The Book of Air and Shadows

know?”
    “Nevertheless, Osip, you see that I can’t release the manuscript to you, as that is what the kidnappers demand for the return of my children. If you don’t have them.”
    He said, “Jake, believe me, you have my greatest sympathy and I would be happy to help you in any way, but that does not affect our business relationship. That manuscript was located through means of Professor Bulstrode’s information, which is my property, and so the manuscript is also my property.”
    “I think you would have a hard time with that argument in a court of law.”
    Another longish pause and then in a voice some decibels quieter he said, “And are you going to take me to court, Jake?” Here a mirthless chuckle. “Maybe I should take
you
to court.”
    “Well, we do have the rule of law in this country, or did. Unlike your own homeland. In any case I will not-”
    “But, Jake, listen to me: you will do this. You will give it.”
    “Or what? You’ll outsource some persuasion?”
    “No,” said Shvanov, so quietly that I had to strain to hear him. “I believe I will handle this in-house.”

    After this unsatisfactory conversation I was rather at a loss as to what to do next. I suppose I had regressed in a way to the period just after my mother’s suicide, when I was entirely alone, the main difference being that now I had plenty of money. They say that love will get you through times of no money better than money will get you through times of no love, but this is only partially true, I have found. I had Omar come over with his little machine pistol and I set him to guard the manuscript. He loves this kind of stuff and is full of little ploys to determine how different players in a conspiracy have been compromised and how to communicate that fact by unobtrusive signals. After that I went out for a walk and maybe a drink and lunch at a place I frequent on West Broadway. Walking alone always helps to clear my head.
    Although lower Manhattan has of late become a bustling collection of boutiques, it is still possible, particularly on a weekday and in cold weather, to be quite alone on many of its streets. I was walking east on Franklin when one of those awful white Cadillac stretch limos with smoked windows glided past me, pulled to the curb in front of me, and stopped. The curbside door popped open and a large man emerged and opened the rear door. He gestured to the opening. I made to walk around him but he moved lightly into my path and drew a long-barreled.22 semiautomatic from the side pocket of his leather car coat and used that to gesture more forcefully. My brother says you should always pay attention to people carrying pistols of this type because the little gun is an advertisement for the ability of the person holding it to shoot you very accurately, through the eye, for example, if need be, and he can also blow your toe off if you don’t do what he says. The man’s face was intelligent and its expression was the slightly bored but efficient look of the professional doorman. He had the large, merciless brown eyes of a seal. I immediately sensed that I was dealing with a higher order of thug than I had heretofore. I got into the car.
    These vehicles can be variously configured, but this one had a typical layout. There was the driver’s seat of course, and behind it two regular bench seats for the lesser entourage, here occupied by a couple of well-tanned fellows with good haircuts and the typical wiseguy expression of confident viciousness on their faces. In the rear, where there are doors only on the curb side, there was a kind of semicircular banquette, with the bar and stereo and TV positioned so that the big shot, who sits in the rearmost part of this sofa, has them at his or her disposal. I slid in, the gunman slid in beside me, and I sat down across from the big shot.
    “Where are they?” I said.
    “That’s a fine way to greet your father,” he replied. “‘Where are they?’ No, ‘how are you, Dad, glad to see you?’”
    “You kidnapped my children, your own grandchildren, and you expect filial affection?”
    He made a sour face and his hand flapped a familiar go-away gesture. “What’re you talking ‘kidnap’? I’m their
zaideh
, can’t I take them on a little trip.”
    “Without telling their parents where they are?”
    “I sent her a nice video every day. You saw them? Did they look fucking kidnapped to you? Believe me, they’re both having the time of their life.”
    Oh, it