Claudine realized her own need to talk to Sanglier had become secondary in the light of the morning’s developments, but remained determined to insist he use his authority to stop the nonsense degenerating any further. She wasn’t interested in playing silly games and using her knowledge of the tap to their own advantage. They had to recover a child and to achieve that a paranoid man had to be removed before he caused God knew how much damage.
By midday Blake’s flurry of activity had eased. Smet telephoned that the computer outlet was under intense observation and Volker had independently accessed the cafe’s system and attached tracers programmed to react to the embassy’s e-mail address.
Blake was at Claudine’s shoulder when she at last spread the print-out of the latest communication between them. It was written in two lines and read: WE DETERMINE HOW AND WHEN. YOU WAIT AND OBEY.
‘We’re not going to get much from that, are we?’ he said.
‘Enough,’ said Claudine gravely. ‘Maybe more than enough.’
‘What?’
‘I need to think more about it,’ Claudine said. ‘Make sure I’ve got all there is to get.’
Nothing occurred to alter the scheduled afternoon session and by the time they assembled disappointment had begun to erode the initial excitement of the cyberspace chase. Volker explained, stage by stage, stopping short only of his newly installed monitor of the cafe’s inward and outward traffic. As if on cue Smet said the Justice Ministry had asked Belgacom to suggest any electronic check that might be possible on the Menen outlet, completing the irony by pointing out that to attach an eavesdropping facility would be illegal, although they were seeking a ruling from a High Court judge. The physical surveillance was absolute, insisted the lawyer. Computer literate plainclothes officers had been drafted in to use the facility during the day, taking the observation actually inside the cafe to identify regular users, and there were rotating squads watching from outside. A separate team had been assigned to investigate the registered owners and all their known associates. If it was established the cafe’s use was innocent the owners and all its regular users would be specifically questioned about the computerized pictures. The cafe was on the outskirts of a pedestrian and shopping precinct and all security camera film was being collected, again for comparison with Volker’s digital images.
Andre Poncellet picked up as soon as Smet finished, describing as ‘overwhelming’ the response within Brussels to the previous night’s television and that day’s newspaper publication of the kidnap computer graphics. It was going to take several days – maybe even longer – to investigate every one.
Claudine always regarded what she did as a contribution to an investigation, not its most important element, and was content for the practical discussions to dominate the meeting. It was, she acknowledged, the first time this supposed overall planning group had been given the opportunity to operate in anything like a proper, practical way. Consciously Claudine let the discussion swirl about her, always aware of it, listening to it, but at the same time instinctively lapsing as well into people-watching.
From their earlier encounters she hadn’t expected quite such a forceful emergence from Jean Smet, although she accepted Blake’s direct approach that morning had lifted the Justice Ministry lawyer’s participation beyond its original liaison remit. Andre Poncellet was showing no surprise at the other Belgian’s occupying centre stage: seemed prepared, even, to surrender a leading role to the man.
Claudine’s greatest concentration was upon John Norris. When she’d first entered the room in which Norris was already waiting she’d been briefly gripped by the fury she’d felt finding herself tiptoeing around her hotel room, actually taking care to avoid cupboard-closing or clothes-rustling noises. She was completely controlled now, still angry but able to find an excuse for what had happened in the man’s illness. She hoped it wouldn’t be too much longer before she was able to reach Sanglier: certainly before the day was out. His not being available was a nuisance.
Norris appeared as attentive as everyone else, but there was an artificial studiousness about the way he was avoiding her gaze: several times it seemed difficult for the man to stop himself smiling in a situation in which there was no reason to smile. And he was making no contribution to the discussion.
She was frightened, Norris decided: guessing how close he was although there was no way she could know how he’d got there. She’d have to wait to learn that: wait for the confrontation. He’d look directly enough at her then. Face her down: force an admission. He had enough on tape from the hotel recording. Words that could only have one meaning: words that told him she was involved in the kidnapping and how scared she was at being caught out.
The Americans send a negotiator?
He’s the problem.
She didn’t know the half of it. She’d even conceded that, too. There are a lot of problems we didn’t expect.
Other parts of the conversation presented themselves in his mind, each as damning as the other.
Can you handle it?
I’m going to have to.
She wasn’t going to be able to, though. Not after that morning’s computer chase that they were all so excited about: that he was excited about, because it had given him the positive tie-in. From Bonn to Rome: to Rome and the convenient money-managing expertise of an American Express office. Which fitted perfectly with another part of last night’s taped exchange.
Aren’t you going to Rome?
‘What about the message itself?’ Norris was suddenly conscious that Poncellet was directing the question not to him but to the woman.
Claudine did not bother with the pretence of including Norris, consciously subjugating her still lingering medical distaste. ‘It worries me,’ she admitted bluntly.
‘Why?’ demanded Smet.
‘It hasn’t taken us any further forward,’ said Claudine. ‘The ambassador and his wife performed brilliantly last night. Psychologically it should have got a different response.’
‘Perhaps your advice was wrong,’ said Norris at once. McBride was a separate issue but Norris was sure he had something there, too. The indictments against Luigi della Sialvo were all for illegal arms dealing with Baghdad during the Gulf War, obtaining weaponry from a corporation that at the time had been McBride’s chief rival and was now the subject of four separate and enjoined indictments. Norris found it difficult to believe that whoever in the Bureau had checked out McBride before the ambassadorial appointment hadn’t taken the inquiry further, comparing the computer-recorded volume of material leaving McBride’s company against End User certificates for the Far East – della Sialvo’s favoured route – during Operation Desert Storm. He’d put an ‘Utmost Priority’ tag on his request, after studying the indictments, so he expected to hear within twenty-four hours. It didn’t matter whether McBride was a close personal friend of the President or a major campaign contributor. If he’d broken the law he had to answer to it.
‘My advice wasn’t wrong,’ insisted Claudine, confronting the American verbally as well as physically. ‘This isn’t a response to the broadcast. This is an angry message.’
‘What’s there to be angry about?’ queried Harding. ‘McBride pleaded: virtually said he’d pay anything.’
‘I don’t think the anger is directed at us,’ said Claudine. ‘I think there’s some disagreement among the people who’ve got Mary: irritation that subconsciously came through in the message.’
Oh, this was clever, thought Norris: trying to confuse them all with psychological double-talk no one could recognize except him.