by Niv Kaplan
“You have lost a great deal of confidence over the years,” he observed. “But I’m sure you have the ability to bounce back just fine without me.”
He stepped off the bar stool and they hugged one another in his small kitchen.
“Where will I sleep?” she asked as they made their way back to the living room.
“Wherever you like,” he said, opening up the bathroom door. “But first you should take a shower. It’ll do you wonders after the long flight.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Sam left Elena to shower and went to the phone extension in his room. The two phone calls he had received were from Mai-Li asking him to help secure money and authorizations for the Kashmir operation, and from a concerned Anna Patrese, Christine’s mother, who said her daughter had been out of touch for quite a long time and she was beginning to worry. Anna, who knew only partially of her daughter’s involvement with the Center, claimed her daughter never failed to call every few days while on assignment, wherever she happened to be in the world and it had been more than a week since she last heard from her.
Sam, sensitive to Christine’s family ordeal, having lost her reporter father in Kurdistan on assignment, promised Anna to promptly alleviate the matter. Mai-Li’s requests were far more complex and would need focused attention for days to come.
He had Black Jack’s hotel number in Dahab and he called there first, surprised to learn Black Jack and Christine had been gone for three full days. His people, himself included, always left a phone contact with one another wherever they went and would make sure and update it upon a change of venue.
It was odd to learn Black Jack had left without informing anyone.
He checked his phone messages but none were from Black Jack or Christine. He then checked the office messages and found nothing there either.
His one last resort was the fax machine at the office, but that was a long train ride away. Mai-Li was the only one who made it back home, from the UK, and she had heard nothing either.
Perplexed, he tried the Dahab hotel again, asking for the manager who spoke better English. He questioned him on Black Jack’s whereabouts, heard him confer with the reception people but the answer came back the same. Jack and Christine had checked out three days ago. Sam called Mai-Li and asked her to help with the inquiries, then found Ortega at his hotel room in Madrid and briefed him on the situation asking him to try and help. Natasha was nowhere to be reached.
Elena was just getting out of the shower when he stepped back into the living room. Wrapped in his towel, she walked past him smelling refreshed, her hair dripping wet. She fished in her bag for a pair of knickers and stood up letting the towel fall to the floor.
Something primitive stirred within him as he saw her, unabashedly naked in the middle of his living room, her smooth skin damp and glistening. Her body had aged somewhat but was still slender and arresting as he had known it, her features round, her long legs shapely and smooth.
“If you are trying to seduce me, it’s working,” he said, unable to take his eyes off her.
“I am,” she admitted, turning her body to him, not bothering with the knickers. Sam went to her and they engaged in one another’s bodies, kissing and caressing as if for the first time.
“I need a quick shower,” he said before she had him totally stripped.
She appeared in the shower as he began to soap, and took matters into her hands, passionately caressing his body, driving him mad with lust. They made love in the tub, their bodies slippery with soap and water, Sam unable to hold back. Naked they ran to his bedroom and continued their passion on his bed.
Later, as they lay, backs against the pillows, talking quietly, the shadows of New York present in the window, he confessed he had been terrified that images of Michelle and her horrible end would mar his pleasure. But that had not happened.
They fell asleep late that night in each other’s arms, like two schoolchildren.
Sam got up at seven the next morning preparing to go to the office. Elena watched him dress.
“Do you want some of my money for whatever it is you do?” she suddenly asked.
He smiled at her, pulling up his zipper. “I could use every cent I can get, especially now, but I wouldn’t dream of asking you for any of it. I’ve got enough sources to milk before I turn desperate.”
“If you’ll let me, Sam, I think helping you would be a good way to start rebuilding my life.”
“I’ll think about it,” Sam replied. “Meanwhile, you being here is something we both need getting used to.”
She smiled and stretched, pulling her arms backwards, exposing her breasts to him, her large nipples dark and erect.
He looked away, afraid to be drawn back into bed. He walked out of the bedroom, trying hard to concentrate on what he had to accomplish. He checked the hallway for the Times, prepared the percolated coffee again, washed the evening dishes, poured cereal into a bowl and sat at the counter for his morning ritual. Two cups of coffee later, having thoroughly scanned the morning paper, he scooped whatever laundry he had from his trip into a nylon bag for the cleaners, retrieved his briefcase and stepped into the bedroom to take his leave from Elena who he found sound asleep in the same position he saw her exiting the room, arms over her head, breasts exposed, a calm expression on her face. He stood there a moment, hesitating, then walked over and kissed her on the forehead. She made a purring sound, turned her side to him, and went on sleeping.
He quietly left the apartment, leaving her a note on the counter with the office phone numbers.
He caught the 3 train to the East Village and stepped into his office an hour later, finding Mai-Li absorbed, scanning the faxes. She looked up at him, concerned, and handed him a fax. It came from a Red Cross post in Egypt, a station in the Sinai, near Dahab. Apparently, Black Jack had asked them to signal the office in case he did not communicate with them at least once a day. The fax had arrived a day earlier with everyone away.
“Find anything else?” he asked Mai-Li who had piled the faxes neatly on his desk.
“A brief report from Natasha, but nothing else.”
“Do we know anyone in Egypt or Israel who can be of help?”
“Let me check Jack’s office. He may have left a few contacts or clues we may be able to use.”
She disappeared in Black Jack’s office. Sam went to pour himself some of the coffee Mai-Li had prepared, then sat back to once again scan the faxes.
He quickly read Natasha’s account noting her encouraging progress with the Romanian authorities: “...received full cooperation from Ministry of Interior and Bucharest Police chief... accepting our approach to start small and use the media to recruit support...” She added that she planned to return in a few days with a specific case to explore.
Mai-Li returned and sat across from Sam. “There’s a name and a phone here of an Egyptian attorney Jack had contacted in Dahab before he left.”
Sam dialed the number but got no response. He redialed a while later without any results, an apparent ring tone left unanswered.
“I’ll ask Ortega to go there,” he said to Mai-Li a little later. “He’s the closest one of us.”
“We might want to wait just a bit longer before we take such action,” Mai-Li remarked. “Jack or Chris may still call.”
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this one,” Sam said. “I think we need to move quick.”
Mai-Li got up. “I may have an Israeli contact who’ll help us,” she suddenly recalled.
“Call him,” Sam said. “I’ll call El-Chino. Ask him to get prepared.”
They were both glued to their phones for the next hour, Sam briefing Ortega then calling the agent for travel arrangements. Mai-Li took a bit longer locating her Israeli contact.
Retired Colonel David Kessler had worked as an advisor to the military attaché in Thailand when Mai-Li dealt with him. He was now stationed back in Israel. She was never quite sure what his true function was at the Israeli Embassy in Bangkok,
but he did manage to assist her in resolving a case involving a Thai family, split on account of the father going to work in Israel, then sending for his ten-year-old son and disappearing under false pretense.
Most Thai men working in foreign lands would support their families back in Thailand. The mother began to seriously worry when the money she expected from Israel stopped coming in. Kessler helped track the father to the Galilee Mountains where he was herding sheep. The son was tasked to the labor as well and both were living in a shack, on the fringes of a kibbutz, sharing their space with a young Israeli woman.
Visa revoked, the father had no choice but to return to Thailand, his son along with him. Both Mai-Li and Kessler witnessed the reunion at Bangkok airport, the mother accepting her husband back into her home.
She found Kessler’s home number through the use of the Israeli phone directory, though she did speak to at least three David Kesslers before reaching the right one. He instantly recalled their involvement in Thailand and offered his assistance. She explained the situation and asked him to help check the Eilat border traffic of the last week.
“I’ll do better than that Mai-Li,” Kessler said. “I’ll put all border personnel on alert for your two associates. I’ll know the minute they go through.”
“We’re sending one of our people to investigate,” Mai-Li revealed. “He’s a Spanish guy, Louis Ortega by name. May he contact you?”
Kessler disclosed his contact details, received hers and Ortega’s, wished them all success and disengaged, hurrying to fulfill his promise.
A grateful Mai-Li hurried into Sam’s office to conclude the game plan.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Ibrahim was bitten by a snake on the second leg of their journey following their escape from the Egyptian convoy.
They had followed a treacherous mountainous route that took them through a gaping canyon with huge elephant-like boulders they had to repeatedly climb to surpass. Barefoot, Samir led them down the canyon and up a murderous incline to a narrow granite ridge along which they trekked in severe heat, exposed to the merciless Sinai sun. Not used to such extreme conditions, the intense physical effort began to take its toll on the four non-natives, and travel slowed almost to a halt with all of them needing constant shade and rest. The ridge turned to a sandy plateau with scarce bushes and palm trees situated at long intervals. The soft sinking sand made things even more difficult and the group could barely move from one fleck of shade to another.
Toward dawn, with the water supply threateningly low and all of them half delirious, they reached a Bedouin encampment on a windswept rocky ravine high in the mountains with a magical clear water pool into which they collapsed to regain their senses. Samir sat on the edge of the pool pointing at them, laughing, making faces, all while explaining to the inhabitants how the group had come about.
Jack hoped Ibrahim would pick up what they were saying, but the boy had half drowned himself in the pool, eyes shut, mind gone, his drenched mother Clair, by his side, tending to him.
Jack offered them the rest of his Egyptian money, an amount equivalent to twenty US dollars, for a heartwarming meal of skewered lamb, potatoes, and goat cheese. For dessert, herbal tea was served with pita bread and honey. Christine and Clair prepared sandwiches for the following day, with the leftover pita bread, goat cheese and Zaatar herbs.
The encampment, as Ibrahim later explained, belonged to a single family of the Tarrabin tribe, goat herders and close relatives of Samir and the Santa Katarina clan. There were fifteen people in all: the father, his two wives, and twelve children, six girls and six boys, the eldest aged thirty to the youngest aged two. Dressed in typical Bedouin attire, a kafiya up top with long colorful robes covering the entire body, the adults did not seem to move much about. The father sat by the finjan, the kettle for making the tea, while his wives prepared the meal. The younger kids just moved about finding all sorts of activities to engage in. The older girls helped with the food and dishes while the older boys looked after the sheep and goats. They were a harmless, curious bunch who loved the bright shiny hardware of the progressive West. With hand signals and some translation they asked to play with the watches and cameras. Jack even took some of their photos, careful not to capture any of his own companions.
They slept on the ground in a tent vacated by the younger children who crept in with their older folk. Samir woke them up very early. Two of the older boys prepared more tea, and they were off before the sun was up. Samir bid them goodbye, placing them in the hands of the eldest boy, Kabir, who picked up exactly where Samir left off, walking barefoot, briskly along the rocky terrain, not looking back at his faltering company.
The snake had come out of nowhere causing Ibrahim to shout in agony. But luck, as it turned out, was on their side this time.
It happened just as they sat for their first break to watch the sun emerge over the steep mountainous horizon. Someone must have woken the snake out of his slumber for it sank its poisonous teeth into Ibrahim’s ankle with lightning speed and fled between a pile of rocks. Kabir, no stranger to snake bites and various kinds of mountainous hazards, reacted instantaneously, sinking his own teeth into Ibrahim’s ankle catching the poison and spitting it out, before it had a chance to spread in the boy’s blood stream. He then secured his Kafiya above Ibrahim’s ankle, under the knee, and laid him flat on the ground, closely watching the leg swell, sucking Ibrahim’s blood a few more times.
“You’ll live if all the poison is out,” he said to the boy who translated further. “That was a very poisonous snake.”
They laid Ibrahim in the shade and sat around him, a worried Clair wiping his forehead with a wet cloth, talking to the agonized boy constantly. The pain began to subside several hours later, though the ankle remained swollen. Kabir had gone back to the camp to bring more food and water. He returned with one of his brothers and, seeing Ibrahim, smiled with relief.
“The boy will live!” he declared to Clair who heard the translation from her wounded son and began to sob.
They made camp in the same spot and remained there for the night, more of Kabir’s brothers joining them for dinner with cold meat and cheese sent by their parents. By morning the swelling had diminished somewhat though the ankle was still blue and red and extremely sensitive when Ibrahim stood to test it.
Jack and Clair consulted with Kabir who was of the opinion that Ibrahim was totally out of danger and ready to walk. The boy was not convinced but he made an effort and they began a slow trek toward the east and their destination, many miles away.
*****
The Romanian Border Control people began to act strangely as Natasha and Peka approached their cubicles at the Bucharest airport. Soon several of them were clustered around, studying Natasha’s passport. Finally, both she and Peka were asked to step into a windowless room where they remained long after their scheduled flight had departed.
Lena Taler appeared several hours later, with an entourage of police and plainclothes men, who were instructed to remain outside the room.
“Not what I call appropriate farewell treatment,” Natasha remarked, fighting to keep her cool.
“I was held up. I’m sorry,” Lena Taler said, as she took a seat opposite the two across a bare wooden table. “We have an urgent matter we think you could help with.”
There were all sorts of indecent remarks Natasha urged to throw at the Romanian woman for detaining them, uninformed and quite anxious, but she decided to hear her out before she exploded.
“We’ve uncovered a ring, here in Bucharest, involved with, how you say - the flesh trade business,” Lena continued as if unaware of the antagonism her little prank had produced.
“We believe a shipment of at least five girls is due to leave Romania through here within a few days – destination unknown.”
“We need you to arrange surveillance on the other side of wherever they are going and track them to their final destination. We believe this could help provide evidence to nail this ring.”
“Then what?” Natasha asked, unperturbed.
“If we nail this ring, we may be able to nail others and possibly put an end to this misery. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
There were a million questions Natasha wanted to ask - how the Romanian authorities were able find a lead so quickly whereas before it seemed to take forever? And why wouldn’t they track the villains to their destination? All the things they could and should have done a long time ago. But at least, she figured, the Center’s involvement had pushed the right buttons and outwardly the Romanians were doing something of value for those poor wretched souls, and if she could contribute - though she had no idea if she could - she would play their game.
She caught Lena’s stare and held it for a while, thinking that maybe she at least was sincere.
“I’ll need to make some inquiries,” she finally said. “We’ll need to go back to the hotel.”
Lena Taler got up and called someone from behind the closed door.
“This is Detective Orlov,” she introduced a short, stocky, well-built man with a hardened lined face and a piercing stare, dressed in a suit. “Detective Orlov has been assigned to lead this investigation and he reports directly to me.”
The detective bowed his head slightly and just kept staring, saying nothing.
“He will be your point of contact,” Lena declared.
Natasha regarded him with a cool look, then got up to shake his hand. “How is your English, Detective?” she asked, towering over him.
“Good enough,” Orlov said with a noticeable Eastern European accent.
“Reason I ask,” Natasha explained, “is that you will have to interface with whoever we can recruit on the other side, and most likely they don’t speak Romanian.”
Orlov nodded and kept staring at her. She wondered whether he might have been offended.
She turned to Lena. “Shall we go back to the hotel? I’ll need to make these phone calls now.”