Goodbye California - Alistair [140]
Some time passed, then Morro said: ‘Do you know Mrs Ryder?’
‘Who is she?’
‘One of our hostages. It sounds as if you were in telepathic communication with her.’
Hillary said: ‘I have China to worry about. I have Russia to worry about. I have the European Common Market. The economy. The recession. A man’s mind can accommodate only so many things. Who is this – her name?’
‘Mrs Ryder.’
‘If she is alive, bring her. If she’s all that telepathic I could replace my Vice-President. And the others.’
‘I knew beforehand – and the lady knew – that you would make such a request. Very well. Ten minutes.’ Morro snapped his fingers at a guard.
The ten minutes passed swiftly enough, much too swiftly for the hostages, but it was time and to spare for Ryder. Morro, with his customary hospitality, had offered each hostage a drink and warned them that their stay would be brief. The centre of attraction was inevitably Hillary who, wearily but charmingly, out-presidented any President who had ever lived. Morro did not leave his side. Even an inhuman monster – and it was not proven that he was – had his human side: it is not given to every man to present a President to his people.
Ryder, glass in hand, wandered around, spending an inconsequential word with those whom he met. He approached a person, who was perhaps the fifth or sixth person he’d chatted to, and said: ‘You’re Dr Healey.’
‘Yes. How did you know?’
Ryder didn’t tell him how he knew. He’d studied too many photographs too long. ‘Can you maintain a deadpan face?’
Healey looked at him and maintained a deadpan face.
‘Yes.’
‘My name is Ryder.’
‘Oh yes?’ Healey smiled at the waiter who refilled his glass.
‘Where’s the button? The switch?’
‘To the right. Elevator. Four rooms, fourth along.’
Ryder wandered away, spoke to one or two others, then accidentally ran into Healey again.
‘Tell no one. Not even Susan.’ The reference, he knew, would establish his credibility beyond any doubt. ‘In the fourth room?’
‘Small booth. Steel door inside. He has the key. The button’s inside.’
‘Guards?’
‘Four. Six. Courtyard.’
Ryder wandered away and sat down. Healey happened by. ‘There are steps beyond the elevator.’ Ryder didn’t even look up.
Ryder observed, without observing, that his son was doing magnificently. The dedicated physician, he did not once leave Muldoon’s side, didn’t once glance at his mother or his sister. He was due, Ryder reflected, for promotion to sergeant, at least. It never occurred to Ryder to think about his own future.
Two minutes later Morro courteously called a halt to the proceedings. Obediently, the hostages filed out. Neither Susan nor Peggy had as much as given a second glance to either Ryder or his son.
Morro rose. ‘You will excuse me, gentlemen. I am going to have a brief and private talk with the President. A few minutes only, I assure you.’ He looked around the room. Three armed guards, each with an Ingram, two waiters, each with a concealed pistol. Carrying security to ridiculous lengths: but that was how he survived, had survived all those long and hazardous years. ‘Come, Abraham.’
The three men left and moved along the corridor to the second door on the right. It was a small room, bare to the point of bleakness, with only a table and few chairs. Morro said: ‘We have come to discuss high finance, Mr President.’
Hillary sighed. ‘You are refreshingly – if disconcertingly – blunt. Do you mean to tell me you have no more of that splendid Scotch left?’
‘Heaven send – or should I say Allah send – that we should show any discourtesy to the leader of – well, never mind. You mentioned the inevitable. It takes a great mind to accept the inevitable.’ He sat in silence while Dubois brought a glass and a bottle of what appeared to be the inevitable Glenfiddich to the