Fortune's Deadly Descent (16 page)

“I know.”

“If you’d only just told me,” I say, shaking my head at the empty bedroom. But then I’m struck with the thought that it won’t happen now, the wonderful restaurant…not without Benny, and the sickness washes back around me, a terror imagining life without Benny.

“Then all of a sudden Benny’s gone,” Benicio says. “And I couldn’t bring myself to tell you. I couldn’t bear to make it worse. And after several days went by, it seemed too late. I felt like Isak would accuse me of hiding things from him, and why bring everyone more pain—to have to think about his future—”

“It’s all right.”

“I love you,” he says. “You know that. You
know
that.”

Years ago in Mexico, when my own life was on the line, I had to figure out whether or not Benicio was telling me the truth, and I realized then, as now, that the tone of his voice gave him away. It rang true in the cavity of my chest. It wasn’t just the words. It was the eerie vibration left behind.

Except, why hadn’t I trusted it before we left Zurich?

“What’s the name of your hotel?” he asks. “I’m coming to help you find him.”

I hear myself hesitating.

“You can’t still be angry with me,” he says.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s like a whole new round of loss.”

“This is exactly what I wanted to avoid.”

“La Moisson,” I say, my thoughts still trailing behind my aching heart. “The hotel is called La Moisson. We’re going there now. It doesn’t seem safe where we are.”

“Did something happen?”

I don’t answer.

“Celia?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe you’re right about one of us being at home.”

“No, we need to be together. That’s obvious.”

He starts to protest, then, suddenly, I’m saying, “The man from the train just pinned me against the wall of an alley, an hour ago,” and I instantly regret it,

Benicio stutters, starts one sentence, then another.

“He threatened me. And he knows where Benny is.”

“What are you saying? Did he
tell
you where he is?”

“No. He said I should go home and wait.”

In the silence I can hear Benicio thinking,
I told you so
.

“But you’re all
right
?” he says.

“I’m all right enough.”

“What else happened? What else did he say?”

“It’s a long story, Benicio. Can I just call you back?”

“Have you told Moreau?”

“No. No one knows but you and Oliver.”

“You have to go to the police with this. They have
resources
, Celia.”

“They’re not inspiring my confidence, Benicio. They don’t seem to be aiming their resources at the right things.”

“Yes, but that’s all changed.”

“Benicio, I don’t want to stay on the phone any longer. Oliver and I need to leave now.”

He starts to argue with me about the police, but I say, “No, wait. What do you mean by
that’s all changed
?”

A small silver van drives past the hotel for what I’m sure is the second time, slower now than the first. I duck to the side of the drapes and barely make out the shape of two people in dark clothing in the front seat. I don’t think they saw me through the rain, but I can’t be sure. The car speeds up and disappears.

“Celia,” Benicio says, in a tone that immediately tells me that he knows something I don’t. “I’ve been trying to reach you, and I didn’t want to make Oliver the middle man. Yesterday Isak told me…This is difficult to say.”

“What?”

“A childhood friend of mine from Puerto Vallarta told my aunt he’d seen Isabel on the street, a couple days ago. My aunt e-mailed to ask if I knew this. I hoped it was just a mix-up, but I called him up and he actually talked with Isabel himself…she said she’d been given early release because of overcrowding, and time she’d built up with good behavior.”

“Dear
god
.”

“This all came down on Benny’s birthday—that’s why she didn’t call, she was going through the release process.”

“I told you, Benicio. I
told
you she was involved in this!”

“There’s more. When I confronted Isak about it, he admitted that Interpol was behind her release.”

“Why on earth—”

“To
watch
her, Celia. To see where she
went
.”

“I
knew
it! I tried to tell you and all I got was eye rolling.” I want to reach through the phone and strangle him. “What about
Jonathon
?” I ask. “Should I be looking over my shoulder for him too? He’ll kill me, Benicio.”

“Of course not.”

“Why
of course
? Isabel was supposed to be safely locked away—”

“I think you’re right, we should get off the phone,” he says. “We can finish this when I get there.”

“No, don’t come.”

Again, he starts to argue, but I cut him off. “You acted like I was just some hysterical woman. You shut me down in front of Isak every time I brought up Isabel.”

“That was wrong. I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”

“OK, you’re sorry,” I say. “I’m going to hang up now.”

But I don’t, nor does Benicio interrupt the dead air.

Until finally he says, “I still don’t believe she has anything to do with this. My aunt told me how Isabel’s gotten support from the community this past year…she’s turned into a kind of folk hero, taking care of other inmates.”

“That’s a crock, Benicio.”

“She’s called every day since his birthday.”

“Oh, hey. Thanks for the update.”

“I knew it would upset you.”

“Good guess.”

“I keep telling her Benny’s out with you, doing stuff. I know she doesn’t believe me. And now she’s stopped calling.”

“You’re so damn gullible, Benicio. You’re just lapping it up.”

“I just think you’re wrong, Celia. I think prison has burned off whatever spell Jonathon put on her. I think she’s back to being the sister I used to have.”

“You’re insane if you believe that.”

“So now it’s me who’s crazy?”

He waits for me to answer.

“I don’t want you anywhere near me right now,” I say. He starts into another defense of Isabel, but by then I’ve brought my thumb down to end the call.

Oliver and I abandon the Rover with its telltale broken window and Swiss plate in an underground parking garage in Aix. We’re in the back of a taxi on our way to check into La Moisson in Saint-Corbenay when I can no longer keep the news about Isabel to myself. I drop my voice, even though we’ve established that the driver doesn’t speak English.

“This is great,” Oliver says, looking relieved, if not elated.

“You’re not serious.”

“It’s like a controlled study. She’s contained. They’ll have people tracking her. This is
fantastic
, Mom.”

All I can do is shake my head. His faith in Interpol is vexing, if not downright naive.

“Don’t get mad at
me
,” he says.

“I’m not mad, Oliver.” But I am. I’m mad as hell that two of the people I love most in the world are so goddamn credulous.

Oliver crosses his arms in defense, slumps against the seat.

The fields smear past under a sullen, drizzly sky.

After a minute, he tries again to convince me that Interpol’s strategy is a stroke of genius.

“I’m not going to argue with you about this,” I say, and hate how petulant I sound.

“Terrific,” he says, and turns away.

Then his phone rings, putting a halt to further bickering.

“Number’s blocked,” he says. “Should I answer?”

I snatch up the phone. “This is Celia Hagen.”

“Twenty million euros,” a man says with a strong accent. German? Swiss German? I’m not sure.

“Who is this?”

The phone sounds muffled for a moment, then he says, “By Friday.”

Three days
.

“That’s a lot of money,” I say, groping for Isak’s instruction on how to keep the kidnappers from hanging up.

Oliver leans his head against the phone at my ear and listens in.

“If anything seems suspicious, someone close to you will pay. At once.”

“I can’t just—”

Oliver socks me in the thigh.

“Do you understand?” the voice says. “Make a mistake and someone dear to you suffers.”

“Where is Benny?”

“First the money. No more questions. You’ll be given instructions. Be ready.”

A short silence.

“One more thing: Your son Oliver will deliver the payment. This is not negotiable.”

“No, I can’t allow—” I say, but the man is gone.

“Mrs. Hagen. This is Isak Larrson. Are you still on the line?”

“Yes,” I say.

“Stay with me. We heard everything.”

I am too stunned to speak. I look at the back of the cab driver’s head, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel to the beat of French pop. I’ve forgotten where he’s taking us. I motion to Oliver,
Make him pull over—

“So now we have had the call,” Isak says.

I nod as if he can see.

“There’s no way I will allow Oliver to deliver the money,” I say. “They’re asking for something they can’t have.”

“We’ll work that out.”

Only now does the number start to hit me. “Twenty million? Is this a
joke
?”

Isak doesn’t answer at once, no doubt calculating how much he thinks I should be let in on. Finally, he says, “We’ll wait and see what they say next and go from there.”

“I’m afraid to screw around with them.”

“Ms. Hagen, it doesn’t matter what they ask for; we can make it seem as if we’re giving it to them.”

So now I’m imagining body doubles and marked bills, and I think the fancier they make it, the more room for error. How can I risk it? “Why not just give them
unmarked
bills?” I say. “I don’t
care
. You heard what he said.”

“They’ll have no way of knowing the bills are traceable.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“You’ll have to trust that we know a great deal more about this than they do.”

“And Oliver? You
cannot
let Oliver do this.”

“I will meet with my colleagues and let you know how we’re going to proceed.”

I begin to wonder if I have
any
power here—can Interpol do whatever it wants?

After a moment, wishing I didn’t have to, I tell Isak to put Benicio on.

“He isn’t here. He left with a suitcase over an hour ago.” He sounds irritated, or worse.

“I told him not to come here. But I’m sure that’s what he’s doing.”

I ask about Moreau. “I assume he’s on his way back here too?”

“This is my understanding.”

Where does this leave us, then? The kidnapping is about ransom, after all…and always has been. Isn’t this what we’d hoped for? Optimism begins to trickle through me. We pretend to give them money, they give back Benny.

If Isak’s right about the bills.

But why
Oliver
? Is he just more insurance, or is there something
besides
that?

“We won’t forward the next call,” Isak says. “We’ll have a vocal specialist speak for you.”

Someone can learn my voice in a day or two? More diceyness in the plan. What if they ask a question only I could answer—something extracted from Benny? I’d much rather do it myself. But then I see what else is wrong here. “Hold on,” I tell Isak. “It makes no sense for them to call the house in Zurich when they know I’m in Saint-Corbenay.”

“And how would they know that?”

It dawns on me that Isak knows nothing about the Rover being broken into…which means that Petit didn’t report it, or, if he did, whoever he told didn’t tell Interpol. Not only that, I realize, Isak’s also unaware of my attack in the alley, and
that
means
Benicio didn’t tell him before he left. Benicio who insisted I go to the French police, mum to Interpol himself.

My head is spinning.

Isak asks again why I think the kidnappers know I’m not in Switzerland.

I can’t bear to explain—to give him the opportunity to say I should
never
have come, he’d
told
me not to, it’s possible my rashness has put Benny in worse jeopardy.

“Should I come home right now?” I ask instead. “He said Friday—”

“But he didn’t say
where
. If he does somehow know you’re not here.”

“Isak,” I say, “I don’t know what to do. You heard him, my whole family’s in danger, and I mean, not just us, but the cousins, Klarissa, Emil, all the kids—”

“We know how upsetting this is, Ms. Hagen, but you should realize that these are standard threats, nothing special.”

“They sound awfully special to me.”

* * *

Oliver and I continue to Saint-Corbenay, check into La Moisson, and begin the wait for Isak’s instructions. The lilac shutters are thrown open from each of the hotel’s windows, and it reminds me, eerily, of where I stayed when I first arrived in Switzerland seven years ago. The place where Benicio found me. And where, Jonathon, of course, found me too.

But Officer Petit is parked outside the hotel, keeping watch from a small, unmarked vehicle that looks suspiciously like a blue cartoon-cop car. It isn’t much but it’s something, maybe.

I’ve tried Benicio’s cell four times in the last hour and every time I’ve gotten voice mail. He could be midflight to Marseilles, the closest major airport. Where else would he go besides here?

Hours pass with hardly a word between Oliver and me. There’s no way I’ll put one son in harm’s way to save the other. It’s a cruel demand. I can’t let myself be maneuvered into a position where I have to make Sophie’s Choice.

We wait.

Does the caller know where I am, or not? No, he
has
to know. The man from the train obviously knows, and he told me to go home and wait. If I’m at home, then the exchange will take place in Zurich, won’t it? Meaning Benny’s probably in Zurich already?

If they mean to return him at all.

I tell myself not to go there. To stay on track.

I glance over at Oliver, who is pretending to read a coverless sci-fi novel he found in a pocket of his pack. He looks composed except for his erratically jiggling foot. I have the urge to stick him on the first plane back to New York. He’d never allow it, but I can’t help thinking it was a mistake to let him get involved in this at all.