"Now you're here we're pretty sure Debbie's been kidnapped."

Suddenly it all did not seem real. My head swam for a moment as a host of questions crowded in. I picked the first at random.

"Who by?"

"Who the hell knows?" said Frank disgustedly.

"Kidnappers don't hand out business cards."

He was right; it was a stupid question. Billy said, "When?"

"Saturday, we think; maybe Sunday early." And today was late Monday or, rather, very early Tuesday. Billy One nodded down the table.

"Last one of us to see her was Joe's wife."

"Yeah," said Joe.

"Linda and Debbie went shopping Saturday morning Sakowitz and Nieman-Marcus. They lunched together."

"Then what?" asked Billy.

Joe shrugged.

"Then nothing. Linda came home."

"Did she say what Debbie was going to do Saturday afternoon?"

"Debbie didn't tell her."

This did not seem to be getting anywhere. I cleared my throat, and said, "How do you know she's been kidnapped? Billy, here, jumped to the conclusion that she'd taken off again. So did I. So how do you know7' " Because the goddamn kidnappers told us," said Frank.

Billy One said, "We got a letter this… last afternoon least, Jack did. Tell the truth I don't think we believed it at first, neither of us. Thought it was some kind of hoax until we discovered she really wasn't around."

"Where was Debbie staying?"

"At my place," said Jack. He looked at me reproachfully.

"My girl was very unhappy."

"She was last seen by the family at midday on Saturday and it took you until Monday to find out she'd disappeared?" I looked at Jack.

"Wasn't her bed slept in?"

"Take it easy, Tom," said Billy One.

"We thought she'd gone back to you."

"She'd have left word," I said.

"She may be irresponsible, but she's not that irresponsible. When she left me she at least had the decency to leave a note telling me where she'd gone, if not why. What about her clothes? Didn't you check to see if any were missing? Or, more to the point, not missing?"

"Oh, Christ!" said Frank.

"She'd been living away. Who knew what clothes she had?" He waved an impatient hand.

"This is wasting time."

"I agree," I said emphatically^ "Have you notified the police?"

There was silence around the table and Jack evaded my eye. Finally Billy One said quietly, "Kidnapping is a federal offence."

I knew that; it had been a federal offence ever since the stink caused by the Lindbergh kidnapping.

"So?"

He tented his fingers.

"If it was just a matter for the State Police we'd be able to keep control we draw a lot of water here in Texas.

But once the Federal Government gets into the act and that means the FBI then anything could happen. Since Watergate every Government department has been as leaky as a goddamn sieve, and that damn fool, Carter, calls it open government. " In his voice was the contempt of the old- line Republican for a Democratic administration.

"The FBI is no exception, and if the newspapers get hold of this I wouldn't give a bent nickel for our chances of getting Debbie back safely."

"We can control our press down here, but those newspapers back east would really screw things up," said Frank.

"To say nothing of the professional bleeding hearts on TV," Joe commented.

"So you haven't told the police," I said bleakly.

"Not yet," said Billy One.

"Hell, we can pay," said Billy. He grinned sardonically.

"And stop it out of Debbie allowance when we get her back."

"If we get her back," said Jack. There was agony in his voice.

"You know what kidnappers are like."

"Right," said Billy.

"But if you don't call the cops you don't get her back unless you pay so let's start opening the coffers."

"It's not as easy as that," said Billy One.

"Not by a long shot.

There are. difficulties. "

"What difficulties? These guys want dough, we want Debbie. We give them how many dollars they want and we get Debbie." Billy's voice turned savage.

"Then we go hunting and we get the money back and maybe some scalps. But I don't see any difficulty."

"You brought one with you," said Frank.

"What the hell do you mean by that?"

"I mean that this son of a bitch…"

"Shut up!" said Billy One. He sighed.

"These guys don't want money, Billy. They want him." He was pointing at me.

"He's the ransom."

Dawn was breaking as I got to bed that morning but I did not sleep much. I just lay there in bed, staring into the darkness of the curtained room, and thinking. The trouble was that I could not think very well; fugitive thoughts chittered about in my skull like bats in an attic. Nothing seemed to connect.

I moved restlessly in bed and again saw the face of Billy One and the finger pointing directly at me. That finger had been a little unsteady; it trembled with age or fatigue or possibly both.

"Don't ask me why," said Billy One.

"But they want Tom for Debbie an even deal."

"Bullshit!" said Billy. He did not believe it, and neither did I. It made no sense.

"Show him the ransom note," said Frank.

Jack took a folded letter and tossed it on to the table. I grabbed it and read it with Billy peering over my shoulder. It was in typescript, addressed to Mr. John D. Cunningham, and written with a stilted formality which contrasted oddly with the rawness of the contents.

"Dear Mr. Cunningham, You will have difficulty in believing this but we have in our possession the person of your daughter, Deborah Mangan. In short, we have kidnapped her. In the belief that you will want her back unharmed we now give you our terms. They are not subject to negotiation.

You will cause your so n-in-law, Thomas Mangan, to travel to Houston.

How you do this is your concern. We will know when he has arrived.

Our price for your daughter's safety and, possibly, her life is the person of Thomas Mangan delivered to us intact and unhurt. Your daughter will then be returned in fair exchange.

You will be notified as to the manner of this transaction upon the arrival of Mr. Mangan in Texas.

It goes without saying that the police should not be informed of these arrangements nor should any of those steps be taken which might seem obvious in such a dramatic situation as this.

You will understand my motives in not signing this communication.

"

"For Christ's sake!" said Billy. He looked at me with a baffled expression.

"Who'd…" He stopped and shook his head in wonder.

"I don't know." What I did know was the reason for Jack Cunningham's peremptory summons to Houston.

"You must be quite a guy," said Frank, his tone belying his words. He looked around the table.

"Any hoodlum knows a Cunningham woman is worth hard cash money. How much? Quarter of a million dollars? Half a million? A million? Christ, we'd pay five million if we had to.

Course, any hoodlum with sense would know he wouldn't live long enough to spend it, no matter which way the ball bounced. But this guy would rather have Mangan than the dough. " He eyed me challengingly.

"So what the hell makes you so valuable?"

"Cut it out," said Billy.

Billy One said pointedly, "We want to make friends and influence people."

"Yeah," said Billy.

"Tom hasn't said much yet. He hasn't said he wants any part of this."

"He's not a man if he runs out," said Frank hotly.

"Oh, I don't know," said Billy in a detached voice.

"How much would you do for a wife who's run out on you?"

For some reason that seemed to hit Frank where it hurt. He flushed and was about to say something, but thought better of it and sat back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the table. From which I gathered that Frank had marital troubles of his own.

There was a long silence. Jack Cunningham sat at the head of the table, looking along its length with dead eyes; Billy pulled the letter closer and read it again; Frank fidgeted while Billy One studied him with watchful eyes. The rest, the family underlings, said nothing.