Free Fear is the Key by Alistair MacLean Page A

float, they – oh, what doesit matter? He’s on X 13.’
    â€˜No phone, huh?’
    â€˜Yes. A submarine cable. And a radio from theshore office.’
    â€˜No radio. Too public. The phone – just ask theoperator for the X 13, huh?’
    She nodded without speaking, and Jablonskycrossed to the phone, asked the motel switchboardgirl for the exchange, asked for the X 13 and stoodthere waiting, whistling in a peculiarly tunelessfashion until a sudden thought occurred to him.
    â€˜How does your father commute between the rigand shore?’
    â€˜Boat or helicopter. Usually helicopter.’
    â€˜What hotel does he stay at when he’s ashore?’
    â€˜Not a hotel. Just an ordinary family house. He’sgot a permanent lease on a place about two milessouth of Marble Springs.’
    Jablonsky nodded and resumed his whistling.His eyes appeared to be gazing at a remote pointin the ceiling, but when I moved a foot a coupleof experimental inches those eyes were on meinstantly. Mary Ruthven had seen both the movementof my foot and the immediate switch ofJablonsky’s glance, and for a fleeting momenther eyes caught mine. There was no sympathyin it, but I stretched my imagination a little andthought I detected a flicker of fellow-feeling. Wewere in the same boat and it was sinking fast.
    The whistling had stopped. I could hear anindistinguishable crackle of sound then Jablonskysaid: ‘I want to speak to General Ruthven. Urgently.It’s about – say that again? I see. I see.’
    He depressed the receiver and looked at MaryRuthven.
    â€˜Your father left the X 13 at 4 p.m., and hasn’treturned. They say he won’t be back until they’vefound you. Blood, it would appear, is thicker thanoil. Makes things all the easier for me.’ He gotthrough to the new number he’d been given fromthe oil rig and asked for the general again. He gothim almost at once and didn’t waste a word.
    â€˜General Blair Ruthven … I’ve got news foryou, General. Good news and bad. I’ve got yourdaughter here. That’s the good news. The bad newsis that it’ll cost you fifty thousand bucks to get herback.’ Jablonsky broke off and listened, spinningthe Mauser gently round his forefinger, smiling asalways. ‘No, General, I am not John Talbot. ButTalbot’s with me right now. I’ve persuaded himthat keeping father and daughter apart any longeris downright inhuman. You know Talbot, General,or you know of him. It took a lot of persuading.Fifty thousand bucks’ worth of persuading.’
    The smile suddenly vanished from Jablonsky’sface leaving it bleak and cold and hard. The realJablonsky. His voice, when he spoke, was softerand deeper than ever and gently reproving as toan erring child.
    â€˜General, do you know what? I just heard afunny little click. The sort of funny little clickyou hear on a line when some smart-alec noseypicks up an extension and starts flapping his earsor when somebody cuts in a tape recorder. I don’twant any eavesdroppers. No records of privateconversations. Neither do you. Not if you everwant to see your daughter again … ah, that’sbetter. And General, don’t get any funny ideasabout telling someone to get through to the copson another line to ask them to trace this call. We’llbe gone from wherever we are in exactly twominutes from now. What’s your answer? Makeit quickly, now.’
    Another brief pause, then Jablonsky laughedpleasantly.
    â€˜Threatening you, General? Blackmail, General?Kidnapping, General? Don’t be so silly, General.There’s no law that says that a man can’t runaway from a vicious killer, is there? Even if thatvicious killer happens to have a kidnappee withhim. I’ll just walk out and leave them together.Tell me, are you bargaining for your daughter’slife, General? Is she worth no more to you thanless than one-fiftieth of one per cent of all youown? Is that