He walked over to the entertainment center and slipped the cassette into his VCR, turning on the television in the same motion. The image that sprang up drained the blood from his face.
Harry White sat naked on a wooden chair with heavy silver tape binding his wrists to the chair’s arms and more of it wound around his thin white chest just below his sagging pectoral muscles. Electric wires were clipped to his nipples, and deep bruises surrounded his mouth and blackened both eyes. There was a look of terror on Harry’s face. The morning’s Washington Post lay in his lap. Jesus, the paper meant that they’d been in his house at most a half hour ago.
When he finally spoke, Harry’s usual rasping voice sounded more like a child’s plea. His speech sounded scripted.
“Mercer, I was grabbed last night after leaving the bar.
I don’t know who is holding me, but they are serious in their intentions.” As if to prove this statement, a hand appeared from off camera and backhanded Harry viciously. It took him a few moments to recover, his chest heaving in fright and pain. “They demand that you go to Eritrea and find the diamond mine or they will kill me. You have no choice. If they find that you are not planning to go, parts of my body will be dumped on your doorstep, culminating in my head in two weeks’ time.”
Harry stopped speaking, his rheumy eyes focusing beyond the camera’s range for a second as if listening to someone. Then Mercer heard another voice, one masked by an electronic synthesizing device. “Dr. Mercer, listen to your friend. We do not wish to kill him, but the discovery of the mine is too important to us to worry about the death of one old man.
“You have six weeks to accomplish the task. If you are not successful, Harry White will be killed. If you attempt to find us, Harry White will be killed. If you tell anyone what has happened, Harry White will die. His life, or his death, are your responsibility.”
Two men entered the frame, though Mercer could not see their faces. One wrapped his arms around Harry’s torso while the other positioned himself next to the old man’s hand.
“We will be in contact with you periodically when you get to Eritrea,” the voice droned. “When you find the diamonds, you must tell no one but us, or your friend will be brutally tortured before his execution.”
“Mercer, listen to me,” Harry shouted at the camera. “I’m not a hero. I don’t want to die. I haven’t had a cigarette in hours, and I’m already starting to get the shakes from the DTs. For Christ’s sake, do whatever they want, kill the fucking President if that’s what it’ll take. Just get me out of this.”
Without warning, the one man grasped Harry’s pinkie finger and snapped it so quickly that a look of surprise hung on Harry’s face for a few seconds before the waves of pain contorted his features. He screamed, bubbles of saliva dripping from his mouth. The video ended abruptly.
Fear welled up in Mercer and he staggered back against the bar. He saw Tory again on the platform and himself in a train car and he saw her head explode the instant before the gunman ended his own life. He’d done nothing. It didn’t matter to him that he’d been forty yards away and the gunman had one arm wrapped around Tory’s throat, the pistol screwed into her ear. He’d been paralyzed with fear then, and it slammed into him again now. It pinned him to the bar and he struggled against it. He had been powerless that one time and vowed never again. But in all the times since then, it was he who was in danger, not someone he loved. Not Harry. He felt trapped, out of control, which for him was the worst of all. He couldn’t tear his eyes from the dark television, his mind shrinking away from what he’d just seen.
And then came a spark of rage and he grabbed on to it, feeling it grow so he could think again. Rage was something he could control and channel and use. His fists balled at his sides so his knuckles strained against the skin. Harry was in trouble, Harry who had saved his life and who had been a friend for so long, a father in every way that really counted. Seeds of guilt crept on him because had they not been friends, Harry would have awakened this morning in his own bed, bleary-eyed from last night’s drinks, but none the worse for wear. Mercer could use the guilt too, because it focused his anger. And if his guilt and his rage were strong enough, they would crush the fear.
Five minutes passed before the rational side of Mercer could finally take over from his emotions and allow him to think of some plan of action. First and foremost was finding who had kidnapped Harry. His first thought was Prescott Hyde. Mercer knew the State Department maintained a covert arm for just such activities. Grabbing an old man from his bed and bypassing Mercer’s home security system would be child’s play for them. But they didn’t need Mercer that badly, not like this. There were dozens of men equally qualified to conduct the search in Eritrea. Selome Nagast, he thought. No, she was on Hyde’s side. That left, who?
Mercer didn’t know. But he was sure he was in over his head. He had options, namely going to Dick Henna, but he also knew if he was going to get Harry back safely, he would have to go to Africa. There was someone out there with access to expert home breakers capable of kidnap and possibly murder. Harry was his responsibility and he would do whatever it took to bring him home.
He couldn’t let himself consider the consequences if the kimberlite pipe didn’t exist.
Arlington, Virginia
Because Mercer had no way of knowing if phone lines had been tapped or his home bugged at the same time the tape was delivered, he spent the day in Tiny’s cluttered back office, a room just bigger than a phone booth and plastered with horse-racing pictures. While he worked, Paul kept him supplied with coffee and sandwiches. Mercer told Paul everything, and the former jockey agreed that in a situation like Harry’s kidnapping, involving the police wasn’t the right move.
Mercer did place a call to Dick Henna, and they agreed to meet later that night. Mercer suspected he would be tailed but had a plan for shaking them while not drawing attention to the fact. Much of what he did during the afternoon could have been accomplished at his place, but Mercer hated the idea of working under a microscope, and as he made his preparations for going to Africa, there were a few details he wanted to keep to himself. It was a little past four when he was ready to tell Selome Nagast and Hyde that he would go to Eritrea after all.
“Embassy of Eritrea, how may I direct your call?” The receptionist’s accent was thick.
“Selome Nagast, please.”
Mercer waited fifteen seconds as the woman checked her directory. “I am sorry, sir, but there is no one here with that name.”
“Are you sure?” Mercer realized it was a stupid question.
“Yes, sir.”
“Is it possible she works at the embassy but doesn’t have a phone listing?” Mercer asked hopefully but a niggling doubt was forming in the back of his head.
“We have a new voice-mail system,” the receptionist explained. “Even temporary employees can receive messages.”
“Thank you.” Mercer kept the suspicion out of his voice and dialed Prescott Hyde. He wondered if his dismissal of Selome Nagast as Harry’s kidnapper had been premature.
“I’m surprised to hear back from you, Dr. Mercer. You made it clear yesterday that you aren’t interested in our venture.”
“Let’s just say I’ve had a change of heart. I’m on board now one hundred percent and wanted you to be the first to know.” Mercer said nothing about Selome. At this point, any information he had was a weapon, and now wasn’t the time to use it. “I’ve already started working on the project. I’ve got heavy equipment en route from South Africa, three D-11 dozers, a couple of big front loaders, six Terex dump trucks, and a Caterpillar 5130 hydraulic shovel. All of the iron is leased for six months except the 5130, which Eritrea is going to have to buy.”