Burr hesitated. 'Yes.'

'You're sure? It's important.'

'Always the same man,' insisted Burr.

'And we got the first call, so it has to be Lascelles,' said Harding. 'Sneaky b.a.s.t.a.r.d hid his car away in a garage.'

'Why are the phrases different?' wondered Blake.

Burr shrugged. 'No idea.'

'What's the response from the chateau?' asked Blake. Behind him other cars began arriving. He moved to the side of the road to allow them to pa.s.s out of sight further along the tree-canopied track. Hillary McBride was in the last vehicle, with Ulieff and Sanglier.

'Not much. "Thank you," mostly. Sometimes just "I understand" or "That's good."'

Ulieff, Sanglier and Hillary came up to join them.

'What's happening?' demanded Sanglier. Things were moving of their own volition and he knew he'd made the right decision about telephoning the chateau from Namur. It was important to go on giving the impression of still being in operational charge.

'We don't know,' replied Rampling, honestly but unhelpfully. At once he said: 'It's some sort of identification. It's got to be.'

'You're not making sense,' said Sanglier.

Rampling shouldered his way past the man, towards the communications van close to which Burr and McCulloch stood. Inside, at McBride's demand, McCulloch's replacement increased the volume for the discussion to be relayed to Brussels.

'Fifteen cars?' he demanded.

'Fifteen that made uncertain turns towards St Marc, as if they were strangers to the area looking for an unfamiliar address, and fifteen telephone intercepts,' answered McCulloch, ahead of the other man with whom he'd shared the communication vehicle.

Blake smiled doubtfully. 'And each time you logged the registration, French or Dutch?'

'To trace the ident.i.ty of the owners,' agreed the Texan.

'And additionally those you think carried children?'

'Yes,' replied the man, curiously. 'Three, to my count.'

Blake switched to the scanner technician. 'And you recorded each line of the nursery rhyme against each arrival?'

'Yes.'

'Let me see the sheets,' demanded Blake. Around him everyone was quiet, no one understanding except Rampling. Blake didn't have to go further than the first comparison. 'The first car was a French-registered Citroen, possibly with a child.' He looked at McCulloch. 'There was a child.' He went to Burr. 'You didn't tell us that sometimes there were two lines recited to the mansion. There's two on that first message, but they're not consecutive: between "How does your garden grow?" there's a line missing before "And pretty maids all in a row."'

'What the h.e.l.l are you talking about?' demanded Hillary.

Blake continued comparing the two record sheets for several minutes before looking up. '"How does your garden grow?" identifies the French group. "With silver bells and c.o.c.kle sh.e.l.ls" is the Dutch identification. "Pretty maids all in a row" designates cars carrying a child.' He offered the papers generally. 'It's all there. Felicite knows she hasn't got anyone coming. Lascelles has a count of his people. So has whoever's organized the French. If the count doesn't tally, they've got trouble.'

'Brussels wants to talk to you,' called the liaison man from inside the van.

Blake put on the headphones to hear Claudine say: 'You're right! That's how I read it!'

'I know I'm right,' said Blake.

'Be careful. No kamikaze stuff.'

'Speak to you later.'

He emerged to hear Harding, forgetting Hillary's presence, say: 'So how the f.u.c.k do we get past that barrier?'

Blake went back to the scanner record. '"Not much longer,"' he read aloud.

'That was the last reply from the chateau,' said Burr.

'They haven't all arrived!' declared Blake. He jerked hurriedly round to Ulieff and the local police chief. 'We want cars, with French plates. They must be French because if Lascelles is talking to the gatehouse he'll know how many of his own people to expect: they might all have already arrived. And Felicite hasn't included any of hers.' He gestured towards the main road. 'Stop anyone. Persuade them, pay them, arrest them, whatever. Just get cars.' He included Sanglier. 'We can't see the gatehouse from the road, which means the gatehouse can't see the road. Any vehicle on that road from now on gets stopped and the occupants arrested. The party's over for them.'

At Ulieff's shooing gesture the local police chief moved off towards the main road, beckoning Namur officers to follow.

'It'll work,' agreed Rampling. 'There's a lot of people ahead of us so there'll be a lot of movement inside the house. And let's not forget as we did in Namur that we're all strangers. Once we're out of the car the Dutch will think we're French and the French will think we're Dutch and Felicite will think we're one or the other. It still won't give us much time but we'll be inside.'

Harding looked at McCulloch. 'You're aboard because you're the biggest b.a.s.t.a.r.d we've got. You don't move away from the front door once we're through it. You've got to keep it open for everyone who's going to come behind us ...' The American came to a halt, belatedly remembering jurisdiction. To Sanglier he said: 'That would be my suggestion, of course. I understand the planning has to be yours.'

Another easy decision, thought Sanglier. 'You, Blake and Rampling in charge, in the lead car. Choose your own people to follow.'

'We'll be wired,' said Blake. 'Our getting inside the house is the signal to put everyone in, from every direction.'

'We don't worry about the perverted f.u.c.kers: Felicite Galan even,' suggested Harding. 'We just get the kids: find them and get them out. Including Mary Beth there's four. There could be more, so we go on looking even after four. Leave everything else to back-up.' It had become a discussion between themselves, the rest excluded. 'Anything else we need to talk about?'

'I don't think so,' said Rampling.

'Let's go,' said the FBI chief.

For the first time it had been possible to hear most of the briefing verbatim in the Brussels emba.s.sy. At Harding's final remark McBride said to Harrison: 'You got a helicopter ready?'

'Waiting,' said the other man.

As the amba.s.sador rose, Claudine said: 'We don't leave until we hear Mary Beth all of them, I hope are safe.'

'Who the h.e.l.l do you think you are, talking to me like that?' demanded McBride.

Looking steadily at the amba.s.sador, Claudine said: 'I'm the person, if anything goes wrong, who's going to tell the world that scoring points off each other was more important to you and your wife than getting your daughter back.'

McBride sat down again. It was nine forty-five.

Thirty minutes later no French-registered car had gone in either direction along the Namur to Gembloux road and the local police chief had radioed Namur for any French car to be seized there.

At ten thirty a Dutch-licensed Ford was stopped on the narrow feeder road to the chateau. The Amsterdam tanker pilot angrily maintained that he was a lost tourist until a Namur constable found a bag containing a devil's costume, complete with mask and whip, and two child s.e.x videos in the boot.

Ten minutes later the message came from Namur that two French cars, both Citroens, were on their way and Rampling said: 'We're going to miss Felicite's deadline.'

'They've still got to have their party,' said Blake.

'Maybe they've already started,' said Harding.

'She won't have done, not until she's spoken to McBride,' said Blake.

At five past eleven the cars arrived. Neither police driver turned his engine off when he got out. There were two plainclothes Namur detectives in the four-man backup car.

The man at the gatehouse was small and hunched, with a profusion of dark hair worn long and falling over his face, a curtain through which he watched them drive up. He said: 'You're late.'

'Traffic,' said Harding.

'It's going to be a good party.'

'I'm looking forward to it.'

Felicite's call came precisely on time.

'Have you done what I told you to do?'

'Yes,' said McBride.

'You got a pen?'

'Yes.'

'I want the money wired to account number 0392845 at the Credit Suisse bank on Zurich's Bahnhofstra.s.se. You got that?'

'Yes.'

'Read it back to me.'

While he was doing so Claudine pushed a prompt note sideways to McBride. 'What about Mary Beth? How am I going to get her back?'

'You'll be told when the bank transfer goes through. Not before.'

'But you-' McBride started to protest but Felicite cut him off.

'When I know the money has been sent! Is Claudine there?'

'Yes.'

'Put her on.'

'What do you want?' said Claudine.

'Well?'

'Well what?'

'Who won!'

'You did,' said Claudine.

'Say it!'

'You won. But we need to know how ...' But Claudine was talking into a dead phone.

'You've got to send the money,' insisted Claudine. 'It's the kidnap evidence. And she'll probably check.'

'We'll do it on the way to the NATO base,' said McBride, hurrying up from his desk.

'There's nothing for me to do here,' Rosetti said, to Claudine. 'I'll go on back.'

'To Brussels? Or Rome?'

'Rome.'

Felicite had telephoned from the upstairs bedroom directly opposite that in which she'd locked Mary Beth. She remained there for several minutes, undecided whether to have the Luxembourg lawyer check the Swiss deposit before tossing the mobile telephone on to the bed beside a still closed cardboard box. They'd have made the deposit: been too frightened not to. It didn't matter any more. She was still standing there, arms tight by her sides, hands clenched, when Lascelles came into the room.

'You all right?'

'Yes.'

'Here.' There were three pills in the palm of his offered hand.

'She won't feel anything?'

'Nothing. Almost everyone's arrived. I'm going down.'

'Yes.'

There was only one small sob after he left. Quickly Felicite regained control, breathing in deeply and squaring her shoulders before picking up the box.

Mary Beth looked up at her entry. 'Are we going now?'

'When I've dressed.'

'What are you going as?'

'You're the fairy, I'm the fairy G.o.dmother.'

Mary Beth sn.i.g.g.e.red.

'What are you laughing at?'

It was the hard voice Mary Beth didn't like. 'Nothing.'