Vanishing Act

by John Feinstein

  “She’s fifteen, right? How old are you guys going to be if someone asks? You certainly can’t pass for twins.”

  Stevie didn’t know if that was an insult or not.

  “I’ll say I’m sixteen—people always think I’m older than my age—and Stevie can be thirteen,” Susan Carol said. “Big sister and little brother.”

  Stevie was a little hurt that he had to be his real age while Susan Carol pretended to be older. But there was no doubting the fact that she could easily pass for sixteen and he could easily pass for thirteen—in part because he was thirteen.

  “Tell me one more thing,” Ross said, now walking toward the elevators. “What are you hoping to find out up there?”

  “Gossip,” Susan Carol said. “Rumors. See if anyone in the SMG suite says something they shouldn’t. See if they really think it was the SVR or if they’ve got other ideas. If you were them, wouldn’t you be wondering about a ransom note by now?”

  “I’d be wondering a lot of things,” Ross said as the elevator arrived.

  They got in and Ross put his key card into a slot and pressed a button for thirty-six. “If you want, I’ll take you into our suite and you can get something to eat or drink first and see what the setup looks like,” he said. “They’re all about the same.”

  Susan Carol shook her head. “Just point us to SMG. That’s where we need to go.”

  When the elevator reached thirty-six, they all got off. As it turned out, there were signs pointing to the various agencies’ suites. “That’s so players or families know where to go,” Ross said, reading their minds. “We’re down here to the right. Your guys are all the way down the hall in the end suite. They always get that one to show off. It has the most spectacular view.”

  They thanked Ross for his help and he took charge of their computer bags. He told them he wouldn’t be heading to the tennis center until late morning and they could find him in the Octagon suite when they wanted their computers back. “Be careful,” he said as he shook their hands. “I know Bobby thinks all agents are evil, but these guys are a different level. They’re the best because they’re the most ruthless.”

  Stevie felt a little chill go through him. As usual, Susan Carol appeared to be totally calm. As they walked down the hall she said quietly, “Remember, we’re brother and sister, so act like you like me.”

  “I do like you,” he said.

  “Oh yeah, I forgot. I’m the one who’s angry.” She almost smiled when she said it. Stevie decided that was a good sign.

  The doors to the SMG suite were open wide. An attractive blond woman sat behind a large desk, talking on the phone as Stevie and Susan Carol walked in. Even from across the room, Stevie could see that the suite had a spectacular view of Manhattan, looking west. The woman on the phone was wrapping up her conversation. “That’s right, there will be four tickets at Will Call for you in our box in the stadium for the night session.” She paused for a moment. “No, Agassi played last night.” She shuffled through some papers. “Sharapova’s playing the first match tonight, and then James Blake plays after that. It should be great tennis.” Another pause, followed by a frown. “No. We haven’t heard anything new.” More talking on the other end. “Yes, it certainly is terrifying. It’s been on TV nonstop. My boss is walking in, Mrs. Andreu. We’re all excited about Matthew playing his first match tomorrow. If you need me for anything, please call.”

  She hung up and took a deep breath. “Long morning,” she said, smiling at them. “Players’ parents. They’re all concerned about what happened. Anyway, how can I help you?”

  As always, Susan Carol took the lead. “My name is Susan Rubin and this is my brother Steve,” she said. “You may know our sister, Evelyn? She beat Maggie Maleeva yesterday. We were supposed to be meeting her now to go out to the tennis center but she just called”—she held up her cell phone for emphasis—“and said she’s running late coming back from a hit and suggested we might come up here to get a drink or something. She said to tell Mr. Lawler who we were.”

  If the woman was skeptical about this story, she didn’t show it. Stevie was trying to figure out exactly what a hit was, but evidently it made sense to the woman. “Pete’s actually in a meeting right now, but I’m sure he’d love to say hello if you guys are going to be here for a few minutes,” she said. “In the meantime, of course you’re welcome to come on in and have something to eat. We’ve got a nice buffet set up. My name’s Melissa—if I can be of any help at all, let me know.”

  Stevie had to give Tom Ross credit: he knew the people in his business. The mention of Evelyn Rubin seemed to work wonders. Stevie never would have guessed that a company as powerful as SMG would be that fired up about someone ranked forty-eighth in the world. Apparently he was wrong.

  “Thanks so much,” Susan Carol said, shaking hands with Melissa, who then offered her hand and a smile to Stevie. As often seemed to happen to him when Susan Carol was charming someone, he couldn’t think of a thing to say.

  “Um, hi, Steve,” he said.

  Melissa nodded, smiled again, and then picked up the phone that had mercifully started ringing again.

  Stevie followed Susan Carol into the suite, which appeared to have one huge room, surrounded by doors leading elsewhere. There were two open doors leading to bathrooms and two closed doors leading into what were no doubt meeting rooms. A number of people, including several players, were sitting on couches listening to headphones or sitting at small tables that had been set up near the buffet.

  “Let’s get something to eat,” Susan Carol said quietly. “Then we can sit down and keep our eyes and ears open.”

  “I still don’t know what we’re looking for,” Stevie said.

  “Me neither. Let’s just try and look like everyone else.”

  She was leaning down so she could speak softly to him and her hair fell across his shoulder. She pulled it back and smiled at him. For a split second he wanted to tell her about the Makarovs and her uncle, but he decided just as quickly this wasn’t the time or place. Then again, he wasn’t sure he’d ever find the right time or place to break her heart.

  The buffet had enough food on it to feed a small country. Stevie simply could not turn down French toast, so he put a couple of pieces on his plate and poured some syrup. He put some eggs carefully on the side of the plate and then tossed three strips of bacon on top of the eggs. He glanced at Susan Carol, who had taken a small portion of eggs and an orange juice. “Ravenous again?” she said as he put his plate down on an empty table and went back for orange juice. They sat down and looked around the room. Stevie recognized no one. It had struck him the day before in the players’ lounge that even though he thought he knew a fair bit about tennis, there were very few players he actually recognized. There were 128 players in each singles draw, so it would be next to impossible to know half of them, much less all of them.

  There were TV sets positioned around the room, tuned to different stations. On CNN, one of the anchors was interviewing someone who was identified as an “SVR expert.” On MSNBC, Don Imus was talking to Sally Jenkins of the Washington Post, who was describing her visit to Symanova’s home in California earlier in the summer. On the third set, Matt Lauer was talking to the Symanovs about their daughter. “We are grateful for all the concern people have shown,” Misha Symanov said. “We pray for the best.” Yolanda Symanova had tears in her eyes as she spoke, and at one point Lauer leaned over to give her a comforting pat on the leg. Stevie noticed that at the bottom of the screen in small lettering were the words “Taped earlier today,” meaning, he figured, this was probably the second time this morning that NBC had aired the interview.

  Susan Carol noticed him staring at the TVs. “All Nadia all the time,” she said. She had that right.

  Stevie was digging into his French toast when he heard Susan Carol make some kind of hissing sound to get his attention. He looked up and saw Hughes Norwood walking toward them. Stevie almost choked on his food. Norwood walked up, glanced at Stev
ie’s plate, then turned to Susan Carol. “Melissa tells me you are Evelyn Rubin’s sister and…little brother.”

  “Why, yes, we are,” Susan Carol said, cool as ever. “I’m Susan and this is Steve.”

  “Very nice to meet you both. I’m Hughes Norwood,” he said, surprising Stevie by actually smiling. He shook hands with the two of them. “You are always welcome here, throughout the two weeks. And please tell Evelyn to feel free to stop by anytime she wants. I think Melissa told you Pete’s in a meeting right now, but if you’re here for a few minutes, I’m sure he’d love to say hello.”

  “Oh, that is so nice of you,” Susan Carol said, noticeably toning down her Southern accent—a good move since Evelyn was from the Midwest. “We’ll be sure to tell Evelyn we saw you and how kind you were.”

  Norwood beamed to the point where Stevie wondered if he was really the same guy he had seen yesterday.

  “And we’re so sorry about Nadia. We hope she’s going to be found soon and that she’s okay.”

  Norwood nodded. “Yes, it’s been tough for everyone. SVR, bad group of people, you know.”

  There he went again, pinning it on the SVR. “So that’s really true?” Stevie asked. “Wow. We could hardly believe it. Have you heard anything from them? Has there been a ransom note?”

  “No, nothing that specific—yet,” Norwood said. “Mr. Symanov is convinced they’re making him twist in the wind for a day or two before they tell him what they want. Well, we all know what they want.”

  “Will Mr. Symanov give in?” Susan Carol asked, still the picture of concern.

  “I don’t know,” Norwood said. “He was so upset yesterday. It’s hard to believe this could go on in today’s world.” He sighed, heavily burdened. “One would hope sports and politics wouldn’t mix, but I guess that’s naive.” He looked at his watch. “You tell Evelyn good luck against Raymond in the second round. And tell her we’ll be watching her when she plays Nadia in the third round….” He paused a minute. “Of course we hope they play in the third round.”

  “Yes, of course. Very nice to meet you,” Susan Carol said.

  He smiled, seemed to catch someone’s eye, and said, “Jorge, hola!” and raced across the room to hug a man who had been sitting by the window.

  “Just a wild guess,” Stevie said as he left. “Jorge’s a player’s father.”

  “No doubt,” Susan Carol said. “You breathing yet?”

  “Barely. Did you notice he knew just who Evelyn was playing in the second round?”

  “He could have looked it up on the draw sheet when Melissa told him about us,” she said. “Still, Tom Ross was right. It’s pretty obvious they would love to get Evelyn away from my uncle. And we would have been toast trying to pose as players.”

  There was no arguing with that. Stevie had been convinced the day before that Hughes Norwood’s face would break if he smiled. Now, among clients and potential clients—or their siblings—he couldn’t stop beaming.

  Stevie wanted more French toast. He stood up to go back to the buffet. “You aren’t going to eat more, are you?” Susan Carol said. “Have you got a hole in your stomach?”

  “I’m still growing, remember?” Stevie said. “And the prices in here are a lot better than out at the tennis center.”

  She opened her mouth to say something, then stopped. The room had suddenly gone quiet. Stevie looked in the direction of the door and saw why: Misha and Yolanda Symanov were walking in the door. They stopped to exchange kisses on both cheeks with Melissa and were then greeted with hugs by Hughes Norwood. He led them to a table in the corner and waved a much younger man over. He whispered to him for a moment and the younger man bolted to the buffet table and began loading two plates with food. Stevie realized he was staring. He looked around and saw that everyone else in the room was doing the same thing. The Symanovs looked remarkably composed under the circumstances. Norwood’s man Friday brought food to the table and then scurried back to get drinks.

  Some of the other people in the room walked over to the table to greet the Symanovs. There were more hugs and kisses and lots of quiet talking. Stevie was still standing, having forgotten about his French toast. Suddenly he saw Norwood turn and wave in their direction. His heart started racing again. “Steve, Susan—can you come over here for a moment?”

  Susan Carol gave him a stay-calm look as she stood and walked to the table, followed by Stevie.

  “The Symanovs just wanted to say hello to you two,” Norwood said. “They’ve seen your sister play.”

  “She is very good player,” Misha Symanov said as he shook hands with each of them. “She will be champion, I think, someday.”

  “Might make good doubles partners,” Norwood said. “Contrasting styles, not to mention backgrounds.”

  “Yes, I think maybe. Nadia is tall, can play the net. Evelyn is more ground stroker, no?”

  “Yes, she is,” Susan Carol said. “Right now, though, we’re only concerned with seeing Nadia safe.”

  Mrs. Symanova had started to cry again. “Thank you, my dear,” she said. “You are very kind.”

  “Will you go out to the matches today?” Susan Carol said.

  “Or stay here?”

  “We are not certain yet,” Mr. Symanov said. “There is so much media there. We did four TV interviews this morning. Maybe later, if we are needed, we will go out there. For now, I think we stay here and rest once we have eaten.”

  “It seems like the entire world is following this story,” Susan Carol said.

  “Yes. We are grateful for all the concern people have shown. Maybe this will show the SVR they cannot get away with this. The whole world knows what they are attempting. We pray for the best.”

  Stevie thought he had heard those words before. Then it hit him: he had heard them just a few minutes ago, watching the Today show interview.

  “Please,” Mrs. Symanova said, “give our best to your sister.”

  “Yes,” Norwood said. “Please do. And tell her to think about Nadia as a doubles partner in the future. They’d be a great team—on and off the court.”

  Stevie saw Mrs. Symanova’s eyes cloud again. “She’ll be okay,” Norwood said to her. “Have faith.”

  “And pray for the best,” Susan Carol said.

  Stevie wondered if he should say “amen.” He decided against it.

  11: WHAT NEXT?

  THEY DECIDED it was time to make a graceful exit from the SMG suite while they were still ahead. Stevie’s only regret was the second plate of French toast he didn’t have. They walked quickly down the hallway to the elevator bank and Stevie turned to press a button. Susan Carol waved him off.

  “Where are we going now?” he asked.

  “We have to get our computers back. Plus, I want to see what Tom Ross thinks about all this.”

  They continued down the hall, past the suite marked INTERNATIONAL MANAGEMENT GROUP and the one marked SFX, until they arrived at the last one, which was marked OCTAGON INC.

  A smiling woman with short dark hair greeted them at the door. “Hi, can I help you?” she said.

  “We’re looking for Tom Ross,” Susan Carol said.

  “Oh, he’s in a meeting,” she said. “I’m Kelly Wolf, his assistant. Can I be of help?”

  Susan Carol shook her head. “No, we really need to talk to Tom. It’s kind of an emergency. Could you possibly tell him that Susan Carol and Steve are here?”

  Kelly Wolf eyed Susan Carol for a minute, clearly unsure of why she would have an emergency involving her boss. “Hang on one second,” she said. “Let me see.”

  She walked to a closed door at the back of the suite and walked inside. A moment later Tom Ross, looking nervous and harried, emerged.

  “Guys, I’m in the middle of a tough negotiation on a shoe contract,” he said. “Are you sure this can’t wait?”

  “Can we have three minutes?” Susan Carol said.

  He did the tie thing again, pulling it tight one more time.

  “Okay,
okay.” He glanced around, looking for a private spot. The Octagon lounge was at least as crowded as the SMG lounge.

  “The hallway?” Stevie suggested.

  “Too public,” Ross said. “Follow me.”

  He walked them across the room, opened a door, and ushered them into a bathroom. “Sorry,” he said. “This is the best I can do. At least it’s a big one.”

  He sat on the sink and listened while Susan Carol filled him in on their visit to SMG.

  “Hughes’s behavior with you isn’t surprising at all,” he said. He shook his head. “That old trick about playing doubles, though, that went out years ago. No one cares about doubles anymore….”

  “That doesn’t matter,” Susan Carol said. “What matters, I think, is that he and the father are both acting as if this is an inconvenience, while the mother is clearly hysterical.”

  Ross looked at Stevie. “Did it seem that way to you too?” he asked.

  Stevie was glad someone cared about his opinion. “It just felt like they knew something she didn’t,” he said.

  “Exactly,” Susan Carol put in.

  “I think you’re onto something,” Ross said. “Problem is, I don’t know what. Maybe they’re just trying to be calm for the mom’s sake. Or maybe they’ve heard something but for some reason aren’t telling her.”

  “Like what?” Susan Carol asked.

  “No idea. But if I’m not back in that room in about thirty seconds, I’m going to blow a multimillion-dollar deal. Look, here’s my card. That’s my cell number on the bottom. Call me this afternoon.”

  Susan Carol took the card and put it in her pocket. When they walked out of the bathroom, Stevie noticed several people giving them funny looks. They picked up their computer bags, which were behind the front desk, thanked Kelly Wolf, and walked back to the elevators. In parting, Ross had recommended they walk three blocks over to Grand Central Station and take the subway out to Flushing rather than wait for the next courtesy bus from the hotel.