Ducane shook his head. ‘I am afraid, Mr Hartmann, that I am not sure you
Hartmann opened his mouth to speak but Ducane raised his hand.
‘You have a daughter, do you not, Mr Hartmann?’
Hartmann nodded.
‘How old is she? Eleven? Twelve?’
Ducane looked at Hartmann for an answer but continued speaking without waiting for it.
‘Then you perhaps understand some small aspect of how this must feel for someone like me. My daughter is nineteen years old. She is barely more than a child herself. This man-’ Ducane glanced up towards the ceiling; he knew Perez was in the building on an upper floor. ‘This animal… this insane criminal psychopath that you have secured inside this hotel… he has taken my daughter.
Ducane glared at Hartmann, and then he turned and fixed Schaeffer and Woodroffe in turn with his gaze.
‘To hell with this!’ he suddenly said. ‘I am going up there to deal with this man myself!’
He made for the door.
Hartmann backed up a step, closed the door and stood in front of it.
‘Out of my way, Hartmann!’ Ducane snapped.
Hartmann said nothing.
Schaeffer looked like he was ready to implode. Woodroffe rose from his chair and joined Hartmann at the door.
‘You cannot go up there, Governor,’ Hartmann said quietly.
Ducane grimaced. ‘I can do any goddam thing I goddam well please. Now out of the way.’
Schaeffer stepped up behind Ducane and took his arm by the elbow.
Ducane turned suddenly. He wrenched his arm free and pushed Schaeffer back against the edge of the desk.
He started shouting, spittle flying from his lips. ‘You people!’ he screamed. ‘You people think you can come down here and play with my daughter’s life as if it holds no importance at all? You think you can do this to me? I am Charles Ducane, Governor of Louisiana…’
Ducane stopped suddenly. He turned back towards Hartmann. ‘You… you get out of my way right now!’
Hartmann shook his head. ‘No, Governor. I am not going to get out of your way. You are not going anywhere except back to Shreveport. You are going to leave us to handle this with the correct protocol and procedure. The director of the FBI has sent the people he considers best fit for this task, and they have done everything they are capable of doing, and will continue to do everything they can, until they have found your daughter and returned her safe to you. We have sixty men down here. Honest and capable men. They have spent every waking hour searching for any clue that might indicate where your daughter is being held. Already we have seen four men die as a result of this investigation, and we have no intention of adding your daughter’s name to the roster of dead. I am not familiar with standard FBI procedure in these matters, I am not in a position to judge whether everything has been done to the letter, but I can guarantee that in all my years working in such situations as this I have never seen a more dedicated and committed group of people. These people have given up their own lives for the duration of this investigation, and nothing, absolutely nothing, has dissuaded them from doing what they believe to be right. Now you have to leave, because if I let you go up there then I can guarantee that Ernesto Perez will say nothing further and he will let your daughter die.’
Ducane was silent for a moment, and then he backed up a step and looked down at the floor.
He turned and looked at Schaeffer. Was there a flicker of something apologetic in his expression? Hartmann could not be certain. He doubted Charles Ducane would ever allow himself to stoop so low as to apologize.
Clear in Hartmann’s mind were the things Perez had said regarding Ducane. The young New Orleans old- money compatriot of Antoine Feraud. Did Charles Ducane have any inkling of who Perez really was, and why he had done this? Did Governor Charles Ducane in fact know exactly why Perez had abducted his daughter? Was he here for the reason he stated – to ensure that everything was being done to find her – or was he here to ensure that the things he did not want known stayed unknown?
Hartmann was exhausted – mentally, emotionally, spiritually. He did not want to fight this man, and even as he thought those words Ducane spoke again. His voice was cold and direct. There was nothing human within it whatsoever, and in that moment Hartmann understood that what Perez had told them about this man could very well be the truth.
‘I will do as I wish, Mr Hartmann, and what I wish is to see this man-’
Hartmann closed his eyes. He clenched his fists. ‘Governor Ducane,’ he said quietly. He looked up and opened his eyes. ‘There are a great many things we do not know about this man. There have been a great many things he has spoken about, and your name has been uttered on numerous occasions.’
Ducane’s eyes flashed. Was there a flicker of anxiety there?
‘He has spoken of things that happened many years ago, in Florida and Havana, things that involved some of the most significant organized crime families in the country during the last fifty years. There has been talk of a man called Antoine Feraud-’
Again the flash of anxiety in Ducane’s eyes.
‘-and the killing of Jimmy Hoffa-’
Hartmann sensed Schaeffer go rigid. Woodroffe stepped forward. ‘Hartmann-’ he began, but Hartmann raised his hand and Woodroffe fell silent.
‘The killing of Jimmy Hoffa-’
Ducane raised his right hand and pointed at Hartmann.
Hartmann went cool and loose inside, like something had suddenly released the tension of every muscle in his body. What if he was wrong? What if everything Perez had told them was a complete fabrication?
‘Don’t you even consider threatening me,’ Ducane said.
Hartmann willed himself to keep it together. Ducane seemed to take another step forward, despite the fact that there was almost no distance between them. ‘I don’t know who you people think you are,’ he hissed, his voice growing more insistent and angered, ‘but-’
‘But nothing,’ Hartmann interjected. His heart was trip-hammering in his chest. A thin film of sweat had broken out along his hairline. He felt nauseous and afraid. ‘We are doing our job, Governor, and our job is to listen to everything this man tells us and see if there isn’t some clue, some thread of something that will lead us to your daughter. And if that means asking questions about Hoffa and Feraud and this Gemini thing-’
Hartmann was still talking, but even he did not register what he was saying, for the change in Ducane’s color and demeanor was startling. The man seemed to step back completely without moving an inch. He stepped
There was silence for some moments after Hartmann had finished talking, and Charles Ducane – his whole body tense, his face pale, his eyes wide like a man in shock – nodded slowly and said, ‘Find my daughter, gentlemen… find her and bring her back to me, and when that is done find some way to kill this animal for what he has done to me.’
Hartmann wanted to say something but no words seemed appropriate. He watched as Ducane turned to look at Schaeffer and Woodroffe in turn, and then he stepped aside as Ducane came towards him.
Ducane left the room. Schaeffer went after him to ensure he did not try to go upstairs.
Hartmann walked forwards and sat down at the desk. His hands were shaking. His whole body was covered in sweat. He looked at Woodroffe. Woodroffe looked back. Neither of them said a word.
Schaeffer returned within moments. He was breathless, red-faced; looked like a man on the verge of collapse. ‘I didn’t know… didn’t have any idea he was going to come down here,’ he started, but Hartmann raised his hand and Schaeffer fell silent.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Hartmann said, the tension and fear audible in his voice. ‘It is what it is.’ He said nothing
