“Nice try.”
“Can we do this again at midnight?”
“Can’t wait,” said the voice as her three minutes expired.
She rang, this time, at the appointed hour. The conversation went well—three calls, three different phones—and resulted in a narrowing of their differences. The kidnappers’ automated spokeswomanindicated she might be willing to settle for a mere $650 million. Gabriel countered with an offer of $200 million. He advised the kidnappers to thank their lucky stars and take the deal. It was, he suggested, the best they were going to get.
“In that case,” said the voice flatly, “the next time you see Alice she’ll have a bullet hole in the center of her forehead.”
The threat turned out to be as empty as its predecessors, as evidenced by the reduced ransom demand the kidnappers placed on the table at three the following afternoon. At $625 million it was still out of the question. Gabriel nevertheless raised his counteroffer to a quarter billion. The kidnappers rang him unexpectedly at nine that evening with a counteroffer of their own.
“Six hundred million,” said the voice.
“Better than a billion,” replied Gabriel. “But it’s still never going to happen.”
“I would advise you, Mr. Allon, to make it happen.”
He informed his adversaries that he would put their demand to Edward Knight, though in truth he did nothing of the sort. The subsequent five calls came and went with no further progress—and with numerous threats of violence. Ingrid feared they were approaching the point of no return. Gabriel, for the first time, wondered the same thing. Reluctantly he raised his offer to $300 million and counseled the kidnappers to take the money and run. They held fast at $600million instead.
“Sorry,” said Gabriel. “No can do.”
“Where would you like us to leave the photograph of Alice with a bullet hole in her head?”
“Why don’t you deliver it personally to me here in London?”
“Six hundred million, Mr. Allon. Going once, going twice...”
“The offer is three hundred million.” He paused, then added, “Take it or leave it.”
“Unwise move,” said the voice.
“I’ll wait to hear from you.”
But for the next forty-eight hours he heard nothing at all. Fearful he had overplayed his hand, he rang the old numbers the kidnappers had used but received no answer. Finally, at three o’clock in the morning of the twelfth day of the negotiations, the burner phone rang. Gabriel let it ring several more times before accepting the call. This time the female voice he heard was not automated.
“Help me, Mr. Allon,” she said. “Please, you must help me.”
18
Adams Row
Gabriel sat up with a start, switched on the bedside lamp, checked the time. It was 3:04a.m.He pressed the burner phone to his ear. At the other end of the connection he could hear breathing, faint and shallow.
“Who is this?” he demanded to know.
“It’s me, Mr. Allon. It’s Alice.”
“I need you to answer a few questions.”
“Proof of Alice?”
“Exactly.”
“I’m all yours.”
“Where were you staying when you were kidnapped?”
“A very large estate on Ibiza.”
