"Nobody thinks of everything,” Laker said, “or it would be a boring world."

  Rose found herself beginning to like him.

  * * * *

  Two hours later the six collaborators were secured in a rambling log hunting lodge in a remote spot near a remote lake in a remote forest. The windows had been boarded up and the doors secured by dead-bolt locks that could only be opened with keys. The cops were seated in leather armchairs in a room whose paneled walls were festooned with antlers. Their willing victims were visible at the other end of the vast room, seated at a round oak table and working on shopping lists. They seemed to be having a good time.

  "You sure nobody'll show up at this place?” Andrepinino asked.

  "It's only used in the winter during deer season,” Laker said. He stood up from his comfortable chair and listened to the sigh of air from the cushion. When this was over, maybe he'd buy a chair just like it. “You take first shift keeping an eye on our collaborators,” he said to Andrepinino.

  Andrepinino nodded. “I'll cook up some dinner for us. I doubt any of those ladies can cook."

  "They know how to order from a menu,” Laker said. “That's about it."

  "You two wanna hang around and eat with the ladies and me?” Andrepinino asked. “I think I'll do something with eggplant."

  "Sounds good, but we're going to be busy."

  "Making those ransom calls?"

  "We can do that tomorrow,” Laker said.

  Andrepinino raised his eyebrows. “Then what are you gonna do?"

  "We're going to dig,” Laker said.

  * * * *

  "Dig deep as you have to,” J. Herbert Knifer, president, chairman, and CEO of Knifer Consolidated Industries, said to his chief of security, Otto Lugar. “Find the scum who snatched my daughter. No one—” he pointed an ominous finger at Lugar—"and I mean no one, takes something that belongs to J. Herbert Knifer."

  "Or Knifer Consolidated Industries,” Lugar added, with the wisdom that had garnered him the fast track to promotion.

  Knifer smiled, but grimly. He was a short man who seemed tall, with craggy gray eyebrows, piercing dark eyes, and a nose like a hatchet blade. Rose had fortunately inherited most of her mother's good looks. Her mother had been discarded not long after Rose's birth, when it was discovered that she could bear no more children. If you didn't produce, you were of no lasting interest to Knifer. Lugar knew that.

  "Remember,” Knifer said, from behind the half-acre marble surface of his desk, “the authorities must not be involved. If anything happened to Rose because we disobeyed the kidnappers’ instructions and contacted the police ... well, I'd never be able to reimburse myself."

  "I have confidential connections not involving the police,” Lugar said. Though he looked like a thug, with his bull shoulders, bald head, and formidable slash of a mouth, he was smart and reasonably sophisticated. And not to be trusted, which was what Knifer liked about him. Lugar would sell out to the highest bidder, but that was Knifer. So Lugar could be controlled, which wasn't exactly like trust, but close enough.

  Lugar stood up from his chair, which was an impressive sight, because he was six and a half feet tall. “I'll head a small, select team that knows how to keep a secret."

  "Imperative."

  "We'll give the recording of the ransom call to our own laboratories. Our sound analysis should give us something to work on, and once we have that, the outcome isn't in doubt. You'll have your daughter Rose back, sir, and you won't have paid a cent in ransom money.” He knew Knifer expected that outcome, but one out of two would be enough to preserve Lugar's employment, if it was the right one.

  "Keep it confidential,” Knifer said.

  "Done,” Lugar said.

  "It better be."

  * * * *

  "Another few days and we'll be there,” Laker said, hoisting a shovelful of dirt.

  "I gotta say,” Fink said, staying bent low so as not to bump his head on the tunnel roof, “this is working out better than I thought it would. The families are mulling it over, but there's no sign they've contacted the authorities."

  "They'll pay,” Laker said confidently. “Because they're worth so much they won't even miss the money."

  "The girls are okay, too,” Fink said. “They're being very cooperative."

  "That Corrine's a honey,” Laker said. “And some cook."

  "Andrepinino kind of likes her,” Fink said. He added, “Donna's a beauty, doesn't need to know how to cook."

  "And Rose—"

  "Is never gonna be happy,” Fink said, interrupting.

  "Never,” Laker agreed.

  But in truth, he wasn't so sure. Rose had been close to being happy when she beat him at checkers during his shift as guard at the lodge. Not like when it became apparent she was going to lose and she'd upset the board. What she did mostly was scribble with a pen in what she called her novel, a thick spiral notebook. Laker figured that was okay; it would keep her out of trouble. She was an English major, and whether she knew it or not, the notebook wasn't going anyplace.

  Fink dragged a sweaty forearm across his brow and adjusted the “Nixon's the One” tie he had wrapped around his head to keep perspiration out of his eyes. “We're gonna be under the vault in a few days, and we might need some kind of cutting torch to get through the steel floor."

  "We can afford to buy one,” Laker told him. “One way or the other, and maybe both ways, we're about to get rich."

  * * * *

  "The ransom deadline's past on all three of them,” Andrepinino said two days later when they were almost directly beneath the vault floor. “We're not going to get rich that way. I hate to tell Corrine. She's gonna be awfully disappointed."

  "All three of them will be,” Laker said.

  "I think Rose kind of expected it,” Andrepinino said. “She's sort of steely beneath the surface."

  "Not far beneath,” Laker said.

  How Rose had acted was to withdraw, curl up, and scribble like mad in her notebook novel. Laker would have to read it someday, before it was burned.

  "So what're we gonna do now?” Andrepinino asked, putting down his shovel. He was wearing the Nixon tie for a headband. He kind of liked it and had bought it from Fink, who'd assured him it only needed dry cleaning and would be good for at least three or four more years. When this was over, he'd wear it for a souvenir. At least that had been the plan. “I mean, we threatened to kill them if the ransom wasn't paid."

  "It's awkward,” Laker admitted.

  The three kidnap victims were well aware of the deadline being past; they'd helped with the ominous phone demands, pretending to plead for their lives. Andrepinino thought Corrine had really put her heart into it. Not just cute, but some little actress.

  "Any ideas?” Andrepinino asked.

  Laker peeled off his leather work gloves. “We better go out and buy that cutting torch."

  * * * *

  When they'd cleaned up and returned to the lodge, they found Fink and the hostages sitting around the living room watching TV news and sipping apple martinis. No one looked particularly in angst.

  Laker sighed. “I guess we all know the ransom deadline is past,” he said solemnly.

  "Forget about that,” Rose said, making a careless motion with her hand. “It's not as if you've never broken a promise."

  Laker didn't contradict her.

  "This is the way it's going to be,” Rose said. She motioned toward the easy chairs angled toward the sofa, then used the remote to switch off the TV. “Sit down."

  Laker and Andrepinino stared at her.

  She took a sip of her martini and stared back.

  Laker and Andrepinino sat.

  "Look at you two,” Rose said from the sofa. “You've got dirt all over you, including your muddy thinking."

  "They figured out about the digging,” Fink explained from where he sat beside Donna. He might have been slightly drunk from the martinis.

  Corrine said, “Duh!"

  Andrepinino lowered his head. “I guess this isn't working out the way we planned."

  "Don't feel so bad,” Corrine said soothingly. She reached over and squeezed his hand.

  "We're not going anywhere,” Rose said. “Not yet, anyway."

  "They'll think we killed you,” Andrepinino said. “They'll never stop searching for us."

  "He'sh right,” Fink said, sloshing martini and resting his head on Donna's shoulder.

  "Stop feeling sorry for yourselves,” Rose said. “When we eventually turn up alive, the heat will be off. There might not be any ransom money, but we still have the bank."

  "I like the way you think,” Laker said.

  "Are you nitwits under the vault yet?” Rose asked.

  "Less than another day's digging,” Laker said. “And we bought a torch to cut through the floor."

  "Hey! Initiative."

  "There'sh no need to be shmart,” Fink said.

  "Good thing for you three there's some truth to that.” Rose crossed her legs at the knees, not liking the way Laker was staring at them. “When we get the money from the bank, we split it six ways, then you guys go back to your insignificant lives, and the three of us will say the kidnap thing was all a girlish lark and return to our loving families. We'll say we were in Belize or someplace like that."

  "What do you get out of it?” Laker asked. “You don't need the money."

  "Not so. We'd all like to be financially independent of the people who wouldn't pay ransom for our release. Can you blame us for that?"

  Laker couldn't. “What'll happen to you when you go back?"

  "I'll sweet-talk my way out of any trouble,” Donna said.

  "I'll tell off my father, then spin on my heel and walk out,” Rose said.

  Corrine said, “I'm sure I'll be grounded for at least a week."

  "Ugh!” Donna said.

  Laker thought this would probably work.

  * * * *

  Lugar had called the meeting with the security chiefs of the other two companies involved in the ransom demands, that of Donna's father, Rapacious Conglom, and of Corrine's father, Eminent Domain, Inc. They were in the offices of Knifer Consolidated on the fortieth floor of the Knifer Building, all seated at one end of a long conference table of polished inlaid woods.

  The other two security chiefs listened carefully to what Lugar had to say. He began with: “The time has come for us to join forces."

  "Which means sharing information,” Vasteen of Rapacious said. He was an impeccably groomed man the size of a Humvee. His bulk, along with his scarred face and dark scowl, made his expensive chalk-stripe suit look like tailored prison garb. He glanced around. “Agreed?"

  "That's why I called the meeting,” Lugar said. “The kidnappers didn't get what they asked for, but they might try again. There's a chance they haven't killed the abductees yet; they're still potentially valuable. But whether the abductees are alive or dead, we have to find the kidnappers, or our own life expectancies will be shortened."

  Smith of Eminent, a smallish man, also well tailored, nodded his bald head in agreement. He had strangely reptilian features, perhaps because of his protruding brown eyes, which were without lashes or brows. They blinked infrequently, but when they did, it seemed an event. “We share. And when we act, we act together."

  "That only makes sense,” Lugar said.

  No one disagreed, though no one here trusted anyone else. What bonded them was their mutual interest, and the certainty that any one of them would kill any other if double-crossed. They were comfortable with the arrangement; it worked for countries.

  Since the pooling of resources was his idea, Lugar spilled what he'd learned first. It wasn't much.

  Smith followed, then Vasteen.

  When all three men were finished talking, they sat silently. It seemed they hadn't made any progress, but they couldn't be sure. Not yet. They sat for several moments, mulling over what they'd just heard, before Vasteen looked at Smith. “You said one of your men talked to a student at Pierpont who mentioned giving Corinne a lift one day to a tie shop."

  Smith nodded. “It wasn't either of the other two abductees."

  "But a tie shop,” Lugar said. “What's a college girl doing at a tie shop?"

  Smith shrugged. “Buying a tie for her boyfriend?"

  "Or maybe her father,” Lugar said. All three men laughed.

  "Why I ask about it,” Vasteen said, “is one of my people tracking whoever the abductee talked with during the past several months traced one of her phone conversations to Sarasota, Florida. A retired guy in his seventies."

  "What might they have been talking about?” Lugar asked.

  "I don't know,” Vasteen said, “but we checked him out, and what I remember about him is that he recently moved south after selling his jewelry store to someone who wanted to open a tie shop."

  The three security chiefs looked at each other silently. Then they smiled and absently fingered their silk tie knots, which suddenly didn't seem so tight.

  * * * *

  The captors and captives, or six co-conspirators, had a blueberry pancake and bacon breakfast at the lodge, then drove into the city in the SUV.

  It was time to go to work.

  The acetylene torch was in the back of the SUV, where it would stay until the last of the digging was done, which, Laker estimated, would be early this evening. By tomorrow, they should all be rich. Well, some of them richer, and in an independent if illegal way.

  After parking the vehicle behind the tie shop, they walked around front and went inside.

  The place was hot, musty, and confining, almost as much so as the tunnel itself. Laker led the way into the back room and down into the tunnel. He was followed by Andrepinino, the three women, and then Fink. Five feet in, Laker switched on the string of lights.

  Rose liked what she saw. The tunnel was ninety percent finished, and had been made higher and widened.

  Suddenly Andrepinino stopped in front of her. The whole chain of co-conspirators stopped.

  "What's going on?” Rose asked, getting a sinking feeling. Her father. She just knew it. He wasn't often outwitted.

  "The tools,” Laker said. “We left them lined up here, and they're gone."

  "Come the rest of the way in,” a deep voice said. “We've gathered up your toys and put them all in one place. You're finished playing with them."

  Laker's mind began to whirl, trying to get hold of and assess what was happening. Not having much luck. Nothing to do but continue his hunched-over walk toward the area beneath the vault. Behind him, the rest of the train began to move.

  Two large men were waiting for them, guns drawn. Laker knew at a glance they weren't cops. They were in suit pants and expensive shoes, ties loosened, shirt sleeves rolled so they weren't so warm. One of them had on a Rolex, the other a big diamond ring. Behind them the shovels and pickaxes were stacked in a neat pile.

  Fink wasn't last in. He was followed by another man in dress slacks with his sleeves rolled up, and carrying a handgun. This one was smaller than the other two, but somehow just as dangerous looking.

  Laker was certain these weren't the dads. They all looked like well-dressed thugs.

  "Rose Knifer,” said one of the big ones, who had eyes like ice, “I work for your father.” Rose knew he was telling the truth; she'd seen him once before, remembered those eyes, thought his name was Lugar.

  "You three guys,” said the small one, who had a head like a snake's, “get over there in a bunch so we can keep an eye on you.” He gave Fink a shove. “And stay away from these girls."

  "Hey, wait a minute,” Donna said.

  "Back off!” Fink said when he was given a second shove.

  Laker raised a hand. “Don't say anything. These aren't cops."

  "We're security, punk,” said one of the big ones, waving his gun at Laker as a signal to move. “Get with the other two losers."

  The big one with the icy eyes smiled. “The cops aren't coming. Remember, you insisted the authorities not be involved. We're going to deliver you to our employers. The next time you meet the police, it'll be in some country you never heard of, and they won't be gentle."

  "Thank God you're here,” Rose said.

  Everyone looked at her. She stepped over and gave the surprised Ice-eyes a hug. Then she moved back along the tunnel, toward the tie shop.

  "Where you going?” asked Little-and-dangerous. But he didn't aim his gun her way.

  "To phone my father and tell him I'm safe. My cell phone won't work in this tunnel."

  "Ro—Miss Knifer,” Ice-eyes said. “You don't need—"

  "You mean you're forbidding me to phone my father?” She fixed her own glassy stare on him, one that matched his and then some. Her eyes were so like her father's. “What would he think if I was only trading one set of captors and bullies for another?"

  "Okay,” he said reluctantly. “Go ahead and phone. Then come right back here."

  She continued to stare.

  "Please,” he added. He glanced at his two companions. “It won't hurt anything; we're going to phone them anyway."

  "I like doing it in our own good time,” said Little-and-dangerous.

  "It doesn't matter,” said the other big man. “We've got what we want."

  Everyone stood silently, sweating, until Rose returned. When she did, she was carrying a wrinkled paper sack and smiling. She gave Laker a glance. “It's all right now,” she said. “I called the police."

  As she spoke, her back to the three security men, she withdrew from the sack three nine-millimeter, semiautomatic handguns she'd gotten from the jackets of Laker, Andrepinino, and Fink, left behind the counter in the tie shop. It took her only a few seconds to hand them out to their grateful owners.

  Stunned, everyone but the three women pointed a gun at someone. The situation was, in a precarious way, neutralized.

  "I don't get it, Miss Knifer,” Ice-eyes said. His gun was aimed at Laker.

  "I think I do,” Laker said. He'd come to know Rose well enough to figure it out. She smiled her appreciation. “My partners and I got a tip that someone might be tunneling into the bank, and we've had this tie shop staked out for weeks. You three—” he nodded at Lugar and the other two security chiefs—"are under arrest for attempted bank robbery."