Lockdown

Thirty-six

Stafford Van Straten took some papers from an eight-hundred-dollar leather attaché case and laid them out on the back seat of the Hummer. ‘I spent most of the day negotiating with our insurance company,’ he said.

Richard looked down at the documents, a glazed expression on his face.

‘I managed to convince them that because there’s only been a short window between your terminating your employment and your decision to rejoin the company, they won’t void the policy which covers you in relation to kidnap for ransom. In other words, you’ll still be covered.’

Stafford smiled to himself. He would have made a great door-to-door salesman.

‘It wasn’t an easy negotiation under the circumstances. They’re placing a limit on any ransom of two million dollars. Usually they’d go to five. But I think we were lucky to get them to extend their cover at all, don’t you?’

Again, Richard said nothing.

‘In the event that any ransom that’s paid exceeds two million dollars, Meditech have agreed to cover the excess beyond two to the usual ceiling of five. We can write it off against tax, in any case.’

Finally, Richard looked up at him. ‘This is my son’s life you’re putting a figure on.’

Stafford loosened his tie, undid the top button of his shirt. ‘I’m sorry, Richard. I don’t mean it to sound so clinical. I’m not really the best guy when it comes to dealing with emotions. I tend to suppress things, you know. It’s easier for me to try to fix things than worry about why they went wrong in the first place. I understand that you’d give anything to get him back.’ He eased a contract across the seat with the fingertips of his right hand.

Richard looked down at the thick sheaf of laser-printed heavy bond paper. ‘What’s this?’

‘Well, in order for this to work you have to be in our employ for at least the next twelve months. Any less and the insurance company would void the policy again. Along with the cover for other employees. Which in turn would make it near impossible for us to be insured with anyone else. And that would present major difficulties, especially for our overseas operations. Major difficulties for you too, as you’d be liable for any ransom. And I’m guessing if you had a spare few million lying around we wouldn’t be here now. You do see what I’m saying here, Richard, don’t you?’

Richard hesitated, then reached out for the contract. He began to flip through it, looking for where his signature was required.

‘It’s all fairly standard stuff,’ Stafford said quickly, handing him a Mont Blanc. ‘All the usual caveats, in particular with regard to the commercial sensitivity of your work.’

Richard stopped flipping. ‘I won’t go back to using animals.’

‘And neither will we. Our word is our bond on that issue.’

Richard flicked to the last page and signed his name. Stafford handed him the copy. He signed that as well.

‘You’re talking about a ransom,’ Richard said, ‘but there hasn’t been any demand yet.’

‘That’s not entirely true.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘We had to resolve some other issues first. Before we told you.’

For a moment Stafford thought Richard was going to stab him through the throat with the pen.

‘The kidnappers have contacted you?’

‘They were obviously confused about your status with the company. Didn’t you think it was strange when you didn’t receive any demand?’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Richard sounded disbelieving.

‘If we had, you’d have told the FBI, and where would that have gotten us? Listen, Richard, you’ve been a bit of a loose cannon for the company. Even prior to all this. All your objections to the animal testing didn’t go down well with senior management.’

‘It’s bad science. The genetic structure of a primate isn’t close enough for something of this nature. Fine if you want to come up with something to treat, say, diabetes, but there’s no margin of error with these agents.’

Stafford cut him off. It was tough love time. ‘Well, while you were busy baring your soul on national TV, I was hard at work trying to get the company to sort out this damn mess. The people who have your son have made it plain they don’t want news of any ransom demand getting to the FBI. Nor do we. How many kids of our employees would be snatched if this were made public? Millions of dollars involved. Every scumbag loser in the country would be looking to repeat the trick. Every child whose parents were employed by a major corporation would be a target. Do you want that?’

‘Of course not. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.’

‘Good. So no telling anyone else. Especially not the FBI. If they find out, they’ll block it, and your son will likely die.’

‘How can we be sure he’s still alive?’

‘Proof of life?’

Richard nodded.

Stafford reached back into his smart leather attaché case and retrieved a clear plastic bag with a bright blue Ziploc sealer at the top. Inside were four locks of brown hair. ‘We’ve had it analysed using our own labs. It’s definitely Josh’s. And they sent us this.’

Aware that a Polaroid avoided any suspicion that the image had been doctored, Stafford produced a white-edged snap, and passed it to Richard. In it, Josh stood, blinking against the flash, hair shorn and coloured, holding a two-day-old copy of the New York Post.

‘Oh Jesus. My son. What have they done to him?’ said Richard, breaking down at last.