In the absolute darkness of the trunk his wristwatch, with its nonluminous hands and face, was of no use. It was no matter; his internal clock, as accurate as any Swiss timepiece, told him it was 3:25a.m.when the car made an abrupt left turn onto a gravel track. The upward tilt of the vehicle was eight or nine degrees. The man at the wheel made no attempt to give Gabriel a smooth ride.
Another two minutes passed before the car finally drew to a stop and the engine died. A second vehicle drew up behind them, and a moment later the trunk lid swung slowly upward, revealing the presence of two men wearing balaclava masks. One of the men pulled a hood over Gabriel’s head. Then, together, they hoisted him from the trunk and propped him upright on his feet.
His right leg buckled instantly; it was numb from lack of circulation. The two men took hold of his arms and marched him along the paving stones of a walkway as if leading him to the place of his execution. The air, he noted, was colder here. They must have gained several hundred meters in altitude during the drive.
He managed to scale a flight of four stone steps. Then they passed through an open doorway, into the sudden warmth of the kidnappers’ lair. The wooden floor beneath Gabriel’s feet was rough-hewn. The air smelled of cigarettes and, curiously, freshly baked bread.
They nudged him to the left, and blindly he placed one foot in front of the other. After twelve paces exactly, the hands gripping his arms jerked him to a stop. Then a chair scraped across the floorboardsand pressed against the back of his knees. The hands lowered him into it with unexpected care.
A long silence ensued. Gabriel attempted to execute a mental sketch of his surroundings, but the tableau eluded him. He was certain only that there was another person present, perhaps two.
At last he heard the clicking of a keyboard, followed by the toneless automated voice.
“Pleasant trip, Mr. Allon?”
“No,” he answered truthfully.
More typing, then, “If you had sent the money, you would be home with your family by now.”
“Let’s leave my family out of this, shall we? The sooner you let me see Alice, the sooner we can all be on our way.”
A hand pulled the hood from Gabriel’s head, and the tableau around him came into view. He was seated at a rectangular table in a rustic kitchen, flanked by his two handlers, one of whom, as he had surmised, was built like a rugby player. Two other men sat opposite, both wearing balaclavas, dark woolen pullovers, and gloves. The one behind the laptop had the watchful brown eyes of a predatory animal. He laid his gloved fingers on the keyboard and typed. The automated voice read aloud the words he had composed.
“Call Peter Hoffmann in Zurich and instruct him to wire the money.”
“How do you know that I was dealing with Peter Hoffmann?”
The hands typed, then, “How do you think we know?”
Alice...
“Bring her up here so I can have a look at her,” said Gabriel.
“She’s sleeping and wishes not to be disturbed,” the voice said after a few seconds of typing.
“I’m sure she won’t mind if you wake her.”
The man shook his head.
“We had a deal,” said Gabriel calmly. “No Alice, no money.”
He typed his response. “The terms of the deal have changed, Mr. Allon.”
The one built like a rugby player handed Gabriel his iPhone while his colleague on the opposite side of the table typed.
“Call Herr Hoffmann in Zurich,” said the automated voice. “Tell him to wire the money.”
“Not a chance.”
The man replied by drawing a SIG Sauer pistol from the small of his back and leveling it at Gabriel’s head.
“Nice gun,” he said with a disarming smile. “But why don’t you put it away before someone gets hurt.”
“Call him,” the man said aloud.
Gabriel treated him to another smile. “It’s nice to finally hear your real voice. You can be sure I’ll never forget it.”
What happened next unfolded with the suddenness of an automobile accident. One minute Gabriel was upright in the chair, the next he was sprawled on the floorboards, with three of the kidnappers assaulting him like a pack of wolves. When they had finished pummeling him into submission, they bound his hands, knees, and ankles with silver duct tape. The last swath they placed over his mouth, leaving him incapable of complaint. Then, somehow, they managed to return him to his original seated position. The one behind the laptop eyed Gabriel through the slits of his balaclava mask, then went to work at the keyboard. The message was longer than his previous communiqués. When it was complete he took up a mobile phone and tapped the screen once. The call was answered instantly. The voice sounded desperate. It belonged to Edward Knight.
