They’d reached the crux of the meeting. Which had nothing to do with publicity. Or even what Barraza’s officers were doing to find Kira.
“The ransom,” Rebecca said. “I think we should pay it.”
Fernandes jumped in before Barraza could answer. “That’s your decision.”
“You agree?”
“They haven’t even offered you a way to say yes or no, much less make a counteroffer.”
“Quibble over how much my daughter is worth?”
“Our daughter,” Brian muttered.
“A counteroffer is standard,” Fernandes said. “As I’m sure you know. Delay, give Hector’s men a chance to do their jobs. Unless whoever has her explicitly threatens her. Which they haven’t.”
“Do these seem like the kind of people who negotiate?”
“Everyone negotiates.”
Again, as much as she disliked Fernandes, he wasn’t entirely wrong. They had no choice but to wait for another text to arrive. Rebecca wished the kidnappers had offered an email address or a Signal or Telegram account. But they weren’t going to give the NSA a chance at their comms.
“What about you, Hector? What do you think?”
Barraza tapped his yellowed fingertips on the table. “These look like professionals. I think if you deliver the money, they keep the bargain.”
“Colonel?”
Garza nodded. “It’s a lot of money but not a crazy demand. Not a hundred million. Not impossible politically either, like the ones we see from the Islamic State, Spain must pull out of NATO.”
“You have two million euros in cash?” Fernandes said.
“Of course not,” Rebecca said. “But Spain does.”
Fernandes shook his head, No no no.
“You’ve paid ransom before.”
“For Spanish citizens. In special instances. Aid workers, doing their jobs in dangerous places. Helping the world. Not a girl who gets herself in a mess.”
“You’re blaming Kira?” Brian said.
“She didn’t even first meet this man in Spain, we don’t know if he’s Spanish. He probably isn’t.”
“What if it’s about my job?” Rebecca said.
“Let the FBI pay.”
“You know we can’t.”
“Right. You have a rule, you don’t negotiate with terrorists, you don’t pay them. You want us to pay instead.” Fernandes shrugged. “Anyway, this isn’t Spain. It’s Catalonia. Maybe we split it fifty-fifty. One million Madrid, one million Barcelona. What do you say, Hector?”
For the first time, Barraza seemed thrown. “This isn’t a matter for the police. I can ask. But I think the mayor will see this as a national issue.”
“Oh yes, when it’s convenient for Catalonia, the problem is national—”
“You won’t give us the money, I’ll rob a bank,” Rebecca said.
“Calm down,” Fernandes said.
Two of the most enraging—and sexist—words in any language. Relax, little lady, and let the men handle things.
“Maybe there’s a way,” Rob Wilkerson said. His tone quieted them all.
Wilkerson explained. The Spanish government would lend two million euros to the Unsworths—today, in cash, in return for a promissory note. “An aid to the investigation. It probably will never be paid out. If it is, the Unsworths will pay it all back—”
“How long?” Fernandes said.
“Let’s say ten years.”
Brilliant. Wilkerson knew the Unsworths couldn’t repay the loan. Not in ten years or a hundred. But if the money vanished and Kira didn’t return, the Spanish government couldn’t ask the Unsworths to repay it. Even if she returned, would Spain want to ruin a feel-good story and publicize the fact it had paid a ransom?
The “loan” would be a face-saving way for the Spanish government to give the Unsworths the money.
Fernandes pursed his lips like he’d swallowed a shot of Drano. “All right—”
That simple? But no.
“On two conditions. First, the United States government will guarantee the money.” He twitched his lips under his mustache: Turnabout is fair play.
Wilkerson nodded. “That should be fine.”
Rebecca knew Wilkerson didn’t have the authority to agree. But she admired him for bluffing. We can all argue about it in ten years.
“You don’t need to ask your bosses?” Fernandes said.
“No. The other condition?”
“Interest. It’s a loan, yes? So interest on the two million. Three percent a year.”
Fernandes’s goal was obvious, to make the loan look as official as possible. Not for the Unsworths, but for the moment when Madrid told the FBI to repay the money.
And to be a prick.
“Bendejo,” Brian muttered under his breath.
Not helping, though Rebecca understood.
“I am here as a courtesy.” Fernandes pushed away from the table.
“You and I need to have a conversation in private,” Rebecca said.
“I don’t think so. I don’t let the mother of a girl who’s been kidnapped, possibly—”
“Possibly?”
“Has it not occurred to you that perhaps your daughter is a willing participant in her disappearance? Playing a game? With two million euros as the prize?”
Rebecca found herself stunned into silence. Only someone