‘Good,’ Ollinger said, with a sense of relief. He opened the desk drawer and took out a yellow legal pad with notes scrawled au over the top page. ‘I hope I can decipher all this,’ he said. ‘I was scribbling notes as fast as I could.’
‘Why not just tell me the basic problem,’ Duffield said.
‘The basic problem is that one of our people has been kidnapped by terrorists in Venezuela,’ Ollinger said, still studying his notes and not looking up.
‘I see.’
‘Actually, he’s a consultant attached to our office in Caracas. It was a mistake. They meant to take the manager of the plant and got the wrong man.’
‘You know that for sure?’
Ollinger nodded. ‘Our manager’s name is Domignon. He was going to take Lavander on a tour of the facilities but something came up at the last minute. He let Lavander use his car and driver and it was raining, so he loaned Lavander his slicker. They jumped the car less than a mile from the main gate.’
‘Lavander’s the one got lifted, then’?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is he the oil consultant?’
Ollinger nodded. ‘Yes. You know him?’
‘Only by reputation. When did this happen?’
‘Eight-twenty this morning.’
‘Have you heard from the bastards?’
‘Yes.’
‘What do they want?’
‘Two million dollars.’
‘What’s the time frame?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘How much time do you have?’
‘Forty-eight hours.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Make that forty-five.’
‘So we have until approximately eight-thirty the day after tomorrow. Are they aware of their error?’
‘They don’t care. It’s put up or shut up.’
‘How badly do you want him back?’
‘Well, I ... uh, we have to treat him as if—’
‘Mr Ollinger, is he worth two million dollars to your company?’ Ollinger seemed shocked by Duffield’s candour. ‘There’s a man’s life at stake here.’
‘Yes, yes, but that’s not What I asked you. Is the man worth two million dollars to Sunset?’
The weight of events seemed to press down on Ollinger. His shoulders sagged and he looked at his hands. ‘I don’t know anybody that is,’ he said forlornly.
‘Is this political?’
‘Political?’
‘You know, do they want anything else? Do they have prisoners they want released? Is there a union problem in the plant? Are these people revolutionary types? Do they want to nationalize your operation? Is it political?’
‘No. All... all they want’s two million dollars.’
‘Or what?’
‘Or they’ll kill him, take another hostage and raise the ante to four million.’
‘Typical. Do you know these people? Is it a group? A solo with a few hired hands? Some employee with a hard-on?’
‘They call themselves the ... uh, Raf...’ He looked at his notes.
‘Rafsaludi?’ Duffield filled in.
‘That’s it. You know them?’
‘We’ve dealt with them once or twice before. It’s a loose-knit, terror-for-profit group trained by Gaddafi’s people in Libya. They’re not politically motivated.’
‘So it has something to do with oil, then...’
‘Not necessarily. They prey on big American companies. Our last experience with them involved a soft-drink company in Argentina. The Rafsaludi is motivated by greed, not social reform. That’s a help.’
‘A help?’
‘Well, there’s an attitude of fanaticism among political revolutionaries. Tends to make them a bit unpredictable. A greedy terrorist is always easier to deal with.’
