The Persian Price (15 page)

He watched the Englishman; the man had lost colour and his hands were clenching and opening. For a moment Saiid had feared he might be punched to the ground when he first gave Field the news.

Logan turned to him.

‘You're hand-in-glove with them,' he said. ‘Syria supports these bastards; everyone knows that. You're no bloody innocent! You tell me where she is and I'll see you get more money than you've ever dreamed of. Cooperate with me and get my wife out of danger and I'll pay you any price you ask!'

‘Unfortunately,' Homsi said gently, ‘I can't be any help. I don't know where Mrs Field is being held and I couldn't assist in a rescue. It isn't a question of money, Mr Field. This is a problem even you can't solve by signing a cheque. These people aren't interested in a ransom.'

‘What do they want then? What's the deal?'

‘They haven't told me that,' Homsi answered. ‘All I know is that Mrs Field is in their hands. They want you to know this and to be ready to hear their terms for releasing her. They will tell me more in the next twenty-four hours. That's all I know.'

‘Jesus Christ,' Logan muttered. ‘I still can't believe it.'

‘I think you will find,' the Syrian murmured, ‘that it is unfortunately true. I will go now, Mr Field. If you will contact me the day after tomorrow, I will have more news for you. That gives you time to check on their information. If you find Mrs Field is safe and well at home, nobody will be more pleased than myself.'

He opened the door to the garden and walked into the crowd. Logan didn't move for a moment. Then he went to the table where James kept a tray of drinks and poured himself a whisky. He drank it straight down and then picked up the telephone. At that hour there was no delay in putting a call through to London. He sat by the phone waiting for the operator to ring back. He didn't have another drink and slowly the shock was wearing off. At one moment he had almost attacked the Syrian. There was something so hypocritical in the dark face, so maddening in the precise polite English that Field wanted to punch and pummel him into a bloody mess. When the phone rang he seized it and shouted down the crackling line.

‘Mario? Mr Field here. Is my wife there? What? When? Oh, for Christ's sake, speak up. The line's impossible. When did she go? And Lucy – Bridget took her. Have you heard from her – from Mrs Field? I see. All right. No, never mind.'

He dropped the receiver. She'd left the house on Wednesday. They understood she was going to Ireland. Lucy had been sent in advance with the maid. They'd heard nothing from her since. That was three days ago. Three days. The Syrian had said she was taken three days ago … He heard a noise and looked up. James had come into the room.

‘Logan?'

He was sitting in the semi-dark.

‘I saw Homsi come out. What happened?'

James switched on the lights and saw Logan's face.

‘My God,' he said, ‘what's wrong?'

‘Get me a drink, would you,' Logan said. ‘Not too big, I've already helped myself.'

‘What's happened?' James said. He put the glass down in front of him. ‘What did he tell you?'

Logan rubbed both hands over his face; they were greasy with sweat.

‘He said he'd been approached by an Arab terrorist organization.' He spoke quietly but it sounded as if he were only just keeping control. ‘They had a message for me and he was acting as the go-between. It seems they've kidnapped Eileen. Anyway that's what they claim.'

He wasn't looking at James Kelly.

‘I've just been through to London. She's not there. They say she's gone to Ireland. If this kidnap threat is true, that's just the place they'd grab her. I'll have to go back and make sure.'

‘You won't need to,' James Kelly said. ‘I've booked a call to Ireland. It should come through any time. Then we'll know. Who are the people who say they've got her?'

‘Homsi didn't give a name. He just said they were very dangerous extremists. Black September by the sound of it. Do you believe it, James? Do you believe they've got her?'

‘Syrians don't play games,' James said. He felt physically sick. ‘What do they want? What's the ransom?'

‘Not money,' Logan said. ‘The bastard told me that. They've given me twenty-four hours to check that she's missing. Then they'll tell me their terms. If I go to the police or let anyone know she's gone, they'll kill her.' He looked at Kelly. ‘I still can't believe it,' he said. ‘I can't take it in.'

The noise of the party outside came through the garden doors as a pleasant murmur. Logan finished his drink.

‘Why were you telephoning Ireland?'

Kelly ignored the question.

‘When do you contact Homsi again?'

‘Tomorrow. James – what am I going to do? I tried bribing him to help but he didn't want to know. In Christ's name, what do they want if they don't want money!'

‘They wouldn't pick on you for that,' Kelly said slowly. ‘You're not that rich. It's something else. Don't try buying Homsi again. He might be tempted to take money from you and that could wreck the whole chance of negotiating with these people. I know the type. One move that looks as if you're trying to pull something and they'll murder her. They're not criminals. They're fanatics. Go to Homsi tomorrow and for Christ's sake do exactly what he says. I've got to think up some reason to satisfy Ardalan; I promised to let him know what Homsi wanted.'

‘Make some excuse, think of something,' Logan said. ‘You don't think if we contacted Interpol and explained …'

‘No,' James said. ‘No. Say nothing and do nothing. It's too dangerous. I'll tell Ardalan some story.'

‘Why doesn't that bloody Irish call come through? I'll get on to them.' Logan reached for the telephone. Kelly stood by while he shouted at the international operator.

‘It's no good, Logan,' he said. ‘You stay here and wait for it. I'll go and see Ardalan.'

‘No,' Logan stood up. ‘I've got to rejoin the party. We don't want to upset the Minister.'

‘Of course,' James said. ‘I'd forgotten about business for a moment. I must get my priorities right.'

On the way to the garden door Logan turned back.

‘Coming apart at the seams isn't going to help Eileen,' he said. ‘Talk to Ardalan and then you wait for the call. Let me know the moment it comes through. She may be perfectly safe, staying with her father.'

Kelly watched him push his way through the crowd, moving towards Khorvan. Janet Armstong's green dress looked white in the fading light. The garden was illuminated with lights discreetly placed among the trees and shrubs. As soon as it was dark the firework display would begin. Logan had left the doors open and there was a steady flow of talk and laughter; glass tinkled as something was broken. He could see Khorvan talking to Logan; Logan seemed to be laughing.

Kelly sat down. He looked for a cigarette and couldn't find one. It was a reflex and he made no further effort, although there was a box on the desk. A dangerous extremist group. Logan was clinging to a secret hope that somehow Eileen was safe; he thought the telephone call might prove the Syrian wrong. Kelly could understand this. He wished he could have shared that hope. But he knew that it was vain. Eileen Field was not in Meath House. The men who had sent Homsi to her husband didn't make mistakes. They would demand impossible terms for her release; he couldn't even guess their nature. There would be days of negotiation; perhaps weeks. He knew the pattern. Until the last moment they would preserve the hostage alive. They had a code, brutal and pitiless but predictable. If they got what they wanted, they wouldn't sacrifice the human pawn. But one infringement of the rules by Logan, one suspicion that he was trying to hold something back and Eileen would be murdered. Executed, in their terminology. He remembered the horror of a photograph of a German diplomat, ritually shot through the head after a similar kidnapping had failed to gain its object.

For a moment he felt sick and overcome. An ugly thought came to him. Logan was distressed and shaken. But supposing the price they asked was something that he didn't want to pay. He stepped out into the garden to find Colonel Ardalan. He had already thought of an explanation for Homsi's visit. Nobody must suspect that anything was wrong. His talk with the Colonel was interrupted by a message that his Irish telephone call was coming through.

Colonel Ardalan had enjoyed the party. He was a gregarious man who liked meeting people; the firework display had been a great success. He drove home with his wife and sat on his terrace, smoking and sipping whisky after she had gone to bed. He didn't believe a word of James Kelly's explanation. It was all very glib. The Syrian had some rare Coptic manuscripts which he thought Logan Field might be interested in buying. He had understood, correctly, that Field was a collector of antiquities and Logan got the impression that the items were prohibited for export. He had no intention of involving himself with a dubious purchase and had told Homsi to look for another customer.

It was a very probable explanation and in different circumstances the Colonel would have believed it. There was a flourishing illicit trade in rare antiquities for which no export licence was available in certain countries, notably Greece. Anything of exceptional quality commanded a high price.

Ardalan had listened politely and thanked Kelly for telling him. He even added a mild caution that the Syrian might offer something really tempting at a later date. He had noted the absence of both men after Homsi's interview. When Logan Field rejoined the party he didn't look as if someone had offered him a smuggled manuscript. And James Kelly's hand was shaking when he shook it as they said goodbye. Ardalan never failed to detect fear; and that was what he saw in the eyes of both Logan and Kelly. He finished his whisky. The pieces of the puzzle were assembling. One key piece was the Syrian. The second, and equally important in its solution, was Logan Field.

‘Darling,' Janet said, ‘aren't you going to come in?'

Logan had driven back to the hotel; he had gone as far as the lift with her and she was taken by surprise when he kissed her briefly on the cheek. He hadn't seemed in such good spirits for the last half of the evening; knowing him so well, she detected a forced note in the friendly sparring with the Minister.

‘Not tonight,' he said. ‘I'm tired out.'

The lift was coming down, the red eye winking on the indicator.

‘There's nothing wrong, is there? You don't seem yourself.' She put one hand on his sleeve.

‘No, of course not,' Logan said. ‘I'll ring you tomorrow before we go to the office.'

The lift doors slid back and she stepped inside. He had turned and was walking away before they closed.

Eileen had never arrived at Meath House. Her father had been curt and uncommunicative on the telephone. Logan had mastered the impulse to shout at the old sponger that his daughter was missing and in great danger. He didn't seem worried by her absence. Logan suspected furiously that the old man was too busy spoiling his granddaughter to think of anything else. He had hung up. He didn't look at Kelly. The hope had been a flimsy one, but until he followed James in to speak to his father-in-law he hadn't admitted how much he had clung to it. ‘She's not there,' James had said and handed him the telephone.

Logan drove back through the empty Tehran streets. The last half of the party reminded him of the classic nightmare in which the dreamer is isolated from contact with everyone surrounding him. The evening had begun with making love to Janet; he had come to the party in a mood of high optimism. His personal life was exciting and the difficulties of securing Imshan might well be surmounted by a deal with the Japanese. He had never felt more in command of the future than when he arrived at Kelly's house. He closed his eyes during the drive and all he could see was Eileen. It couldn't be true. She couldn't be shut up in some blacked-out room, at the mercy of fanatics who would kill her without hesitation. Her face floated free in the darkness, the face he had thought so beautiful he had commissioned Merton to paint her. She couldn't be helpless and afraid, perhaps even ill-treated. He sat up with a jolt, unable to bear his imagination's choice of possibilities. What did they want in return for her? What was the price they would ask through Saiid Homsi? Twenty-four hours. A full day and a night before he would know. If it wasn't money it was going to be something political. Something advantageous to the cause of Arab fanaticism, with which, next to outright Communism, he had the least sympathy of all. The lights were on when he went into Kelly's house. The moonlit garden and the jasmine scent reminded him of the evening he had told his wife he wanted someone else. There was no evidence of the party; everything had been cleared away. James came out of the sitting room as he went to the stairs.

‘Do you want a whisky? It might help if we talked about it.'

‘No, thanks,' Logan said. ‘We know what the score is now. That little bastard told the truth. They have got her. All I can do now is wait to hear the terms.'

James stood in the doorway; he had been drinking since the party ended.

‘Whatever it is, you'll pay?'

‘Don't be a bloody fool,' Logan said.

He went upstairs and Kelly heard the bedroom door shut. He stayed in the hall for a few minutes, finishing his drink. Money would have been easy. He knew Logan wouldn't hesitate whatever they asked. He could have given them money; Imperial Oil would subsidize if it went beyond his personal capacity. He had been drinking but his mind was clear. Only the pain was dulled. Logan was ready to do anything to save his wife. James had been telling himself that in the hope that he could still a growing sense of doubt. Logan wouldn't sacrifice her, no matter what he had to do. It was irrelevant that they were breaking up, that he was in love with someone else. He might be a ruthless bastard whom James disliked as a person, but he wouldn't hesitate. He went back into the room and poured another whisky. He didn't think of going to bed. He had to get drunk before he fell asleep in the chair.