The Negotiator

“Well, since he was released, on this committee’s instructions, to pursue his own investigations into the identities of the kidnappers, he has been located in a number of European situations and then vanished again. He was detained in Holland at the scene of a murder, then released by the Dutch police for lack of evidence…”

“He was released,” said Weintraub quietly, “because he could prove he was miles away when the crime was committed.”

“Yeah, but the dead man was a former Congo mercenary whose fingerprints have now been found in the house where Simon Cormack was detained,” said Kelly. “We regard that as suspicious.”

“Any other evidence on Qui

“Yes, sir. The Belgian police have just reported finding a body with a bullet hole in the head, stuck on top of a Ferris wheel. Time of death, three weeks ago. A couple answering the description of Qui

“Then in Paris another mercenary was shot dead on a sidewalk. A cabdriver reported two Americans answering the same description fleeing from the scene in his cab at the time.”

“Marvelous,” said Sta

“Three bodies in three countries,” observed Donaldson acidly. “Anything else we should know about?”

“There’s a German businessman recovering from remedial surgery in Bremen General Hospital; claims it was because of Qui

“What did he do to him?” asked Walters.

Kelly told him.

“Good God, the man’s a maniac,” exclaimed Sta

“Okay, we know what Qui

“Gentlemen,” said Kelly, “Mr. Brown has been pursuing the best lead we have-the diamonds. Every diamond dealer and manufacturing jeweler in Europe and Israel, not to mention right here in the States, is now on the lookout for those stones. Small though they are, we are confident we will be on top of the seller the instant they show up.”

“Damn it, Kelly, they have shown up,” shouted Odell. With a dramatic gesture he pulled a canvas bag from the floor near his feet and turned it upside down over the conference table. A river of stones clattered out and flowed across the mahogany. There was a stu

“Mailed to Ambassador Fairweather in London two days ago. From Paris. Handwriting identified as Qui

There was a concerted series of nods from the Cabinet members.

“You got it, Mr. Vice President,” said Kelly. “We… er… may have a bit of a problem there.”

“And what is that?” asked Reed sardonically.

“He’s vanished again,” said Kelly. “We know he was in Paris. We know he rented an Opel in Holland. We’ll ask the French police to trace the Opel, put a port watch all over Europe in the morning. His car or his passport will show up in twenty-four hours. Then we’ll extradite him back here.”

“Why can’t you telephone Agent Somerville?” asked Odell suspiciously. “She’s with him. She’s our bird dog.”

Kelly coughed defensively.

“We have a slight problem there, too, sir…”

“You haven’t lost her as well?” asked Sta

“Europe’s a big place, sir. She seems to be temporarily out of contact. The French confirmed earlier today she had left Paris for the South of Spain. Qui

“Now look,” said Odell. “You find Qui

The meeting broke up.

“They’re not the only ones,” growled Kelly as he escorted a less-than-pleased Director out to their limousines.

Qui

Southeast of the Ajaccio airport, where the road from the mountains joins the coast highway, Qui

It is a low, wide modern building, light and airy, divided into two tu

He was going there anyway, to make a full report to Kevin Brown and Nigel Cramer; he thought Scotland Yard had as much right as the FBI to know what had happened through October and November, half of it in Britain and half in Europe. He bought himself a single ticket to Heathrow and asked for the phone booths. They were in a row beyond the information desk. He needed coins and went to change a bank note at the magazine shop. It was just after seven; he had two hours to wait.

Changing his money and heading back to the telephones, he failed to notice the British businessman who entered the terminal from the direction of the forecourt. The man appeared not to notice him either. He brushed several drops of rain off the shoulders of his beautifully cut three-piece dark suit, folded his charcoal-gray Crombie overcoat across one arm, hung his still-furled umbrella in the crook of the same elbow, and went to study the magazines. After several minutes he bought one, looked around, and selected one of the eight circular banquettes that surround the eight pillars supporting the roof.

The one he selected gave him a view of the main entrance doors, the passenger check-in desk, the row of phone booths, and the embarkation doors leading to the departure lounge. The man crossed his elegantly suited legs and began to read his magazine.

Qui

“Certainly, monsieur. At the airport? The keys under the driver’s foot mat? We can collect it from there. Now about payment… By the way, what car is it?”

“An Opel Ascona,” said Qui

“Monsieur, we do not have any Opel Asconas. Are you sure you rented it from us?”

“Certainly, but not here in Ajaccio.”

“Ah, perhaps you went to our branch in Bastía? Or Calvi?”

“No, Arnhem.”

By now the man was trying very hard indeed.