Read Protocol for a Kidnapping for Free Online Page B

private a place as one can find.”
    I never thought of the Adelphi as run-down—only neglected by both management and the public. It was primarily a residential hotel patronized by show people, retired brigadier generals and above, their widows, a few of the older call girls, a mysterious gentleman from Karachi, and a host of middle-aged men in dark suits who carried attaché cases, smoked cigars, and talked to each other in the elevator about how the weather was in Miami last week.
    I had been living there in a deluxe suite (which meant that it had a Pullman kitchen) for nearly five years, but I had yet to eat a decent meal in its Continental Room whose chef boasted of having smuggled his secret recipes all the way from Bartlesville, Oklahoma.
    Still, the bar wasn’t bad if you ordered nothing more complicated than a Manhattan. We settled at one of the dark oak tables and I asked for a Scotch and water while Bjelo called for a Margarita which meant that we wouldn’t get our drinks for another few minutes because Sid, the bartender, would have to send out for some Tequila. It was that kind of a place.
    “What about Pernik?” I said, reaching for a pretzel.
    “He is to be exchanged for your ambassador to my country who has been kidnapped.” He must have caught my expression because he added quickly. “Already it is on the Associated Press service.”
    Coors had said the story would be released that afternoon and because of the snow it had taken me three hours to get back to New York so I couldn’t find much wrong with the time element. “They have an AP service where you work?” I said.
    “At the United Nations,” he said.
    “The story wouldn’t have mentioned my name.”
    “It did not.”
    “Are you with the UN itself or with the Yugoslav delegation?”
    “I am a very minor and very junior member of the delegation, primarily because of my fluency with languages. Our embassy in Washington naturally informed us immediately that you will serve as the intermediary in the exchange.”
    “I don’t see how this could be an official call then.”
    “It is entirely unofficial, Mr. St. Ives.”
    “I see.” I didn’t, of course, but it was a comment that would help fill the time before the drinks arrived.
    “Pernik’s granddaughter is to accompany him,” he said.
    “So I understand.”
    “Do you know her name?”
    “Yes.”
    That didn’t stop him from telling me anyway. “Gordana Panić,” he said, making the a in Panić broad and pronouncing its c like the ch in church. “Pernik is her maternal grandfather.”
    The drinks came a few moments later and I noticed that Sid had even salted the rim of the Margarita glass. I offered Bjelo a cigarette, but he shook his head in refusal and drank half of the Margarita. I don’t think he noticed the salted rim.
    “What’s she to you?” I said.
    “We were to be married.”
    “I see,” I said again, this time because it’s a useful enough phrase when you wish to indicate a sympathetic ear, but not an overactive curiosity.
    “We were engaged.”
    “Mmmm,” I said.
    “A month ago she tore it off.” He looked up quickly from his glass. “Tore is not correct, is it?”
    “Broke.”
    “Yes, broke,” he said and finished his drink. “She broke it off.”
    I couldn’t think of any more comforting phrases so I asked Bjelo if he would care for another drink and when he nodded that he would, I signaled to Sid.
    “There is another man,” Bjelo said.
    Ah, Killingsworth, you sly dog.
    “An older man,” he said.
    About twenty-five years older than you and a few million dollars richer. It had to be Killingsworth’s money; it couldn’t possibly be his personality.
    “A friend of yours?” I said.
    “No.”
    “Sometimes it is.”
    “No, if it were a friend of mine, I would know his name. And if I knew his name, I would kill him.”
    I studied Bjelo for some indication of sardonic humor or even the hint of overdramatization. There was none. He gazed at