Connor began to think about spending the next two weeks basking in the sun. As they passed a news-stand, a small headline in a right-hand column of the Sydney Morning Herald caught his eye.
American Vice-President to Attend Funeral in Colombia
Maggie let go of her husband’s arm as they walked out of the Arrivals hall into the warm summer air and headed for the parking lot.
‘Where were you when the bomb went off in Cape Town?’ Tara asked.
Koeter hadn’t mentioned anything about a bomb in Cape Town. Would he ever be able to relax?
6
HE INSTRUCTED HIS DRIVER to take him to the National Gallery.
As the car pulled away from the White House staff entrance, a Secret Service Uniformed Division officer in the guard booth opened the reinforced metal gate and raised a hand to acknowledge him. The driver turned onto State Place, drove between the South Grounds and the Ellipse, and past the Department of Commerce.
Four minutes later, the car drew up outside the gallery’s east entrance. The passenger walked quickly across the cobbled driveway and up the stone steps. When he reached the top step, he glanced back over his shoulder to admire the vast Henry Moore sculpture that dominated the other side of the square, and checked to see if anyone was following him. He couldn’t be sure, but then he wasn’t a professional.
He walked into the building and turned left up the great marble staircase that led to the second-floor galleries where he had spent so many hours in his youth. The large rooms were crowded with schoolchildren, which was not unusual on a weekday morning. As he walked into Gallery 71, he looked around at the familiar Homers, Bellows and Hoppers, and began to feel at home - a sensation he never experienced in the White House. He moved on to Gallery 66, to admire once again August Saint-Gaudens’ Memorial to Shaw and the 54th Massachusetts Regiment. The first time he’d seen the massive life-size frieze he had stood in front of it, mesmerised, for over an hour. Today he could only spare a few moments.
Because he couldn’t stop stopping, it took him another quarter of an hour to reach the rotunda at the centre of the building. He walked quickly past the statue of Mercury and down the stairs, doubled back through the bookstore, ran down another flight of stairs and along the underground concourse before finally emerging in the East Wing. Taking one flight of steps up, he passed below the large Calder mobile hanging from the ceiling, then pushed his way through the revolving doors out of the building onto the cobbled driveway. By now he was confident no one was following him. He jumped into the back of the first taxi in the queue. Glancing out of the window, he saw his car and driver on the far side of the square.
‘A.V.’s, on New York Avenue.’
The taxi turned left on Pennsylvania, then headed north up Sixth Street. He tried to marshal his thoughts into some sort of coherent order, grateful that the driver didn’t want to spend the journey offering him his opinions on the Administration or, particularly, on the President.
They swung left onto New York Avenue and the taxi immediately began to slow down. He passed a ten-dollar bill to the driver even before they had come to a halt, then stepped out onto the street and shut the back door of the cab without waiting for the change.
He passed under a red, white and green awning which left no doubt of the proprietor’s origins, and pushed open the door. It took a few moments for his eyes to grow accustomed to the light, or lack of it. When they did, he was relieved to find that the place was empty except for a solitary figure seated at a small table at the far end of the room, toying with a half-empty glass of tomato juice. His smart, well-cut suit gave no indication that he was unemployed. Although the man still had the build of an athlete, his prematurely balding dome made him look older than the age given in his file. Their eyes met, and the man nodded. He walked over and took the seat opposite him.
‘My name is Andy …’ he began.
‘The mystery, Mr Lloyd, is not who you are, but why the President’s Chief of Staff should want to see me in the first place,’ said Chris Jackson.
‘And what is your specialist field?’ Stuart McKenzie asked.
Maggie glanced at her husband, knowing he wouldn’t welcome such an intrusion into his professional life.
Connor realised that Tara couldn’t have warned the latest young man to fall under her spell not to discuss her father’s work.
Until that moment, he couldn’t remember enjoying a lunch more. Fish that must have been caught only hours before they had sat down at the corner table in the little beach cafe at Cronulla. Fruit that had never seen preservatives or a tin, and a beer he hoped they exported to Washington. Connor took a gulp of coffee before leaning back in his chair and watching the surfers only a hundred yards away - a sport he wished he’d discovered twenty years before. Stuart had been surprised by how fit Tara’s father was when he tried out the surfboard for the first time. Connor bluffed by telling him that he still worked out two or three times a week. Two or three times a day would have been nearer the truth.
Although he would never consider anyone good enough for his daughter, Connor had to admit that over the past few days he had come to enjoy the young lawyer’s company.
‘I’m in the insurance business,’ he replied, aware that his daughter would have told Stuart that much.
‘Yes, Tara said you were a senior executive, but she didn’t go into any details.’
Connor smiled. ‘That’s because I specialise in kidnap and ransom, and have the same attitude to client confidentiality that you take for granted in your profession.’ He wondered if that would stop the young Australian pursuing the subject. It didn’t.
‘Sounds a lot more interesting than most of the run-of-the-mill cases I’m expected to advise on,’ said Stuart, trying to draw him out.
‘Ninety per cent of what I do is fairly routine and boring,’ Connor said. ‘In fact, I suspect I have even more paperwork to deal with than you do.’
‘But I don’t get trips to South Africa.’
Tara glanced anxiously in her father’s direction, knowing that he wouldn’t be pleased that this information had been passed on to a relative stranger. But Connor showed no sign of being annoyed.
‘Yes, I have to admit my job has one or two compensations.’
‘Would it be breaking client confidentiality to take me through a typical case?’
Maggie was about to intervene with a line she had used many times in the past, when Connor volunteered, ‘The company I work for represents several corporate clients who have large overseas interests.’
‘Why don’t those clients use companies from the country involved? Surely they’d have a better feel for the local scene.’
‘Con,’ interrupted Maggie, ‘I think you’re burning. Perhaps we ought to get back to the hotel before you begin to look like a lobster.’
Connor was amused by his wife’s unconvincing intervention, especially as she had made him wear a hat for the past hour.
‘It’s never quite that easy,’ he said to the young lawyer. ‘Take a company like Coca-Cola, for example - whom, I should point out, we don’t represent. They have offices all over the world, employing tens of thousands of staff. In each country they have senior executives, most of whom have families.’
Maggie couldn’t believe that Connor had allowed the conversation to go this far. They were fast approaching the question that always stopped any further enquiry dead in its tracks.
‘But we have people well qualified to carry out such work in Sydney,’ said Stuart, leaning forward to pour Connor some more coffee. ‘After all, kidnap and ransom isn’t unknown even in Australia.’
‘Thank you,’ said Connor. He took another gulp while he considered this statement. Stuart’s scrutiny didn’t falter - like a good prosecuting counsel, he waited patiently in the hope that the witness would at some stage offer an unguarded response.
‘The truth is that I’m never called in unless there are complications.’
‘Complications?’
> ‘Let’s say, for example, that a company has a large presence in a country where crime is rife and kidnap and ransom fairly common. The chairman of that company - although it’s more likely to be his wife, because she will have far less day-to-day protection - is kidnapped.’
‘That’s when you move in?’
‘No, not necessarily. After all, the local police may well be experienced at handling such problems, and there aren’t many firms that welcome outside interference, especially when it comes from the States. Often I’ll do no more than fly in to the capital city and start carrying out my own private enquiries. If I’ve visited that part of the world before and built up a rapport with the local police, I might make my presence known, but even then I’d still wait for them to ask me for assistance.’
‘What if they don’t?’ asked Tara. Stuart was surprised that she had apparently never asked her father that question before.
‘Then I have to go it alone,’ said Connor, ‘which makes the process all the more precarious.’
‘But if the police aren’t making any headway, why wouldn’t they want to enlist your help? They must be aware of your particular expertise,’ said Stuart.
‘Because it’s not unknown for the police to be involved at some level themselves.’
‘I’m not sure I understand,’ said Tara.
‘The local police could be receiving part of the ransom,’ suggested Stuart, ‘so they wouldn’t welcome any outside interference. In any case, they might think the foreign company involved could well afford to pay it.’
Connor nodded. It was quickly becoming clear why Stuart had landed a job with one of the most prestigious criminal practices in Sydney.
‘So what do you do if you think the local police might be taking a cut?’ asked Stuart.
Tara began to wish she had warned Stuart not to push his luck too far, although she was fast coming to the conclusion that Australians had no idea where ‘too far’ was.
‘When that happens you have to consider opening negotiations yourself, because if your client is killed, you can be sure that the ensuing investigation won’t exactly be thorough, and it’s unlikely that the kidnappers will ever be caught.’
‘And once you’ve agreed to negotiate, what’s your opening gambit?’
‘Well, let’s assume that the kidnapper demands a million dollars - kidnappers always ask for a round figure, usually in US dollars. Like any professional negotiator, my primary responsibility is to get the best possible deal. And the most important element of that is making sure that the company’s employee comes to no harm. But I would never allow things to reach the negotiation stage if I felt that my client could be released without the company having to hand over a penny. The more you pay out, the more likely it is that the criminal will repeat the exercise a few months later, sometimes kidnapping exactly the same person.’
‘How often do you reach the negotiating stage?’
‘About 50 per cent of the time. That’s the point when you discover whether or not you’re dealing with professionals. The longer you can stretch out the negotiations, the more likely it is that amateurs will become anxious about being caught. And after a few days they often grow to like the person they’ve kidnapped, which makes it almost impossible for them to carry out their original plan. In the Peruvian Embassy siege, for example, they ended up holding a chess competition, and the terrorists won.’
All three of them laughed, which helped Maggie to relax a little.
‘Is it the pros or the amateurs who send ears through the post?’ asked Stuart with a wry smile.
‘I’m happy to say I didn’t represent the company that negotiated on behalf of Mr Getty’s grandson. But even when I’m dealing with a pro, some of the best cards will still be in my hand.’ Connor hadn’t noticed that his wife and daughter had allowed their coffee to go cold.
‘Please continue,’ said Stuart.
‘Well, the majority of kidnaps are one-off affairs, and although they’re nearly always carried out by a professional criminal, he may have little or no experience of how to negotiate in a situation like that. Professional criminals are almost always over-confident. They imagine they can handle anything. Not unlike a lawyer who thinks he can open a restaurant simply because he eats three meals a day.’
Stuart smiled. ‘So what do they settle for once they realise they’re not going to get the mythical million?’
‘I can only speak from my own experience,’ said Connor. ‘I usually end up handing over around a quarter of the sum demanded - in used, traceable notes. On a few occasions I’ve parted with as much as half. Only once did I agree to hand over the full amount. But in my defence, counsel, on that particular occasion even the island’s Prime Minister was taking a cut.’
‘How many of them get away with it?’
‘Of the cases I’ve handled over the past seventeen years, only three, which works out at roughly 8 per cent.’
‘Not a bad return. And how many clients have you lost?’
They were now entering territory even Maggie hadn’t ventured onto before, and she began to shift uneasily in her chair.
‘If you do lose a client, the company backs you to the hilt,’ said Connor. He paused. ‘But they don’t allow anyone to fail twice.’
Maggie rose from her place, turned to Connor and said, ‘I’m going for a swim. Anyone care to join me?’
‘No, but I’d like another go on the board,’ said Tara, eagerly assisting her mother’s attempt to end the interrogation.
‘How many times did you fall in this morning?’ Connor asked, confirming that he also thought it had gone quite far enough.
‘A dozen or more,’ said Tara. ‘That was the worst one.’ She pointed proudly to a large bruise on her right thigh.
‘Why did you let her go that far, Stuart?’ asked Maggie, sitting back down to take a closer look at the bruise.
‘Because it gave me the chance to rescue her and look heroic.’
‘Be warned, Stuart, she’ll have mastered surfing by the end of the week, and she’ll end up rescuing you,’ said Connor with a laugh.
‘I’m well aware of that,’ Stuart replied. ‘But the moment it happens I plan to introduce her to bungee jumping.’
Maggie turned visibly white, and quickly looked in Connor’s direction.
‘Don’t worry, Mrs Fitzgerald,’ Stuart added quickly. ‘You’ll all be back in America long before then.’ None of them wanted to be reminded.
Tara grabbed Stuart by the arm. ‘Let’s go, Superman. It’s time to find another wave you can rescue me from.’
Stuart leapt up. Turning to Connor, he said, ‘If you ever discover your daughter’s been kidnapped, I won’t be demanding a ransom, and I won’t be willing to settle - in US dollars or any other currency.’
Tara blushed. ‘Come on,’ she said, and they ran down the beach towards the breakers.
‘And for the first time, I don’t think I’d try to negotiate,’ Connor said to Maggie, stretching and smiling.
‘He’s a nice young man,’ said Maggie, taking his hand. ‘It’s just a pity he’s not Irish.’
‘It could have been worse,’ said Connor, rising from his chair. ‘He might have been English.’
Maggie smiled as they began walking towards the surf. ‘You know, she didn’t get home until five this morning.’
‘Don’t tell me you still lie awake all night whenever your daughter goes out on a date,’ said Connor with a grin.
‘Keep your voice down, Connor Fitzgerald, and try to remember she’s our only child.’
‘She’s not a child any longer, Maggie,’ he said. ‘She’s a grown woman, and in less than a year she’ll be Dr Fitzgerald.’
‘And you don’t worry about her, of course.’
‘You know I do,’ said Connor, taking her in his arms. ‘But if she’s having an affair with Stuart - which is none of my business - she could have done a lot worse.’
‘I didn’t sleep with you until the day we were marri
ed, and even when they told me you were missing in Vietnam, I never looked at another man. And it wasn’t because of a lack of offers.’
‘I know, my darling,’ said Connor. ‘But by then you’d realised I was irreplaceable.’
Connor released his wife and ran towards the waves, making sure he always remained just one stride ahead of her. When she finally caught up with him, she was out of breath.
‘Declan O’Casey proposed to me long before …’
‘I know, my darling,’ he replied, looking down into her green eyes and brushing back a stray wisp of hair. ‘And never a day goes by when I’m not thankful that you waited for me. It was the one thing that kept me alive after I’d been captured in ‘Nam. That and the thought of seeing Tara.’
Connor’s words reminded Maggie of the sadness she had felt at her miscarriages and the knowledge that she couldn’t have any more children. She had been brought up in a large family, and longed to have a brood herself. She could never accept her mother’s simple philosophy - it’s God’s will.
While Connor had been away in Vietnam, she had spent many happy hours with Tara. But the moment he returned the young madam had transferred her affections overnight, and although she remained close to her daughter, Maggie knew that she could never have the same relationship with Tara that Connor enjoyed.
When Connor signed up with Maryland Insurance as a management trainee, Maggie had been puzzled by his decision. She had always thought that, like his father, Connor would want to be involved in law enforcement. That was before he explained who he would really be working for. Although he didn’t go into great detail, he did tell her who his paymaster was, and the significance of being a non-official cover officer, or NOC. She kept his secret loyally over the years, though not being able to discuss her husband’s profession with her friends and colleagues was sometimes a little awkward. But she decided this was a minor inconvenience, compared with what so many other wives were put through by husbands only too happy to discuss their work in endless detail. It was their extracurricular activities they wanted to keep secret.