by Niv Kaplan
It dawned on him that the place was deserted. He could see no movement in or around the house. No cars were parked by and its overall condition was one of neglect. It certainly did not appear to be a corporate office of a respectable real estate business or any business. He got out of his car and casually strode into the car lot. An aging salesman with a flashing orange tie and a well-seasoned suit approached him instantly.
"What can I do Ya?" He greeted Mikki cheerfully with a heavy southern accent. "Got 'em all at lowest ol' prices."
"Is this real estate office open?" Mikki asked without preamble, pointing to the house.
The salesman looked in the direction, straining his eyes. "Wha', can't say I've paid attention much."
"They sent me here to sign some papers but the place looks deserted," Mikki lied.
"I've taken a spin or two around this block in the past ten years…" the salesman said, scratching his balding head, thinking out loud, "it was surely occupied a while ago, but..." he looked at Mikki thoughtfully, "not lately, come to think of it."
"Any idea how long?"
"Betta' ask the tool chap next door, he may know more."
"Much obliged," Mikki said, trying to impersonate the accent with little success. He crossed the street and approached the house adjacent to Cascade's. The sign on the front door read "Jerry's Tools". The buzzer did not seem to produce any sound so he knocked on the screen door and called out.
"Out back!" someone called from within over a persistent machine noise and Mikki entered the house. Most of its interior was dark. He passed a small kitchen noticing its space taken up by a large refrigerator and its sink piled to the hilt with pots and pans and he recognized a familiar scent - Marijuana or Hashishas he passed by the living room toward the rear door.
He stepped out to the back yard and into an inquisitive gaze of a rugged looking character, partially dressed in jeans, a wide brown leather belt and heavy pointed leather boots, with a bare upper body displaying an impressive array of tattoos over bulging arm and chest muscles. A large earring to his left earlobe and a pony tail completed the spectacle. He was standing by a work bench under a shed, operating an outmoded miniature lathe, an array of automotive parts hanging behind him on the shed's back wall.
The man seemed quite absorbed in his work but periodically stared at Mikki, making him feel quite self-conscious. Mikki stuck his hands in his pockets and stood fidgeting, shuffling his feet in the sandy earth, waiting for the man to break. The entire backyard was clogged with automobile parts. Frames, wheels, disassembled engines, and random parts were dispersed around the yard and it occurred to Mikki that Jerry's Tools was probably making a living off the used car lot across the street. Cascade's back yard was quite visible over the wooden fence that separated the two properties. It was bare, scattered patches of yellowing grass embellishing the sandy earth.
The man finally shut off his machine and approached Mikki. He was quite intimidating up close, towering over Mikki, his upper body glistening with perspiration.
"Can I help you?" he said, sounding somewhat irritated at the intrusion. He could probably discern a potential client from ordinary folk, Mikki thought.
"The car salesman said you may know how long that place has been deserted," Mikki said, pointing to the house across the fence.
"What's it to you?" the man asked suspiciously.
"It's supposed to be a real estate office where I'm to sign some papers but it looks abandoned," Mikki said, wanting to add that he didn't think it was a place to run such business, or any business, but held his tongue. Offending the next door neighbor would not serve his purpose.
The intimidating figure looked at him appraisingly.
"Haven't seen anyone there for at least a year," he finally said.
"Was it ever a real estate office, like the sign says?" Mikki asked quickly, hoping to capitalize on the toolmaker's momentary responsiveness.
"I wouldn't know or care if they were running a whorehouse over there," the man answered, looking straight at Mikki with a contemptuous grin. Then he turned and walked back to his lathe.
Driving back to the Flamingo, Mikki realized he had learned a few things about Cascade even though their place of business was abandoned and the indifferent neighbors provided little insight.
His most intuitive thought was that finding the place in such condition could point to Cascade being a cover up to some form of unlawful activity such as tailing people like himself. But on further reflection he realized it was not as straightforward as he wished it to be. The company could have moved its offices. The information he had received from Lisa indicated they were listed as real estate brokers in various states across the US; the local Vegas paper even carried some of their listings.
Through unsuspecting eyes, they could easily pass as a legitimate business. However, two of the characters he had seen using Cascade's office at the San Fernando Valley shopping center did seem questionable and one of their cars did rendezvous with the car that had been tailing him. Cascade Realty showed no other address in Nevada. The closest office was the one in Los Angeles and the next closest was in Provo, Utah. Lisa was able to locate the Nevada residence phone and addresses for William Devon and Steve Carson from their DMV records. Devon had an address in Las Vegas and Steve Carson was still registered in his home town of Willow. Perhaps that was the next avenue to pursue, Mikki thought. In his mind, he kept trying to evaluate the puzzle from different angles. It was clear those people were involved, but to what extent would following them put him on the right path.
Night had fallen when he reached the hotel. A slight headache was reshaping in his forehead, just above his eyebrows, reminding him that he had not fully recovered from the previous night's outing so he ate a light supper with tea and retired early.
The following morning he rang Cascade's corporate number, using a public telephone at the hotel lobby by a bank of slot machines. A female voice answered. He introduced himself with a fictitious name and said he was interested in one of the properties listed in the paper. He was instantly transferred to a local agent who identified himself as Frank Garcia and offered to meet him at the house.
Mikki insisted he wanted to meet at the office and look at other prospects before making a decision. Garcia made excuses about the office being renovated and offered to meet Mikki anywhere, saying he had a portfolio of all the properties in his briefcase, but Mikki was adamant and Garcia caved in, giving him an address.
The office looked very similar to the one in the San Fernando Valley. It was secreted in a little shopping center, just off the Vegas strip, about a mile from the Flamingo. Mikki got there on foot and positioned himself in an ice cream shop, such that he would be able to follow the comings and goings at the puny real estate office.
There wasn't much to follow. He pretended to be licking ice cream for an hour, all the while recording but one person peeking out from within for a brief minute, then disappearing back inside. Mikki guessed it was agent Garcia looking for him. He then moved to an adjacent sandwich shop and spent another hour nibbling on a large ham and cheese sub. There was no activity at Cascade.
Toward sundown, Garcia and a petite brunette with large sunglasses, emerged, locked the office and sped away in a Toyota Corolla. Mikki recorded the automobile license number and spent the next two days surveying the joint.
Steve Carson showed up in his Thunderbird at the end of the second day.
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It took a while, but Lisa found a way to track real estate sales through Escrow company databases. She sat staring at the computer screen, tracing Cascade's real estate sales in the last two years and found it to be peculiarly sparse. She managed to pinpoint the location of every house sold in the United States, its asking and selling prices, dates of execution and title transfer, names of buyer and seller, and the brokers involved.
Cascade’s nine offices across the US, from California to New York, managed to close but ninety one escrows in a little over two years,
which meant only five houses per office per year. It was an astonishingly low number compared with other real estate firms of similar size who averaged the same number of houses sold per month.
The California and Utah offices showed almost no activity, selling but two houses each year while the Nevada and New York offices each sold eight, in each of the two years. The rest were spread more or less even. On closer examination she noticed other things that seemed quite peculiar. On several occasions, some of the sellers and buyers were the same people. A person, who sold in Nevada repurchased the same house a year later. The same happened in New York and Cleveland, Ohio. A person buying in New York bought two more houses in Nebraska and Utah. She also noticed some of the buyers to be names she recognized. The Carson brothers had purchased a house each, Phil in Ohio and Steve in Nebraska. William Devon, had purchased two houses, one in Utah and one in New York.
She scanned back two more years and noticed similar patterns. It was an astonishing revelation. Why would a real estate company keep so many offices country wide for such meager activity and how could they stay in business? Why would a person want to repurchase a house he had just sold and what interest would Steve Carson, a Nevada resident, have purchasing a house in Nebraska?
A cold chill began creeping down her back and goose bumps spread all over her body as her mind began to grasp what she was seeing. It was becoming clear Cascade was no ordinary real estate company. They were a legitimate business, legally incorporated and so forth, but selling real estate was not their primary motive. People with different motives were apparently guiding their actions and other establishments were financing their activities.
One such establishment may be the people behind Campour, she thought, her mind reeling. One possible motive may be keeping her sister securely out of the way all these years. She downloaded the files onto a floppy disc and anxiously waited for a print out of all of Cascade's real estate transactions in the previous four years.
Then she went to see her boss.
CHAPTER 34
It was crowded and noisy at Motti's house as another wild ostentatious party was in swing at his second floor patio overlooking the Jezreel valley.
Eitan stood by Naomi among a crowd of people by the dance floor. Naomi had a knack for attracting attention but his attention was on the dance floor where Nadav was busy seducing Hasson's daughter. It was the first time he had seen her and she looked as beautiful as he had imagined her from Nadav's enthusiastic description over the phone.
It had been two weeks since they took it upon themselves to inquire into the Hasson/Arbel family predicament at Moshav Beit-Nirim and Nadav was making exceptional progress. At the barbecue he had quickly and shrewdly made friends with the two wannabe hunters. Eitan had lured the two into coming, promising a position in some of his upcoming hunting escapades.
Nadav had gotten himself invited over the following weekend and as luck would have it had bumped into Hasson's daughter at the local club. She turned out to be a real beauty and looking at her dance, Eitan understood Nadav's enthusiasm. She was exceptionally tall, just a hair shorter than Nadav, her body slender and athletic, tight jeans accentuating her long legs, her shoulders broad and her breasts firm under a thin wool sweater. Her face was delicately proportionate with a straight nose and high cheekbones and her long black hair came down almost to her waist. But her most captivating feature was a lively, overwhelming, good natured smile that seemed to transform anyone looking at her.
Her name was Noga; she was nineteen and had just completed her voluntary labor year and was waiting to be drafted. After meeting her at the club, they had met again the following Saturday for horseback riding. Then Nadav put in for a special leave of absence, and spent the rest of the week with her. The couple was now necking on the dance floor. Eitan had yet to speak to Nadav since he had disappeared with Noga for three days, returning the afternoon of the party, but just looking at them revealed the entire account.
Nadav had succeeded and looked to be greatly enjoying himself.
He drifted for a minute thinking how he had become the most skeptical member of their unit. They all had their doubts but he had been ready give up the search and quit on several occasions. Why was he ready to give up so easily? What was this indifference that kept him from committing to the cause or worse yet, to Naomi, the love of his life?
Why was he keeping himself so detached?
He knew that part of himself to be his worst enemy. Naomi was having a hard time dealing with it and he wholeheartedly wanted to change for her, but could not quite bring himself to do so. He guessed it was a form of protection, a kind of an emotional fence he had built around himself, yet he never forced himself to dig deep enough to understand what it was he was protecting himself from.
Executing the terrorist could have been his way of making up for his skepticism, proving his commitment to his friends but instead he shocked them to the core. His military and hunting buddies may have approved, but this unit was of an entirely different character and they considered his act barbaric. No one had said a word but he could still see the reproach in their eyes. He still believed he had done the right thing, eliminating the obstacle, but he realized that he should have taken care of it more discreetly.
Watching Nadav become involved with Noga Arbel had brought him some enlightenment. Eitan's initial reaction to such a relationship would have been snubbed since it was certain to end when the truth came out. Yet it dawned on him that the outcome did not affect to the couple enjoying each other's company on the dance floor. He realized that it was possible to benefit regardless of whether or not something held a future.
The same rationale held for Mikki, he thought. Just to be doing something for Karen's sake made Mikki feel useful in spite of the remote chance of ever finding her. Satisfaction, Eitan realized, was found in doing, not in the outcome. Both Nadav and Mikki were willing to get involved and risk getting hurt for the remote possibility of emerging happy and he wanted to feel the same.
On impulse he drew Naomi to him, hugged her to him and led her to the dance floor. She looked at him a little dazed, her eyes wide and questioning. He had never danced with her before. The music was upbeat but he just held her to him and they moved around slowly. Then he kissed her on the lips and she returned his kiss with passion as they embraced.
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Nadav led Noga off the dance floor, watching his accomplice locked in a tight embrace with his girlfriend. Noga was watching them too.
He led her to the makeshift bar and ordered two Goldstars. They stood together, cooling off, sipping their beer quietly. A few rowdy males whose demeanor and shiny new crew-cuts indicated they were on a weekend leave from basic training, were acting quite drunk trying to draw her attention, but she ignored them.
He suddenly saw a familiar face and flinched as he realized it was Malka, the girl he had a fling with. She was looking at him and their eyes locked for a brief moment before she broke off her gaze and concentrated on a young fellow standing by her side. They had not spoken to each other since her drunken display in Motti's living room, and neither seemed eager to relive the event or renew the relationship.
"Wanna split?" he asked Noga.
She nodded and led the way down the narrow external patio stairway to where Nadav's Jeep was parked. They left Motti's house and headed south toward Noga's Moshav, taking the scenic route, driving on the narrow strip of asphalt that ran along the Nazareth ridge. Just before they began to descend she asked him to stop and they got out of the Jeep and stood staring at the valley below.
"I can see my house," she said, pointing at a cluster of lights further below.
Nadav looked at her. Her black hair had blended into the darkness but her smooth silky profile contrasted distinctly against the dark background. His gaze appraised her exquisite features; the shapely forehead, the straight nose, full lips and high cheekbones. She was something out of a modeling magazine, he thought, pure and unscathed, and he was certain he h
ad fallen in love with her.
It was love at first sight, he recalled, something he never imagined would happen to him.
Eitan’s buddies were late to arrive at the club and she was there when he came in. He noticed her instantly, never imagining she was the person he was after. He discreetly pointed her out to his two friends and to his surprise she turned out to be the only child of Dan and Rebecca Arbel, living alone with her mother since her father had, years ago, ditched them for another woman and was living somewhere in America.
He had cackled within himself at the official cover story but also realized he may have just been given his first clue to where Dan Hasson may be lingering. Of course, this was only hometown gossip, he told himself, nothing that could be properly relied upon, but he knew from experience that gossip in such a small community had a way of turning out very close to the truth. They knew Hasson's involvement with PhotonTek took place in the States and that a car registered in his name was used in the kidnapping, but none of them had any idea where he went from there.
In the club he had worked his way closer to where she sat and casually invited her to dance as soon as all other suitors gave her a break. She flashed a lovely smile at him and accepted. The rest, as far as he could recall, was a blur of blissful existence. She did not dance with another the rest of the night and he had escorted her to her front door, well into the early morning hours, suppressing an irresistible urge to kiss her throughout. They had parted with gentle hug that first night, and agreed to meet that afternoon at the stables.
The ensuing week had been pure joy. During their horseback outing he suggested a three-day trip to the Dead Sea area and she jumped at the idea. She had no misgivings about herself, he observed. She was energetic, a quick thinker, and above all an optimist, which seemed quite a feat considering what she must have been through with such a father. Though she was three years his junior, he felt that in many ways she more mature than he and there was a positive attitude about her that was contagious.