Willsher nodded sideways, to the Cyprus-based agent, and said: “Al submitted a full report of your meeting. I’ve got to tell you it caused quite a flap at Langley.”
“I’m glad there’s some reaction at last.”
Willsher appeared not to notice the sarcasm: if he had, he was unoffended by it. He said: “You must understand that what I am going to tell you is in the strictest confidence: if you had not kept so positively to the agreement we made in Washington, I wouldn’t be telling you at all. There’s been a policy decision taken, at the highest level. That photograph is absolutely genuine. If we can get a location for John it’ll be the first time, in all the kidnappings, that we’ve something positive to act upon. And we’re going to do just that. If we can get a location for John, we’re authorized to go in and get him!”
For a moment the three men blurred before her and the room spun: hoping they would not notice, Janet actually gripped the edge of her chair, physically holding on. “Thank you,” she managed. “Thank you so much.”
“Which is why we must have access to your source,” completed the man.
It was like being doused in cold, reviving water. “No,” said Janet, as adamantly as Willsher had spoken.
“Ms. Stone,” said Willsher, level-voiced. “This is foolish. We’re planning an incursion into another country. OK, so it’s a pretty screwed-up country but by international law it’s still sovereign territory. If we do it there’s going to be hell to pay. That’s been allowed for: to stop being shoved around by any bunch of bums who think they can take a pop at us. Washington-the President-is prepared to take whatever flak is thrown afterwards, at any international forum. But we’ve got to get it right. If we lose too many men…” The man stopped, awkwardly. “… and I’ve got to say it, if we lose John, in the attempt, then it’s all going to blow right up in our faces. You understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes,” said Janet. “I understand what you’re saying.”
“We’ve got to plan, to get as much detail as we can. Rehearse, if possible, in some sort of mock-up: outside of Washington we’ve a training facility, at Fort Pearce. We can have a street re-creation ready there in twenty-four hours and we’ve got men standing by to build it. This has got to go as clean as the Israeli rescue did in Entebbe. So we must have access to your source.”
“No,” said Janet again. Willsher was right, of course: by telling her of the rescue operation being considered they’d met her demand for action-the reason she’d put forward before for refusing-so to go on refusing was foolish. But her possible access to the knowledge-through Baxeter-of where John might be was her only bargaining strength. So she wouldn’t surrender it: wouldn’t be cut out and discarded, yet again.
“Janet!” pleaded Knox, familiarly. “You’ve got to!”
“It won’t work,” improvised Janet. “I asked, after bringing the photograph here… after talking to Hart. They said no: that they won’t cooperate directly with you. They’ll only pass the information through me.”
The three men stared at her, the skepticism obvious.
“They?” isolated Hart. “More than one person then?”
“Yes,” floundered Janet.
“Why won’t they trade direct?” pressed Hart.
“I wasn’t told, not openly. There was some talk about not trusting you.”
“You think it’s a group with which we’ve worked before?” said Willsher.
Janet thought she was sweating and that it would be noticeable to them. “I don’t know what to think,” she avoided. “Like I said, I wasn’t told directly: it’s an inference.”
“What nationality?” said Knox.
“They speak Arabic,” Janet tried to sidestep.
“Syrian Arabic, Lebanese Arabic, what Arabic?” insisted the Beirut officer.
She was out of her depth, Janet decided: out of her depth and sinking, without any means of support. “Syrian Arabic,” she said.
“What’s the deal?” demanded Willsher. “What are they getting out of it?”
Thinking desperately Janet realized the Americans would probably have access to her account, through Zarpas. “Money,” she said. “I’ve agreed to pay?20,000. But since being conned like I was before I’ve said I won’t pay anything until after John’s got out.” She thought it had sounded all right: she wished she were able to tell more from the expression on their faces.
“And they’ve gone for that?” asked Hart, doubtfully.
“They gave me the photograph, didn’t they?”
“How can you contact them?”
“I can’t,” said Janet, vaguely aware of firmer ground underfoot. “They’ve got to contact me.”
“No planned dates then?”
“No planned dates.”
“I don’t like this,” said Willsher. “I don’t like this at all.”
“I don’t like it either,” said Janet, aware they were the first honest words she had uttered for a long time. “This is the way they insist it has to be.”
“You think you’ll get a location?” said Knox.
“I’ve no way of knowing.” Honest again, she thought, gratefully.
“So we just sit and wait?” said Willsher.
“And hope,” Janet said.
“You think some sort of personal protection might be a good idea?” Hart suggested.
“No!” Janet said, too quickly, frightened of what surveillance might disclose-Baxeter. “I’m sure they won’t come near me if they see any sort of official escort.”
“Let’s not take the risk of blowing it,” Willsher said.
“You will tell us!” Knox said. “You won’t try anything like before: try to do something yourself?”
“I brought the photograph here,” reminded Janet. “If I had intended doing anything myself I would not have done that, would I? I recognize well enough that you’re the only people with a chance of getting John out.”
“Just don’t forget it,” Willsher cautioned. “This is big league stuff now: the biggest.”
“Let’s keep in daily contact,” Hart suggested. “Just to keep the lines open.”
“Of course,” Janet agreed.
“And don’t forget what I said before, will you, Ms. Stone?” Hart said. “Be very careful.”
Despite the apparent assurance Janet expected them to attempt some sort of surveillance and over the following days she tried to detect it. She actually set her idea of traps, staying entire days in the hotel and around the pool, alert for obvious attention, and at other times going for long drives through the Greek parts of the island where there were tourist spots and lingering at them, intent for a familiar face following her. Not once did she detect anything. She maintained the daily contact and once accepted Willsher’s invitation to dinner, which was an appalling mistake. The Washington officer resumed the embassy interrogation and Janet sweated and lied again, sure by the end of the evening that Willsher knew she was lying.
It was a fortnight before Baxeter returned. So resigned had Janet become to his absence that she did not expect the call to be from him when she lifted the receiver. As soon as she recognized his voice she erupted in a babble of questions and he had to shout her down to be able to speak himself.
“I’ve got something,” he announced, simply.
Janet swallowed, unable to respond. Or think clearly-properly-how she should have thought. Her immediate impression was that the moment of decision was drawing inexorably nearer, like a noose tightening. She said: “I’ll come to the flat.”
She used the same avoidance technique as she’d tried before, driving openly to the communication complex and even more openly parking the car, then hurrying into the walled section of Nicosia to come out again by the rank on Eleftheria Square. Like before she drove away straining through the rear window: there was no indication of pursuit.
They thrust into each other’s arms, neither speaking for a long time. Then Janet said: “I don’t ever want you to go away again,” and Baxeter said: “I won’t.”
They separated at last and Janet said: “You’ve got an address?”
Baxeter nodded and said: “It’s in the Kantari district.”
“Genuine?”
He shrugged: “Who knows, until someone goes there?”