told that it had been redesigned for the purpose of holding her prisoner.
Andrea was fed simple but adequate meals three times a day, and by these meals she could approximate the time. Her last meal had been dinner, but that was too many hours ago, it seemed, and no one had arrived with breakfast. She sensed that the delay had some special meaning which she felt was not encouraging but ominous. Suppose they left her here to die?