“Sure.” Chantal had trouble getting a good signal on her cell there in the kitchen, so she walked out towards the front of the store, dialing again.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
FRIDAY AFTERNOON
Marian sent Skeezix off with a payment for old Clarence, reminding him to be back in time for the afternoon post office run, mailing out a few books that had been ordered online.
Matthew came out from the back, noticed Chantal was nowhere to be seen, caught Marian’s eye.
“Hi, Marian. Where’s Chantal?”
“Out.”
“Out?”
“I thought you knew. She had trouble raising Professor St. Vincent on the phone, so she said she was going up the hill to look for him.”
“Alone?”
“Is there a problem?”
“I’ve got a bad feeling all of a sudden, that’s all.”
Matthew, who hated to carry a cell, used the store phone to dial Chantal.
“Hello?” She sounded chipper enough, even though the weather had continued to go curiously quiet and brooding. The birds had started darting close to the ground, and up at tree-top level the maple leaves now shivered and started to show their silver bottoms.
“Hi, babe, thank God. Where are you?”
“Walking up to find Richard; I couldn’t get through on the phone.”
“Yes, but where are you?”
“Just turned onto Waterman. It’s only another couple blocks. What’s wrong, Matthew?”
“You need to be in condition yellow, as I think your people say. Are you looking all around you? Can you get away from the street, cut through some yards?”
“Oh, shit,” Chantal said, very clearly. Matthew could hear the squealing of brakes, and then a car door slamming. A male voice shouted something, could have been “Cagna,” then something about “the car.”
“It’s our two Italian burglars,” said Chantal, surprisingly calm. At least, it would have been surprising if it were anyone but Chantal. “Metallic blue four-door Sentra, looks like a rental, can’t read the plates.”
“Do you have your gun?” he asked.
Again, another male shout of “Cagna!” and then the signal went dead.
“Shit.”
“What’s wrong?” asked Marian.
“They’ve grabbed Chantal.”
“Who?”
Matthew closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“What can I do?” Marian asked, re-booting.
Matthew kept his eyes closed and thought for about three seconds.
“You and Les need to keep this phone line manned. If she gets a chance she’ll call here, and I’d also bet we’re going to be hearing from our friend Brother Dominic before long. Right now use the other line and try again to raise Richard. Try the home and the cell. He needs to stay in touch, leave us a good contact number so Lance and I can meet with him on short notice. I’m calling Joey.”
Joey at the bank answered right away, bless him.
“Joey, it’s Matthew.”
“What’s up?”
“They’ve grabbed Chantal.”
“Who did?”
“Somebody who called her a cagna.”
“Figlio d’un putta! You want me to find ’em?”
“They were in a metallic blue four-door Sentra, probably a rental. Can you call in a favor, check with someone at the hotel, see if a certain party we’ve been talking about is driving a car like that?”
“No problem. Then you want me to find it?”
“Call back here with the license number, if I’m not available give it to Marian or Les. I think these bastards’ll stay over in this part of town; I don’t want any big invasion from The Hill to make ’em nervous. You might get a couple guys ready in case we need ’em over here, later. I understand people get paid for their time.”
“Not by you, they don’t, not for something like this. If anything happens to the lady, they’re gonna deal with me personally, as well as with some people who are not as delicate and refined as me.”
“I appreciate that, Joey, but let’s wait till we hear from the figli di puttana, eh?”
“I’m on it.”
Joey rang off.
“Marian?”
“I’ve got Richard.”
“I’ll take it. Bring Lance up to date and then ask him to wrap up the book very carefully, will you?”
“Sure.”
“I’m trusting Lance with the safety of that book till this is all worked out. Where’s Skeezix?”
“He just went to take Clarence a payment for today’s box.”
“Find him. Joey will get back to us with the license plate of a blue Nissan Sentra. I’m going to need Skeezix to turn out his friends in the neighborhood and find us that car.”
“OK.”
“Then talk to me about how we’re going to handle Rashid’s brother Hakim. Did we get a number for him?”
“I did.”
“He can tell us exactly where Rashid’s rental car was found, down in Fox Point. Skeezix can start there, working back in this general direction. But not till after we hear back from Joey.”
Matthew clicked through to the other line. “Richard?”
“Matthew. Marian says there’s trouble.”
Matthew brought Richard up to date, asked if Robinson Hall was open.
“I’m not sure, I think Miss Finisterre was planning to go home at noon. It is a vacation week. But I have keys and a badge. Do you need me to meet you there?”
“Probably. Make sure Marian knows how to reach you on short notice.”
Richard agreed, said he’d wait in his office to find out how he could help.
The call Matthew was expecting wasn’t long in coming.
“Mister Hunter.”
“You again, Brother Dominic?”
“We are done playing games, Mr. Hunter. We have your doxy, Miss Stevens. She will be released unharmed when you have handed over the book. In exactly one hour. Otherwise . . .”
“Why should I believe you? And did you actually just call her my ‘doxy’?”
“No more stalling for time, Mr. Hunter. Call her portable phone if you like, one of my associates will answer. That should convince you. We also have her lovely pink-handled revolver, which we will return along with Miss Stevens and the illiterate Egyptian, Rashid al-Adar, once you have complied. So don’t assume she’s going to ‘shoot her way out,’ please.”
“You’re not going to get away with this.”
“We are, actually. Or perhaps I should ask, ‘Get away with what?’ Your Egyptian friends can’t report the book stolen without explaining what it was doing here. But they’ll be generously compensated, anyway, which was their goal in the first place. Meantime, I must unfortunately remind you there has already been an accidental death. Not that anything so dramatic is planned now, I assure you. Miss Stevens will be returned to you, in all safety, once the primary transaction is completed.
“But if you are not at the appointed place, I must tell you I’m reliably informed that someone, not I, will send you some expendable part of Miss Stevens’ anatomy, a finger perhaps, to demonstrate the seriousness of the situation. After that, in this environment I’m told that industrial accidents with more substantial injuries are possible, making Miss Stevens progressively less desirable as a mate. Obviously, I’m working very hard on your behalf to make sure no such unfortunate things transpire. They’re so unnecessary. But events have now moved to some extent beyond my control. You must understand this matter is far more important to my employer than it is to you, Mr. Hunter. Do not risk angering my employer. He is very determined, and his reach is very long.”
“If anything happens to Chantal . . .”
“If anything happens to Miss Stevens, it will be because of your stubborn refusal to negotiate in good faith. We are not thieves, Mr. Hunter. You will still be paid a reasonable sum, a quite handsome sum, which you can divide with this equally uncooperative Egyptian however you see fit
, and glad I am to be rid of him. After all, he brought the item to you to be sold, in the first place. You will meet me in one hour in a public but relatively quiet place, inside the entrance of the Rockefeller Library on the university campus. You know where this is?”
“I’m not going to meet you there.”
“What?”
“I have the book here at the store; bring Chantal and Rashid here. You can make your offer and we’ll find out if Rashid accepts.”
“Just because a few of my young associates show more enthusiasm than intelligence, Mr. Hunter, does not mean you should mistake me for an imbecile. How do I know how many friends you have there with their little pink revolvers like Miss Stevens’? Cameras? Recording devices? Police? You are in no position to negotiate, Mr. Hunter. I ‘hold the cards,’ as they say. At the Rockefeller Library in an hour.”
“It’s closed.”
“What?”
“The university is on spring break — what they used to call Easter vacation. The libraries are on a rotating schedule and the Rockefeller is closed today. Lights out, locked up tight.”
“You are sure of this?”
“The young lady’s life is at risk, Brother Dominic. As you say, there’s no time for games. It’s also blowing up a storm outside. Our New England weather is famously changeable, especially here by the Bay. I presume we don’t want to make our exchange out on the sidewalk in the wind and the rain. The book is very old, very subject to damage if exposed to the elements, and I assume you’ll want to examine it, to make sure you’re not trading for a cold meat-lover’s pizza. Pick another place.”
The big guy partially covered his phone with his hand and asked some questions in Italian. Then he was shouting. “Imbecille, non hai considerato gli orari delle ferie?!” He managed to sound all sweetness and light when he came back on the phone with Matthew, however. “We seem to have reached a slight impasse, Mr. Hunter. Time is still of the essence. Would you care to suggest an alternative location that you could reach in time? Not your store. Somewhere we can get in out of the rain to conclude our small business? Also not a police station, please.”
“The other library, former library, actually, that Miss Stevens and I visited earlier today. I assume you’ve had us under surveillance. Robinson Hall is at the corner of Prospect and Waterman, one long block north of the Rockefeller. The rare books are housed there, now, as well as the Economics Department, though it should be deserted this afternoon, or nearly so. Red brick with gray stone facings, it looks like a church. No cameras, as far as I can recall.”
“And it will be open?”
“I know someone with a key. It will be open.”
“Very well, Robinson Hall, on Waterman, in one hour. I hope I need not tell you to avoid any unnecessary drama, Mr. Hunter, any tricks, bringing along any headstrong local enthusiasts. My own young associates are what you might call joyful with their guns.”
“Trigger-happy.”
“That’s it.”
“If you’re bringing Rashid, and he likes your price, then that should settle the matter, Brother Dominic. I’ll be able to wash my hands of it.”
“A most sensible attitude. One hour.”
* * *
Marian had intercepted Skeezix before he could curl up with a couple of cats where the lilies were poking out of the ground in the side yard. Joey called back with a registration number for the blue Nissan Sentra. Matthew called Rashid’s brother Hakim to find out the exact address where Rashid’s abandoned rental car had been found.
“You have a lead?” Hakim asked, showing off his American detective show lingo.
“I’ll fill you in, but first the address,” Matthew insisted. He wrote it down and handed it to Skeezix. “Skeezer, the Dominicans are holding Chantal and Rashid the Egyptian somewhere not far away. Recruit any help you need from among the young rabble, twenty dollars for any solid lead, start at this address and work your way back in this direction. Not necessarily in a straight line, you understand. Marian has the license plate of the blue Sentra they were driving.”
“What do I do if we find them?”
“Keep your distance and call in. They have guns.”
“Right.”
“Mattieu?” came the voice on the phone.
“I’m back, Hakim.”
“I heard. They have your lady friend?”
“They promise to bring her and your brother in exchange for the book.”
“So you do have the book?”
“It turned up.”
“Ah, that’s good news! But although I want to help, Mattieu, the book is not yours to trade.”
“The Dominican says he’ll make a cash offer for the book once he’s seen it.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know. Did you and Rashid have a price in mind?”
“Even now, we would trust your appraisal. I know you would not insult us.”
“My friend Lance White may also want to bid.”
“So why not make the exchange for whatever price the priest names? Then, once my brother and the lady are safe, I slit this priest’s throat, we have the book and his money, and at that point we can negotiate a new price with your friend?”
“I admire your directness, Hakim, but the Italians have pistols.”
“You’re sure? You’ve seen them?”
“Yes.”
“And do they have the balls to use them?”
“They’re idiots, amateurs. But an idiot’s bullet is just as dangerous, and sometimes a coward will pull the trigger when a braver man would not.”
“That’s true, Mattieu. My brother Rashid was right. Sometimes you show wisdom.”
“Sometimes.”
“Sometimes.”
“I’ll take you and your brother Patrick along, Hakim, so you can see to Rashid, and so we don’t get pushed around. But you have to follow my lead. I do business in this town, I live here. A bunch of slashed throats on the college campus on a Friday afternoon could be very expensive. If the priest’s money is good, maybe everything works out and we save our knives for the Dulaa, OK?”
“If the priest makes a fair offer, fine.”
“You need to be here in 15 minutes.”
“Shit.”
“Otherwise I’ll leave directions with Marian.”
“We’re on our way.”
Lance had the book all neatly bound up.
“Is that package waterproof? I don’t like the look of the weather.”
“Marian found me a plastic sheet.”
“How much did you hear?”
“The Dominicans want to trade Chantal for the book?”
“Penitente claims he’ll pay cash for the book, and turn over Rashid, as well.”
“And once he’s traded the two hostages for the book, who’s to say he pays anything at all? Or hands it back to us if my bid is higher?”
“Can you outbid him?” Matthew asked.
“You’re asking if I’m as rich as the Church of Rome? Of course not. But he might try to lowball you. What kind of instrument will the al-Adar brothers accept?”
“Penitente keeps talking about cash.”
“Greenbacks?”
“I haven’t seen the color of his money, but that’s what he says. Got any?”
“I travel with some earnest money, but something in the six figures? In cash? Of course not.”
“I’ll speak up for you, Lance, if you tell me you’re good for it. No wishful thinking, though, Rashid’s brother carries a knife.”
“Will that do the job? Your vouching for me?”
“I don’t know, but it’s time to go.”
PART FIVE
CHAPTER TWELVE
STILL FRIDAY AFTERNOON
Richard met them at the door to Robinson Hall. He hadn’t seen any sign of Dominic Penitente and his gang. Lance had driven Matthew and the book there in his car; Hakim and his brother Patrick had pulled up just as they were departing and had followed in the Egyptians’ own rent
al.
Outside, the sun now struggled to shine through a copper-colored haze. The horizon was an unnatural dark gray, against which white birch trees and church steeples stood out in sharp relief in the kind of orange light usually seen only at sunset. Then, in the distance, came an ominous rumble of thunder.
Matthew paused when they reached the great central reading room. Richard had evidently thrown on one auxiliary bank of pin-spots high overhead. Adding their light to that of a pair of green-shaded desk lamps which had been left on for the weekend, they provided some pools of illumination, though the edges of the room and the four hallways leading away at 90 degree angles were still cloaked in gloom, especially as the sky darkened overhead.
“Richard, I want the book out of sight while I meet with him. Why should he make any deal at all if he can just have one of his goons shoot me in the knee and grab it?”
“It would be my honor. It’ll be safe with me in the rare book room.”
“Matthew, no offense meant to the good professor,” said the Rev. White, “but just to get a number into play I’m going to offer a round quarter million for this book, which I dare say Rashid’s family would be glad to get whether he turns up or not. I could probably go higher if we could get some professional appraisals, X-rays and a carbon-14. But either way I’m a little reluctant to see it wander off where any opportunist with a lug wrench could dent the good professor’s skull and make off with it. If no one minds, I’ll tag along and be the professor’s bodyguard.”
Richard smiled. “I’d be charmed, Reverend. I’m sure we could while away a pleasant afternoon discussing chronological inconsistencies in the Book of Acts, alone.”
Hakim al-Adar had been eyeing Richard curiously, evidently trying to match him to Matthews’ description. Finally he spoke up. “You cannot be a Jew. You have no horns, and you bear no resemblance to an ape, at all.”
“It’s my diet,” Richard explained. “I’ve been off my feed for weeks. Give me a few days on some nice kosher chicken soup and I assure you I’ll present a much more simian appearance.”
The Testament of James (Case Files of Matthew Hunter and Chantal Stevens) Page 16
