Soon she’d started to shake uncontrollably, both from the cold and the pain in her stretched arms. It was as if they’d been waiting for her to do exactly that. At a word from Harlequin, Bauta lifted the camera and filmed her for a minute or so, before Harlequin gave another command. “Quanto basta.” Was it her imagination, or did Bauta seem almost reluctant to obey? Whatever the reason, Harlequin had to repeat the instruction a second time before Bauta stopped. A sound came from the laptop – a familiar four-note bubbling refrain: the Skype call tone. It was so reminiscent of all the times her father called home from foreign deployments that for a moment she thought, It’s dad. Hope leapt in her chest. Even if it wasn’t her father, it could be someone trying to negotiate. Her nightmare, surely, couldn’t last much longer. “E’ lui,” Harlequin said. Picking up the laptop, he left the room. E’ lui. That meant “It’s him”. So it was a call the kidnappers had been expecting, not an offer of negotiation.
