The Satan bug - Alistair MacLean

The general handed me the phone. ‘It’s for you. Won’t give his name.’

The words came over the wire in a deep, dark, throaty whisper: ‘If you want to see the little lady alive again, lay off.’

My heart did a somersault and landed on its back with a thud. I said ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

‘I mean the beautiful Mrs. Cavell. I have her. She would like to speak to you.’ A moment’s silence, then — ‘Pierre? Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry —’

Her voice broke off abruptly in a gasp followed by a scream of agony. Silence. Again the dark whisper. ‘Lay off, Cavell,’ and the click of a replaced receiver . . .