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‘I would be more than happy to fulfil that role.’ Umberto Benini.
Negotiator.
Myself again – it was in the way Umberto sat back, the way he shrugged.
It might be advisable to separate the positions, Haslam told him carefully. The negotiator’s job was communication and the chairman’s was decision-making, and sometimes the two were incompatible.
‘In that case, Signore Rossi,’ Umberto suggested.
‘In some ways a good choice,’ Haslam agreed, ‘but in other ways not. In a way it depends whether we wish to reveal the fact that the bank is involved.’
‘Why shouldn’t we?’
‘If the bank is seen to be involved then the ransom the kidnappers will hold out for will be much higher.’
‘So Francesca.’
‘Yes. But before she decides she should know what it involves.’
Marco, the brother, hadn’t spoken at all, and Francesca only occasionally.
‘What does it involve?’ Umberto gave neither of them the chance to contribute.
The man was on auto-pilot because his son had been kidnapped, Haslam reminded himself. Therefore give him a chance, give them all a chance. Because these people were all in hell, and he was their only way out.
‘The kidnapper’s negotiator will switch tactics, one moment he’ll be reasonable and the next he’ll be swearing and screaming. Then he’ll be the only friend Francesca has in the world. And all the time she’ll not only have to control herself, but try to manipulate the other side.’
‘I understand,’ the wife said simply.
Courier.
‘Tell us what the courier does.’ Umberto Benini peered down the hawk nose. To avoid confusion Haslam already mentally referred to the father as Umberto and the kidnap victim as Paolo.
‘The courier collects messages and packages the kidnappers leave for us. The courier will also be responsible for dropping the ransom money when that moment comes.’
Therefore Rossi the bank representative or Marco the brother. But Marco was only in the room because he was family, Haslam suspected. Umberto hadn’t even decided whether or not Marco should even be involved.
He turned to Rossi. ‘It might be that you feel you should play this role. You might also feel, however, that the same problems about the bank’s involvement arise.’
‘We’ll discuss it.’ Umberto broke the meeting and called for fresh coffee.
Haslam waited till the housekeeper had served them, then continued.
‘In kidnap negotiations there are guidelines, almost procedures. All the signs are that the kidnappers are professionals, which means they’ll know them and stick by them. They’ll also try to control the situation through them, but those procedures give us the chance to do the same thing back.’
‘For example?’ Umberto Benini asked.
‘The negotiator will tell you to get a clean phone. That’s a number somewhere else in case the police find out about the kidnapping and start tapping this one. We can begin to control the situation by telling the kidnappers we want to use a clean phone before they tell us.’
They went through the alternatives: the properties or offices owned or controlled by Umberto, and the facilities which the bank could provide.
‘We have another apartment, an investment.’ It was Francesca.
‘Whose name is it in, because if it’s in your name it’s no good.’
‘A company name.’
‘Empty?’
‘At the moment.’
‘Fine.’
He wrote the number on the sheet of paper in front of him.
‘One more thing our negotiator has to get across.’ There were several more things, but at a first meeting he preferred to keep instructions to a minimum. ‘The time Francesca, assuming it will be Francesca, will be waiting at the clean phone. The kidnappers will try to leave it open, so that she’d be waiting at the phone twenty-four hours a day. You can imagine the effect that would have. So we specify a time, but that time must be in keeping with Francesca’s normal schedule, therefore it should probably be in the evening.’
‘Why?’ Umberto asked.
‘Because however difficult it will be at first, you must continue to lead your normal lives – business appointments, personal matters. One reason, as I’ve already suggested, is that it maintains a structure to your lives.’
Because otherwise you’ll go insane.
But I’m already going insane, he knew the wife was thinking.
So how was she going to stand up to it, he wondered, how was she going to take whatever the kidnappers threw at her. How was she going to take the pressure Umberto would bring to bear on her. Because that was the way it was already going.
‘There’s another reason for not disrupting your normal schedule. If you do there’s a chance the police might spot it, and if they do it wouldn’t be long before they worked out that someone’s been kidnapped.’
And the first thing they’d do after that would be to freeze the family funds and even try to intervene in the affairs of the bank.
‘Agreed,’ Rossi said on behalf of the bank and the family.
Haslam took the holding script and rewrote it.
‘You’ll want some time to yourselves, to talk through what I’ve told you today. I suggest we arrange a meeting for tomorrow. There are other things to discuss, but I think Francesca has enough to handle until then.’
Why not deal with them now? It was in the way Umberto turned.
‘Not today.’ Francesca’s voice was suddenly tired. I’ve had enough for one day, more than I can cope with. Just give me twenty-four hours to take on board what he’s already told me, then I’ll be able to face the rest. She called for the housekeeper to telephone for a cab. ‘What time tomorrow?’
‘Remember what I told you,’ Haslam reminded her. ‘That we should build our meetings into your normal routines. Unless, of course, something happens.’ He knew she was having difficulty accepting what he was telling them. ‘If it’s in the evening it shouldn’t be over dinner. It should be a business meeting like any other.’
‘Six-thirty,’ Francesca suggested.
‘If the kidnappers make contact what time will you tell them to ring the clean phone?’
‘Seven in the evening.’
‘Good. I’ll be at the hotel. If I leave it for any reason I’ll be carrying a pager.’ He gave them the details. ‘One last thing. In case the kidnappers call, are you happy to be here by yourself or do you want someone with you?’
‘The housekeeper will stay when I need her. I’m fine.’
The cab was waiting. He shook each of their hands and left.
The evening was warm and the three cars he had seen when he arrived were still there: the Saab, the BMW and the Mercedes, the driver and minder sitting in it like a calling card. Perhaps he should have said something about it at the meeting, except that then he hadn’t been sure that the Mercedes was the banker’s.
By the time he reached the Marino it was dusk.
His room was large and well-furnished and faced on to the inner courtyard, so that the sound of the Milan traffic was deadened. The bathroom was well-equipped, the wallpaper was flowered but relaxing, and an ornate fan was suspended from the ceiling, circling slowly. The two armchairs were low but comfortable, and the escritoire set against one of the windows was large enough to work at. The television was in a walnut cabinet in one corner, the minibar beside it.
After the meeting his clothes smelt of cigarette smoke. He stretched the stiffness from his back, unpacked, and took a shower. Then he dressed – casual clothes and shoes – arranged for a dry cleaning service every day, and began the case log. Kidnap and kidnappers; victim and family, in which he included the banker Rossi; security and other problems, plus the bank itself.
Because sometimes people, even bankers, faked their own disappearances. For money or fear or any number of reasons.
Paolo Benini had been carrying three bodyguards and one driver, effectively four minders, but at the time he had been out of Italy. So either he was special, or whatever he was working on was.
So what about them; what about Francesca and Umberto and Marco? What about the banker Rossi?
Francesca was quiet and still in shock, but she already showed signs of strength, which was positive. Francesca was fighting back, trying to get into it. Yet there were also signs of friction in her relationship with her father-in-law, which might prove negative. Plus there was something intangible about her and Paolo.
Which wasn’t quite what he meant.
What he really meant was that there had been something about Francesca’s description of Paolo that reminded him of himself. We’ve been married sixteen years. He’s away a lot now, so the girls miss him. Which was what his own wife would say of him. He brushed the uneasiness aside and continued with the case log.
Francesca would be strong, but Francesca had given him nothing about Paolo. So what about Francesca? Did she have a lover or did Paolo have a mistress? Or was Paolo gay? It had happened before on a kidnap.
Marco would get the courier’s job. Umberto would treat him like shit, but Marco would do what was needed.
Which left Umberto and Rossi.
Umberto Benini appeared to be the central figure, yet Umberto wasn’t the power-broker. Umberto would puff and blow, but in the end Umberto would snap his fingers for Francesca to pour them each another cognac and then he would do whatever the bank suggested.
The bank might be seen to be involved either by the cars outside, or by the way the management team decided to conduct the negotiations. Which led to the second problem, the feeling he’d had the moment he’d introduced himself and Umberto Benini had intervened, the sense, almost a foreboding, that this one was going to be difficult. Of course they were all difficult, of course the families or companies he advised sometimes found it hard to accept what he was telling them. But all through the meeting that afternoon and evening he’d been increasingly aware of the unease growing in him.
It was as if the dawn mist was hanging over them, he had thought at one stage; yet it was late morning, the sun was up, and the mist should have vanished with the day.
It was as if he was dug into an OP, an observation post, he had thought at another point of the meeting; the target in front of him but the eerie feeling that he was facing the wrong way.
He was tired, he told himself now as he had told himself earlier. Kidnap negotiations took it out of you, drained the life and body and soul from you. Because for one or two months, sometimes three, you ate and slept and breathed it; thought of nothing but the kidnapper and his victim and how you could get that victim back safely.
So he was drained, he admitted, especially after the last job. He should have taken that break after Lima, should have gone home and spent time with Meg and the boys. But he hadn’t. So he should stop assigning blame, grab a good night’s sleep, and get on with it.
He moved to the last item of the case log.
Why should there be anything else?
Now that the others had left the apartment seemed empty. Francesca opened the windows to clear the cigarette smoke, then phoned the girls, showered, went to bed, and tried to remember what had been agreed at the meeting with the Englishman and the discussion after he had left.
Some of the things he had said were reasonable, Umberto had conceded, except that they were logical and precisely what they themselves would have done. Then Umberto had downed the cognac and waved to her to pour him and Rossi another.
The family and the bank were behind her, though. She knew she had the full backing of the bank, Rossi had told her as they left. And that was what mattered. Even though she didn’t always like the way Umberto tried to dominate his sons, her, her children. Even if she didn’t totally trust Rossi.
And what about you Paolo? Why hadn’t she told the Englishman the truth? Okay, she hadn’t told the Englishman about the other properties they owned and the investments in Italy and overseas, most of them hidden from the authorities. But that wasn’t what she meant. Why hadn’t she told the Englishman about what her relationship with Paolo was really like? Not in front of the others, perhaps; especially not in front of Umberto.
So what about the Englishman and the things the Englishman had told her? Her mind was too confused and her body too cold to answer. She pulled the bedclothes tight around her and waited for the phone call in the dark. When she checked the time less than an hour had passed; when she checked again only another thirty minutes. The fear engulfed her, gnawed at her, till she was almost physically sick. When first light came she was unsure whether or not she had slept; when the housekeeper brought her coffee she was still shivering.
She wouldn’t go to the office today, she decided; today she would sit and wait by the telephone, as she had every day since the first terrible news. She changed her mind. Today she would go to the office, because that was what the man called Haslam had told her to do, and all she wanted, in the grey swirling panic that was her brain, was for someone to tell her what to do and when and where to do it.
Ninety minutes later she drove to the building in one of the streets off Piazza Cadorna. It was good to be out of the house, she thought as she parked the car; good to be in the sun and see people. It was good to have something other than the kidnap to think about, good to check with the secretary and the other designers and artists and craftsmen she employed, good to hear from a client about how pleased they were, even good to sort out a problem.
‘How’s Paolo?’ someone asked, and the clouds gathered again as if they had never cleared.
‘Away on business,’ she forced herself to say, forced herself to smile, almost decided to return to the apartment. Instead she took a tram to Porta Ticinese and walked along the canal at Alzaia Naviglio Grande. The sky was blue and the sun was hot, but most of the tourists who came to Milan didn’t come here. At weekends, when the antique dealers and the bric à brac sellers put up their stalls, the streets along the canal were crowded, but today they were quiet. Halfway along a fashion photographer was taking shots of a male model. The photographer was short and energetic, and the model was tall and beautiful, aquiline features and striking eyes. She sat on the stone wall of the canal and watched.
So what about the Englishman?
May I call you Francesca? he had asked.
Paolo’s away a lot now, so the girls miss him, she had said. And for a moment she had sensed that Haslam understood what she meant.
Thank you for allowing me to make decisions for myself, she had thought when Umberto had decreed she should be the negotiator and Haslam had replied that before she decided she should know what the task involved. Thank you for treating me like an individual.
And Haslam had told her what to say on the phone and given her a script to follow, even though Umberto had changed it after the Englishman had left.
So Haslam was her friend. Her guide and her protector. But not always.
Because Haslam had said there was a second reason why she should maintain a normal routine, because if she didn’t the police might spot it and freeze the family funds. So Haslam was not only treating it like a business, he had even used the word itself. The meeting this evening should be a business meeting like any other, he had said.
Therefore tonight he would be hard on her, tonight he would tell her she had to treat Paolo like a business item, because that was how the kidnappers would consider him. Tonight he would even say that she shouldn’t think of Paolo as her husband but as an item in the profit and loss account.
Rossi’s meeting with the chairman was at ten.
‘We’re sure Paolo Benini’s been kidnapped?’ Negretti came to the point immediately.
He hasn’t done a bunk, hasn’t got another woman and run off with some of the bank’s funds?
‘Positive.’
It was a sign of the future that the chairman had personally chosen him to represent BCI in the Benini kidnapping, Rossi was aware. Yet that future would also be determined by a successful outcome. For that reason his brief to Negretti had been carefully prepared; for that reason he had already decided to emphasize the positive elements of the first meeting with the consultant.
‘But the kidnappers haven’t yet been in touch?’ Negretti had a way of staring at you as he spoke.
‘Not yet.’ Perhaps Rossi’s next statement was factual, perhaps he was already covering himself. ‘The consultant says it’s normal. He expects them to be in touch soon.’
How much will the ransom be, he assumed the chairman would ask next.
‘And once they do, how long will the negotiations take?’
