Honor Among Thieves

“Calm down, Dr. McKenzie. No amount of threats or rhetoric is going to influence us. It’s not the first time we’ve carried out this sort of operation. So, if you hope to see your daughter again…”

“What do you expect me to do?”

The waitress returned to the table with a fresh pot of coffee, but when she saw that neither of them had taken a sip she said, “Coffee’s getting cold, folks,” and moved on.

“I’ve only got about two hundred thousand dollars to my name. You must have made some mistake.”

“It’s not your money we’re after, Dr. McKenzie.”

“Then what do you want? I’ll do anything to get my daughter back safely.”

“The company I represent specializes in gathering skills, and one of our clients is in need of your particular expertise.”

“But you could have called and made an appointment like anyone else,” he said in disbelief.

“Not for what we have in mind, I suspect. And, in any case, we have a time problem, and we felt Sally might help us get to the front of the line.”

“I don’t understand.”

“That’s why I’m here,” said the woman. Twenty minutes later, when both cups of coffee were stone cold, T. Hamilton McKenzie understood exactly what was expected of him. He was silent for some time before he said, “I’m not sure if I can do it. To begin with, it’s professionally unethical. And do you realize how hard—”

The woman leaned down and removed something else from her bag. She tossed a small gold earring over to his side of the table. “Perhaps this will make it a little easier for you.” T. Hamilton McKenzie picked up his daughter’s earring. “Tomorrow you get the other earring,” the woman continued. “On Friday the first ear. On Saturday the other ear. If you go on worrying about your ethics, Dr. McKenzie, there won’t be much of your daughter left by this time next week.”

“You wouldn’t—”

“Ask John Paul Getty III if we wouldn’t.”

T. Hamilton McKenzie rose from the table and leaned across.

“We can speed the whole process up if that’s the way you want it,” she added, displaying not the slightest sign of fear.

McKenzie slumped back into his seat and tried to compose himself.

“Good,” she said. “That’s better. At least we now seem to understand each other.”

“So what happens next?” he asked.

“We’ll be back in touch with you some time later today. So make sure you’re in. Because I feel confident that by then you’ll have come to terms with your professional ethics.”

McKenzie was about to protest when the woman stood up, took a five-dollar bill out of her bag and placed it on the table.

“Can’t have Columbus’s leading surgeon washing up the dishes, can we?” She turned to leave and had reached the door before it struck McKenzie that they even knew he had left the house without his wallet.

T. Hamilton McKenzie began to consider her proposition, not certain if he had been left with any alternative.

But he was sure of one thing. If he carried out their demands, then President Clinton was going to end up with an even bigger problem.

Chapter Six

Scott heard the phone ringing when he was at the foot of the stairs. His mind was still going over the morning lecture he had just given, but he leaped up the stairs three at a time, pushed open the door of his apartment and grabbed the phone, knocking his mother to the floor.

“Scott Bradley,” he said as he picked up the photograph and replaced it on the sideboard.

“I need you in Washington tomorrow. My office, nine o’clock sharp.”

Scott was always impressed by the way Dexter Hutchins never introduced himself, and also assumed that the work he did for the CIA was more important than his commitment to Yale.

It took Scott most of the afternoon to rearrange his teaching schedule with two understanding colleagues. He couldn’t use the excuse of not feeling well, as everyone on campus knew he hadn’t missed a day’s work through illness in nine years. So he fell back on “woman trouble,” which always elicited sympathy from the older professors, but didn’t lead them to ask too many questions.