All that made sense now. But why had they seized Isabel in the first place? There didn’t seem an obvious answer to that one.
I had no time to think about that now. I’d have to call Stahl back. What the hell would I say to him?
I looked out of the window for inspiration. A girl on a palomino pony was trotting along a bridle-path up the hill. It seemed absurd that I should be juggling negotiations over someone’s life and a company’s survival between three continents from this quiet spot in the heart of the English countryside. Except I wasn’t juggling. The balls were up there in mid-air, and there was no way I could catch them all before they came crashing down round my head.
I couldn’t order Stahl to call the deal off. I racked my brains trying to think of a financial excuse. There wasn’t one. I would have to tell him the truth, and trust to his humanity.
Bloomfield Weiss was renowned as one of the most inhumane investment banks on Wall Street.
I called him. Got past his secretary, told Preston Morris this was urgent information on the Dekker deal, and within two minutes was talking to Sidney Stahl himself.
‘Whaddya got, Nick? I’m in a meeting.’
I took a deep breath. ‘I’d like you to call off the deal.’
‘Why?’ The response was immediate, sharp.
‘One of Dekker Ward’s employees was kidnapped in Brazil last month. The kidnappers have said that they will kill her unless we call off the takeover of Dekker Ward.’
‘What is this shit? Is this for real?’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘I can’t call off the deal now. Anyway, why should I? Dekker Ward’s employees aren’t my responsibility. If they want to kill their own people, I can’t stop them. This makes no sense.’
‘This woman means a lot to me, Sidney.’
There was silence at the other end of the phone. For a moment, my hopes rose. Maybe he was considering going along with my request.
But he wasn’t. ‘I’m sorry, Nick. You’re an emotional guy and you’ve gotten yourself emotionally involved in this one. Look, I’m grateful you brought me the transaction, and it’s a great deal. But this is business. This could be the most important deal in Bloomfield Weiss’s history. I can’t stop it now. It’s time for you to step back, Nick. Tell ’em you’ve spoken to me and there’s nothing I can do.’
‘But she’ll die!’
‘This thing’s too big to stop now. I’m sorry. ’Bye Nick.’
The phone went dead.
Jesus! I couldn’t believe it. In the last few hours, I had discovered that Isabel was alive, only to realize that there was nothing I could do to keep her that way. I imagined her shut away in a room somewhere in Rio. God knows what she looked like now after a month in captivity. What was she thinking? Did she know about the threat? Did she know she would die unless I did something to save her? And did she realize that in fact there was nothing I could do?
I sat there, my head in my hands, feeling useless, worthless.
I thought about going to the police. They might arrest Eduardo, and the more I thought about it the more I was sure it was Eduardo, not Ricardo, who had ordered the kidnapping. But although it was clear to me that he was involved, there was no proof whatsoever. Even if the police arrested him, he would no doubt hire a top-class lawyer who would point out the lack of evidence. The British police would have to work with their opposite numbers in Brazil. In fact, as I thought about it, the crime had been committed there against a Brazilian citizen. There would be all kinds of legal limitations to what the British police could do.
I cursed myself. Getting Bloomfield Weiss to take over Dekker had seemed like a just piece of revenge for all that Ricardo and Eduardo had done to me and others. It had been sweet at first, but now that it could lead to Isabel’s death, it tasted rotten.
I didn’t really blame Stahl. He had behaved just as I would have expected him to. There was no reason for me to believe that Bloomfield Weiss would be any more human than Dekker.
I dialled Luís. It took several attempts to get through Rio’s overloaded exchange, but finally I heard the ringing tone. Luís picked up the phone immediately.
‘Nick?’ His voice was breathless, full of hope.
I shattered it. ‘Stahl won’t change his mind. Bloomfield Weiss are going ahead with the deal.’
Luís snapped. ‘No!’ His voice cracked. There was silence as he pulled himself together. ‘Couldn’t you persuade him? Does the man have no feelings? Perhaps I should talk to him.’
‘There’s no point, Luís. He’s not going to change his mind.’
‘I’ll call him,’ said Luís. ‘I’ll tell him.’
So I let him go and try his luck with Stahl, knowing there was no chance it would work.
I slept little that night. I got up at about two and called Luís. I wasn’t surprised to hear that he had had no luck with Stahl. Our last hope would be if he could persuade the kidnappers that there was no point in killing Isabel; that they should accept money instead. Luís was optimistic, I wasn’t. Eduardo didn’t need money. Eduardo hated me. He probably hated Isabel too.
The next day, Thursday, was a long one. My room felt like a cell. I couldn’t leave it, except to wash and eat as quickly as possible. I avoided Jamie and Kate as much as I could, gulping down my meals and disappearing back up there.
But at least now I knew Isabel was still alive, and while she was alive there was still hope. There was a chance the kidnappers would spare her. Maybe they would switch back to the ransom demand as Nelson had suggested.
I couldn’t just stew in my room doing nothing, letting the minutes tick away, waiting for Luís to try to persuade Zico to let Isabel live. Anyway, it wasn’t Zico who needed persuading, it was Eduardo.
That was it! I couldn’t talk to Eduardo, but I might just get somewhere with Ricardo.
I rushed downstairs, picked up the phone and dialled his number.
‘Dekker.’
It was strange to hear that voice again. Crisp and in control.
‘It’s Nick Elliot.’
Silence for a moment. Then, ‘Yes, Nick, what can I do for you?’ The voice was cold but polite.
‘I want to talk to you.’
‘I’m listening.’
‘No, not on the phone. In person. I’ll meet you on one of the benches outside Corney and Barrow.’ I looked at my watch. It was a quarter to two. ‘At three o’clock.’
A pause. ‘OK,’ said Ricardo, and the phone clicked.
I asked Kate to drive me to the station. We passed the brief journey in silence. Kate didn’t ask what was on my mind, and I didn’t tell her. A train journey and a taxi-ride later, and I was at Canary Wharf. It was ten past three when I reached the benches outside Corney and Barrow. Ricardo was there, waiting.
I sat next to him. It was a warm day. He was jacketless, with his shirt cuffs rolled up. He was staring at the rusty old boat that was permanently moored in the dock. The odd burst of laughter came from the open doors of Corney and Barrow, where determined lunch-time drinkers lingered on into the afternoon. Above and behind us rose the Canary Wharf tower itself, proud and white in the afternoon sunlight.
‘What do you want? I’m busy,’ Ricardo said, without looking at me.
‘Isabel’s still alive.’ I watched him closely as I said this. I thought I saw something flicker in him, a slight widening of his eyes, a stiffening of his posture, but then it was gone. He sat there impassively, staring ahead. ‘But, then, you know that, don’t you?’
‘I didn’t know that,’ he answered. ‘I’m glad to hear it.’