by Di Morrissey
The longer Nina was away, the better it suited Ali. But, then again, if Nina had been in trouble – and God knows how it could be with these Eastern European countries – she would have a hot media story on her hands that would put Blaze in the news. Ali’s instinct for publicity and promotion – never mind Nina’s safety – overrode her initial inclination to do nothing.
Ali thought for a moment or two, then decided she had better cover herself, just in case. If something had gone wrong with Nina, and she hadn’t made a move, it could look bad for her.
She arrived early for her appointment and the Baron’s long-time assistant, Irene, looked up in surprise. ‘Sorry about this, Irene, I need to talk to the Baron about Nina.’
‘My goodness, is there a problem?’ Irene heard the slightly worried tone in Ali’s voice. Irene had known Nina as long as she’d known the Baron and was devoted to her. It had always saddened her the two had never married. If she couldn’t marry him, then Nina had been her only choice. Irene, the loyal spinster, had dedicated her quiet passion for the Baron to smoothing the wrinkles from his daily life. She exercised her own form of power. If Irene didn’t think you should talk to the Baron, you were not put through. She was privy to every aspect of his life, even making bedside visits to his ailing wife. It was Irene who made the discreet and elegant funeral arrangements, composed thank-you notes, suggested he move from the old brownstone into the penthouse in the Triton building. She’d arranged for the sale of the Baron’s home and hired the decorator for the penthouse. Now Irene’s infallible antennae were sending out warning signals in Ali’s direction.
‘This is a pleasant surprise.’ Baron Triton was his ever-charming self, despite the intrusion.
‘Sorry to barge in. Have you heard from Nina?’
‘Not for some time. I think she is deep in her old country.’
‘I haven’t heard from her for some time either. I’ve tried to contact her a few times without success. And recently I had the strangest phone call . . . from Lucien Artiem, an old friend of hers. He asked me to keep our conversation confidential, which is why I haven’t brought it up until now . . . but I would rather hear what you think about it.’ Ali relayed the message from Lucien.
The Baron was instantly concerned. ‘Dear God, we must contact the US Embassy in Yugoslavia immediately, to see if they’ve heard of any problem with Nina. And Australian Foreign Affairs.’ He buzzed Irene to check the time difference between New York and Zagreb. ‘What on earth is Nina up to? We must make contact with her.’
Ali heard the loving worry in his voice and it brought home to her how much he felt for Nina. She was now convinced they’d never been lovers, but there was a deep, strong bond between Oscar and Nina. A bond Ali could never break or usurp. ‘I hope I’m not jumping to conclusions. Maybe this Lucien was fretting unnecessarily. But I didn’t want to leave anything to chance,’ said Ali smoothly.
‘You’ve done absolutely the right thing to confide in me, my dear. A few phone calls and I’m sure this will be sorted out. It is worrying. It isn’t like Nina at all. I had my doubts about this expedition all along. What purpose does it serve?’
Ali shrugged. ‘The past is the past, I say. She says she wants to write about it. Maybe for Blaze. Possibly a book.’
The Baron looked pleased. ‘Really? Nina never had the chance to spread her wings as a writer. She was a natural-born editor. This could be a new interest for her.’ His face clouded again. ‘I just hope her research hasn’t put her in some sort of diplomatic trouble. Eastern Europe is very volatile.’
Ali didn’t raise the issue of publicity for fear of seeming crass, but she saw the potential media interest if the news hit that a famed and influential woman had ‘disappeared’ in a former communist bloc country while researching a personal story for Blaze magazine.
The Baron gave her a quick embrace. ‘I’ll start the inquiries. Don’t be late for the plane, my dear. Take my car. Irene will arrange it. I’ll call you if I have any news.’ He lightly kissed her cheek and pushed a button on his desk. The door swung open and Irene appeared.
‘Irene, call Dixon to take Miss Gruber to JFK and put me through to Charles Brace, the Australian Ambassador in Washington. Also, find out who is representing the US in Yugoslavia.’ After a brief smile at Ali he turned back to his desk, all business. Ali had the feeling that before she was out of the building she’d be out of his mind.
In the limousine, Ali put through a call to an executive she knew on the Australian newspaper in Sydney, rapidly filling him in on the possible disappearance of Nina Jansous.
‘Christ, that would be a story. What was she doing over there?’
‘She was born in Yugoslavia. She’d taken long-service leave to delve into her family history,’ improvised Ali. ‘If it’s confirmed she has disappeared, the details will appear in Blaze. And you and I can do a cross-promotional deal to give you an extract in return for promoting Nina’s story in the magazine.’
‘So what’s the embassy or Foreign Affairs have to say? She’s a pretty valuable personage to muck around with. Or could she have been in an accident. What’s the spin on it?’
‘I’m just leaving New York. Baron Triton is tackling it from his end. Maybe you could try Foreign Affairs in Canberra and see if they have heard anything. Do you have any people on the ground in Yugoslavia? If there is a story in this, be sure to mention she is there on assignment for Blaze.’
The executive rolled his eyes. Typical of all he’d heard about the Yank Tank. She rings the press for coverage before finding out about her missing editor-in-chief. The authorities wouldn’t want publicity, but he wasn’t going to wait with this story. ‘Yeah, we do have a bloke over there. I’ll put him onto it. When can you confirm whether she’s been detained? In the meantime, can you give a statement that she is missing?’
Tracey Ford wrote the press statement as Ali dictated it over the phone:
Concern has been raised over the whereabouts of Nina Jansous, publisher and editor-in-chief of Blaze magazine, who was visiting Croatia on an assignment for the Australian edition. The Australian magazine’s editor, Alisson Gruber, is concerned at her apparent disappearance and has asked authorities to investigate. ‘When I last spoke to Nina she hinted at a problem regarding research for an article,’ Ms Gruber said. ‘I am deeply concerned as her personal effects have been left in her hotel and no one has heard from her.’ No threats or hints of a kidnapping have been reported.
Ali then called Belinda. ‘This is confidential for the moment. Don’t panic. I’m about to arrive at JFK and leave, but there is a bit of a problem. No one has heard from Nina. Her friend is concerned as she hasn’t met him as arranged.’
Belinda gasped. ‘Oh my God. Nina! What’s happened? What can we do?’
‘The Baron is on the case. Probably nothing has happened – she’s off on a wild-goose chase. Her friend is there, she’ll be fine. But we don’t want to miss a chance of coverage for Blaze. It may help her.’
Belinda was shocked. How could Ali be thinking of promotion and publicity when Nina could be in trouble? ‘What happened? How do you know there’s a problem?’
‘The story she is after . . . it appears she found more than she bargained for. I’m having Tracey put out a statement to the media, but nobody is to speak to the media about this. The Baron and I are handling this.’
Belinda was upset and frightened. Ali was treating this as if Nina were an investigative journalist she’d sent out to uncover a mystery. When all Nina was doing was looking for time out, a lovely break to revisit her mother’s homeland. And by a stroke of luck she had met up with a friend from her past. How had Nina’s personal odyssey become what Ali saw as a dangerous mission for Blaze? Belinda didn’t like the idea of Nina’s welfare being in the hands of Ali. She rang Larissa.
‘It’s a nightmare. Dear God, I’ll call the Foreign Affairs Department in Canberra. And the US Embassy.’ Despite her fears, Larissa was trying to think what to do.
&
nbsp; Within an hour, Larissa had feedback from a Foreign Affairs contact who said they’d already heard from Zagreb. They’d been advised to keep the matter under wraps. But now the press had it, they were releasing some of the information. She rushed into Belinda. ‘About Nina. I have news.’
There was a small knot of people hovering by Belinda’s desk, as she repeated the same non-committal words in phone call after phone call. Word had quickly leaked from the Australian to the press world.
Walking in, Larissa took Belinda’s phone off the hook and faced the others. ‘Nina has been detained for allegedly breaching security. Apparently the people who are holding her will probably want to negotiate a trade-off.’
‘What people? What kind of trade-off?’ asked Belinda.
‘Why is she being held, for God’s sake?’ asked Bob.
Larissa lifted her shoulders. ‘It’s strange. They say Nina is being detained because she was holding sensitive documents.’
‘I can’t imagine what,’ said Belinda.
‘Who is detaining her? asked Fran with a worried frown.
Tracey Ford hurried into Belinda’s outer office. ‘Ali has given me a press statement to release, but now she’s on the plane and doesn’t know this latest news.’
Larissa thought this was a positive step. ‘Don’t release anything about Nina until I see it first.’
‘Do they want a ransom, or what? I mean, is she being detained, held up in a bureaucratic queue at the airport, or is she being detained – as in held by the authorities for questioning?’ asked Bob, who’d covered a few hot spots in the world in his time.
‘We don’t know. Belinda, please call Baron Triton for me and let’s see what he knows. In the meantime, everyone go back to work and don’t talk about this outside the office. We don’t want to say the wrong thing. Foreign Affairs will be in touch as soon as they know more.’
As the others straggled back to their desks, Larissa waited for Belinda to reach the Baron. ‘Nina must be terrified. God, I hope she’s all right,’ said Belinda as she waited for the call to connect at the other end.
Larissa dispensed with small talk. ‘Baron, we’ve heard news from our Foreign Affairs people here. Any news your end?’ asked Larissa quickly.
‘It appears the documents she retrieved from her grandparents’ old home reveal details of Nazi collaborators during the war and implicate the family of a current minister in the government. A lot could be made of this politically in the country and cause embarrassment abroad. There is a negotiator with her working out a deal.’
‘What kind of deal? Are they asking for money?’
‘That is not their main concern, but it will probably help.’
‘But she hasn’t done anything wrong,’ said Larissa.
‘The security investigators insist on keeping the journal from the documents Nina had in her possession,’ said the Baron. ‘We are working to find a way to salvage this unfortunate incident before either side makes propaganda from it.’
‘How is Nina taking all this?’
‘I’m told she is in good health. That’s all. I’ll keep you informed, and you me.’
‘Of course.’ Larissa handed the phone back to Belinda in mild shock. ‘Well, if the diplomatic people and the Baron are handling it, our role seems to be managing the media. We don’t want Nina portrayed in a bad light. Or Blaze. As far as I can ascertain, I don’t think Nina has broken any laws.’
‘She wouldn’t. Her safety is the most important thing. You hear such stories about these countries. And someone of her calibre . . . It’s like holding Bill Gates or Rupert Murdoch to ransom.’
Tracey Ford was still hovering. ‘We can get positive mileage out of this, no matter what the outcome,’ she said, ignoring the bristling stance of Belinda and Larissa.
‘Let’s hold off until we’re properly advised,’ said Larissa, thinking to herself, dear heavens above, where was Nina and what was happening to her?
Nina had almost filled her small notebook. She was writing down everything – events, feelings, sensations and memories. The timeless neon light seemed to illuminate episodes in her life she hadn’t thought about for years. These were all connected to Clara, her grandparents and Croatia. Through the prism of a child’s eyes she now saw how her mother and grandparents had lived. How privileged her upbringing had been, how wide the divide between them and others. No wonder there had been resentment and conflict. Yet she still felt that her grandfather, a doctor, had been motivated by humanitarian rather than political reasons. How she wished she could sit down and talk to them. How much had been lost by the geographical gap between them. Distance splintered families, especially when one side was assimilating into a different culture. Had she gone back to Croatia as a teenager to visit her grandparents, how hard might it have been? She was an all-Australian beach girl, with only a token appreciation from Clara of her heritage. She would have had little in common with them. But now her interest was intense. Is this why, as people aged, they sought to trace family histories? To reconnect with their past, to find a continuation, a cyclical sense of the ongoing family line, as mortality loomed?
These thoughts kept her mind occupied as she waited to hear what Lucien had achieved.
After leaving Nina, Lucien had held a brief conversation with Molnar and Puskar and returned to the hotel. He looked for Greta on his floor, but the maid was nowhere to be seen. He rang housekeeping and asked for fresh towels on the off-chance she might be on duty. Then he’d rung the American Consul to fill him in on the meeting.
‘You have done well. I believe they will return Mrs Jansous to the hotel soon. Our ambassador has had discussions with Washington and Canberra. A few final details to be ironed out, I gather. Unfortunately the press are asking questions.’
‘We can try to control that,’ said Lucien, thinking Nina could make a few phone calls and stop any stories from being printed if they moved quickly. ‘You mean an agreement over the PR side of things?’ said Lucien. ‘Nina has already agreed to give up the journal and never reveal its contents.’
‘She will have to attend a debriefing with embassy officials before she leaves the country. The US Information Office will help with any public statements needed. I believe Mr Molnar and Mr Puskar are to be thanked for agreeing to speed this up. They could have been far more recalcitrant. Naturally the embassy is unable to assist in this matter.’
‘I understand. Perhaps I can handle that aspect on behalf of Mrs Jansous.’
‘Don’t be overgenerous. While they realise she is a wealthy woman with influential contacts, Molnar and Puskar are members of a government investigative unit, officially they shouldn’t take bribes. This is off the record, of course.’
Lucien made murmuring noises, thinking how pathetic the diplomat was to pussyfoot along the fence. If he, Lucien, hadn’t stepped in, they would still be quibbling. As if sensing his antipathy, the consul added, ‘When this is concluded satisfactorily, we will make sure it is known you were not part of the embassy but acting on your own as a friend of Mrs Jansous. That way the embassy is not implicated.’
‘Very well.’ There was a tap at the door. Lucien opened it to find Greta there with the towels.
‘I need to go back into suite twenty-six,’ he said in German.
Greta nodded and started looking for the master key on her belt. ‘Do you know anything about your wife?’
‘Yes, she has been held for questioning. Over a silly matter. She will be coming back, but I need to take something from her room.’
Greta hovered in the doorway looking down the hall as Lucien hurried to the vase on the shelf in the living room. He caught his breath as he felt the wad of jewellery stuffed in the leather pouch in the vase. Nina’s bag was still open on the bed. No one appeared to have been in the suite. He thanked Greta, giving her another tip.
Lucien left the hotel after asking the concierge where he could find a bookshop that dealt in second-hand books. He was directed to one only a few blocks away. L
ucien spotted the small jewellery shop opposite the bookstore and knew it must be the right one.
The old jeweller looked up as the bell over the door tinkled. He put down his eyepiece.
‘Good afternoon. I hope you can help me.’ Lucien smiled.
‘If I can sir,’ replied the jeweller in English.
‘A friend of mine, a beautiful elegant lady, was in here last week, I believe. She had a family ring you identified.’ Lucien paused, noting the old man’s face seemed to close up. He didn’t answer.
‘Her family is Bubacic and she is in a spot of trouble. She thought you could help us.’
‘How could I do that?’ The jeweller remained noncommittal.
‘By selling these for us. She is being held by security investigators because she had family documents that they don’t wish be made public.’
‘Ah, The List. I warned her about these people.’
‘We have negotiated a deal, but we need money. You understand.’
The jeweller glanced down as Lucien unrolled the pouch with the necklaces, bracelets, brooches and rings. ‘This will bring a substantial amount of money.’ He glanced through the pieces, lifting a gold chain with a medallion on it and squinting at the engraving. ‘Ah, the same family crest. This all belonged to Mrs Bubacic, I take it?’
‘My friend’s grandmother. It is not stolen.’
The jeweller nodded. ‘I will need a little time. The pieces have to be cleaned, recorded and a buyer found.’
‘Could you give me a small portion now?’ asked Lucien. ‘I am happy to use my money, but it will take time to transfer it from my bank in France. I need the lady released as soon as possible.’
The jeweller twisted his eyepiece in place, picked up several items and examined them. He then reached for a small book and wrote down a brief description of the pieces, then went to his safe and put the jewellery in it, taking out a wad of banknotes. He peeled off an amount, which he handed to Lucien. ‘I trust this will suffice for the time being. Be careful and bargain well. These people are greedy!’