It wasn’t Jorge speaking, or at least it wasn’t the man Newman had known for years. Whatever they had done to him made him sound lifeless, wooden. And he was obviously reading from a prepared script, because he never talked that way.
“I instruct my directors to use one hundred million dollars of Company funds, in U.S. currency, to purchase gold on the open market. Half of that gold shall be spent to purchase food, medical supplies, and farm equipment for our peasants on the pampas. Those glorious, toiling workers, from whom I have profited by grinding their bodies into the dust of the earth, shall be rewarded.
“The second half of the gold must be deposited in the account of the Argentine Liberation Army at the National Bank of Libya in Tripoli. The money will be used to finance Argentine freedom fighters, who will very soon be coming to liberate our homeland from the oppressive yoke of imperialism.”
Newman grabbed the phone. When the operator came on the line, he had her place a call to Duluth. While he was waiting for it to go through, he watched the television.
“I am sorry for my sins,” Vance-Ehrhardt was saying. “And even though I am a criminal in the eyes of my people, I will be allowed to return to my home and my loved ones if the simple demands I have stated are met within seventy-two hours.”
Vance-Ehrhardt’s photograph was replaced on the screen by Captain Perés standing outside the police building. He was surrounded by reporters.
“What is being done at this moment, sir?” one of the newsmen asked.
“We are doing everything within our power to track down and apprehend these reprehensible criminals,” Perés said with a flourish. “Although I cannot, for natters of security, disclose the exact progress of our case, I can assure you that we are close, very close ndeed, to making an arrest….”
“I have your party on the line, Mr. Newman,” the hotel operator said.
Newman turned away from the television. “Paul?”
“It’s me,” Saratt said. “The Vance-Ehrhardt thing is on the TV. CBS has picked it up.”
“I want you to be on the lookout for a Vance-Ehrhardt mass purchase,” Newman said, and he could hear Saratt catching his breath.
“That’s shitty business, Kenneth, if you’re planning what I think you are.”
“I want them blocked, Paul. At every avenue, I want them outbid.”
“Kicking them when they’re down? What the hell is happening to you down there?”
On the television Perés was still talking with the newspeople. “Listen to what I have to tell you, without comment. And when I’m finished, I want you to get to work immediately.”
“I understand.”
“In Washington, Lundgren wouldn’t give me a thing.”
“I figured as much.”
“However, Lydia also went to Grainex for the information.”
“I hope you’re not going to tell me what I think you’re going to tell me.”
“I told her, Paul. Not everything. Not the extent of the deal, but I told her.”
“Jesus, hell, and Christ!” Saratt shouted in frustration.
“She’s calling the shots now. I want her blocked.”
“It may be too late.”
“I don’t think so. We have the available funds now, and Vance-Ehrhardt is going to be cash poor if they meet the ransom demands.”
“And if we get caught short?”
“Buy it all on margin. They don’t care as long as we can deliver.”
“You’re putting us way the hell out on a limb, Kenneth!”
Newman laughed. “Haven’t we always lived dangerously?”
“I’ll do what I can from this end,” Saratt said.
Newman hung up. Perés seemed to look directly at him from the television screen, a feral grin on his lips.
“There are a number of curious elements to this business — international elements — that we are vigorously working on. And I promise you that we will leave no stone unturned in our efforts to return the Vance-Ehrhardts to their loved ones, and to the nation.”
The newscaster was back, and behind him was an aerial photograph of the Vance-Ehrhardt estate, with arrows pointing to the routes the terrorists had apparently used to gain entry and return to the airstrip.
“Mr. Newman,” Evans said, and Newman looked away from the television. “We’re leaving in the morning?”
“Yes.”
“Very good, sir. I spoke with Mr. Coatsworth, and he suggested in the strongest of terms that, until you leave the country, you not move from the hotel nor allow any visitors up here.”
“I can’t guarantee any of that, but we will be leaving.”
“Back to the States?”
“Geneva, Switzerland.”
“Very good, sir,” the man said, and the doorbell chimed. He immediately pulled out his automatic, flipping the safety off and levering a round in the chamber.
Humphrey stuck his head in the doorway, his gun in hand. “Are you expecting anyone, sir?”
Newman shook his head.
“Then please stand back,” he said, and he motioned for his partner to go to the door.
The doorbell rang again. “Kenneth?” a woman’s voice said from out in the corridor. It was Lydia.
“It’s my wife,” Newman said, starting forward. “Let her in.”
Evans motioned him back. “Just a moment, sir.” He went to the door and opened it slightly.
“Is my husband here?” Lydia demanded.
“Are you alone, ma’am?”
“Open this goddamned door, I have to see him!” Lydia shouted.
The bodyguard glanced back at Newman, who nodded, and he opened the door. She stormed in.
“Get out. I want to be alone with my husband.”
Newman nodded. His bodyguards went back into their own room and reluctantly shut the door.
“You have to get out of Buenos Aires immediately, Kenneth,” she said.
“I’m leaving in the morning,” he said, staring at her. She was beautiful, and he ached at the thought of her, and what they were doing to each other.
“No, you must leave now. I’ve telephoned Jacob to have your plane ready for you. By the time you get out to the airport, the crew will be waiting.”
“I’m sorry about your father…” Newman began.
“Goddamn it, Kenneth, listen to me! You have to leave.”
“Why?”
Lydia glanced toward the door to the other room and lowered her voice. “Perés doesn’t have a clue as to what’s going on, but he thinks that you’re behind it somehow.”
“Do you believe that?”
“Of course not,” she said. “But Perés does, and he’s going to make you his scapegoat.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Ever since the Malvinas fight, the government has been insane to find some way in which to strike back at Americans. You’re here now, and a perfect target.”
“I’m going to be arrested?”
“He’s going to have you assassinated.”
“He’d never get away with it.”
“He’ll get away with anything he wants right now. The mood of my people is very bad.”
“I’m not leaving without you.”
“Don’t be a fool. I have to stay here until my parents are released. Until this entire mess is cleaned up.”
Newman, at that moment, saw a side to Lydia he didn’t particularly care for. It didn’t seem to matter to her if her parents were released alive or killed; all that mattered was clearing up the mess so that business could be brought back to normal.
“Simon can take over,” Newman said.
“Simon is an old fool,” Lydia snapped. “I want you out of here this evening.”
“And if I don’t go? If I remain here to help? Or wait for you?”