“It has been decided to wait until the demand.”
“Then what?”
“We can’t answer that until we know what the demand is.”
Around and around on the carousel, thought Janet. She said: “That could take weeks… months…”
“We’re prepared for it to take as long as necessary, if it means getting John safely back.”
Janet supposed it was the right attitude-the only attitude-but she was impatient with it. She wanted to be told that something positive was being done, like offering a definite ransom or assembling some sort of gung-ho rescue squad. She said: “Just sit back and wait!”
“No,” said Willsher, patiently. “I told you everything that can be done is being done, and it is. The State Department has made approaches to every Arab country, saying that the government will react in the strongest possible way… without being specific what that might be… if any harm befalls him.”
“I thought you were pulling back from confrontation!”
“These are diplomatic messages, not press statements getting headlines,” Willsher said. “And I think it’s important they remain that way. I don’t think what I’ve just told you should get to the newspapers.”
“The New York Times has already come pretty close.”
Willsher shook his head. “No one has reported how we might react.”
Remembering her earlier impatience, Janet said: “What about when there is contact? What about sending in some sort of snatch squad?”
“I thought I’d already made it clear, Ms. Stone, that every sort of contingency is being explored.”
“Including some sort of commando assault?”
“I don’t think I can be as specific as that.”
“You don’t trust me, do you?”
“I don’t think trust comes into it, Ms. Stone. I don’t know the specific proposals myself.”
“And if you did you wouldn’t tell me?”
“Probably not,” admitted Willsher, at once. “That wouldn’t be particularly good security, would it?”
“Did you know John?” Janet asked abruptly. “Personally, I mean?”
Willsher hesitated and then said: “We were on station together once, some time ago. But not together here, in Washington.”
“Were you a friend?”
Willsher frowned once more, head to one side. “We saw each other occasionally,” he said. “It wasn’t really friendship.”
“Will he be able to stand it?” asked Janet, urgently. “The imprisonment… and… and…” She stumbled to a halt and then blurted out. “Whatever else there might be…?”
For the first time Willsher’s reserved formality wavered. He said: “John’s a very strong man. Very tough.”
Janet laughed, without humor. “That’s the strangest part, since all this happened. I realize I never thought of him as someone with strength… with resilience. Isn’t that odd?”
“I’m not going to say anything ridiculous, like don’t worry, but he’s able to sustain hardship,” Willsher said.
“I hope you’re right,” said Janet. “Dear God, I hope you’re right.”
“You must leave things with us now,” Willsher said. “No more media hype. Or protests from senators.”
“For how long?”
“For as long as it takes, Ms. Stone.”
“Gagged, you mean?”
“I mean there’s only one consideration, for both of us. Which is getting John out. And we think that means low profile.”
“You wouldn’t abandon him, would you?” Janet demanded.
“I don’t understand that question, ma’am.”
“I mean that it wouldn’t be considered wise politics in a region in which America has already made a whole bunch of mistakes to consider John Sheridan as being disposable…” Janet paused. Remembering the phrase, she said: “Someone who’s plausibly deniable.”
“No, Ms. Stone. I can assure you that isn’t the way we’re thinking.”
“I’d like to believe you, Mr. Willsher.”
“All I can do is repeat that it isn’t so.”
“Are you going to remain in contact?”
“Of course.”
“How?”
Willsher paused and said: “You shouldn’t have disclosed the telephone number that John gave you: we’ve had to close it down.”
“And I shouldn’t have been given the bum’s rush when I asked for help,” came back Janet. “I thought we’d cleared the decks on that.”
“I hope we have,” agreed the CIA officer.
“So how?”
“I’ve got your number.”
“No!” refused Janet, shaking her head. “I want something better than that!”
Willsher sighed, looking down at his pristine blotter. He said: “There are going to be more media approaches.”
Every conversation reverted to their sensitivity about publicity, Janet recognized. She said: “I understand what you’re saying: I really do. To refuse to talk would be as wrong as saying too much. How about if I said there had been a meeting with an official of the Agency who assured me that everything possible was being done?”
Willsher smiled, suddenly, an unexpected expression. He said: “I think that sounds fine.”
“In return for which I get a number where I can reach you whenever I want,” insisted Janet.
The smile died. Willsher said: “You have my word I will call as soon as there is news.”
“I want a number, damn it!”
Willsher blinked at the outburst. He said: “For you only.”
“I told you I understand!”
There was the briefest of hesitations and the man scrawled out a number on a scratch pad and offered it to her across the table. Janet took it and saw at once, relieved, that it was prefixed by the 703 Langley area code. Willsher said: “We’re going to stay on top with this one. You must believe me on that.”
“I’ll try,” said Janet.
She rigidly maintained her side of the bargain, confining herself to what they had agreed when the renewed newspaper and television inquiries came, until after three days the only regular callers were news agencies. The Washington Post tried to keep the story alive by publishing in their Sunday “Style” section more of the letters between herself and Sheridan that she had made available that first day, and Janet spent an uncomfortable twenty-four hours until Monday, when she could reach Willsher to explain. The CIA man said he understood and that there the feature hadn’t caused any problems.
In the first few days Janet rang Willsher morning and night. Never once did he react impatiently. By the end of the second week Janet herself recognized the pointlessness and reduced her calls to one a day.
For his part, Willsher kept the terms on behalf of the Agency, as well, reaching her, at the beginning of the third week before any news outlet to tell her of the photographs released by the Islamic Jihad. Harriet hurried over, in response to Janet’s call, and together they sat, hands linked, in front of the television.
Janet whimpered aloud when the picture flashed up, shocked by Sheridan’s appearance. There was no identifiable background and she guessed it had been taken against the wall of the cell in which he was being held. He had not been allowed to shave and the beard growth was very white, making him look much older. His hair was unkempt and straggled in places almost to his collar and it was grayer than she remembered, too, adding to the impression of age. The sports shirt was open at the neck and his thinness, almost a frailty, was more obvious to her from the bony ridges around his neck and chest than the hollow, sunken cheeks. Sheridan’s eyes were sunken, as well. Janet thought how similar he appeared around the eyes to how she had looked that day of the intended bathroom suicide.
Beside her Harriet said: “Jesus!” and then at once, embarrassed at the unthinking reaction, tried to correct it by saying “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean that…” and finally, “Oh shit!”
The commentary said the photograph had been accompanied by demands for the release of ten members of the group with whom the kidnappers were linked and who were currently being held in custody in Kuwait. If the Kuwaiti prisoners were not released, the American would be executed. The still photograph of Sheridan faded, to be replaced by live footage of a State Department spokesman in front of a map of the world, saying that the demands were being considered and discussed with friendly countries. Janet took the first two calls herself but after that relayed her reaction through Harriet, saying that she was relieved at the evidence that Sheridan was still alive and that she hoped negotiations could now be opened leading to his freedom. So busy was her telephone that it was difficult to get a call out but she finally did. Willsher seemed to be expecting her.