The shrill ringing of the phone split the tense atmosphere in the room. Before anyone else could move, the Saint snatched up the transceiver. He held up his other hand for silence as he waited for the caller to speak first.
“Garvi?”
“Yes.”
The Saint knew that his mimicking of the colonel’s tone would not have fooled anyone for long, but he was gambling that the call to the embassy had been the first time the terrorists had spoken to their chief enemy.
The caller appeared satisfied. He spoke quickly and with such a thick accent that it was all the Saint could do to make out his words:
“This is the last call you will receive. Either you agree to an exchange, or Captain Zabin dies.”
“How do I know she’s still alive?”
There was a long pause, and the Saint began to fear that the caller had hung up. Then suddenly Leila’s voice came over the line, the words tumbling out as she tried to get her message across before she was silenced.
“Simon, forget me. Keep Hakim. Make him talk.”
The sound of a scuffle followed before the Arab spoke again.
“Satisfied? If you want her back, come to Waterloo Bridge tonight at eight. A car will be parked in the middle of the bridge facing north. Stop and flash your lights three times, then follow it. Do exactly as you are told. Understand?”
“Yes.”
The phone went dead, and Simon dropped the handset back into its cradle. He looked at Garvi.
“I’ve agreed to a deal,” he stated flatly.
“You cannot complete it. You have no authority.”
Yakovitz was standing on the Saint’s left but looking towards his boss; his coat was unbuttoned, and Simon could clearly see the automatic in its shoulder holster. The Saint moved so swiftly that no one was aware of his intention until it was too late. As his fingers closed around the butt and pulled the gun from its spring clip, he stepped back and placed himself where he could cover all four men at the same time.
“How’s this for authority?” he suggested mildly. “And if any of you have an idea that I don’t know how to use it, you can ask the colonel for a reference.”
“Simon, don’t be a fool.” Garvi was rigidly unemotional. “You’ll never get out of the grounds. And even if you did manage it somehow, you couldn’t take Hakim with you.”
“Colonel,” said the Saint, just as reasonably, “the name of this game seems to be catch the hostage. If your men know you’ll be the first to cash in, they won’t be so quick to start shooting. Now, there is one thing I could do. I could blow the lid off this whole illegal operation. I could create a stink that’d smell from Whitehall to the Wailing Wall. But that isn’t my idea at all.” He paused for a moment, deliberately, and they waited. They had very little option; but now he held their attention with more than the gun in his hand.
“We are going to do exactly what they told me. We are going to take Hakim along and swap him for Leila. They’ve given me no choice and I’m giving you none. But the rendezvous isn’t until eight. That gives us four hours to work out a plan. And four hours for me to find Leila and get her away. It shouldn’t be completely beyond us.”
Garvi seemed suddenly more relaxed, as if he almost welcomed the Saint’s pre-emptive intervention.
“Very well, Simon,” he said quietly. “Put the gun away. We’ll play it your way — until eight.”
“Your word, Colonel?”
“You have it.”
Simon lowered the automatic, but tucked it into his belt instead of returning it to Yakovitz. Garvi accepted the Saint’s reservation without comment.
“We also have four hours to find out what we can from our prisoner,” he remarked.
“Help yourselves,” said the Saint hospitably. “Just don’t do anything that leaves marks, in case he has to be exhibited.”
Hakim had been following the action and dialogue in swivel-eyed silence, but now he protested for the first time.
“You cannot make me talk. They would kill me.”
Yakovitz cuffed him across the ear with the back of his hand.
“If they don’t, I might,” he snarled. “Keep your mouth shut until I tell you to open it.”
He was about to say more when the phone rang again, and Garvi picked it up. He listened for a moment and then held it out to the Saint.
“For you. Someone who seems to expect you to be here.”
Simon took over the instrument.
“Harry?” The bite in his voice was belied by the sparkle in his eyes. “What the hell happened to you? Where are you?”
Harry’s reply came in an injured whine.
“That was unfair, Mr. Templar. You didn’t say nothin’ about a shooting match. I was goin’ to clear off when I see them grab the girl, so I followed. I couldn’t call you before in case I lost them.”
“Where are you?”
“It’s goin’ to cost, Mr. Templar. This ain’t what you ordered originally.”
“Tell me where the girl is, and I’ll give you enough to keep the bookies singing until Christmas.”
“Straight?”
“Straight. Now make it snappy.”
“They’ve taken her to an old factory, back of the Union Canal in Bethnal Green.”
“How many are they?”
“Five, I think. There was the three that brought her an’ another two met ’em when they arrived. Might be more inside for all I know.”
“Right. Stay with them, Harry. I’ll be there as soon as I can — in a couple of hours with luck. Tell me exactly where this place is.”
When he was sure that he could find the hideout, Simon hung up and turned to the others.
“Gentlemen,” he announced happily, “we are in business.”
10
The Saint pressed his foot down and the big car surged forward on the instant that an obstructive traffic light turned green. For the first time since he had been summoned to the embassy and become involved in a duel that was not of his choosing, he felt relaxed and in total control of his actions. The events of the day had combined to uncomplicate the proceedings. The hunt was over, the intrigue finished. The whole affair had been stripped of its complexities and clutter and reduced to the basics upon which an adventurer builds the structure of his career. There were villains to be thwarted and a damsel in distress to be rescued. He asked for nothing better.
The plan he had settled on with Garvi after Harry’s call was the essence of simplicity, and if he was aware that its execution would prove more difficult than its conception he did not allow the thought to worry him. Garvi and Yakovitz would take Hakim to the bridge and follow the terrorists to their hideout where the exchange would be made. As the rendezvous was taking place, he would enter the factory alone and try to get Leila out while the garrison was at least reduced.
Garvi’s only rider had been that if anything went wrong he would keep Hakim and leave both the Saint and Leila to their fates, and Simon had agreed to it. Secure in the knowledge that Garvi would not double-cross him now, he had taken the time for a quick snack before leaving. Unlike Napoleon’s quoted army, he did not necessarily march on his stomach, but he knew that no man’s efficiency is improved by the hypoglycemia of hunger.
Although bent on making the best time he could, he scrupulously observed every speed limit and traffic regulation. To be stopped for any technical infringement would more than cancel out the few minutes he might have gained. He had left Garvi the Hirondel, as it would be more easily recognised by the terrorists, and had taken instead the embassy Mercedes, from which he had removed the conspicuous “CD” badge. Now with the cool breeze fanning his cheek through the open window he even hummed a tune, and the eyes that swept the road ahead were bright with the light of battle.