with the texture of burlap.
“He’s been a quick worker,” the gravel voice said. “Tape those hands.”
“Water every four hours,” said a higher pitched voice. “Let him pee. Here’s his phone. Anyone got a battery charger?”
René shivered as hands taped up his bloody wrists.
“Does this cord fit?”
“ Bon ,” the voice said with a chuckle. “We’ll wait and use his own phone for the phone call. Have fun.”
“Don’t worry, I will,” the gravel-voice said.
Wednesday Early Evening
THE RINGING OF THE phone woke Aimée. She must have nodded off at her desk at Leduc Detective while finishing the stats. On the green computer screen her eyes focused on the bright cursor blinking by her face. Familiar and reassuring. She’d promised herself never to take her eyesight for granted again but of course she had, more and more, as she recovered and tried to forget.
“Oui . . . allô?”
“We’ll give you forty-eight hours ,” said a hoarse voice.
She rubbed her eyes and sat up. Yellow rays from rue de Louvre’s streetlights slanted across her legs. The old station clock above her desk read 6 P.M.
“What? Who’s this?”
“Then we start sending you the dwarf. In little pieces.”
She froze.
René.
“What do you want?”
“Thadée’s backpack.”
Aimée stared at the flickering cursor, trying to think fast. They hadn’t mentioned jade. Did they know what was inside?
“Who are you?” She glanced at René’s untouched desk. “How do I know you have my partner?”
A sound like the muffling of a receiver came over the line. Choking.
“Aimée, don’t. I’m OK—” said René.
The line went dead.
She panicked. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Let them have all her money, the jade . . . anything to get René back.
How could this be happening? Thadée shot to death, then the jade stolen, the RG tracking her, and now René, kidnapped! She hit the call back number. It was René’s own cell phone. No answer. Smart.
Her head whirling, she had to figure something out and rescue René. She thought of his hip and . . . didn’t want to think of what they could do to him.
Calm down . She had to calm down.
They’d call back. And she’d arrange to meet them. Try and convince them to accept the fifty thousand franc check and call it quits.
They’d let her stew before calling to give her the “drop.” But what if they never handed René over? Terror clutched her.
Never rely on criminals to do the expected.
She thought of Louis; “Nut,” as she and René had nicknamed him since he kept bags of nuts in his pockets at all times, saying he was determined to eat healthily in the radar infested world he worked in. They’d met him at an electronics seminar when they’d skipped out of Sorbonne classes.
He worked at France Télécom. He’d know a way to trace the kidnappers, if anyone did. She dialed.
“CPMS division.”
“ Bonsoir , Nut?” she said, pulling on jeans and a worn cashmere sweater from the office armoire.
“Aimée . . . hold on,” Nut said. She heard beeping in the background. Clicks. “ Ça va? I’m the night network supervisor, so I need to monitor transmissions and take calls.”
“I’ll make it quick,” she told him, keeping her voice steady with effort. “Triangulation, can you do it?”
“To a land line or cell phone?”
“René’s cell phone. He’s been . . . kidnapped.”
“You’re joking.”
“I wish,” she said. ”Listen, no time to explain but. . . .”
She heard him take a deep breath.
“Only in Paris within the service antenna’s or tower’s range,” Nut said. “No suburbs or outlying districts. Paris maintains multi-antennas. Even so we’ve had only limited success. Montmartre and the Butte Chaumont hill give us trouble.”
“Will you try?” she asked, turning off her computer, switching off the lights.
“Picking through voluminous CDR records and verifying the data from the base stations which pick up calls to reconstruct and
“He’s been a quick worker,” the gravel voice said. “Tape those hands.”
“Water every four hours,” said a higher pitched voice. “Let him pee. Here’s his phone. Anyone got a battery charger?”
René shivered as hands taped up his bloody wrists.
“Does this cord fit?”
“ Bon ,” the voice said with a chuckle. “We’ll wait and use his own phone for the phone call. Have fun.”
“Don’t worry, I will,” the gravel-voice said.
Wednesday Early Evening
THE RINGING OF THE phone woke Aimée. She must have nodded off at her desk at Leduc Detective while finishing the stats. On the green computer screen her eyes focused on the bright cursor blinking by her face. Familiar and reassuring. She’d promised herself never to take her eyesight for granted again but of course she had, more and more, as she recovered and tried to forget.
“Oui . . . allô?”
“We’ll give you forty-eight hours ,” said a hoarse voice.
She rubbed her eyes and sat up. Yellow rays from rue de Louvre’s streetlights slanted across her legs. The old station clock above her desk read 6 P.M.
“What? Who’s this?”
“Then we start sending you the dwarf. In little pieces.”
She froze.
René.
“What do you want?”
“Thadée’s backpack.”
Aimée stared at the flickering cursor, trying to think fast. They hadn’t mentioned jade. Did they know what was inside?
“Who are you?” She glanced at René’s untouched desk. “How do I know you have my partner?”
A sound like the muffling of a receiver came over the line. Choking.
“Aimée, don’t. I’m OK—” said René.
The line went dead.
She panicked. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Let them have all her money, the jade . . . anything to get René back.
How could this be happening? Thadée shot to death, then the jade stolen, the RG tracking her, and now René, kidnapped! She hit the call back number. It was René’s own cell phone. No answer. Smart.
Her head whirling, she had to figure something out and rescue René. She thought of his hip and . . . didn’t want to think of what they could do to him.
Calm down . She had to calm down.
They’d call back. And she’d arrange to meet them. Try and convince them to accept the fifty thousand franc check and call it quits.
They’d let her stew before calling to give her the “drop.” But what if they never handed René over? Terror clutched her.
Never rely on criminals to do the expected.
She thought of Louis; “Nut,” as she and René had nicknamed him since he kept bags of nuts in his pockets at all times, saying he was determined to eat healthily in the radar infested world he worked in. They’d met him at an electronics seminar when they’d skipped out of Sorbonne classes.
He worked at France Télécom. He’d know a way to trace the kidnappers, if anyone did. She dialed.
“CPMS division.”
“ Bonsoir , Nut?” she said, pulling on jeans and a worn cashmere sweater from the office armoire.
“Aimée . . . hold on,” Nut said. She heard beeping in the background. Clicks. “ Ça va? I’m the night network supervisor, so I need to monitor transmissions and take calls.”
“I’ll make it quick,” she told him, keeping her voice steady with effort. “Triangulation, can you do it?”
“To a land line or cell phone?”
“René’s cell phone. He’s been . . . kidnapped.”
“You’re joking.”
“I wish,” she said. ”Listen, no time to explain but. . . .”
She heard him take a deep breath.
“Only in Paris within the service antenna’s or tower’s range,” Nut said. “No suburbs or outlying districts. Paris maintains multi-antennas. Even so we’ve had only limited success. Montmartre and the Butte Chaumont hill give us trouble.”
“Will you try?” she asked, turning off her computer, switching off the lights.
“Picking through voluminous CDR records and verifying the data from the base stations which pick up calls to reconstruct and
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