assignments in the Foreign Service—Burma, Pakistan, God knows where,” Andrews said. “No, Connie can’t have gone to him, even if she knows where he is.”
My phone rang and I went over to the center table to answer. I glanced at my watch as I picked up the instrument. It was going on one o’clock in the morning. It was Chambrun on the phone.
“I just had a call from Walter Ames,” he said.
“Connie’s with him?” I asked, feeling relieved.
“No,” Chambrun said. “He called, asking for her. Been on some kind of a boat cruise up the Hudson. No radio or TV. He hadn’t heard the news until he got home a short time ago. He’s on his way. Should arrive in about an hour.”
“He can’t drive a hundred and twenty-five miles in an hour, even at night,” I said.
“Helicopter,” Chambrun said. “Buck Ames always does things in style. You’ve had no luck?”
“Nothing practical. Some gossip.”
“Well, if you can stay awake till Ames arrives—”
Buck Ames was like a blast of fresh wind as he came charging into Chambrun’s office about two o’clock that morning. I was instantly reminded of the present-day Caesar Romero, the movie actor—a big man, white-haired, with a beak of a nose over a black mustache and white-toothed smile. Black eyebrows shaded very bright black eyes. He was suntanned to a mahogany brown, and though I suspect he was sixty years old, he looked trim and well-muscled as an exercised man of thirty. Something in the shape of his face was reminiscent of the more delicate, fine-boned Connie. His voice was big, booming—the Buccaneer shouting his commands from the quarter-deck. He ignored me as if I was a useless piece of furniture and bore down on Chambrun.
“You’re Chambrun,” he said. “Have you found Connie?”
Chambrun shook his head.
“Jesus H. Christ, why not?” Buck shouted. “You’ve got the whole goddam city police force, the FBI, your own security people. Why not?”
“Because we’re walking on eggs in this case, Mr. Ames,” Chambrun said. “I’d like you to know Mark Haskell, a trusted assistant. He’s been looking for Connie.”
“Without any luck,” I said.
“I’ll lay ten to one I can tell you where she is,” Buck said.
“We hoped you could,” Chambrun said. “That’s why we’ve been trying to reach you all night.”
“She’s upstairs on the fifteenth floor with those crazy bastards,” Buck said. “She’d want to be with her kids. She’s given herself up as another hostage.”
“I thought of that,” Chambrun said quietly. “But I’ve had to write it off.”
“Why?” Buck demanded. “I know that girl like I know myself. Nothing would keep her away from those kids. She knows how scared they must be. She knows how badly they must need her.”
He was right, of course. I wondered why I hadn’t thought of that myself. And as I wondered, Chambrun knocked it down.
“Pour Mr. Ames a drink of whatever he wants, Mark,” he said. “And help yourself.”
“Bourbon, neat, and don’t spare the horses,” Buck said, before I could ask him. “Why did you write off that theory, Chambrun?”
“I told you, we’re walking on eggs, Mr. Ames.”
“Buck, for Christ sake,” Buck said. “Everybody calls me Buck including my no-good son-in-law.”
“I wrote it off, Buck, because there’s no way she could have got there or made contact with this Coriander fellow without my knowing,” Chambrun said. “The phones to the fifteenth floor are open. We don’t interfere with calls in or out, but we monitor them. Your daughter hasn’t made any attempt to contact Coriander by phone, nor has he made any attempt to reach her. There is no way to get to the fifteenth floor without having to pass one of our security guards on the stairway or in an elevator. No one she would have to pass to get there has seen her.”
“Someone slipped up, took a walk, went to the john.”
“My people are working in pairs in that area,” Chambrun
My phone rang and I went over to the center table to answer. I glanced at my watch as I picked up the instrument. It was going on one o’clock in the morning. It was Chambrun on the phone.
“I just had a call from Walter Ames,” he said.
“Connie’s with him?” I asked, feeling relieved.
“No,” Chambrun said. “He called, asking for her. Been on some kind of a boat cruise up the Hudson. No radio or TV. He hadn’t heard the news until he got home a short time ago. He’s on his way. Should arrive in about an hour.”
“He can’t drive a hundred and twenty-five miles in an hour, even at night,” I said.
“Helicopter,” Chambrun said. “Buck Ames always does things in style. You’ve had no luck?”
“Nothing practical. Some gossip.”
“Well, if you can stay awake till Ames arrives—”
Buck Ames was like a blast of fresh wind as he came charging into Chambrun’s office about two o’clock that morning. I was instantly reminded of the present-day Caesar Romero, the movie actor—a big man, white-haired, with a beak of a nose over a black mustache and white-toothed smile. Black eyebrows shaded very bright black eyes. He was suntanned to a mahogany brown, and though I suspect he was sixty years old, he looked trim and well-muscled as an exercised man of thirty. Something in the shape of his face was reminiscent of the more delicate, fine-boned Connie. His voice was big, booming—the Buccaneer shouting his commands from the quarter-deck. He ignored me as if I was a useless piece of furniture and bore down on Chambrun.
“You’re Chambrun,” he said. “Have you found Connie?”
Chambrun shook his head.
“Jesus H. Christ, why not?” Buck shouted. “You’ve got the whole goddam city police force, the FBI, your own security people. Why not?”
“Because we’re walking on eggs in this case, Mr. Ames,” Chambrun said. “I’d like you to know Mark Haskell, a trusted assistant. He’s been looking for Connie.”
“Without any luck,” I said.
“I’ll lay ten to one I can tell you where she is,” Buck said.
“We hoped you could,” Chambrun said. “That’s why we’ve been trying to reach you all night.”
“She’s upstairs on the fifteenth floor with those crazy bastards,” Buck said. “She’d want to be with her kids. She’s given herself up as another hostage.”
“I thought of that,” Chambrun said quietly. “But I’ve had to write it off.”
“Why?” Buck demanded. “I know that girl like I know myself. Nothing would keep her away from those kids. She knows how scared they must be. She knows how badly they must need her.”
He was right, of course. I wondered why I hadn’t thought of that myself. And as I wondered, Chambrun knocked it down.
“Pour Mr. Ames a drink of whatever he wants, Mark,” he said. “And help yourself.”
“Bourbon, neat, and don’t spare the horses,” Buck said, before I could ask him. “Why did you write off that theory, Chambrun?”
“I told you, we’re walking on eggs, Mr. Ames.”
“Buck, for Christ sake,” Buck said. “Everybody calls me Buck including my no-good son-in-law.”
“I wrote it off, Buck, because there’s no way she could have got there or made contact with this Coriander fellow without my knowing,” Chambrun said. “The phones to the fifteenth floor are open. We don’t interfere with calls in or out, but we monitor them. Your daughter hasn’t made any attempt to contact Coriander by phone, nor has he made any attempt to reach her. There is no way to get to the fifteenth floor without having to pass one of our security guards on the stairway or in an elevator. No one she would have to pass to get there has seen her.”
“Someone slipped up, took a walk, went to the john.”
“My people are working in pairs in that area,” Chambrun
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