She reached into her pocket for the cell, hand shaking so much that she almost dropped it. She fumbled with it, then recovered. Meanwhile, the electronic bell tones chimed again.
She flipped open the lid of the cell and said, 'Maybe it's Raoul!'
That galvanized the others at the table, causing them to lean forward in their chairs toward her, lunging, quivering like hunting dogs on point.
Bright spots of color blazed in Susan's cheeks, making her look feverish, consumptive. 'Hello, Raoul! Raoul!'
A voice on the other end said, 'Yes, it's me. Raoul.'
Susan vented a rapid-fire torrent. A rush of words, babbling. 'Oh, thank God! I've been so worried! What happened to you, Raoul? Are you all right? Where are you?'
Raoul did not immediately reply. Susan said, 'Raoul? You are all right, aren't you, darling?'
He said, 'Susan, please listen. This is serious.' Raoul's voice was husky, cracking. He sounded like he was going to cry.
'Raoul, what is it, dear? You're frightening me… '
'Please, Susan, let me speak without your interrupting for once. It is a matter of life and death —
Raoul was silenced in mid-phrase, sounding like he'd been choked off. Strangled noises gurgled in the background.
Susan called his name several times in ever more frantic desperation. 'Raoul? Raoul! Raoul, speak to me! Raoul, are you there?!'
A new voice said, 'I am here, but I am not Raoul.'
No, the speaker was most definitely not Raoul. The voice sounded flat, mechanical, chillingly inhuman. Sexless, identifiably neither male or female. There was a quality to it that suggested that it emanated from some kind of electronic voice box, a filtering device that took human speech and digitized it, reproduced it with all traces of individuality of tone, timbre, dynamics filtered out. The distortion maximized its sinister aspect.
Susan was thrown by it; for a moment it left her speechless — for her a rare experience. The caller said, 'Miss Keehan? Are you there, Miss Keehan?'
Susan recovered, finding her voice. 'Who's this?'
'This is me,' came the reply.
'Yes, but who are you?'
'I have Raoul Garros.'
'Have him? What do you mean, you have him?'
'The role of naif ill becomes you, Miss Keehan. Especially not at a time like this, when the crisis has arrived. I have the body in question. Whether that body remains among the living or the dead is entirely up to you.'
'You — you've kidnapped him!'
'Yes.'
'What do you want?'
'Money. A great deal of money, that is what I want. You want Raoul. Here is a basis for negotiation.'
For a flash, Susan's fear was replaced by anger. She said, 'You must be crazy! Put Raoul back on!'
The caller said, 'Certainly. One moment, please.'
A pause was followed by a shriek of agony — Raoul's shriek. So loud and piercing was it that it was plainly audible to the others seated around the conference table. It seemed to go on forever.
When it ended, Susan, shivering, said, 'What are you doing to him?'
The machine-made voice returned. 'You would like to hear more?'
Susan said, 'No! For God's sake, don't! Please stop! Don't hurt him!'
'We understand each other better now, eh? You do agree that the man you spoke to is Raoul Garros, no?'
'Yes… '
'You are certain of his identity, Miss Keehan? If not, I will send you some body parts as proof. A finger, or perhaps an ear. Possibly both. Or would you prefer some more, uh, intimate part of his anatomy?'
'No!'
'I am in charge, Miss Keehan. Please remember that. Or else Raoul will experience a great deal of pain. More than he has already suffered.'
'No, don't! Please don't hurt him anymore!'
'Ah… ' Even the mechanized tones of the voice distorter failed to disguise the pleasure in the caller's voice. 'I have Raoul. You have one million dollars. I suggest an exchange.'
Outrage colored Susan's reply: 'A million dollars!'
The caller said, 'It is your money, and you have a great deal of it. A mere million is no great hardship for you. Should you refuse to pay, however, Raoul will experience a great deal of hardship. Death will come to him as a blessing.'
She said, 'I'll pay.'
'Such compassion! So very charitable of you. Raoul will be deeply grateful,' the voice said. 'Here is how I want the ransom money. Write this down. A single mistake will be fatal for Raoul.'
A frantic interval followed as Susan got hold of a pen and notepad.
The caller said, 'Listen carefully. The money must be made up of small bills, no larger than hundred-dollar bills. Old bills, which have been in circulation for twenty years. No consecutive serial numbers. Do you understand?'
Susan said, 'Yes.'
'Read it back to me to be sure you've got it right.'
'Small bills, nothing larger than a hundred. Twenty years old. No consecutive serial numbers.'
'Correct,' the voice said. 'Cooperate fully and without question. Make no attempt to contact the authorities. They are bunglers who will succeed only in getting Raoul killed. Messily.'
The caller continued, 'Stand by. I will contact you presently, within the hour, with instructions on how and where to deliver the money. Do nothing until you hear from me. Make no attempt to trace this call, or Raoul dies.'
Connection terminated.
Leaving Susan shouting into a dead phone.
11. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 3 P.M. AND 4 P.M. CENTRAL DAYLIGHT TIME
Gene Jasper was saying, 'It's a waste of time to have Susan go down to the vaults to get the money, Molineux. Why not just bring it up here to her? Time is of the essence.'
'Yes, you've made that abundantly clear,' Molineux said, sniffing. He was the president of the bank; nothing less would do when it came to dealing with Susan Keehan.
He said, 'However, there are certain procedures for accessing the funds which can only be carried out by Ms. Keehan herself. She has to go through the retinal and fingerprint identification scan and fill out the magna-screen card for the on-file signature comparison.'
Jasper said, 'Why all the red tape? You know who she is. Everybody does. I mean, what the hell, this is a Keehan bank.'
Molineux said, 'The safeguards are built into the system. They're mechanized. I know Ms. Keehan, of course, but the machines don't. It's impossible to circumvent them, even for her.'
Susan said, 'We're wasting time now talking about it. If it has to be done that way then that's how we'll do it. Let's go, Mr. Molineux.'
Mylon Sears spoke up. 'You'd better let me hold your cell, Susan. Being underground might affect the phone
