Night Over Water - Ken Follett [21]
“Wait. I have your wife on the line, ”
Eddie’s heart lurched. Why was Carol-Ann calling him from the States? Something was wrong.
A moment later he heard her voice. “Eddie?”
“Hi, honey. What’s up?”
She burst into tears.
A whole series of awful explanations came to mind: the house had burned down, someone had died, she had hurt herself in some kind of accident, she had suffered a miscarriage—
“Carol-Ann, calm down. Are you all right?”
She spoke through sobs. “I’m ... not ... hurt—”
“What, then?” he said fearfully. “What’s happened? Try to tell me, babe.”
“These men... came to the house.”
Eddie went cold with dread. “What men? What did they do?”
“They made me get into a car.”
“Jesus God, who are they?” The anger was like a pain in his chest and he had to fight for breath. “Did they hurt you?”
“I’m all right ... but, Eddie, I’m so scared.”
He did not know what to say next. Too many questions came to his lips. Men had gone to his house and forced Carol-Ann to get into a car! What was happening? Finally he said: “But why?”
“They won’t tell me.”
“What did they say?”
“Eddie, you have to do what they want—that’s all I know.”
Even in his anger and fear, Eddie heard Pop say Never sign a blank check. All the same he did not hesitate. “I’ll do it, but what—”
“Promise! ”
“I promise!”
“Thank God.”
“When did this happen?”
“A couple of hours ago.”
“Where are you now?”
“We’re in a house not far—Her speech turned into a shocked cry.
“Carol-Ann! What’s happening? Are you okay?”
There was no response. Furious, frightened and impotent, Eddie squeezed the phone until his knuckles turned white.
Then the original male voice returned. “Listen to me very carefully, Edward. ”
“No, you listen to me, shitheel,” Eddie raged. “If you hurt her I’ll kill you, I swear to God, I’ll track you down if it takes as long as I live, and when I find you, you punk, I’ll tear your head off your neck with my hands. Now do you read me loud and clear?”
There was a moment’s hesitation, as if the man at the other end of the line had not expected such a tirade. Then he said: “Don’t act tough. You’re too far away.” He sounded a little shaken, but he was right: Eddie could do nothing. The man went on: “Just pay attention.”
Eddie held his tongue with an effort.
“You’ll get your instructions on the plane from a man called Tom Luther.”
On the plane! What did that mean? Would this Tom Luther be a passenger, or what? Eddie said: “But what do you want me to do?”
“Shut up. Luther will tell you. And you’d better follow his orders to the letter, if you want to see your wife again.”
“How do I know—”
“And one more thing. Don’t call the police. It won’t do you any good. But if you do call them, I’ll fuck her just to be mean.”
“You bastard, I’ll—”
The line went dead.
CHAPTER THREE
Harry Marks was the luckiest man alive.
His mother had always told him he was lucky. Although his father had been killed in the Great War, he was lucky to have had a strong and capable mother to bring him up. She cleaned offices for a living, and all through the Slump she had never been out of work. They lived in a tenement in Battersea, with a cold-water tap on each landing and outside toilets, but they were surrounded by good neighbors who helped one another through times of trouble. Harry had a knack of escaping from trouble! When boys were being thrashed at school, the teacher’s cane would break just before he got to Harry. Harry could fall under a horse and cart and have them pass over him without touching him.
It was his love of jewelry that had made him a thief. As an adolescent he had loved to walk along the opulent shopping streets of the . West End and look in the windows of jewelers’ shops. He was enraptured by the diamonds and precious stones glinting on dark velvet pads under the bright display lights. He liked them for their beauty, but also because they symbolized a kind of life he had read about in books, a life of spacious country houses with broad green lawns, where pretty girls with names