In The Presence Of The Enemy Read Online Free PDF Page A

“You’re going to have to trust someone,” he said and went on to his brother. “The problem is, we’ve got a Tory career on the line.”
    “I should think that would please you,” St.
    James said to Luxford. “_The Source_ has never made a secret of its political leaning.”
    “This is a rather special Tory career,” David said. “Tell him, Dennis. He can help you. It’s either him or a stranger who might not have Simon’s ethics. Or you can choose the police.
    And you know where that leads.”
    As Dennis Luxford was considering his options, Cotter brought in the coffee and chocolate cake. He set the large tray on the coffee table in front of Helen and looked back to the door where a small long-haired dachshund hopefully watched the activity. “You,”
    Cotter said. “Peach. Didn’t I tell you to stop in the kitchen?” The dog wagged her tail and barked. “Likes chocolate, she does,” Cotter said in explanation.
    “Likes everything,” Deborah amended. She moved to take cups from Helen as she poured the coffee. Cotter scooped the dog up and headed again towards the back of the house.
    In a moment they heard him climbing the stairs. “Milk and sugar, Mr. Luxford?” Deborah asked amiably, as if Luxford hadn’t been questioning her integrity a moment earlier.
    “Will you have some cake as well? My father made it. He’s an extraordinary cook.”
    Luxford looked as if he knew the decision to break bread with them—or in this case cake—
    would be crossing a line he would prefer not to cross. Still, he accepted. He moved to the sofa, where he sat on the edge and brooded while Deborah and Helen continued passing round the cake and the coffee. He finally spoke. “All right. I can see that I have little choice.” He reached into his blazer’s inner pocket, revealing the paisley braces that had impressed Cotter. He brought out an envelope, which he passed to St. James with the explanation that it had come to him in the afternoon’s post.
    St. James studied the envelope before removing its contents. He read the brief message. He went at once to his desk and rooted in the side drawer for a moment, bringing forth a plastic jacket into which he slipped the single piece of paper. He said, “Has anyone else handled this?”
    “Only you and I.”
    “Good.” St. James passed the plastic jacket to Helen. He said to Luxford, “Charlotte.
    Who is she? And who’s your fi rstborn child?”
    “She is. Charlotte. She’s been kidnapped.”
    “You’ve not phoned the authorities?”
    “We can’t have the police, if that’s who you mean. We can’t run the risk of any publicity.”
    “There won’t be publicity,” St. James pointed out. “Procedure calls for keeping kidnappings under wraps. You know that well enough, don’t you? I’d assume a newspaperman—”
    “I know well enough that the police keep the newspapers up-to-date with daily brief-ings when they’re dealing with abduction,”
    Luxford said sharply. “With all parties understanding that nothing goes into print until the victim’s returned to the family.”
    “So why’s that a problem, Mr. Luxford?”
    “Because of who the victim is.”
    “Your daughter.”
    “Yes. And the daughter of Eve Bowen.”
    Helen met St. James’s eyes as she passed the kidnapper’s letter back to him. He saw her eyebrows rise. Deborah was saying, “Eve Bowen? I’m not entirely familiar…. Simon?
    Do you know…?”
    Eve Bowen, David told her, was the Undersecretary of State for the Home Offi ce, one of the Conservative Government’s most high-profile Junior Ministers. She was an up-and-comer who, with astonishing rapidity, was climbing the ladder to become the country’s next Margaret Thatcher. She was the Member of Parliament for Marylebone, and it was from Marylebone that her daughter had apparently disappeared.
    “When I got this in the post”—Luxford gestured to the letter—“I phoned Eve at once.
    Frankly, I thought it was a bluff. I