Disappearance (A Mystery and Espionage Thriller)

by Niv Kaplan

"Yes dear," he answered and hung up.

  -------

  The flight into JFK took an hour and Mikki once again used the Carey bus services for transport into the city. The Summit, he had found out in advance, was walking distance from Grand Central Station. A cab would have obviously been a faster and more convenient choice but he felt an obligation to do what he could to reduce expenses.

  Lisa had opened up several savings accounts to finance their activities and had insisted money was of no concern, but Mikki had scruples about using her money. He had been practically broke when they had first met in New York and since then she had paid for everything - air fares, accommodation, food, gas, and all other expenses. She never told him how much money she had allotted but he figured that when it was all said and done she could be out a sum he would most likely never see his entire life.

  Before boarding he had called once more asking to use her apartment instead of paying for the hotel. She had reasoned that they could not afford to lose her father because of a traffic jam or a late train. Besides, she had argued, just like in DC, he may meet some people in the evening or prior to his scheduled meeting, which Mikki would not be able to witness if he wasn't around. She insisted they needed to stay right on top of their subject since they were not sure what they were looking for and any peculiarity could turn out useful.

  Mikki could not argue that point after losing Glass in Washington. He never saw him again after he had disappeared into the Matlock offices that morning. He assumed he had left through a back exit or never left at all, but when 6pm came around and Glass did not show, he flagged a taxi to the airport so as not to miss his flight, figuring he was certain to get back on his track in New York.

  He reached Grand Central and walked the same route he had walked with Lisa when he first came there, two weeks ago. It was night time and Lexington was busy and brightly lit. Loaded yellow cabs were whipping by with cumbersome buses sounding their horns at them or anyone else who dared get in the way. Office workers were rushing to neighboring subway stations, joggers and rollerblade virtuosos were skipping through traffic, and ordinary pedestrians stepped in and out of shops and restaurants. He was amazed at the contrast between Los Angeles and the New York metropolis where, in good weather such as this, it was marvelous for anyone wanting to disappear into anonymity.

  It was after ten when he reached the hotel. He checked in then stepped right out for a New York pizza on the corner. Later he positioned himself on a couch in the hotel lobby, partially obscured by a newspaper he had purchased, keeping the front entrance and reception counter well in view.

  By midnight Glass had not shown up. Mikki went out and called the hotel from a public telephone, asking to be put through to Glass. The switchboard operator transferred his call but would not give the room number and there was no answer. He waited another hour before turning in, hoping he had heard right and had not dreamt the part about Glass diverting his route through New York.

  By eight fifteen the next morning he was sitting a ways back from the hotel's entrance, in the back of a banged-up four door Cadillac sedan belonging to a car service he had ordered that morning, not wanting to gamble with flagging a yellow cab for pursuit at the busiest time of day. His driver already had the first fifty dollar bill in his pocket. At eight thirty sharp, a large silver limousine pulled up in front of the hotel. Mikki spotted Glass briefly as he scooted hastily into the lengthy vehicle.

  Rush hour New York tailing was a whole different affair than DC tailing. Mikki was certain they had lost the silver limo several times only to find themselves parked next to it in the traffic jam a few blocks down the avenue. Their path was jammed most of the way downtown and the driver wasn't shy about keeping his bumper practically touching the limo. The limo maneuvered elegantly among the narrow downtown streets and came to a halt on Wall Street, in front of an imposing marble tower, not two blocks away from the New York Stock Exchange. Glass stepped out and blended in with the crowd of suits rushing the entrances. Mikki barely caught up with him inside the building by a bank of elevators. Despite all his careful planning he had forgotten the Wall Street dress code and he desperately stood out in that crowd with his casual wear. He kept himself well in back as the restless crowd gathered around the elevator doors.

  He knew it would be almost too bold if he stepped in the same elevator with the man he was following, so he waited, watching the lobby indicators, noting every stop made by the elevator Glass had entered. The elevator had no stops before the thirty-third floor then it stopped at floors thirty- four, thirty-seven, thirty-eight, forty-one, forty-nine, fifty and fifty-two, before it began descending again.

  Mikki, realizing he had his work cut out, began at the top floor intending to work his way down, checking each floor for some indication as to where Glass may have gone. Fortunately he did not have to look far as he ran into 'Barons Inc. - Investment Banking Associates' stepping out the elevator on the forty-ninth floor. He immediately recognized the firm as the one Lisa had discovered associated with a man named Langone in her father's Rolodex on her first visit to his office. Recognizing the company, Mikki could then safely assume the identity of Glass's hawkish, white haired drinking partner from the Crystal City Marriot Sports Bar.

  CHAPTER 27

  George Eckert was a plump man in his early sixties with a shiny bald head and white sideburns, whose grandfatherly appearance was somewhat deceiving to anyone who was not aware of his shrewd intellect and feisty reactions. Lisa had forewarned Mikki of her boss's capabilities so he would take the necessary precautions.

  "Don't let his appearance fool you Mikki," she had said, "he uses it to his advantage. The man is sharp, so keep alert. He can bring us a lot of good if he gets to like you." He was seated next to Mikki in the back of a comfortable Buick sedan talking softly. His driver, who was sealed off by a glass partition, swiftly drove them across the Brooklyn Bridge toward Kennedy Airport.

  Mikki had called after observing Glass leave Langone's offices in the silver limo, presumably for the airport. Eckert had picked him up on the corner of Wall Street and Broadway and suggested a lift to the airport since Mikki had to go there anyway. He did not waste time with pleasantries. He told Mikki what he knew of the affair and then went on to describe what he had managed to dig up.

  "Edgar Langone is a powerful man," he began ceremoniously. "I've bumped into him on occasion. He is well-respected in our community and he has some clout with the politicians, mainly the ones who have prospered through a few of his lucrative investments. One of his more noted investments is the large wholesale depot centers springing up everywhere in the United States these days. Others, less known but just as lucrative, have been in the defense business. His banking firm supported, and still supports, several companies involved in large defense contracts. Matlock Defense is one of those.”

  He paused to give his information a chance to sink in.

  "The Matlock project currently being sponsored by Langone and his people, which we now can be certain involves Glass, is known to very few people, none of whom would utter a word about it. No one in government would admit any knowledge of it and the politicians won't consider even an exceptional bribe to let someone glance at a document left inadvertently on their desk. It's a tricky liability," he surmised, looking at Mikki as if expecting him to acknowledge the difficult predicament they were dealing with.

  Mikki remained quiet, wondering whether he was about to get lectured.

  "Matlock," Eckert continued, emphasizing the name a little too crispy in Mikki's view, "is a five-billion-dollar company dealing mostly in short to medium range Antitank and Air Defense missiles. Most of their work is highly classified, but this project seems to be unique. From what little we've been able to gather, we know it is not being procured by any of the US military factions. This is extremely unusual in this business. Normally, a company like Matlock would respond to some sort of a formal request borne out of an operational need, but we have found no evidence of Matlock being awa
rded such a contract. The company had been awarded various contracts in the last five years but none that would fit a description of such high classification.

  "You see, Mikki," Eckert continued, "there are very few government contracts that a layman cannot learn about in the Commerce Business daily or other such public databases. My company employs a large experienced staff with access to all those and many more, not to mention the personal contacts and years of experience. In all my years in this business, I've never encountered a situation where none of my reliable sources were able to come up with reasonable clarifications to an inquiry.”

  Eckert went silent for a brief moment then spoke with conviction. "All this has made me certain of at least one thing," he said, clearing his throat, "something significant and probably unlawful is transpiring, otherwise I would have known about it.”

  He let out a sigh as if exasperated by this unforeseen obstacle and continued on. "It was the first time in years that I had to revert to using the services of my partner, Ed Lambert. His connections go a little deeper in the defense business. He went directly to the horse's mouth and called an old score with a Matlock VP.

  "The existence of the project was confirmed but not much more. Eddy couldn't have pushed him any further. The poor fellow nearly reneged on his pact as it was. What we did learn was that the project comes out of their Air Defense division and that it’s driven by foreign money.”

  He looked at Mikki expectantly again. Mikki remained quiet. So far, Eckert had shed some light on the overall scenario but he felt he had not gotten any closer to Karen. He had expected more particulars.

  "Why would the Mossad be interested in such a project?" Mikki asked suddenly, half thinking Eckert was not being totally honest with him.

  "Why, I can only speculate," Eckert said, notably disconcerted, "but I'd rather not.”

  "You don't think we have a chance finding the girl, do you?" Mikki said bitterly.

  "I'm here telling you all this because I want to make sure you know what you're up against," Eckert said solemnly. "I care for Lisa too much to let her walk blindly into such a mess.”

  "It's her sister," Mikki persisted.

  "Yes, and she could be long dead.”

  Mikki was startled by this remark. Being so involved in trying to track Karen down, he had forgotten the possibility that she may not be alive. Sure they had made some progress and had gotten a few indications that she may be found, but what if they were chasing a ghost. The odds were stacked high against them. How would Lisa respond to failure, now that her hopes were renewed? She had seemed to be doing just fine, her life back on track, when he had burst in and jolted her once again. Was there solid enough ground to drag her back into this nightmare?

  He looked at the man sitting next to him and for the first time realized that it was he, Mikki Dotan, whose life never, got back on track. It suddenly dawned on him that in the last three and some years, life had gone on, and he was left behind. People dealt with setbacks but kept going forward not letting their misfortunes guide their way. Lisa had done it with the help of this man and he cared for her. It was important for him to see her progress and not sink back into her past. Mikki represented her unfortunate past and Eckert was asking him to consider the consequences of hauling her back to it, risking everything she had managed to accomplish.

  It was now clear to him why Eckert had insisted on the meeting. He wanted Mikki alone so he could have his say.

  It was clear that he viewed their chances as meager and the task dangerous, and that he wanted to make sure they were aware of the risks involved, but Mikki had the inkling that when push came to shove he would be there to help. He would not abandon Lisa whatever she chose to do.

  They spent most of the rest of the way in silence, Mikki staring out the car windows, not really seeing anything. He knew that he and his fellow Israelis had crossed the point of no return and that Lisa too, was committed. She would not allow herself to stop at this juncture even if it meant finding her sister dead. He was certain of that. She was still scolding herself for not doing enough the first time around.

  "We have to know the truth," he finally said as the Buick came to a halt in front of the TWA terminal.

  Eckert looked straight ahead. "I'll hold you responsible if she is harmed," he said without turning his head.

  "That won't be necessary, sir," Mikki said as he scuffled out of the car, "I'll be holding myself responsible.”

  -------

  Chester Caldwell was in a miserable mood. Nothing had gone right in the last two weeks. He had not gotten anything done work related or otherwise, since Lisa's abrupt disappearance. His contact man had, for the first time, failed to appear at their scheduled rendezvous in the Village and Chester had not been paid. That in itself was bothersome, but to Chester the money issue was secondary.

  Not seeing her for such an extended period of time was more than he could endure, especially since he was not sure she was coming back. He missed her and could not bear the thought of not ever seeing her at the office when he came in.

  The last time he had seen her was when he had followed her back to the office after she had parted company from the stranger with whom she had so tempestuously engaged at the Grand Central bus terminal.

  He recalled her being quite shaken up as she stepped out of the café, half-wishing he could get her so emotional. Downtown, he had to wait a few minutes before entering the office, not wanting to appear too conspicuous walking in right behind her. She was already in Eckert's office by the time he came in, storming out an hour later to begin an unexplained frantic scramble of organization in her cubicle. Suzy Chambers had called her to see Eckert twice more during that time and all Chester could do was sit in his cubicle, helpless, afraid to make a stupid move.

  A couple of hours later she was gone. He let her go, thinking it would seem a little too obvious to be scrambling after her out of the office twice in one day. He figured that he could surely piece the story together shortly thereafter, never suspecting that it was the last he was to see of her for quite a while.

  By noon the following day he had gotten so distraught that, disregarding his normal precautions, he entered her cubicle. Searching it thoroughly, throughout that entire day, he could find no clues as to what had happened. All seemed to be in order. Her files were there, her computer discs, her Rolodex, her stack of used and unused memo pads, even her more personal belongings like the small leather make-up pouch she used in the office, some jewelry, and her sister's photo.

  That evening he tried to solicit information, trying on his charm with Suzy Chambers, but came up empty. She would not talk. Desperate, he went to Lisa's building hoping to catch a glimpse of her there, but backed away in front of her locked apartment door.

  The following day, during staff meeting, Eckert made a vague statement about sending her on an assignment for a few weeks, but did not elaborate.

  In their last meeting Chester had reported to his contact on the surprising development of Lisa and the stranger at the Lexington Avenue Café. After the staff meeting he was forced to report her disappearance.

  Two weeks later, he was as ignorant about Lisa's disappearance as he was when it happened. As each day passed, he became more and more frustrated and miserable. His colleagues had even begun to comment on his growing absent-mindedness. He began to daydream in their presence much too often, be late for meetings, and worst of all, fall behind with his assignments, something that was unforgivable. Clients paid top dollar to get their information on time and his superiors did not tolerate late turn-ins. If he pushed it too far, it would get him fired.

  Twice he had held the phone in his hand ready to call his contact, knowing he would be violating his instructions. He had tried to rationalize that he indeed had a legitimate reason to call; she being his responsibility; him wanting the money owed to him. But twice, he had hung up the receiver, afraid to even dial the number. Those people scared him and he was already too involved to be testing their li
mits. He was certain they could have him fired or even make him disappear, if they chose to do so. So he kept quiet and felt miserable.

  The phone rang at his apartment past midnight. Chester, who by now was having trouble falling asleep, answered it eagerly.

  "Usual place, in two hours," the voice said and clicked off. Chester felt relief. He was barely able to dress properly for such a late hour and trains were scarcer at that time of night, but he still made it in plenty of time from his Upper West Side apartment.

  Washington Square was dark and scattered with roaming shadows. He had gotten off the train at 14th street, walked east to Fifth Ave and turned south toward the square. He crossed it and stood under the second lamp on the square's southeastern footpath just shy of the NYU buildings waiting for the man with the black raincoat to show up.

  All their previous meetings took place in the early evening hours when the place swarmed. From random passersby and inquisitive tourists to dealers and law enforcement officers, Washington Square was a hub of activity and the perfect place for an inconspicuous meeting. They would move a few steps from under the lamp and Chester would report anything he thought significant. Then the man would hand him an envelope with cash and disappear without saying a word. He would then move back under the lamp and wait for ten minutes before taking the same route back to the 14th Street subway station.

  He wondered whether his instructions still held. The square was considerably different late at night. The benches and trash-can areas were mostly occupied by the homeless, who slumbered heavily wrapped in carton boxes, holding on to whatever wares they had found that day. Several shadowy figures and a few couples were wandering across the square, and Chester could identify two larger gatherings huddled in opposite corners to where he stood. Chester shivered under his leather jacket.

  The place spooked him.

  Twenty minutes after the scheduled rendezvous time the man showed up. Same dark raincoat with the raised collar; same agonizing silence. But this time he motioned for Chester to follow him. He walked briskly toward SoHo where the streets were even darker than the Village's. Chester struggled to keep up feeling increasingly alarmed with every step. He was beginning to doubt his own reason. What was he thinking, getting hooked up with these thugs for a few extra dollars? The money was certainly not worth dying for and neither was Lisa.