The English Girl: A Novel

limitless.”
    Gabriel was struck by Fallon’s use of the past tense when talking about his missing colleague. Fallon noticed it, too.
    “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” he said.
    “What did you mean?”
    “I’m not sure,” he responded. They were three words he didn’t often utter. “It’s just that she isn’t likely to be the same person after something like this, is she?”
    “Humans are more resilient than you realize, especially women. With the right kind of help, she’ll eventually be able to resume her normal life. But you are right about one thing,” Gabriel added. “She’ll never be the same person again.”
    Fallon reached for the door. “Is there anything else you need?” he asked over his shoulder.
    “A few hours’ sleep would be nice.”
    “How do you take it?”
    “Milk, no sugar.”
    Fallon went out and closed the door softly behind him. Gabriel rose, walked over to the Turner cityscape, and stood before it with one hand resting on his chin and his head tilted slightly to one side. It was 11:43, seventeen minutes until the phone was supposed to ring.
    F allon returned just before noon, accompanied by Jonathan Lancaster. The change in the prime minister’s appearance was remarkable. Gone was the Lancaster whom Gabriel had seen on television earlier that morning, the confident politician promising to repair the fabric of British society. In his place was a man whose life and career were in imminent danger of unraveling in the most spectacular political scandal in British history. It was obvious Lancaster could not endure much more before unraveling himself.
    “Are you sure you want to be here for this?” Gabriel asked, shaking the prime minister’s hand.
    “Why wouldn’t I?”
    “Because you might not like everything you hear.”
    Lancaster sat down, making it clear he had no intention of going anywhere. Fallon withdrew the mobile phone from his coat pocket and placed it on the coffee table. Gabriel quickly removed the battery, exposing the serial number on the inside of the device, and used his personal BlackBerry to snap a photo of it.
    “What are you doing?” asked Lancaster.
    “In all likelihood, the kidnappers will tell me to leave this one in a place where it will never be found.”
    “So why are you photographing it?”
    “Insurance,” said Gabriel.
    He slipped his BlackBerry back into his coat pocket and switched on the kidnappers’ device. It was 11:57. There was nothing more to do now but wait. Gabriel excelled at waiting; by his own calculation, he had spent more than half of his life doing it. Waiting for a train or a plane. Waiting for a source. Waiting for the sun to rise after a night of killing. Waiting for the doctors to say whether his wife would live or die. He had hoped his placid demeanor would calm Lancaster, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. The prime minister was staring unblinking at the display screen of the phone. By 12:03 it had yet to ring.
    “What the hell is going on?” he asked finally in frustration.
    “They’re trying to make you nervous.”
    “They’re doing a damn good job of it.”
    “That’s why I’m going to do the talking.”
    Another minute passed with no contact. Then, at 12:05, the phone rang and began dancing its way across the tabletop. Gabriel picked it up and looked at the caller ID while the phone vibrated in his grasp. As he had expected, they were using a different phone. He lifted the cover and very calmly asked, “How can I help you?”
    There was a pause, during which Gabriel could hear the clatter of a computer keyboard. Then came the robotic voice.
    “Who is this?” it asked.
    “You know who this is,” replied Gabriel. “Let’s get going. My girl has been waiting a long time for this day. I want to get this over and done with as quickly as possible.”
    There was another pause, more typing. Then the voice asked, “Do you have the money?”
    “I’m looking at it now,” Gabriel responded. “Ten million euros, unmarked, nonsequential, no beacons, no dye packs, everything you asked for. I hope you have a nice dirty bank at your disposal because you’re going to need it.”
    He cast a quick glance at Lancaster, who seemed to be chewing at something on the inside of his cheek. Fallon looked as though he had gone into respiratory arrest.
    “Are you ready for the instructions?” the voice asked after another burst of typing.
    “I’ve been ready for several minutes,” answered