Disappearance (A Mystery and Espionage Thriller)

by Niv Kaplan

"Can't quite say, but looks pretty big. I'll be smarter tomorrow.”

  "Don't ignore me, Kumar," Glass reiterated, "I've waited long enough and I won't release the final production version until I get my guarantees.”

  "Just get these things to work, Glass," Kumar said dismissively and hung up.

  Three time zones away, Paul Glass peered at his wife across the desk then dialed a second number to a waiting party in New York.

  CHAPTER 46

  The entourage walked through the production facility, stopping now and again for short demonstrations outlining the formation of the missile's production line. They had all put on white robes and face covers to enter the clean room housing the assembly line for the missile's laser seeker head. The lead engineer took great care illustrating the complex array of sensors, mirrors and microchips all meshed into a miniature metal cone, transforming the individual modules into a remarkably effective tracking mechanism.

  "What's the effective range of this seeker?" someone asked.

  "That would be limited to the laser's effective range which is roughly ten thousand feet," the engineer replied. "The seeker's camera can recognize a target from about 20 thousand feet, but the effective kill range is again, limited to the laser's range.”

  "How fast can its head turn?" another asked, provoking the engineer into further technical jargon.

  "The seeker head is mounted on a gimbaled platform with two axes: pitch and roll," he explained tilting his hands to illustrate the slant. "The pitch axis has a field of regard minus 45 to plus 45 degrees. The roll has 360 degrees. Both axes can achieve a range of 30 degrees per second which is a match for any fighter aircraft maneuvering at less than ten thousand feet.”

  "What maneuver would that be?" someone challenged.

  "Nine G vertical at 1.2 mach," the engineer spat out, silencing the gathered crowd.

  Scott Vitcon leaned back from inspecting the exposed seeker up close. "Quite an achievement," he murmured, partly to himself, noting the relieved looks on the faces of his hosts. "When do you start deliveries?"

  "We have several systems going through environmental qualification testing at the moment," Wes Bradley, Matlock's VP for Marketing, replied, taking over from the engineer. "Once that's done and all the development data are transferred to production, we should be pumping these babies out, twenty a month.”

  "Yeah, but you didn't answer my question," Vitcon said icily, causing the crowd to once again grow silent.

  "Hard to pinpoint," Bradley said, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief, "but if all goes well we should be delivering the first lot by April next year.”

  Vitcon, a burly man in his late fifties, with a towering frame and a down to earth attitude, looked around the room, noting the row of technicians standing on elevated counters surrounding the entire room, each tending to a rack of seeker heads at various stages of assembly. His group was standing in the middle of the floor where several completed units were being probed by an assortment of test equipment.

  The operation was real, he thought. Matlock was a determined company on the verge of achieving success. If they were to be discouraged, he'd better work it fast.

  Bradley, a short man with a piercing stare, impeccably dressed in fastidious suit and tie, signaled to the engineer who led the group out of the clean room. Then came lunch with several Matlock VP's, followed by a private chat with the CEO.

  -------

  "Quite an operation you got going here," Vitcon commented, addressing the CEO, as the three men settled in large comfortable leather sofas in the lavish penthouse office at the Matlock corporate compound, overlooking the runways of the Dayton International airport.

  Richard M. Matlock, descendant of a long line of Matlock chiefs, all the way down to his great grandfather, the founder of Matlock Ammunition back in the dawning years of the previous century, was an impressive a figure as he was rumored to be. Vitcon had never met the man but had recently made a point of carefully exploring his background. Matlock was fifty-nine, a year older than himself, and had been at the Matlock helm for nine years, taking over from his father who had retired at seventy-five. He was a tall man with a handsome face, hardened and creased by age and years of adversity. He wore a graying mustache and kept a pair of reading glasses loosely hung around his neck.

  The Matlock Defense Company was traded publicly on the big board at the New York Stock Exchange. Current worth: approximately five billion dollars; stock shifting between fifty-one and fifty-three dollars a share for the last six months. Richard Matlock, Chairman and CEO, was currently under fire by his board of directors for losing several major defense contracts to weaker companies. Some of his ongoing projects had gone into cost overruns and were feeling heat from the government. Matlock was in need of a break.

  Addressing his marketing VP, Matlock skipped the preliminaries and moved right to the point.

  "Did you show him the missile?"

  Bradley concurred, nodding his head slowly.

  "We should have the first lot out in February, but we've had our difficulties," Matlock continued.

  Vitcon, watching Bradley shift restlessly knowing he had quoted two months later than his boss, turned his attention to Matlock.

  "Mr. Bradley predicts twenty a month once you get going. How does this sit with supplying your customers?"

  "We'll have to push it initially, but we should settle after the first year.”

  "It's an impressive system, but a dangerous investment," Vitcon said, straightening his gaze at Matlock.

  Both Matlock and Bradley moved uneasily in their seats.

  "With a little effort, I can guarantee delivery a year from now," Bradley said, nervously glancing at Matlock.

  "I'm not so sure you can do that, Mr. Bradley.”

  "With all due respect sir, you've seen the line, we're just about…"

  "It may not be up to you," Vitcon said, quietly undermining Bradley's reprise.

  "Would you mind explaining that statement, Mr. Vitcon?" Matlock demanded.

  "By all means Mr. Matlock. I've been led to believe you're targeted by the US export regulators. This missile of yours violates every rule in the book and they have you marked.”

  Matlock and Bradley exchanged glances.

  “From where did you get this load of bullshit?” Matlock questioned, visibly disturbed.

  “I have my sources,” Vitcon replied poised, “and they are reliable.”

  They stared at one another for a long moment before Matlock lowered his gaze. "How long have you known this?"

  "Long enough, Mr. Matlock."

  "Before meeting Langone?"

  Vitcon nodded. "It's why I asked to meet him. I wanted to get to you so I can offer an arrangement.”

  Richard Matlock remained still for a long moment then leaned over to whisper something in Bradley's ear. Bradley, looking quite shaken, violently shook his head in reply.

  "Mr. Bradley here thinks you're serious," Matlock said scornfully, "but I beg to differ, mainly because I can't see your motivation to get involved in this, especially if you think it’s such a risk.”

  "Solid argument, Mr. Matlock, but you'll have to trust me for now. There is a motive here but I can't quite disclose it until you meet my terms.”

  "And if I don't?"

  "Then a four year investment goes down the drain and your board of directors has ample justification to get rid of you. Not to mention the disgrace and potential long term jail sentences for you and Bradley among many others.”

  As their glances met again, Scott Vitcon felt a chill charging down his neck and spine. Matlock's gaze had turned dangerous, but he kept his voice level.

  "I'll need that motive Mr. Vitcon," he said stubbornly. "Without it I see no reason to believe an Englishman has this kind of leverage here.”

  "I'm not alone in this, Mr. Matlock and I wouldn't be here if I didn't think I had this leverage.”

  Bradley's face had turned a shade paler. Matlock sat rigid on the large sofa, con
spicuously weighing his odds.

  "What are your terms?" he finally blurted out. Vitcon did not hesitate.

  "You sever your ties with Langone and Krauss-Hauser, cancel their orders claiming export control restrictions, and I'll call off the dogs and fill the gap with legitimate orders.”

  "It's a pretty large gap to fill," Matlock said.

  "I know. Langone and his German friend told me all about it.”

  "What assurances would we have to protect our investment?" Bradley anxiously jumped in.

  "I won't be responsible for your non-recurring, but I can guarantee you half the orders you now have. As for the rest, we'll do our best to help you market the product. From what I've seen, you should have no problem landing additional orders for such an advanced product. Needless to say, I think the domestic market is your best bet.”

  "I'll have to check into this," Matlock said.

  "Fair enough; I'll expect an answer in a week," Vitcon said.

  As if on cue, the three executives rose from their seats and approached the door.

  "This better be legit, Mr. Vitcon," Matlock said as the two men stood facing each other at the reception area.

  "You'll be thanking me one of these days Mr. Matlock. Good day to you all.”

  Leaving the Matlock chief and his crew baffled, Vitcon turned and strode out the door.

  -------

  The entrapment was camouflaged amongst the New York mayhem. Two unmarked police cars were at each end of the block, agents pretending to be doing something useful. Marla Wilkins, a radio hidden in her purse with the tiny mouthpiece exposed at the seam, stood with Lisa at a corner deli overlooking the hotel. There was a side access which could also be observed from where they stood, but they were counting on Kumar coming out the main entrance. Lisa, the only person on the team to have ever seen the man, had arrived from Los Angeles at six that morning and was rushed to Federal Plaza for briefings and preparations.

  The plan was simple. Wait for him to come out, then grab him whichever way he turns. Lisa was quite confident she could identify him. Glass had given them his whereabouts.

  They did not have to wait long.

  Lisa recognized him instantly as he came out of the rotating glass doors and stood looking undecided amidst a current of pedestrians rushing past him both ways. Wrapped in a long overcoat, collar raised to shield him from the biting evening wind; he looked this way and that before finally moving in the downtown direction.

  Marla spoke quickly into her miniature microphone and Lisa watched as the team sprang into action. Everything shifted to fast forward. The agent in the lobby appeared, joining the one stationed at the entrance and the two followed the unsuspecting subject toward the waiting car where one of two agents had left the back door open and was fumbling with the car's trunk. The second unmarked car had turned the corner and was inching down the avenue, playing backup. The human net was quickly tightening.

  A few steps from the corner, Kumar was abruptly met by the agent who had just slammed his car's trunk shut and now stood in his way gesturing toward the open door.

  Surprised, he tried to sidestep the man but the agent persisted, blocking the attempted aversion with his body, still gesturing in the direction of the open car door. A quick about-face saw Kumar staring at two more agents leaving him no real choice but to scramble into the car with two of the agents, one at his back, the other rushing to the opposite door.

  Roaring to life, the car screeched away, thrusting from the curb, doors barely shut. It traversed the avenue startling the traffic to a halt and disappeared into the street across, backup car in pursuit.

  Marla, glued to her earpiece, breathed a sigh of relief.

  "Let's go!" she said to Lisa, rushing out of the deli to her waiting car.

  -------

  The encounter took place in a dungeon, twelve blocks away, two floors down, the basement of a New York City police precinct. The site was an obscure, windowless room equipped with a table, some chairs, a loosely hung bare light bulb and a one-way looking glass for onlookers.

  Marla Wilkins and Yossi Gadot sat poker faced as Kumar was brought into the room. Sarah stood with Lisa on the other side of the looking glass intently watching the proceedings. Their first meeting was a sentimental one. While Lisa had been busy rounding up the subject, Sarah had linked up with Yossi as he arrived in New York, spending the entire day updating one another and hashing out the details of their plan.

  Sarah recognized Lisa's uncanny resemblance to her sister. She introduced herself and the two hugged each other warmly, Lisa becoming visibly moved and they agreed to meet privately later.

  Kumar did not seem particularly intimidated as he nonchalantly took a seat across from Marla and Yossi. But in the ensuing silence, as the participants assessed one another, he began to exhibit signs of nervousness, shifting uncomfortably in his seat and wiping a sweaty brow now and again.

  Marla spoke first.

  "Has anybody read you your rights?" she asked coolly.

  "Not a soul," Kumar replied.

  "Good. That won't be necessary since no charges will be filed against you at this time.”

  "That won't hold in court," Kumar challenged.

  "There won't be any need to go to court if you…"

  "There will if I decide to press charges," he sneered, interrupting her.

  "Press what charges?"

  "Charges against you for violating my rights, false arrest, the works…"

  "You're not under arrest Mr. Campour," Marla said keeping her cool. "We're simply borrowing an hour of your time since we figured you won't cooperate if we were to ask you nicely.”

  "The judge will certainly uphold that," Kumar mocked.

  "This is how this is going to work," she continued, ignoring the remark. "First, you listen to what we have to say. I'm Agent Wilkins from the FBI and this is Agent Rosenberg from Israel. To be totally honest, once you hear us out, we don't foresee you filing charges because you've created such a mess that now has you in a shit load of trouble and this unofficial meeting is your one and only chance of saving your ass from spending the rest of your life in prison. But, once we've said our piece, if you're still not convinced, you may do as you please.”

  Kumar's eyes darted from Marla to Yossi, trying to appraise their sincerity and in so doing assess his own situation, but they remained poker faced and silent. After a few tense moments he leaned back in his chair raising his hands in resignation.

  "Just remember, Agent Wilkins, anything you say will be held against you in a court of law.”

  "I'll keep that in mind Mr. Campour, now pay attention," she said leaning over, her shadow partially cast on him, suddenly all business, as if they were about to close a deal they had been negotiating. "Bottom line, we want the girl. Unconditionally freed and unharmed. We know she's alive and we know where she being held. Anything happens to her and it's off with your head.”

  She paused, allowing him to digest this then resumed in her businesslike manner. "We want the people responsible for the deaths of Mr. George Eckert and Mr. Carl Johnson. They cannot walk. We also want Langone and anybody involved in your crooked missile deal. If you deliver, you and Karen's keeper, one ex-Mossad agent Dan Hasson, are off the hook. Agent Rosenberg is here to offer him immunity from prosecution in his own country. Am I making myself clear?"

  The atmosphere both inside the room and behind the looking glass turned dead still. All eyes were focused on the elegantly dressed dark skinned man who everyone deemed capable of bringing the entire affair to a decisive conclusion with one nod of his head. But it was not to be. At least not right away. His expression remained non-committal and calculating as he spoke.

  "You forgot to include Jimmy Hoffa on your wish list, Agent Wilkins," he uttered, skillfully demeaning her opening maneuver, drawing chuckles from the gathered crowd of screened onlookers.

  "That'll teach her," Lisa heard someone murmur in back, turning to see Marla's second-in-command, a balding, short, st
ocky detective, puffing on a thick cigar, whose only restraint from storming the house was Marla's direct threat to shoot him in the nuts if he went against her better judgment.

  "What brings you to figure I am involved in all this?" Kumar queried.

  "You're the hatchet man Kumar. We know all about you and your people," Yossi Gadot, alias agent Rosenberg, spoke up for the first time. "We know about the Matlock missile program. We know you kidnapped Karen Glass to get us off your back. We've traced everyone's involvement including our man Dan Hasson/Arbel, and it all leads back to you. You're the designated point man and you're the one who'll take the fall once the big boys realize they're in trouble. Right now we're the only chance you got, so cut the charade and start talking sense before we change our minds and use you for bait.”

  The cocky demeanor seemed a touch shaken. The big dark eyes darting more confused and a little unnerved but, Kumar was not yet ready to fold.

  "Your concern is much appreciated sir," he said turning to Yossi, "but I'm afraid you're talking to the wrong man. I haven't the faintest of what you're on about.”

  Gadot, tilting back in his chair, abruptly leveled to the floor and jumped up. In one swift motion, he went to the door and peered out at the assembled crowd, motioning Lisa to come forth.

  "You say nothing," he whispered in her ear then led her into the room. Lisa gingerly obeyed; accepting his seat, as Yossi politely drew it for her and remained standing in back.

  "Now Kumar, I know you've met Lisa. We know that because she identified you for us. You met in Los Angeles about a month ago when you were invited to dinner by her father at their house. Now tell me I'm mistaken about this as well.”

  "Quite true, we've certainly met," Kumar said, avoiding Lisa's gaze. "Her father and I have a business relationship.”

  "I'm sure you have," Yossi said, "and I'm sure you're quite aware that PhotonTek Incorporated, her father's company, is a major subcontractor to Matlock in that illegal missile project Agent Wilkins was referring to."

  "I'm aware he has dealings with Matlock. As for what specific projects, I couldn't tell you. They don't allow foreigners access to such information.”