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“I see. Well, thank you.”

I don’t know how I remained so outwardly calm as premonitory alarm made my hands shake. When the door closed, I tore open the envelope. In block print script it said:

IF YOU WANT TO SEE YOUR PRECIOUS DI AGAIN, OLD MAN, BE HERE PRECISELY AT NOON TOMORROW, ALONE. WE’LL TRADE. HER LIFE FOR THE TAPE. ANY WHISPER OF THIS TO THE AUTHORITIES AND SHE’LL BE DEAD MEAT.

At first I did not know what to do other than call Lieutenant Tracy and leave the matter in his competent hands. But I knew Manfred Bannerhoff and what he was capable of. I knew I was dealing with a psychopath. I also knew that if I simply went there, he would probably kill us both. The hopelessness of the situation made me fall into a lethargy of despair. The only real recourse was to call the police and take the chance that they would find her and rescue her before this maniac could wreak his revenge on her. But I could not bring myself to do it.

I struggled for some time with these demons. Poor Diantha, I thought. What terrors she must be going through! And I helpless to help her. Half of the time I was on the verge of calling Lieutenant Tracy; half, on the verge of making a big pitcher of martinis and rendering myself insensate.

Then the determination to rescue her myself fired me with resolve. Absurd, yes. But in nightmares begin responsibilities. I had my father’s trusty gun. I am physically in shape thanks to my daily walking back and forth to work. It’s true that I’m not particularly fearless. But love and desperation gave me courage, however phantasmal. Like one of those revelations that make you into another person, I realized I was willing to die for Diantha.

But also, I’d like to think I’m smart, smarter than Freddie Bain, anyway. So how to go about it? How to storm that fortress-like den of depraved absurdity? After a few moments of pacing and thinking, I drove out to an older mall located on the south side of the city. There, as I remembered, was an establishment called Things for the Wild. It’s been taken over by a chain, clearly, but it still had most the items I needed.

“Camping,” I said to the young lady who approached and asked if she could help. “I’ll need rugged hiking boots, thermal underwear, some climbing rope.”

For rescue purposes, I suppose, much of the outerwear came in bright colors. I managed to find some that were nearly white. We spent a good hour and a half at it. I bought crampons, an ice ax, a wrist compass. By the time we finished, I could have ascended Mount Everest, especially if Diantha were up there for me to fetch. I doubted my chances at the Eigermount would be any better.

My final item was the US Geological Survey map of the area. “Near Tinkerton,” I told her. It took us a while, but we finally found one. It was the last copy. Fate, I thought, was on my side. I paid at the register and took my considerable bundles out to the car. Standing there in the innocent parking lot, quotidian life bustling all about me, I wondered if I was simply indulging a silly fantasy. Then I thought of Diantha, of the suffering she must be going through, and my determination returned stronger than ever.

At home I laid out the map on the kitchen table. It was relatively easy, starting in Tinkerton and following the road to where it crosses Alkins Creek, to locate the wretched place even though there was no little black square to indicate its existence. From the contour lines, I determined that the building was set against the west side of a high long hill, as much a ridge as a small mountain. The approaches from the other side of the rise were steep, forming two mounts with a dip in between, a saddleback. Below that, down a short, steep slope, I would find the back of the structure. I saw how I could drive in on another road from the east to within two and a half miles. I could arrive at dawn, climb through the woods to the back, and take them by surprise.

By surprise? Wouldn’t he have some kind of security system? Those awful lights that go on when they detect movement? Video cameras that see in the dark? All