by Stuart Safft
“Uh. OK then. Bye.”
“Good-bye, Mr. Sanders. I hope you have a nice visit with your in-laws. You and they should be able to provide some comfort and support to each other.”
After a similar discussion with Martin at the FBI, during which Martin thanked Steve for informing him of his travel plans, Steve booked his flights and e-mailed the trip details to Ellen’s parents.
Despite what he had expected, he actually found himself looking forward to the trip. As a minimum, it would give him something to do for a few days, and he came to believe that the visit might very well be healing for him as well as for Ellen’s parents.
CHAPTER 23
The day of Steve’s flight finally arrived. He drove to Cincinnati/Northern Kentucky International Airport, took the short flight to Chicago’s O’Hare Airport, and was soon in seat 23C on United flight 972. Contrary to his expectations, the international flight took off right on time at 6 p.m. and actually landed a few minutes before its scheduled 9:05 a.m. arrival the next morning at Zaventem Airport right outside the Brussels city limits. With only carry-on luggage, Steve was quickly through Passport Control and Customs. As he had done several times with Ellen, he took the escalator to the level below the main terminal and got on one of the frequent trains into the city center. Less than 20 minutes later, he was taking the 15-minute walk from the station to Ellen’s parents’ home.
It was almost a year earlier that Steve had last been in Brussels with Ellen to celebrate Christmas and New Year’s with her family. Yet, the previous visit seemed very recent. Many things seemed — actually were — the same. When he stepped out of the station, the late fall weather felt just like the last holiday season’s cold dampness — a typical Belgian cloudy day, not raining but threatening to at any moment. But of course it wasn’t the same. There was no Ellen at his side.
Steve took a few blocks detour in order to walk through Grand Place, his favorite location in Brussels. A large rectangle, in which cars were not allowed, Grand Place was the central plaza of Brussels. Steve recalled the many times he and Ellen strolled through the plaza. Will I ever be able to visit here again with Ellen? With a heavy heart, Steve surveyed the mostly 17th Century buildings, which once had contained various guild houses and now included city hall, with its massive bell tower, and the City Museum, along with many restaurants, cafes and shops, several, of course, offering “The Best of Belgian Chocolates.” It was early enough in the morning that the daily flower market was still active, with dozens of vendors selling bundles of flowers in every color imaginable from their trucks and kiosks. Steve recalled the early morning visits he and Ellen used to make to Grand Place, often returning to Ellen’s parents’ house with a bunch of fresh flowers for her mother.
Steve stood in the center of the square, noticing the large number of people sitting at the outdoor cafes despite the poor weather, sipping their coffees and, in some cases, early morning beers. He fondly — and sadly — recalled sitting at these cafes several times, sometimes only with Ellen and other times also with her parents, chatting about nothing and watching all the people walk by.
On previous visits, Steve had enjoyed observing the wide variety of people in Grand Place, from children in their school uniforms wearing their backpacks on their way to school, to businessmen on their way to the office to a large number of tourists, many with a map or guidebook in one hand and a camera in the other. Several tour group leaders were carrying umbrellas, not so much for the possible rain, but for keeping their herd of tourists together. But Steve felt no enjoyment from his people-watching on this visit. All he felt was despair and grief at not having Ellen with him. In the square he heard again the mix of so many different languages that the sounds became almost musical to him, full of the memory of his first visit here with Ellen. Steve recalled how Ellen’s multilingual abilities allowed her to understand what a large portion of the visitors to the plaza were saying to each other. Now, of course, Steve was limited to understanding only those speaking English.
After a few minutes, Steve left Grand Place and made his way to Ellen’s parents’ house. A narrow, three-story stone house attached to the neighboring houses on both sides, it looked exactly as it had 100 years earlier: heavy shutters and a flower box at each window and six concrete steps leading up to the large, heavy wooden door set into the thick stone front wall. Ellen’s father opened the door as Steve was reaching for the knocker. He must have been standing by the window, watching for Steve.
“Hallo. Hallo,” he said. “We are most happy you come here.” They were immediately joined by Ellen’s mother, who uttered almost the exact same words.
“I am glad to be here. Thank you for inviting me. And insisting that I come.”
“Oh. It is a pleasure to us. Come to the kitchen. We eat breakfast.”
“Oh, thank you. But that’s not necessary; they served breakfast on the plane.”
“You eat something. We waited to eat breakfast with you. Come.”
As they entered the kitchen and sat down around the small, rectangular wooden table, Ellen’s father put his finger to his lips in the international signal for silence and handed Steve an envelope. Confused, but obeying the silence signal, Steve took the envelope, tore it open and took out a short handwritten note. He couldn’t believe what he was reading.
The note was clearly in Ellen’s neat handwriting.
Steve, please stay silent. We think the police, at the request of the FBI through Interpol headquarters here in Brussels, may have bugged my parents’ house.
Meet me at Le Grand Hotel (Rue de la Loi 242) at 4:00 PM. Don’t be followed. Come to Room 308.
I am so sorry and love you so much. I will explain everything this afternoon. E
Steve was in shock. He couldn’t even guess what was going on, except that Ellen was alive. Beyond that, he had no idea what was happening or why.
All Steve could do was sit there watching Ellen’s parents alternating between smiling while nodding their heads up and down and eating their breakfast. They clearly knew what was going on. His first reaction was that this was some kind of trap, that Ellen had been forced to write the note, perhaps weeks or months ago. But the smiles on her parents’ faces quickly squashed any such fears. He politely ate a roll with jam, drank a cup of thick, strong black coffee and soon excused himself and went to the guest bedroom. This was the same room and the same bed that he and Ellen stayed in whenever they visited her parents. A wide range of emotions flowed through him. He lay down and tried taking a nap, but his brain was much too active to allow any sleep. All he could do was toss and turn.
CHAPTER 24
Finally, 2:30 rolled around. Steve got off the bed, showered and dressed in clean clothing and went downstairs. Carefully checking the city map Ellen’s father had placed on the kitchen table, Steve figured out and memorized the relatively short walk to the hotel. He left 30 minutes early, allowing time for a few zigs and zags just in case anyone was following him.
At 10 minutes before 4, the door to Room 308 opened as soon as Steve had softly knocked. Before he could take a breath, the door was closed behind him, Ellen was in his arms and she was kissing him more passionately than he could remember her ever doing. Steve was aroused, relieved and confused all at the same time.
“El, are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine, Steve. I’m so sorry. Let me expl….”
“What’s going on? How did you escape? Who took you? Why are you sneaking around here? Shouldn’t we be meeting with the police? Or the FBI? Please, what happened? What’s going on? I’ve been going crazy ever since they took you.”
“Hang on, Steve. I’ll tell you everything. Please sit down. And try to let me get through the whole story without a million interruptions and questions.”
“OK, I’ll try. But no guarantees.” He took a seat in the one armchair in the room, directly across fr
om the bed.
“Steve,” said Ellen as she sat down on the bed opposite Steve. “You have to understand that I did all this for us.”
“Did all this? What the heck are you talking about?”
“I wasn’t actually kidnapped. It was….”
“What? What do you mean? I got the ransom note. We paid the $5 million ransom that they demanded.”
“I know, Steve. I know. And I’m so sorry that I had to put you through all that.”
“Huh?”
“Steve, I wasn’t really kidnapped. I was never in any danger. I faked the whole disappearance and kidnapping.”
“What? Why? How? Are you crazy? What about the police? And the FBI? How the hell could you have put me through all this without telling me? I’ve been worried to death.”
“I know. And I’m so, so sorry. I want to spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I want you to understand that this was all necessary, that it will be worth it in the end. But if I had told you, you never would have been able to fake your surprise and fear and worry with the police and the FBI. You know very well that you have a terrible poker face. You’re too honest and straightforward a person. It’s the same trait that led you away from becoming a courtroom attorney.”
“OK, I don’t deny that I’m not the world’s best actor or con man, but, Jesus, you really put me through hell because of it.”
“I know, but I didn’t see any other way.”
“Maybe. But I still don’t know what the hell you did or what’s going on.”
“I know. I’m trying to explain. Let me explain, starting at the beginning.”
“OK. I’m listening.”
“About a month before my so-called disappearance, I learned that Tycon was planning to fire me.”
“What? Why? You’re one of their top, most-respected executives. They give you great performance reviews. Big raises. Bonuses and stock options. They keep talking about your continuing success, even about the chance that you might eventually become president of the whole damn company.”
“Yes, I know. But one day I was accidentally copied on an e-mail from Charlie Hawkins to the partner in charge of our account at the external public auditing firm that Tycon uses.”
“I spoke with Charlie Hawkins on the phone. He helped me get the money for the ransom.”
“Yes, that’s what I assumed would happen. Now let me continue with the story, Steve. In his e-mail, Charlie told the auditing partner that Tycon was planning to fire me, and asked if the auditors had found or could find any inappropriate accounting issues in any of my divisions. If there were any such accounting issues, they would try to use that to avoid paying me the one year of severance pay per my contract. Any wrongdoing on my part, and they could avoid paying me any severance.”
“Damn. Those bastards! But I’m sure you wouldn’t have intentionally done anything incorrect or illegal.”
“I didn’t. And never have — until now. But that didn’t matter. In the best of cases, they’d fire me and pay me the one year of severance pay. A pretty shitty reward for all my hard work and contributions to Tycon over the years!”
“OK, I get all that. But what does it have to do with everything else?”
“As soon as I learned what they were planning to do, I knew I had to figure out a way to change things.”
“So did you go talk to your boss about this?”
“Hell no. I didn’t want to give up my advantage by letting them know that I knew what they were planning to do to me.”
“And?”
“So I figured out a way to avoid the embarrassment of being fired and, at the same time, collect a lot more than one year of severance pay.”
“But, Ellen, you know that even if they did fire you it would have been for some bullshit reason. You were always very successful, and they repeatedly confirmed that with your performance reviews and raises.”
“Yes, I would have known. And, OK, you would have known also. But to everyone else, my firing would naturally be thought to be performance related — either I was doing a lousy job or I did some terrible unethical or illegal thing.”
“OK, that may be the case. But ….”
“Just let me continue. Please, Steve.”
“Go ahead.”
“As one of the senior executives, I of course knew about the kidnap insurance policy. So that led me to concoct the whole kidnapping story to collect the ransom. Being kidnapped would allow me to avoid getting fired and would also give us a nice hunk of cash.”
“But, Ellen, we have plenty of money, not even counting all your Tycon stock and our house. Why did you need the ransom money? We could live forever on what we already have without that money.”
“Yes, you’re right. But having an extra $5 million makes it a lot easier and more sure. Plus, it wasn’t just about the money. I wanted to get whatever revenge I could against Tycon for their plans to screw me.”
“But why didn’t you talk to me about this? We should have discussed this and decided as a team whether or not to do it. We’ve always discussed and made our big decisions together.”
“I wanted to talk with you about this so much. But, as I said before, if you knew the truth, you never, not even in a million years, could have been convincing to anyone — the FBI and police, Tycon, the insurance company.”
“Christ, you make it sound like it’s my fault that you didn’t tell me anything.”
“No. No. That’s not what I’m trying to say. I’m just trying to explain why I felt that I couldn’t tell you.”
“I’ve still got a million questions. Not to mention a whole jumble of different and conflicting feelings. But, most important, what do we do now? How do we arrange for you to come back home? We have to make it look like the kidnappers finally released you. If the authorities find out what really happened, you’ll wind up in prison for years.”
“I know, Steve. But I think I have a good plan.”
“This I’ve got to hear. Let’s hope it’s better than your fake-kidnapping plan.”
“Steve, I understand that you’re upset, but there’s no need to be sarcastic.”
“You’re right. Sorry. What’s your idea? You keep hiding in different second-rate hotels in Belgium and I go back home and ‘live happily ever after’?”
“At least let me describe my plan before you turn the sarcasm on again.”
“OK. Sorry. Go ahead.”
“The good news,” continued Ellen, “is that I can travel throughout the European Union without having to show my passport or identity papers. The only exceptions are England, Ireland and a few small countries, all of which have passport controls even with the other EU countries. The airlines, of course, check IDs, but I can travel and stay virtually anywhere in the EU except these few countries so long as I travel by car or train or bus.”
“But for how long?” asked Steve.
“With my Belgian citizenship, I can do this forever. And, if I don’t rent a car or book a hotel or an apartment under my real name, and if I never use my credit cards or old cell phone, I can just about literally disappear.”
“And what about me? About us?”
“Steve, if we do things correctly, you also can ‘disappear’ within Europe and we can be together forever.”
“But what about our house? My job? Our friends?”
“We give all that up. Think of it like we’ll be going into the witness protection program. We disappear from our current lives, use new identities and live undetected forever.”
“Jesus, I never thought I’d married a master criminal! How do you propose we get new identities?”
“We already have them, Darling.”
“What? How? What are you talking about?”
“Remember I told you about the year I spent in the S
oviet Union after I graduated from university?”
“Yes, but what does th…?”
“Hold on. Let me finish. Do you remember that during that year, one of the young Russian so-called beatniks that I became friendly with was Vasily Maklakov?”
“Yes, I do. And?”
“Until recently, we hadn’t seen or even spoken to each other since that year. As you know, we’ve stayed in touch with birthday and New Year greeting cards. But that was it. Well, it turns out that Vasily wound up being a middle level player in the Russian Mafia.”
“Christ! This story just keeps getting better and better! What are we now — traitors?”
“No, not at all. Vasily and, in fact, the whole Russian Mafia are into all sorts of minor and, I admit, major crime stuff, but not espionage and treason. They only commit financial crimes. Their only objective is financial gain.”
“Nice to know that your friends have such high ethical standards!”
“Please give me a chance to finish. On one of my last business trips to Europe, I bought a pre-paid cell phone and contacted Vasily. I told him that you and I needed help, including a way for me to disappear from our house and get whole new identities for you and me, and I asked him if he could help us or refer me to someone who could help. To make a long story short, he was able to and was glad to help. Thanks to him, I met someone in Ohio who helped me disappear that morning, and arranged for passports for both of us under false names as well as a corresponding identity card for me and drivers’ licenses and so on for both of us. The idea is that we’ve entered the EU under our real names, and we will just drop out of sight and start living under our false identities.”
“And how much did that cost us?”
“Not a penny. Vasily would not accept any money from me.”
“What did you have to do? Sleep with him?” asked Steve in an accusatory tone.
“Steve! No, of course not! I’d never do that. Although I did get the sense that Vasily would have wanted to.”