Disappearance (A Mystery and Espionage Thriller)

by Niv Kaplan

  "What the devil do you think you're doing?" the man hissed in thickly accented English, blocking Kumar's path. "I thought we had procedures for this.”

  "Yeah, well you can toss your procedures, Hasson. We'll not be needing them anymore," Kumar said dismissively, unbuttoning his topcoat.

  "What the hell does that mean?" Hasson inquired, stepping closer, forcing Kumar to acknowledge him.

  "If you let me in, I'll tell you all about it, now why don't you relax and get someone to make us some coffee.”

  Hasson hesitated, his face inches from the scrawny executive who had his gaze level with his.

  "You were supposed to wait for my car, not get here on your own!" he couldn't help saying.

  "It's all over Hasson," Kumar said angrily, "we've been..." he abruptly stopped as the girl appeared in the background, wide-eyed and confused, her hair jumbled from sleep.

  Hasson glared at Kumar, his eyes becoming bloody for a split second, before he turned and stepped toward her, taking her by the arm and disappearing upstairs.

  Kumar hung his coat and stepped into the foyer. He knew the house well. It was he who had purchased it as a last resort, a fallback to Cascade which also proved insufficient. He kept wondering how they managed to locate it after he had alerted Hasson about Cascade's compromise. He entered the kitchen looking for coffee, finding a percolator by the sink next to a pile of unwashed cups and dishes, and one of Hasson's three subordinates sipping from a steaming mug by the breakfast table.

  "Saved me a trip in this freakin' weather," the man remarked, flashing a set of crooked teeth.

  "Glad to be of help," Kumar muttered, searching the cupboards for a clean cup.

  "Look in the dishwasher," the man said.

  Kumar found the last remaining china cup, poured coffee to the brim, thanked the man and walked across the foyer into the living room, where a second man was slouched across the sofa, a cigar between his fingers, blowing circles of smoke and watching cartoons while fiddling with the remote.

  "Put on the news," Kumar commanded, attracting a fleeting gaze from the man who then aimed the remote and began flicking channels, settling on a news station.

  Settling into an armchair beside the low, rectangular glass table arranged in front of the sofa, Kumar sipped his coffee quietly, trying - but quite unable – to concentrate on the perky news anchor and what it was she was saying.

  Hasson walked in seconds later snatching the remote away from his man, switching the TV off.

  "Why don't you go make yourself useful," he said to the slouch who rose from the sofa looking bothered. "Walker's been up there a while, let 'em get some rest…"

  Hasson waited for the man to get to his feet. "And tell Greg to take a look around in honor of our guest here, who couldn't be bothered following standard procedures.”

  "You owe me some money," Hasson said as soon as they were left alone. "I checked the account last night and the payment hasn't come in.”

  "I've been busy," Kumar said, putting his mug down on the table.

  "I bet," Hasson murmured. "Now tell me what's this all about.”

  "It's very simple Hasson. I've just come back from spending a day with the Feds who, as a gesture for breaking my nose," he grimaced, pointing to the black and blue marks above his nostrils, "offered me a deal in which you and I get to walk if we hand them the girl.”

  "I'll be fuckin' damned," Hasson grumbled his handsome features darkening. "How did they ever get to you?"

  "Come, Danny boy, don't get your system too fired up, not yet, this gets much worse. The Israeli intelligence agencies are cooperating with them and it turns out they know everything. They know about this place and I presume are watching us at this very moment. They know about the missiles and who they’re for.

  “They ambushed me, they know about Langone, and they certainly know all about you.”

  Hasson's expression turned to ice, his eyes focusing on Kumar as his jaw tightly clenched.

  "Who gave us up?" he hissed. "I'll go public with that tape…"

  "Now just hold on, Hasson. Your people offered us a deal. It's Glass. He pulled the plug.”

  "Same fuckin' result," Hasson murmured.

  "No it isn't, Danny. If we give them the girl they'll let us walk."

  "I signed up for the money, remember?" Hasson growled. "I sacrificed my country, my family and my career for this. If I wanted to just walk free, I'd never have bothered with you in the first place.”

  "Come on, Danny. You've got enough to buy anything you want and your country is offering to take you back. All you have to do is hand them the girl and they'll leave you alone, no questions asked.”

  "I don't buy it. Once I'm back they'll find an excuse to fry me. You don't handcuff these guys the way I did and get away with it.”

  "You still have your tapes, don't you? That's reason enough not to touch you. I doubt they'll ever want to be accused of kidnapping an American girl on Israeli soil to force an American firm to cease business, regardless what type of business.”

  "They'll use the girl as proof," Hasson argued.

  "Proof of what? Anything they say still shows them meddling in US business and no administration can overlook such blatant violation of policy. The girl telling her side of the story certainly won't reflect well on the American side either; public opinion’s not likely to be sympathetic with hanging such a matter out to dry. If this affair ever gets publicized it'll damage relations and look bad on both sides, so I believe everyone's better off leaving this one alone.”

  "Who did you talk to?"

  "An Agent Rosenberg; said he was sanctioned by both the Mossad and the Shabac.”

  "Never heard of him; I'd like to hear this from Resnik himself.”

  "Not much room to bargain, Hasson. They're quite impatient.”

  "Then stall 'em for Chris’ sake! If they're seriously worried about the girl, they'll wait.”

  "Does this mean you're ready to deal?" Kumar asked, mischievously.

  Hasson frowned, mulling over the question. "I guess it does, doesn't it," he mused. "What about Matlock and Stana?"

  "Matlock's been threatened into dropping the deal. Their senior VP came over yesterday and chewed up Langone. Stana, on the other hand, may prove difficult."

  "How so?"

  "Well, he's invested millions of dollars in this project, both his company's money and the investors'. Who do you think they'll come after if this deal falls through? It's his neck all the way and he's put so much effort in securing this deal that I'm afraid he won't compromise.”

  "You see Danny, the girl was always a liability and he never really intended to release her, not alive anyway, but he had to keep her breathing for Glass's sake. Now that Glass has turned, he'll expect us to get rid of her, if only to eliminate the evidence.”

  "What good will that do now that everything else had been discovered?" Hasson remarked despondently.

  Kumar stared at the Israeli agent hoping his segregation tactics would uphold .

  "Because kidnapping her and holding her hostage is the only real crime we ever committed," he argued, not bothering to mention the Eckert and Johnson murders which Hasson was not aware of. "There really isn't anything else they can stick us with. Investing money in developing a missile is no crime and we have yet to deliver anything so there are no violations of US export regulations.”

  "Then why not get rid of her?"

  "Because you and I, not Stana, will be paying the price if she's harmed. He has not been distinctly linked to all this yet and besides, he's in Europe. We'll be the ones blamed unless we make certain she stays alive. You see - we have become her hostages!"

  "Will Langone go with this?" Hasson asked.

  "Not likely. He's mostly got his reputation invested in this and would probably lose little cash if any, but the Feds need someone to pin this on and he's the one they'll be after.”

  The man called Greg peered into the living room.

  "Everything's cool out the
re, boss," he said, flashing his crooked teeth again with an awkward grin. "I'll be heading into town now. Ya need anythin?"

  "Yeah, why don't you give our guest here a ride," Hasson said, looking inquisitively at Kumar. "Are we about done here?"

  "We are for now," Kumar said, springing up from his armchair, pausing to watch Greg disappear. "But you and I need to make some decisions," he said lowering his voice.

  "Let me work this out," Hasson said noncommittally. "I'll need a few more people in here just in case. Make sure and tell them not to try anything foolish, and stall them as much as you can.”

  "I'll do my best Danny, but we don't have much time.”

  "Just tell them I need more assurances. That'll buy us time. Meanwhile, get me the money you still owe me.”

  As soon as Kumar left, Hasson went around the house inspecting the perimeter, securing all windows and doors then he sat by the phone to recruit reinforcements.

  --------

  Karen inspected herself in the mirror.

  Having gotten so used to the short hair, dyed black, she could no longer recall the way she had looked with long blond curly hair. Her body, she thought, had also changed, becoming much more bony and square from the endless exercise routines that had been keeping her sane.

  Standing in her workout outfit, barefoot in gym shorts and an undershirt, she ran a finger up from between her breasts to her neck, collecting drops of sweat along her heaving chest.

  Leaning down to catch her breath from the exceptionally demanding routine performed entirely in her room, she played the words over in her head. "It's all over, Hasson," she had heard the dark man say, before being rushed upstairs. But what did it mean?

  By the looks of them, they had seemed to be in considerable disarray but she had seen that before. Arguments, threats, shouts, long eerie silences, were all part of the daily routine outside her room. Mostly though, they would just hang around, watch TV or play cards with at least one of them doing the rounds every now and then, making sure she was still in her room. Hasson had been adamant, never allowing her out of their sight unless she was in her room. She could tell her captors were just as miserable as she was. She was allowed free movement around the house provided someone was around to watch, but mostly she remained in her room.

  Her room was her sanctuary and she was grateful for that. Unlike those reeking Arabs who had kept pestering her, Hasson had made it clear from the start. Making sure any window she could reach was bolted shut, they pretty much left her alone aside from surprise inspections which sometimes caught her off guard.

  She spent her time mostly reading, though her piles of books were abandoned whenever they left one house and moved to another. She read everything. History books, novels, fiction, non-fiction, autobiographies, even physics and math which she found fascinating, struggling with relativity theorems and solving calculus problems. She even taught herself French and could now read fluently.

  Then there were the dire periods of her captivity. The times where it would all seem hopeless and she would curl up in anguish and wish she could die.

  Straightening up, she took a towel to wipe herself then stripped and stepped into the shower where the soothing stream of warm water always blended with her moods. There she could cry and let her mind wander about places and things that were ruefully kept from her. There she could think about her mother and Lisa and about Mikki and what he might be doing discharged from the army. There her heart shriveled at the horrible fate handed to her.

  At times, she could still see the barrel of that wretched gun held inches from her face and feel the huge hand depriving her of air, the massive bulk crushing her body, pinning her to the seat of an alien car, snatching away her faculties and freedom.

  She had spent those horrible first days mostly blindfolded in total disorientation, dogged by fear of the unknown, treated every now and then to a solid kick or a slap on the face as she begged and cried for answers.

  Then there was the bone crushing ride followed by languishing in an eternally dark basement before they smuggled her onto a cargo plane to a Spanish speaking country where she spent several weeks in a secluded farm until she was once again stuffed in a truck for another endless ride which ended in a rough foot passage that, to her surprise, ended in her native land.

  Hasson met her in a shack built of mud bricks east of San Diego and it was the first time anyone had bothered to inform her on her whereabouts and that she had crossed the border from Mexico to the San Diego like an illegal alien. He had taken over from the two Germans who had escorted her and took responsibility for her life from then on. Fatigued both mentally and physically from the treacherous voyage but delighted to be back in her homeland she had felt better about her chances of release but as the days stretched on she began to realize it was not to be.

  A peculiar relationship had initially developed between them. Hasson treated her correctly and allowed her a room of her own but as time went by and the weeks stretched into months and the months to years, with no release in sight, she became more and more bitter towards him.

  She ceased pestering about her release and began arranging her captivity as best she could. She missed her mother the most, worried how that fragile woman was taking the loss, wondering if she had lasted at all. The separation became physically painful as she recalled their last phone conversation on the eve of her eighteenth birthday, so long ago. Her father had remained an indifferent figure though in a bizarre way she missed him too. She missed her sister terribly and she sometimes thought of Mikki and of the juvenile but genuine affections that had been cut short.

  She was twenty-one now having celebrated her last three birthdays alone in her room, marking the event by creating an imaginary get together complete with little symbolic attributes of the people she loved but mostly wishing for the her next birthday to be celebrated at home with all of them physically present.

  Stepping out of the shower, she dried herself vigorously shivering from the frosty air filtering through the wood, then lunged into the room, wrapped in her towel, slipping naked under the covers where she quickly put on her gray training suit.

  Resting her head back on the pillows she shut her eyes and for the next half hour, loosened her body from the exertion of exercise and shower. It was a type of meditation she developed focusing attention on her body limb by limb. She dozed in semi-consciousness for a while then went out searching for breakfast which would mostly consist of a bowl of whatever cereal there was available, drowned in milk, and a single cup of coffee.

  Pete was lingering around the stairs as she peered from her room to make certain one of them was around. She despised him the most. Walker had been dozing off that morning when she came down the stairs to witness the confrontation and Hasson had reprimanded him in her presence warning her not to go wandering downstairs on her own.

  Last to join the detail, Pete had been there for more than two years and was the only one in the group who made her feel uneasy. Rarely did she walk by without him looking her over as if she was some kind of sex toy he was planning to use. He was a large man with an unkempt beard, a beer belly, and bad breath from heavy smoking. He had walked into her room one day finding her after a tough workout, naked and covered with sweat. The look in his eyes as she slowly went for her towel, her bare body exposed to his stare, terrified her and it seemed he was a fraction away from inflicting abuse.

  "Keep it off," he had growled, his voice low, as she began to wrap herself in the towel. Frightened, she obeyed and gasped in horror as he went for his fly. Certain he was ready to attack her, she kept her gaze on the floor, praying he would not lose control. The seconds seemed to stretch to eternity as he stood there consuming her naked body with a groggy stare. Then, as he reluctantly backed away, he shot her a satisfied glance, turned and stepped out of the room, leaving her trembling.

  She never spoke a word of it to Hasson, thinking it would not be of much use. But since then she made a point of keeping extremely alert befor
e and after she showered, when she was at her most vulnerable.

  She constantly lived in fear, avoiding trouble by staying acutely tuned to the moods of her abductors and though she no longer felt so acutely threatened, there were times she deemed proper to conform rather than suffer further consequences. The episode with Pete had been one of those times and though it had been the exception to the rule, it left significant warning and labeled the way she acted around him.

  She walked by him without as much as a glance, knowing he would stop her if she was not permitted to leave her room. Skipping down the stairs toward the kitchen she noticed Hasson was in the foyer quietly talking on the phone. She could tell he was troubled. Her relationship with him was one of ambivalence. Her abductor on the one hand, he was also her protector within their realm. He had been the one setting the rules and procedures for her imprisonment and keeping everyone in line with proper treatment of her. His men knew and respected his minutiae, keeping within the accepted degrees of freedom, giving her the space she needed inside their madness.

  To this day she did not know why she was being held prisoner.

  Initially she figured it an act of terror, quite common in that part of the world, and that she just happened to be in the way and would soon be swapped for a captured hijacker or someone valuable. Her ordeal in the Middle East lasted nearly five months but that had merely been the inception. In the States her captivity simply took on a different form but no less painful, the predominant downside being lack of hope. Since she did not understand what she was being incarcerated for, she had no way of even speculating how it could end. That left her at the mercy of Hasson who, aside from the two times he had erroneously informed her she was being set free, did not exhibit any inclination to disclose the reasons for her captivity.

  He gave her a guarded look as she passed on her way to the kitchen with Pete in close pursuit. She washed a bowl clean in the sink, filling it with Corn Flakes then drowning it in milk, same as she used to do with Lisa before going to school. She then washed one of the china cups, poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down to feast, treating Pete as clear air.