from that afternoon’s exchange. And they’d just been warned by forensic officers of something potentially vital – he actually used the word breakthrough – about the telephone that had been abandoned the previous day.
‘Something that could lead to an arrest?’ asked Smet.
‘They haven’t been specific. We won’t know until later tonight: maybe not even then. We hope to have something definite by tomorrow.’ Sanglier was enjoying himself, knowing from the expression on the faces around him that he was doing well.
‘If it’s really important the minister would want to know immediately. Tonight.’
Sanglier’s pause, for apparent consideration, was perfect. ‘If it’s as vital as they think it is, I could have someone call you at home.’ He allowed another hesitation. ‘Do we have your home number?’
Harding and Rampling smiled, nodding in open approval as the lawyer hurriedly dictated it, repeated it, and then asked Sanglier if he was sure he’d noted it correctly.
‘The minister really will be most anxious to hear at once,’ emphasized Smet.
‘I’ll see you’re called, if there’s anything,’ said Sanglier dismissively, replacing the telephone ahead of the other man’s gabbled thanks.
‘Now what?’ said Harrison.
‘We wait,’ said Blake.
They didn’t have to for very long.
‘Anything?’ A man’s voice, strained, without any identifying greeting.
‘Nothing.’
Harding made a thumbs-up gesture to the other smiling American. It was only fifteen minutes after the first sounds of the homecoming Jean Smet. The front door had slammed, two more opened without being closed. There’d been the scuff of his moving from room to room, the tinkle of a decanter against a glass. A lot of coughing and throat clearing.
‘Maybe they called while you were on your way from the office. Call them back!’
‘I don’t even know where they’ll be.’
‘The hotel! Try the hotel!’
‘I can’t! I’ve got to wait for them!’
‘What in the name of God can it be!’ It was practically a whimper.
There was no movement in the communications room, almost everyone physically leaning towards the speaker. Claudine sat directly in front, cramped against the operator, making notes.
‘I don’t know.’
‘What can I do?’
‘There’s nothing: nothing either of us can do.’
‘It’s her fault. Everything’s her fault. We should have disposed of the kid the day she picked her up.’
‘You’re blocking the line if they’re trying to get through,’ Smet said.
‘Don’t call me.’
‘Why not?’
‘Antoinette’s here. It’s difficult.’
‘Then how can I…?’
‘I’ll keep calling you, when it’s convenient here.’
‘Damn!’ said Blake quietly. Rampling shook his head in frustration.
‘You heard from the others?’ asked Smet.
‘No. You?’
‘She called as usual after this morning’s conference. Said they hadn’t got a clue what they were doing. She wasn’t at home when I telephoned her later, about this.’
There was a snort of derision. Then: ‘I’ve got to go. Antoinette’s coming!’
No one spoke for several moments after the line went dead. Through the speaker came the noise of decanter against glass again. Claudine revolved her swivel chair, to face the half-circle of men.
Rampling said: ‘It’s so close I feel I could reach out and touch it!’
More practically, Blake said: ‘It could be the driver.’
‘Whoever the man is he’s not the one who’s holding Mary,’ said Claudine. ‘He’s got a wife or a partner – Antoinette – who doesn’t know what’s going on. And they have fallen out: it’s something to concentrate on.’
‘We’ve got to get a wire in that bloody office,’ said Harding.
‘How long would it take?’ asked Claudine. ‘Minimum, maximum?’
McCulloch shrugged. ‘Seconds to stick a microphone with an adhesive base where he hopefully wouldn’t find it. Five minutes, tops, to put something inside the phone like we’ve done at his house.’
‘We’d put pressure on her if we broke the routine of his always being available in his office when she calls,’ said Claudine reflectively. From behind her there were short bursts of noise as Smet clicked his way through television channels, and then the crackle of static as he roamed radio frequencies in an equally unsuccessful search for a news programme.
‘That’s tomorrow. What about tonight?’ demanded Sanglier.
‘You did warn there might not be anything until tomorrow,’ Harrison reminded him.
‘They’d be frantic by then,’ said Rampling.
‘Smet tried to call her from the office,’ Claudine pointed out. ‘He’s almost bound to try again as soon as he hears from us.’
‘We shouldn’t wait,’ decided Sanglier.
Blake made the call. Smet actually dropped the receiver in his anxiety to pick it up, repeating ‘Yes?’ every few seconds to urge the explanation on.
‘You think you can trace who it is?’ he demanded.
‘It’ll be time-consuming but we’ve got the manpower,’ Blake said. ‘It’s our first direct and positive line. We’re going to get him. And through him everyone else.’
‘The minister will want to know how soon,’ Smet pressed.
Blake said: ‘We could have it all wrapped up in days. By this time tomorrow we could be well on our way.’
Claudine made cutting-off gestures and Blake said: ‘We’re setting things up now. Speak to you tomorrow.’
They waited tensely, silently. At once Smet’s telephone was lifted. A digit – within minutes isolated as 2, the first number of the Brussels code – was punched before the handset was replaced. It was lifted within seconds and 2 pressed again before once more being put down.
‘Come on! Come on!’ hissed Rampling. ‘Make the fucking call!’
Everyone jumped when Smet’s telephone rang, the over-amplified sound echoing into the room.
‘Shit!’ exclaimed Blake.
‘Anything?’ The same voice as before.
‘They’ve worked it out.’
‘What?’ shouted the man, his voice breaking.
Smet even used some of Blake’s exaggerated words and phrases. The other man never once interrupted. Not until the end did he say: ‘That’s it? All of it?’
‘Blake said it was a simple process of elimination.’
‘I’ve got access to the numbers, sure. But I’m much too senior ever to bother to look at them. There are dozens – hundreds – more likely man me. And the phones aren’t traceable to me, either.’
‘You think you’re safe?’
The laugh was genuine, unforced. ‘I am now that I know what to expect.’
Smet gave a loud sigh. ‘Thank God for that.’
‘You told Felicite?’
‘I was going to. I decided to talk to you first. Don’t you think I should bother?’
‘I’d like to frighten the bitch but this wouldn’t. She had me explain everything when I gave her the phones. She knows the only danger is being picked up by a scanner. And she’s only going to use a number once.’
‘How many has she got?’
‘Six.’ The man cleared his throat. ‘Gaston called.’
