Sam Bourne 4-Book Thriller Collection. Sam Bourne

ritual. He would be answering questions and they would not be about the correct dimensions of a Talmudic stove. He would be under interrogation – and under pressure. (The thought of that role reversal pleased Will.) If that was the atmosphere, Will reckoned they would have a hundred reasons to check email as soon as they could. Even if they were not waiting for word from him, they would need to communicate with their people in Bangkok. Will guessed they would be powering up their laptops the moment it was theologically decent.

      At eight o’clock Will’s hunch was confirmed. Twenty minutes after sundown, the red light on his BlackBerry blinked. Will clicked the track wheel and saw that same, hieroglyphic script, the characters he now knew to be Hebrew. Re: Beth.

      You are out of your depth. Do not drown.

TWENTY-SIX

       Saturday, 8.01pm, Manhattan

      He had no time for a seminar with TC. He replied instantly, his thumbs working furiously.

       I could call the police right now. What do I have to lose?

      He waited, while TC sat opposite him, curled into a ball, rocking herself backward and forward. Will wondered if he had ever seen her in this position, so nervous she was foetal. The crowd at McDonalds had changed. The bums and homeless mutterers now mostly replaced by twenty-something men about to fuel up before a night hitting the bars. The red light came on.

       You have everything to lose. You could lose her.

      Again, Will did not wait. This, he realized, was what he had wanted since that first message: a direct confrontation with the kidnappers. When they had met last night, Will was pretending to be someone else. He had had to be polite. Now it was out in the open, he could take them on.

       You touch her and you’ll be guilty of two murders. My evidence will send you down. Release her or I start nailing you.

      The delay was longer this time, excruciating. The red light flashed, Will pouncing on the little blue machine.

      Low price pharmacy for all your medical needs. We deliver. Spam.

      More minutes and then:

       Call now on 718-943-7770. Do not use a recording device. We will know if you try.

      Will imagined how this was working at the other end. Doubtless, one of the monkeys, Moshe Menachem or Tzvi Yehuda, was at the Internet Hot Spot, reading and typing the emails, taking direct instruction from the boss on the end of a phone. Now the boss had something to say that he did not want committed to email, even one as disguised as this. Good, thought Will, sensing his opponent was weakening a little. He looked at TC: having consumed her nails, she was now gnawing at her cuticles.

      He pulled out his cell phone, dialling the number slowly, as if he was performing surgery. His hands were trembling. He realized that this man frightened him.

      It rang only once. He could hear the phone had been answered but no one spoke: he was going to have make the first move.

      ‘This is Will Monroe. You asked me to call.’

      ‘Yes, Will, I did. First, let me apologize for what happened yesterday. A bad case of mistaken identity, partly compounded by the fact that you made the mistake of concealing your identity.’ Will wondered if he was meant to laugh at this little bit of wordplay. He did not. ‘I think it’s right that we talk about the current situation.’

      ‘You’re damn right we need to talk about it. You need to give me back my wife or else I will implicate you in a double murder.’

      ‘Now calm down, Mr Monroe.’

      ‘I’m not feeling very calm, Rabbi. Yesterday you nearly killed me and you have abducted my wife for no reason. The only reason I have not gone to the police so far is because of your threats to kill my wife. But now I can go to them and confirm your guilt in the Bangkok case by saying you have already performed a kidnap right here in New York city. If you kill her then, that will only compound your guilt.’ Will was pleased with how that had come out; it was more coherent than he had expected.

      ‘All right, I am going to make a deal with you. If you say nothing and talk to no one, we will do our best to keep Beth alive.’ Beth. It sounded strange coming from this baritone voice, whose timbre had only barely altered in the metallic compression of the phone.

      ‘What do you mean, “do our best”? Who else is there? You’ve done this, you should take responsibility for it. Either you will guarantee her safety or you won’t.’ That sentence, unplanned, prompted a thought, one he voiced out loud before it was fully formed in his own mind. ‘I want to speak to my wife.’

      ‘I’m sorry.’

      ‘I want to speak to her right now. I want to hear her voice. As proof that she is still . . . safe.’

      ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

      ‘I don’t care what you think. As I’m only too happy to explain to the police. I want to hear her voice.’

      ‘That will take some time.’

      ‘I’m calling you back in five minutes.’

      Will put the phone down and exhaled as if he had been holding his breath; the blood seemed to be pounding through his veins. His own firmness had taken him by surprise. And yet it had seemed to work; the rabbi had not refused.

      Will counted the minutes, staring at the second hand as it swept across the face of his watch. TC could say nothing.

      A minute passed, then two. Well felt an ache in his forehead; the muscles of his face had been tensed so long, they hurt. The top of the plastic pen he had been chewing came apart in his mouth.

      Four minutes gone. Will stood up and stretched, tilting his head toward one shoulder, then the next. It made a loud crack. He looked down at the phone and, four minutes and fifty five seconds after he had hung up, he redialled the number.

      ‘It’s Will Monroe. Let me speak to her.’

      There was no reply, just a series of clicking sounds, as if his call were being transferred. The sound of breath and then: ‘Will? Will, it’s Beth—’

      ‘Beth, thank God it’s you. Oh my love, are you OK? Are you hurt?’

      Silence, and then three more clicks. ‘Beth?’

      ‘I’m afraid I had to cut off the line. But now you have heard her voice; you know she is—’

      ‘For God’s sake, you barely gave us a second.’ Will smashed the table with his fist, making TC leap back in fright. He felt himself flood with emotion. For less than a second he had felt such relief, such joy: it was Beth’s voice, no mistaking it. Just the sound of it made him weak. And then it had disappeared, cut short before he had even had a chance to tell her he loved her.

      ‘I couldn’t risk any more time. I’m genuinely sorry. But I did what you asked: you have heard your wife’s voice.’

      ‘You have to promise me NOW that nothing is going to happen to her.’

      ‘I tried to explain this to you last night, Will. This is not entirely in our hands, not in mine, not in yours. Much bigger forces are in play. This is something mankind has feared for millennia.’

      ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

      ‘I cannot blame you for not understanding. Not many would, which is why we cannot explain this to the police, much as all of us might like to. They would certainly not understand. For some reason, HaShem has left this in our hands to resolve.’

      ‘How do I know you’re not tricking me to stay quiet? How do I know that you don’t plan to kill my wife the way you killed that man in Bangkok?’

      A pause. Then: ‘Ah, nothing grieves me more than what happened there.