Persuader

there's a problem," he said. "The people you described aren't the people who own the truck."
    "Are you sure?" He nodded. "You described them as tall and fair. The guys who own the truck are Spanish. Small and dark."
    "So who were the guys I saw?" I asked, because I had to ask something.
    "Two possibilities," he said. "One, maybe somebody stole their truck."
    "Or?"
    "Two, maybe they expanded their personnel."
    "Either one is possible," I said.
    He shook his head. "Not the first. I called them. There was no answer. So I asked around.
    They've disappeared. No reason why they should disappear just because someone stole their truck."
    "So they expanded their roster." He nodded. "And decided to bite the hand that feeds them." I said nothing.
    "Are you certain they used Uzis?" he asked.
    "That's what I saw," I said.
    "Not MP5Ks?"
    "No," I said. I looked away. No comparison. Not even close. The MP5K is a short Heckler & Koch submachine gun designed early in the 1970s. It has two big fat handles molded from expensive plastic. It looks very futuristic. Like a movie prop. Next to it an Uzi looks like something hammered together by a blind man in his basement.
    "No question," I said.
    "No possibility the kidnap was random?" he asked.
    "No," I said. "Million to one." He nodded again.
    "So they've declared war," he said. "And they've gone to ground. They're hiding out somewhere."
    "Why would they do that?"
    "I have no idea." There was silence. No sound from the sea. The swells came and went inaudibly.
    "Are you going to try to find them?" I asked.
    "You bet your ass," Beck said.
    Duke was waiting for me in the kitchen. He was angry and impatient. He wanted to take me upstairs and get me locked down for the night. I didn't protest. A locked door with no inside keyhole is a very good alibi.
    "Tomorrow, six-thirty," he said. "Back on duty." I listened hard and heard the lock click and waited for his footsteps to recede. Then I got busy with my shoe. There was a message waiting. It was from Duffy: back OK? I hit reply and typed: Bring a car one mile short of the house. Leave it there with key on seat.
    Quiet approach, no lights.
    I hit send. There was a short delay. I guessed she was using a laptop. She would be waiting in her motel room with it plugged in and switched on. It would go: Bing! You've Got Mail! She came back with: Why? When? I sent: Don't ask. Midnight.
    There was a long delay. Then she sent: OK.
    I sent: Retrieve it six am, stealthy.
    She replied: OK.
    I sent: Beck knows the Toyota owners .
    Ninety painful seconds later she came back with: How? I sent: quote business relationship unquote.
    She asked: Specifics? I sent: Not given.
    She replied with one simple word: Shit.
    I waited. She sent nothing more. She was probably conferring with Eliot. I could picture them, talking fast, not looking at each other, trying to decide. I sent a question: How many did you arrest in Hartford? She came back with: All of them, i.e. three. I asked: Are they talking? She replied: Not talking at all. I asked: Lawyers? She came back with: No lawyers.
    It was a very ponderous way to have a conversation. But it gave me plenty of time to think. Lawyers would have been fatal. Beck could have gotten to their lawyers, easily.
    Sooner or later it would have occurred to him to check if his buddies had been arrested.
    I sent: Can you keep them incommunicado? She sent: Yes, two or three days.
    I sent: Do it.
    There was a long pause. Then she came back with: What is Beck thinking? I sent: That they've declared war and gone to ground.
    She asked: What are you going to do? I sent: Not sure.
    She sent: Will leave car, advise use it to pull out.
    I replied: Maybe.
    There was another long pause. Then she sent: Turn unit off, save battery. I smiled to myself. Duffy was a very practical woman.
    I lay fully dressed on the bed for three hours, listening for a phone. I didn't hear one. I got up just before midnight and rolled the Oriental rug back and lay down on the floor with my head against the oak boards and listened. It's the best way to pick up the small sounds inside a building. I could hear the heating system running. I could hear the wind around the house. It was moaning softly. The ocean itself was quiet. The house was still. It was a solid stone structure. No creaking, no cracking. No human activity. No talking, no movement. I guessed Duke was sleeping the sleep of the dead. That was the third benefit of his exhaustion. He was the only one I was