“So your dream is almost a reality,” Emerson said. “You’ll soon be firmly in control of all the world’s wealth and, hopefully, be positioned to install yourselves as the leaders of the new order.”
The Grunwalds exchanged glances.
“That’s overstating it a bit, but yes,” Werner said, “that’s our plan in a nutshell. Very good. Now what we need you to do is to post another video on your website. An update. To let your viewers know you’re all right. And to explain those numbers away in an innocent fashion.”
“I see,” Emerson said. “And why should I do that?”
“If you don’t cooperate I’ll have to turn you over to Rollo and allow him to flay the skin from your bones.”
“And if I do cooperate?” Emerson asked.
“I’ll have him kill you quickly.”
Riley reached for her water, realized her hand was shaking, and quickly withdrew it and put it in her lap.
Emerson shook his head. “I’m sorry, that isn’t enough of a carrot. I know I’m going to die. Everyone’s going to die. A few hours, more or less, makes little difference. You have to offer me more than that.”
Hans looked up the table at Emerson. “I don’t think you understand the situation here. We hold all the cards.”
“On the contrary. To continue your analogy, I think you have a very bad hand. I hold all the aces. You want me to make a recording. Ergo, I make the recording or I don’t. It’s all up to me.”
“You’re our prisoner.”
“I’m no more a prisoner here than I am anywhere else. Whether I feel free or not is entirely up to me. You can beat me. Torture me. It won’t make me any more likely to do that recording. And it will make the video rather suspect, don’t you think, if I appear black and blue, with my lips swollen and my nails ripped out?”
Hans leaned forward. “And what will be more likely to make you do the video willingly, Emerson?”
“That’s simple,” Emerson said. “Gold.”
“You want gold?” Werner asked.
“Yes,” Emerson said. “I have some gold. I want more. Is that so hard to understand?”
“That’s bullshit,” Bertie said. “You never gave a hoot about your family business. You only wanted to be a rock-and-roll drummer or a Tibetan monk or whatever would piss your dad off the most.”
Emerson shrugged. “So I’ve changed. I’ve put away childish things. I want in on Plan 79.”
“How much do you want?” Werner asked.
“Oh, a round number. Say, a thousand Good Delivery bars.”
Werner gave him a blank stare. “That’s ridiculous. We’re not giving you a thousand bars.”
“It’s a drop in your infinitely larger bucket. Well worth it, don’t you think? To have Mr. Mysterioso cover your tracks?”
There was an exchange of glances among the Grunwalds, and Werner smiled at Emerson. “If you’ll give us a moment?”
Werner, Manny, and McCabe stood in unison and left the room, with Manny once again pushing his father’s wheelchair.
“You were bluffing, right?” Riley whispered to Emerson. “When you told them you wanted all that gold. You were just playing for time, right?”
“I was playing for whatever I could get. Which I don’t think is very much.”
The door swung open and Werner stepped in. “Two hundred gold bars,” he said.
“I shouldn’t accept it, but I’m feeling agreeable,” Emerson said. “Two hundred gold bars it is.”
“Come with me,” Werner said. “We have a recording to make. Miss Moon will stay here.”