an Internet café, could the Zaragoza police go to the cafés with pictures of Jacques and the girl?”
“No way did they hang around.”
“Maybe we could get a license plate from a car outside—”
“Zaragoza isn’t part of Catalonia,” CC said.
Meaning they would be asking Fernandes for help. So, they needed to keep the long shots to a minimum.
“Tell them we have a clue pointing to Zaragoza,” Brian said. “Ask for police on the platform when the train pulls in. They’ll do that.”
“Still. They must be planning to take the money before they hand her over,” Rebecca said.
“So we just hand two million euros to whoever asks and assume they keep their end, let us go?” Brian said.
“Do we have a choice?”
“I’m afraid they’ll split you up,” CC said. “Tell one of you, get off the train with the money, the other stays on, meets your daughter. Then you can’t protect each other.”
Brian and Rebecca didn’t say a word.
28
Somewhere in Spain
Taping the message took longer than Kira expected. When Jacques gave her the script, she wondered if she could sneak in extra information, Me and my three kidnappers, including one with black fingernails, who are not in Barcelona but still in Spain, but he tapped her cheek and said, “Read it exactly.”
Oh Jacques. Touchy, touchy.
They recorded in an upstairs bedroom. Scrupulously clean, the sheets tight over the mattress. No books, no clothes, no evidence of nationality or astrological sign or any human personality. So probably Jacques’s. A blackout shade taped over the window. Rodrigo stood in a corner, eyes roving over her. She wasn’t sure why Jacques had him here. Maybe an object lesson in what would happen to her if she didn’t make the tape.
Jacques made her record the script several times. Finally he seemed satisfied. He saved the file onto a flash drive, murmured under his breath to Rodrigo, and handed it over. Rodrigo trotted out. A minute later she heard the distinctive thrum of a motorcycle engine.
“Want him to take you for a ride?”
She didn’t bother answering.
“Hungry?” Jacques said. “I’m making panini.”
Her stomach was tight. She didn’t mind being hungry, but she wanted to stay strong and sharp.
Still, taking food from Jacques seemed like a bad idea. “It’s all right.”
“You think I’m going to drug you again? Why bother?”
“To move me more easily?”
“I don’t need to drug you anymore. Maybe I just tell you, I kill you if you run.”
Not this time You move me, I’m going for it. Kill me if you want.
“Or, no, you don’t listen, this time you plan to be brave. Okay, I tell you, we’re taking you to your family. Mommy, daddy, Tony.”
Rodrigo was her best bet for freedom, but Jacques was the one she wanted dead.
“But you decide you can’t trust me, you still want to run. Then I tell you if you try to escape, I kill them. Start with Tony, you make fun but you like him, I think. The back of the head, he never even feels it.” Jacques pointed a finger pistol at her, gotcha. “Would that work? Because that’s what I’m saying, if you try to run, your family dies.”
“Fuck you fuck you fuck you.” The words only betrayed her own weakness, she knew.
“I don’t think you mean it. Too bad. Come on, lunch. Jamón and Manchego. I’ll even make a deal, I cut it in half, you pick which half you want, I eat the other.”
Why not? She’d get to see more of the house, anyway. She nodded.
But he disappointed her. He locked her inside the closet, came back with the sandwich. Sure enough, he’d split it.
“Your choice.”
She pointed at his left hand.
“Wise.” He handed her the panini, chomped into the half she hadn’t chosen.
She couldn’t help feeling he was playing with her, somehow he’d known which side she’d pick and had laced it. But she’d picked on the spot. She nibbled at the sandwich. Which was as delicious as it sounded, hot, the cheese slightly salty, the ham rich with fat.
“Still nervous? We can switch.”
They traded. She took another nibble. “Thanks.” Her manners taking over before she could stop herself.
“I’m sorry about Rodrigo. You’re beautiful. But he needs to control himself.” Jacques smelled good, a peppery male musk she hadn’t expected. Of course Jacques wore the right scent, and of course he wore the right amount. She was suddenly conscious of how terrible she must smell.
“Why don’t you get rid of him?”
Jacques laughed, the sound dry, European somehow. “He has his uses. Tell me about yourself,