He gave her a puzzled look, like he didn't get it.
'Jump,' she said. 'How high you should jump.'
He still didn't get it. For such a supposedly top-notch OB man, he could be so dense at times.
Osala hadn't been around much lately. He used to come to all her appointments but now he was involved in some project down south that kept him away a lot. But he stayed in close touch with Dr. Landsman.
She felt the baby kick and shook her head. Sure felt like he wanted out. And she wanted him out. Not like she had back in the summer, when she'd tried to end the pregnancy. She'd been determined to get an abortion, and then Mr. Osala had told her, You want this child… You will do anything to assure its well-being, and everything changed, just like that. She couldn't believe now that she'd wanted to kill her baby.
But that was totally different from wanting the pregnancy over and done with. She simply wanted to be back to normal size. She'd never been skinny, but this was ridiculous. She couldn't seem to find a comfortable position anywhere, even in bed. She'd give anything for a full night's sleep.
And once her pregnancy was over and the baby born, maybe Mr. Osala would let her leave his home. She'd been a virtual prisoner there since last spring-almost her entire pregnancy. Could she complain about a Fifth Avenue duplex penthouse where she wanted for nothing? Yeah, she could, because although she could have anything material, she couldn't have what she wanted most: contact with the outside world. Because Mr. Osala feared that might lead the baby's father to her. That was the last thing she wanted, too, but it seemed to her Mr. Osala had taken precautions to the extreme.
She wanted a life.
'Yes, I know it's overdue,' she heard Dr. Landsman say. 'I was just discussing that with Dawn when you called. But the baby's healthy and, frankly, how do we know this isn't perfectly normal? It's not as if we have any precedents to follow.'
Those kinds of comments popped out every so often and never failed to sour her stomach. She'd learned not to ask about them, because Dr. Landsman only stonewalled her.
But she was convinced something was wrong with her baby. Dr. Landsman could tell her it was healthy till he was blue in the face, but that look in his eyes when he watched the ultrasound screen said he was looking at something he didn't see every day.
And then there was the thing about the ultrasound images-Mr. Osala made the doctor delete them after every session. And when he wasn't here, his driver Georges made sure they were history. Georges was almost as scary as his boss.
What was so different about her baby that no one else could know?
3
The phone was ringing when Munir opened the door to his apartment. He hit the RECORD button on his answering machine as he snatched up the receiver and jammed it against his ear.
'Yes!'
'Pretty disappointing, Mooo-neeer,' said the now familiar electronically distorted voice. 'Are all you Ay-rabs such mosquito dicks?'
'I did as you asked! Just as you asked!'
'That wasn't much of a pee, Mooo-neeer.'
'It was all I could do! Please let them go now.'
He glanced down at the caller ID. A number had formed in the LCD window. A 212 area code, just like all the previous calls. But the seven digits following were a new combination, unlike any of the others. And when Munir called it back, he was sure it would be a public phone. Just like all the rest.
'Are they all right? Let me speak to my wife.'
Munir didn't know why he said that. He knew the caller couldn't drag Barbara and Robby to a pay phone.
'She can't come to the phone right now. She's, uh… all tied up at the moment.'
Munir ground his teeth as the horse laugh brayed through the phone.
'Please. I must know if she is all right.'
'You'll have to take my word for it, Mooo-neeer.'
'She may be dead.' Allah forbid! 'You may have killed her and Robby already.'
'Hey. Ain't I been sendin' you pichers? Don't you like my pretty pichers?'
'No!' Munir cried, fighting a wave of nausea… those pictures-those horrible, sickening photos. 'They aren't enough. You could have taken all of them at once and then killed them.'
The voice on the other end lowered to a sinister, nasty growl.
'You callin' me a liar, you lousy, greasy, two-bit Ay-rab? Don't you ever doubt a word I tell you. Don't even think about doubtin' me. Or I'll show you who's alive. I'll prove your white bitch and mongrel brat are alive by sending you a new piece of them every so often. A little bit of each, every day, by Express Mail, so it's nice and fresh. You keep on doubtin' me, Mooo-neeer, and pretty soon you'll get your wife and kid back, all of them. But you'll have to figure out which part goes where. Like the model kits say: Some assembly required.'
Munir bit back a scream as the caller brayed again.
'No-no. Please don't hurt them anymore. I'll do anything you want. What do you want me to do?'
'There. That's more like it. I'll let your little faux pas pass this time. A lot more generous than you'd ever be- ain't that right, Mooo-neeer. And sure as shit more generous than your Ay-rab buddies were when they killed my sister on nine/eleven.'
'Yes. Yes, whatever you say. What else do you want me to do? Just tell me.'
'I ain't decided yet, Mooo-neeer. I'm gonna have to think on that one. But in the meantime, I'm gonna look kindly on you and bestow your request. Yessir, I'm gonna send you proof positive that your wife and kid are still alive.'
Munir's stomach plummeted. The man was insane, a monster. This couldn't be good.
'No! Please! I believe you! I believe!'
'I reckon you do, Mooo-neeer. But believin' just ain't enough sometimes, is it? I mean, you believe in Allah, don't you? Don't you?'
'Yes. Yes, of course I believe in Allah.'
'And look at what you did on Friday. Just think back and meditate on what you did.'
Munir hung his head in shame and said nothing.
'So you can see where I'm comin' from when I say believin' ain't enough. 'Cause if you believe, you can also have doubt. And I don't want you havin' no doubts, Mooo-neeer. I don't want you havin' the slightest twinge of doubt about how important it is for you to do exactly what I tell you. 'Cause if you start thinking it really don't matter to your bitch and little rat-faced kid, that they're probably dead already and you can tell me to shove it, that's not gonna be good for them. So I'm gonna have to prove to you just how alive and well they are.'
'No!' He was going to be sick. 'Please don't!'
'Just remember. You asked for proof.'
Munir's voice edged toward a scream. 'PLEASE!'
The line clicked and went dead.
Munir dropped the phone and buried his face in his hands. The caller was mad, crazy, brutally insane, and for some reason he hated Munir with a depth and breadth Munir found incomprehensible and profoundly horrifying. Whoever he was, he seemed capable of anything, and he had Barbara and Robby hidden away somewhere in the city.
Helplessness overwhelmed him and he broke down. Only a few sobs had escaped when he heard a pounding on his door.
'Hey. What's going on in there? Munir, you okay?'
Munir stiffened as he recognized Russ's voice. He straightened in his chair but said nothing. Monday. He'd forgotten about Russ coming over for their weekly brainstorming session. He should have called and canceled, but Russ had been the last thing on his mind. He couldn't let him know anything was wrong.
'Hey!' Russ said, banging on the door again. 'I know someone's in there. You don't open up I'm gonna assume
