Sanglier’s matronly personal assistant ushered them immediately into the man’s presence. The French commissioner was in his preferred position at the far end of the room, confronting any visitor with the intimidating approach that Claudine had several times endured. From the beginning she’d mentally listed the long march – and the overly large desk – among several peculiarities hinting at an inferiority complex clinically possible in someone carrying the name of a French national hero. She wasn’t overpowered by the charade and from the easy way he was walking beside her – strolling was the word that came to her mind – Claudine didn’t think Blake was, either.
There was still some way to go when Sanglier rose politely to greet them, an extremely tall, outwardly courteous man with only the slightest suggestion of grey in the thick black hair. He was, as always, immaculately dressed, the suit a muted light grey check, the black handkerchief in his breast pocket matching the black, hand-knitted tie worn over a deep blue shirt.
Claudine had anticipated a larger meeting, but there were only two chairs set out in readiness.
Sanglier steepled his hands in front of him, elbows on the desk. ‘The daughter of the American ambassador to Belgium has disappeared.’
‘How old?’ demanded Blake.
Sanglier consulted the single sheet of paper before him. ‘Ten.’
‘Any history of running away?’ asked Claudine, impressed by the immediate, no-unnecessary-questions atttitude of the fair-haired man beside her.
‘Not that we’ve been told.’
‘Ransom demand?’ asked Blake.
‘Not yet. But the Belgians favour kidnap.’
‘Why, if there hasn’t been a demand?’ persisted Blake.
Sanglier shrugged. ‘There’s no indication, from what we’ve been sent so far.’
‘When was she last seen?’
‘Leaving school yesterday. There was some mix-up over transportation. Some classmates saw her walking away by herself.’
‘And there’s been no contact from anyone?’ pressed Claudine.
‘Not according to what we’ve been told.’
‘So the Belgian police are pushing a kidnap theory because that’s what’s been suggested to them by the Americans, who’ll want to believe it because it’s a lesser horror than what else could have happened to her,’ predicted Claudine. Her job as a criminal psychologist was to examine clues left at crime scenes – invariably violent crime scenes – to create a physical and mental picture of the faceless perpetrator. She had never been involved in a kidnap and was unsure what value she had at this early stage.
‘The embassy will have its in-house security,’ said Blake. ‘Intelligence personnel, as well. And probably there are a lot more in the air already on their way to Brussels.’
Sanglier had collapsed his steeple and lounged back in his encompassing chair, making his own assessments. If his transition from policeman to politician was to go as he intended it was essential that these two were the best available in Europol. He’d made a mistake with Claudine Carter on their first assignment, he now acknowledged: behaved stupidly in the belief that from her father she might know something damaging to the Sanglier legend, which he himself doubted. Nevertheless, she had performed brilliantly. It was important that Peter Blake was equally good. Their success would become his success.
Sanglier’s initial impression was of a man verging on over-confidence, but he accepted that Blake would have had to be to have done half of what his personnel file listed in Northern Ireland. That file was specially designated, recommending that Blake be armed at all times. His responses so far showed an operational intelligence that had probably got him to Ireland in the first place, and in addition to whatever weapon he carried, kept him alive while he was there. And further, again listed in the file, was the degree in criminal law showing he was as strong on theory as he unquestionably was in practice. Physically bigger than Sanglier had imagined, although there were photographs and statistics on his record. It also said that Blake was a bachelor and Sanglier wondered if there would be any sexual attraction between the man and Claudine. The thought was an uneasy reminder of one of those stupid mistakes, introducing Claudine to his predatory wife. He said: ‘It’s going to be a minefield, diplomatically and operationally.’
The beginning of the walk-on-eggs lecture about in-country jurisdiction and diplomatic protocol, Claudine recognized. Only half listening, she went back to studying Blake, as determined as Sanglier against being burdened by someone of doubtful ability: so despised was Europol by national forces that it was all too frequently used as a graveyard for dying police elephants.
Blake was sitting attentively and slightly forward in his chair, but she suspected he’d heard it all before: it really was the standard, day one induction speech that came before directions to the cafeteria or the lavatories. If there were any psychological scars from what Blake had endured in Ireland she would have expected tell-tale signs, however slight, at the moment of being briefed to go back into the field.
When the commissioner had finished Blake looked briefly sideways at Claudine. ‘Just the two of us?’
‘We don’t know what we are investigating at the moment,’ Sanglier reminded him. ‘Until we do we can’t decide what manpower is needed. When we do every provision will be made.’
Claudine said: ‘Kidnapping is more an American than a European crime. Over half end with the child being killed.’
‘I’ve heard the statistics,’ said Sanglier. ‘I’m not underestimating how delicate any negotiations are going to be.’
The implication startled Claudine. ‘I’m to be the negotiator, if it is a kidnap?’
‘That was the specific request from Belgium,’ disclosed Sanglier. ‘They say they haven’t got a qualified negotiator.’ Which was a lie, he was sure: Europol was only ever asked to help when a national government wanted to escape the responsibility. One of the first things he intended to propose when he transferred to politics was that Europol should be empowered under federal legislation, like the American FBI, automatically to investigate major crimes. Kidnapping – as it was in the United States – would obviously be a federal offence. Quickly he finished: ‘If it comes to negotiation, Europol will have the unquestionable authority and jurisdiction. If it’s murder we will still be the responsible investigating force, in view of who it is. And there will be the same need for your involvement.’
‘I haven’t heard anything about it on a newscast,’ said Blake.
‘The Americans have asked for a publicity black-out.’
‘Which means they want to negotiate – themselves – and possibly pay any demanded ransom,’ said Claudine. ‘And that’s two different things. Negotiating we’ve talked about. Paying we haven’t.’
‘Ultimately I suppose that’s the decision of the parents,’ said Sanglier.
Claudine and Blake erupted in unison, stopping just as abruptly. Blake waved his hand invitingly to Claudine and said: ‘After you.’
‘Paying should be the last resort, not the first,’ insisted Claudine. ‘If they get the money there’s no reason to keep the child alive. If she is still alive, that is.’
‘I agree,’ Blake confirmed.
‘And I agree with both of you,’ said Sanglier. ‘We haven’t established that it is a kidnap yet. So we can’t answer any of these questions. We have to wait.’
Claudine hesitated, aware that Sanglier had avoided a commitment. ‘We’ll operate out of Brussels this time?’ Their previous investigation had been into a Europe-wide series of horrific murders committed by a Triad group terrorizing young illegal immigrants into prostitution: without a central focus a co-ordinating incident room had been established at Europol’s headquarters at The Hague.