Free Fear is the Key by Alistair MacLean Page B

all her value to a doting father? She’slistening in to all this, General. I wonder what shemight think of you, eh? Willing to sacrifice her lifefor an old shoe-button – for that’s all fifty thousandbucks is to you … Sure, sure you can speak to her.’He beckoned to the girl, who ran across the roomand snatched the phone from his hand.
    â€˜Daddy? Daddy! … Yes, yes, it’s me, of courseit’s me. Oh, Daddy, I never thought –’
    â€˜Right, that’ll do.’ Jablonsky laid his big squarebrown hand across the mouthpiece and took thephone from her. ‘Satisfied, General Blair? Thegenuine article, huh?’ There was a short silence,then Jablonsky smiled broadly. ‘Thank you, GeneralBlair. I’m not worrying about any guarantee. Theword of General Ruthven has always been guaranteeenough.’ He listened a moment, and when hespoke again the sardonic glint in his eyes as helooked at Mary Ruthven gave the lie to the sincerityin his voice. ‘Besides, you know quite well thatif you welshed on that money and had a house fullof cops, your daughter would never speak to youagain … No need to worry about my not coming.There’s every reason why I should. Fifty thousand,to be exact.’
    He hung up. ‘On your feet, Talbot. We have anappointment with high society.’
    â€˜Yes.’ I sat where I was. ‘And then you turn meover to the law and collect your fifteen thousand?’
    â€˜Sure. Why not?’
    â€˜I could give you twenty thousand reasons.’
    â€˜Yeah?’ He looked at me speculatively. ‘Got ’emon you?’
    â€˜Don’t be stupid. Give me a week, or perhaps –’
    â€˜Bird-in-the-hand Jablonsky, pal, that’s me. Getgoing. Looks like being a nice night’s work.’
    He cut my bonds and we went out through thegarage. Jablonsky had a hand on the girl’s wristand a gun about thirty inches from my back. Icouldn’t see it, but I didn’t have to. I knew itwas there.
    Night had come. The wind was rising, from thenorth-west, and it carried with it the wild harshsmell of the sea and a cold slanting rain that splatteredloudly against the rustling dripping fronds ofthe palms and bounced at an angle off the asphaltpavement at our feet. It was less than a hundredyards to where Jablonsky had left his Ford outsidethe central block of the motel, but that hundredyards made us good and wet. The parking-lot, inthat rain, was deserted, but even Jablonsky hadbacked his car into the darkest corner. He would.He opened both offside doors of the Ford, thenwent and stood by the rear door.
    â€˜You first, lady. Other side. You’re driving, Talbot.’He banged my door shut as I got in behind thewheel, slid into the back seat and closed his owndoor. He let me feel the Mauser, hard, againstthe back of my neck in case my memory wasfailing me.
    â€˜Turn south on the highway.’
    I managed to press the proper buttons, easedthrough the deserted motel courtyard and turnedright. Jablonsky said to the girl: ‘Your old man’splace is just off the main highway? Right?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Any other way of getting there? Back streets?Side roads?’
    â€˜Yes, you can go round the town and –’
    â€˜So. We’ll go straight through. I’m figuring thesame way as Talbot figured when he came to theLa Contessa – no one will be looking for him withinfifty miles of Marble Springs.’
    We drove through the town in silence. The roadswere almost deserted and there weren’t half adozen pedestrians to be seen. I caught the redboth times at the only two sets of traffic lights inMarble Springs, and both times the Mauser cameto rest on the back of my head. By and by we wereclear of the town and the rain sheeting down ina torrential cascade that drummed thunderouslyon the roof and hood of the car. It was like drivingunder a waterfall and the windscreen-wipersweren’t built