Murder Inside the Beltway - Margaret Truman [89]
“Sit down, Jerry.”
Rollins moved back to the table and slumped in his chair. He felt drained, lifeless.
“Good. You know, Jerry, one of many things I’ve always admired about you is your intellect, your ability to cut through to the essence of a problem. Yes, I do admire that in a man. I have little patience with those who do not possess that attribute. I’m sure you’ll appreciate my exhibiting the same quality. Your detectives would find your claim of my having knowledge of your daughter’s whereabouts to be specious, at best. So please, put that thought out of your mind.”
“Go on,” Rollins said.
“The people to whom I refer inform us that you have in your possession something that could be of great potential interest to the president.”
Rollins said nothing.
“I’m sure you know what that is, Jerry.”
An uncharacteristic feeling of panic overcame Rollins. He was desperate to run from the room, flee the house, and throw himself into the car with the detectives. He dug his nails into the palms of his hands and looked left and right… in search of what? Ziegler watched him dispassionately. When it appeared that a modicum of calm had prevailed, he said, “From what I’m told, Jerry, you have a videotape that our contacts say would be more beneficial to us than to you. True?”
Now, an intense anger returned, replaced Rollins’s dread. He extended his hand and pointed an index finger across the table. “My precious daughter has been kidnapped because of a videotape? You bastard. You filthy, rotten bastard!”
“If you can’t control yourself, Jerry, we’ll end this otherwise pleasant luncheon and I’ll have you driven back into town. I won’t sit here and be on the receiving end of vile accusations.”
“How will these people return Samantha to me?”
“That’s something I’ll pursue as soon as we part company, Jerry. I’m assured that they’re honorable people.” He laughed ruefully. “Honor among thieves, and kidnappers, and all that. In other words, I’m assured that they have no desire to harm your daughter, and have every intention of fulfilling their part of the bargain.” He paused. “You turn over the tape, and they turn over your daughter. It’s really quite that simple.”
The reality of his impotency set in heavily, and swiftly, on Rollins. He nodded.
“Good. There’s really no choice, is there?”
“No, there isn’t. When. And how?”
“I’ll need a day, perhaps two. I know that your phones are monitored by the police, so that form of communication is out of the question. I suggest this: As you know, there is the question of arranging the Miami debate between your Governor Colgate and the president. So many sticking points to be resolved. It’s been in the press. I suggest that we make a public display of getting together—say, day after tomorrow, on the pretense of ironing out those sticking points. We’ll meet at my office. By then, I’ll hopefully have worked out the logistics of your daughter’s return, and you can deliver the tape to me. Make sense?”
“What if I decide to not go through with this?” Rollins asked, surprised that he had.
A noncommittal shrug from Ziegler. “In that case, Jerry, the resolution of your daughter’s disappearance would be out of my hands. As I say, I don’t know these people, nor do I have any control over them, should you make that decision, which, I might add, would be unthinkable.”
“All right,” Rollins said.
“Splendid. I’ll have our people put out a release about our upcoming debate meeting. I assume you’ll have no trouble with the good Governor Colgate about arranging such a confab.”
“I’ll worry about that.”
“Good. And Jerry, you do understand that this must never go further than between us—no police, no family discussions, strictly between two professionals who understand and respect each other.”
Rollins ignored him and got up from the table. “Can we go?”
“Of course.”
“One question, Kevin.”
“Yes?”
“How did you know I had the tape?”
Ziegler came up behind Rollins and slapped his hand on his shoulder.