“Midnight.”
Gabriel switched off the phone, removed the battery and SIM card, and placed both on the coffee table.
“What’s supposed to happen at midnight?”
It was Lancaster who responded.
“He wants an answer, yes or no. Yes means I agree to pay ten million euros in cash in exchange for Madeline and a promise the video will never be made public. If I say no, Madeline will die and everything will come out. Obviously,” he added, exhaling heavily, “I have no choice but to agree to their demands.”
“That would be the biggest mistake of your life, Prime Minister.”
“The second biggest.”
Lancaster lowered his long body onto the couch and covered his famous face with his hand. Gabriel thought of the people he had seen on the streets of London that evening going about their business, unaware of the fact their prime minister was at that moment paralyzed by scandal.
“What choice do I have?” Lancaster asked after a moment.
“You can still go to the police.”
“It’s too late for that.”
“Then you have to negotiate.”
“He said he wouldn’t. He said he’d kill her if I didn’t agree to pay the ten million.”
“They always say that. But trust me, Prime Minister—if you agree, he’ll get angry.”
“At me?”
“At himself. He’ll think he blew it by asking for only ten million. He’ll come back to you for more money. And if you agree to pay that number, he’ll come back for even more. He’ll bleed you dry, million by million, until there’s nothing left.”
“So what are you suggesting?”
“We wait for the phone to ring. And when it does, we tell him we’ll pay one million, take it or leave it. And then we hang up the phone and wait for him to call back.”
“What if he doesn’t call back? What if he kills her?”
“He won’t.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“Because he’s invested too much time, effort, and money. To him, this is business, nothing more. You have to act the same way. You have to approach this like any other tough negotiation. There are no shortcuts. You have to wear him down. You have to be patient. It’s the only way we’re going to get her back.”
A heavy silence fell over the room. Jeremy Fallon had moved from his post in the window and was contemplating a painting, a London cityscape by Turner, as if noticing it for the first time. Graham Seymour seemed to have developed a passionate interest in the carpet.
“I appreciate your advice,” Lancaster said after a moment, “but we’ve—” He stopped himself, then, deliberately, said, “I’ve decided to give them whatever they want. It is because of my reckless behavior that Madeline has been kidnapped. And I am obligated to do whatever is necessary to bring her home safely. It is the honorable thing to do, for her sake, and for the sake of this office.”
The line sounded as though Jeremy Fallon had written it—and if the smug expression on Fallon’s unfortunate face were any indicator, he had.
“Honorable, perhaps,” said Gabriel, “but unwise.”
“I disagree,” said Lancaster. “And so does Jeremy.”
“With all due respect,” Gabriel said, turning to Fallon, “when was the last time you successfully negotiated the release of a hostage?”
“I think you’ll agree,” Fallon responded, “this isn’t an ordinary kidnapping case. The target of the extortionists is the prime minister of the United Kingdom. And under no circumstances can I allow him to be incapacitated by a long, drawn-out negotiation.”
Fallon had made this speech quietly and with the supreme confidence of someone who was used to whispering instructions into the ear of one of the world’s most powerful men. It was an image that had been captured many times by the British news media. And it was why the cartoonists routinely depicted Fallon as a puppeteer, with Jonathan Lancaster dancing at the end of his string.
“Where do you intend to get the money?” asked Gabriel.
“Friends of the prime minister have agreed to lend it to him until he’s in a position to repay them.”
“It must be nice to have friends like that.” Gabriel rose. “It looks as though you have everything under control. All you need now is someone to deliver the money. But make sure you find someone good. Otherwise, you’re going to be back in this room in a few days, waiting for the phone to ring.”
“Do you have any candidates?” asked Lancaster.
“Just one,” said Gabriel, “but I’m afraid he’s unavailable.”
“Why?”
“Because he has a plane to catch.”
“When’s the next flight to Ben Gurion?”
“Eight a.m.”
“Then I suppose there’s no harm in staying a little longer, is there?”
Gabriel hesitated. “No, Prime Minister. I suppose there isn’t.”