Berkeley Square
The headquarters of the Knight Group were located in Berkeley Square in Mayfair. Gabriel arrived there late the following morning, having flown to London from Ibiza aboard the company Bombardier Challenger. Liam Higgins met him in the lobby and escorted him upstairs. Two blue-suited security men stood guard in the elevator foyer, and two more were posted outside the glass-enclosed conference room where Edward Knight, a cigarette in one hand, was anxiously pacing the carpeted floor. He ceased his wanderings long enough to take note of Gabriel’s presence.
He stabbed out the cigarette in an overflowing ashtray. “Forgive me. A dreadful habit, I know. I used to burn through two packs a day. It was Alice who convinced me to quit.”
“How did she do that?”
“She said she wouldn’t marry me if I didn’t.”
Knight lit another cigarette and exchanged a look with Higgins, who handed Gabriel a single sheet of paper. It was a printout of an email that had been sent to a general inquiries address listed on the Knight Group’s website. It was long on threats but short on specifics. There was no demand for ransom—that, the kidnappers said, would come later. They wanted Knight to send a phone numberthey could use for the opening round of communication. Any attempt to pinpoint their whereabouts would result in the death of the hostage.
Gabriel read the email a second time, then slid it onto the conference table. Knight was contemplating him through a fogbank of cigarette smoke.
“I have to say, Allon, you don’t look terribly surprised.”
“I’m not.”
“Truth be told, I was relieved when it arrived. If nothing else, at least I know Alice is alive.”
“Which is exactly the way the kidnappers want you to feel. Try not to give them the satisfaction.”
“I’ll give them anything they want.” Edward Knight lowered himself into the leather chair at the head of the table. His ragged appearance notwithstanding, it conferred upon him a sense of authority. “I want this matter resolved quickly, Allon. If it’s a few million they want, they can have it.”
“You should prepare yourself for a demand that runs into the tens of millions, if not higher. Furthermore, ransom negotiations are never quick.”
“My security firm told me the same thing. They offered to provide me with an experienced kidnap-and-ransom specialist to handle the negotiations. I told them I didn’t need one. After all,” said Knight, “I have you.”
Gabriel went to the credenza and drew himself a cup of coffee from the pump-action thermos. He should have told Edward Knight to find someone else, should have walked out the door. The image of a woman alone in a darkened room, her hands bound by tape, a bag over her head, would not let him.
“I’ll need an apartment, somewhere quiet with not too much foottraffic. I’ll also need phones. A half dozen should do.” He shot a glance at Higgins. “And plenty of spare SIM cards.”
“What else?” asked Knight.
“A guarantee.”
“What sort of guarantee?”
“That neither you nor your friends from your exclusive Mayfair security firm will interfere with the negotiations.”
“You have my word.”
“Then we should probably reply to their email.” Gabriel sat down next to Knight. “Use the landline number for this office.”
Higgins placed a laptop on the table. Knight nudged it toward Gabriel. “Perhaps you should do it, Allon. At this point, I don’t think I’m capable.”
The original email was displayed on the screen. Knight recited the direct number for the conference room extension, and Gabriel entered it into the reply and reached for the touchpad.
“Shouldn’t you include some sort of personal message?” asked Knight.
“Like what?”
“Tell them not to harm Alice.”
“That’s not how it works in a kidnapping. They’re only interested in one thing.”
Gabriel clicked thesendicon, and the computer emitted awhoosh.
“What now?” asked Knight.
