Disappearance (27 page)

"Why, I can only speculate," Eckert said, notably disconcerted, "but I'd rather not.”

"You don't think we have a chance finding the girl, do you?" Mikki said bitterly.

"I'm here telling you all this because I want to make sure you know what you're up against," Eckert said solemnly. "I care for Lisa too much to let her walk blindly into such a mess.”

"It's her sister," Mikki persisted.

"Yes, and she could be long dead.”

Mikki was startled by this remark.  Being so involved in trying to track Karen down, he had forgotten the possibility that she may not be alive.  Sure they had made some progress and had gotten a few indications that she may be found, but what if they were chasing a ghost.  The odds were stacked high against them.  How would Lisa respond to failure, now that her hopes were renewed?  She had seemed to be doing just fine, her life back on track, when he had burst in and jolted her once again.  Was
there  solid enough ground to drag her back into this nightmare?

He looked at the man sitting next to him and for the first time realized that it was he, Mikki Dotan, whose life never, got back on track. It suddenly dawned on him that in the last three and some years, life had gone on, and he was left behind.  People dealt with setbacks but kept going forward not letting their misfortunes guide their way.  Lisa had done it with the help of this man and he cared for her. It was important for him to see her progress and not sink back into her past.   Mikki represented her unfortunate past and Eckert was asking him to consider the consequences of hauling her back to it, risking everything she had managed to accomplish.

It was now clear to him why Eckert had insisted on the meeting. He wanted Mikki alone so he could have his say.

It was clear that he viewed their chances as meager and the task dangerous, and that he wanted to make sure they were aware of the risks involved, but Mikki had the inkling that when push came to shove he would be there to help.   He would not abandon Lisa whatever she chose to do.

They spent most of the rest of the way in silence, Mikki staring out the car windows, not really seeing anything.  He knew that he and his fellow Israelis had crossed the point of no return and that Lisa too, was committed.  She would not allow herself to stop at this juncture even if it meant finding her sister dead.  He was certain of that.  She was still scolding herself for not doing enough the first time around.

"We have to know the truth," he finally said as the Buick came to a halt in front of the TWA terminal.

Eckert looked straight ahead.  "I'll hold you responsible if she is harmed," he said without turning his head.

"That won't be necessary, sir," Mikki said as he scuffled out of the car, "I'll be holding myself responsible.”

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Chester Caldwell was in a miserable mood.  Nothing had gone right in the last two weeks.  He had not gotten anything done work related or otherwise, since Lisa's abrupt disappearance. His contact man had, for the first time, failed to appear at their scheduled rendezvous in the Village and Chester had not been paid.  That in itself was bothersome, but to Chester the money issue was secondary.

Not seeing her for such an extended period of time was more than he could endure, especially since he was not sure she was coming back.  He missed her and could not bear the thought of not ever seeing her at the office when he came in.

The last time he had seen her was when he had followed her back to the office after she had parted company from the stranger with whom she had so tempestuously engaged at the Grand Central bus terminal.

He recalled her being quite shaken up as she stepped out of the café, half-wishing he could get her so emotional. Downtown, he had to wait a few minutes before entering the office, not wanting to appear too conspicuous walking in right behind her.  She was already in Eckert's office by the time he came in, storming out an hour later to begin an unexplained frantic scramble of organization in her cubicle.   Suzy Chambers had called her to see Eckert twice more during that time and all Chester could do was sit in his cubicle, helpless, afraid to make a stupid move.

A couple of hours later she was gone.  He let her go, thinking it would seem a little too obvious to be scrambling after her out of the office twice in one day.  He figured that he could surely piece the story together shortly thereafter, never suspecting that it was the last he was to see of her for quite a while.

By noon the following day he had gotten so distraught that, disregarding his normal precautions, he entered her cubicle. Searching it thoroughly, throughout that entire day, he could find no clues as to what had happened.  All seemed to be in order.  Her files were there, her computer discs, her Rolodex, her stack of used and unused memo pads, even her more personal belongings like the small leather make-up pouch she used in the office, some jewelry, and her sister's photo.

That evening he tried to solicit information, trying on his charm with Suzy Chambers, but came up empty.  She would not talk. Desperate, he went to Lisa's building hoping to catch a glimpse of her there, but backed away in front of her locked apartment door.

The following day, during staff meeting, Eckert made a vague statement about sending her on an assignment for a few weeks, but did not elaborate.

In their last meeting Chester had reported to his contact on the surprising development of Lisa and the stranger at the Lexington Avenue Café.  After the staff meeting he was forced to report her disappearance.

Two weeks later, he was as ignorant about Lisa's disappearance as he was when it happened.   As each day passed, he became more and more frustrated and miserable. His colleagues had even begun to comment on his growing absent-mindedness.   He began to daydream in their presence much too often, be late for meetings, and worst of all, fall behind with his assignments, something that was unforgivable. Clients paid top dollar to get their information on time and his superiors did not tolerate late turn-ins.  If he pushed it too far, it would get him fired.

Twice he had held the phone in his hand ready to call his contact, knowing he would be violating his instructions.  He had tried to rationalize that he indeed had a legitimate reason to call; she being his responsibility; him wanting the money owed to him.  But twice, he had hung up the receiver, afraid to even dial the number.  Those people scared him and he was already too involved to be testing their limits.  He was certain they could have him fired or even make him disappear, if they chose to do so. So he kept quiet and felt miserable.

The phone rang at his apartment past midnight.  Chester, who by now was having trouble falling asleep, answered it eagerly.

"Usual place, in two hours," the voice said and clicked off. Chester felt relief.  He was barely able to dress properly for such a late hour and trains were scarcer at that time of night, but he still made it in plenty of time from his Upper West Side apartment.

Washington Square was dark and scattered with roaming shadows.  He had gotten off the train at 14th street, walked east to Fifth Ave and turned south toward the square.  He crossed it and stood under the second lamp on the square's southeastern footpath just shy of the NYU buildings waiting for the man with the black raincoat to show up.

All their previous meetings took place in the early evening hours when the place swarmed.   From random passersby and inquisitive tourists
to  dealers and law enforcement officers, Washington Square was a hub of activity and the perfect place for an inconspicuous meeting.  They would move a few steps from under the lamp and Chester would report anything he thought significant.  Then the man would hand him an envelope with cash and disappear without saying a word.  He would then move back under the lamp and wait for ten minutes before taking the same route back to the 14th Street subway station.

He wondered whether his instructions still held.  The square was considerably different late at night.  The benches and trash-can areas were mostly occupied by the homeless, who slumbered heavily wrapped in carton boxes, holding on to whatever wares they had found that day.  Several shadowy figures and a few couples were wandering across the square, and Chester could identify two larger gatherings huddled in opposite corners to where he stood.  Chester shivered under his leather jacket. 

The place spooked him.

Twenty minutes after the scheduled rendezvous time the man showed up. 
Same dark raincoat with the raised collar; same agonizing silence.  But this time he motioned for Chester to follow him.  He walked briskly toward SoHo where the streets were even darker than the Village's.  Chester struggled to keep up feeling increasingly alarmed with every step.   He was beginning to doubt his own reason.   What was he thinking, getting hooked up with these thugs for a few extra dollars? The money was certainly not worth dying for and neither was Lisa.

But before he could begin justifying this new insight and plot his retreat, the man with the black raincoat pushed open an invisible door at a side entrance of one of the buildings and quick as a flash hauled him in.

A single light bulb weakly illuminated the place and Chester saw that they were standing at the bottom of a bare staircase next to a large garbage disposal container.  The man was reaching for something inside his black raincoat.   Chester gasped for air and shielded his face with one hand.  The man seemed to ignore the pitiful gesture and proceeded handing him a white envelope. Chester took it, almost bowing with relief.

"This should cover what we owe you," the man spoke for the first time and Chester cautiously allowed himself a glance at him.  His voice was deep with a heavy New York accent.  His hair was crew
cut short and his features were dark with eyes to match. His lips barely moved as he spoke.

He reached inside his coat pocket again, took out a single photo and showed it to Chester.

"Recognize him?" The man asked.

The photo was of a man getting out of a car at an airport.  It was taken some distance away from the back of the car but the face was visible.

Chester strained for a moment, and then it hit him.  "Yeah, that's the guy who met Lisa," he said excitedly.

The man nodded. "Recognize the car?"

Chester strained again looking closely at the photo, turning it to the light. "No, not really," he said cautiously as if expecting the man to strike him for bad behavior.

"It's your boss's car.”

"Eckert?"

The man nodded.

"What's he got to do with…?"

The man cut him off.  "That's what we want you to find out Mr. Caldwell.”

It was the first time the man had ever used Chester's name and it chilled him to the bone.  This was not a request.  This was an order.

"We'll double your fee and pay you every week until we get what we want.”

A thousand dollars every week! But that also meant they wanted a report more frequently than before which meant he would have to spend more time tending to them instead of doing his work.  He would surely be late with his assignments plus it was going to be much tougher tracking Eckert than it was Lisa.  He had no access to his office, and there was never a time he could snoop around or listen in on phone calls.

He looked at the man hesitantly, not daring to disobey but conveying discomfort.

"Six thousand and we'll rent you a car so you can follow him whenever he uses his."

The man shut off the light and opened the door to the street. "Be at   this spot a week from today," he   whispered threateningly and disappeared without leaving Chester an opportunity to respond.

Chester waited in the dark.  He never intended to protest.  He needed time to concede to the idea that they had him seized. He had crossed the line.  Now he was trapped.  He waited a few minutes then slipped out into the dark and cold New York streets, noting where he had to report to in a week.

CHAPTER 28

Yossi Gadot did not take his usual route back home.  He had left the office early and headed south on the coastal highway toward Tel Aviv.  Near the Hadera power station he exited and drove to Caesarea.  He parked at the entrance to the old city and walked along the stone footpath among the ancient ruins and historic columns that marked streets and markets of ancient days.  An archeological gem, he marveled, noting that he should bring the kids.

It was turning dark when he reached the old port of Caesarea and took a seat by the waterline at the Crusaders restaurant. He had been there only once before with company guests. The place was ideally situated, slightly elevated above the old port and had an excellent reputation for its fresh fish and seafood.

He looked out at the water as the last rays of sun blended in with obscured light sources that kept the port area softly illuminated.  Most of the old Caesarea port was under water, but the outline of what was once a sizable port was easily traceable.

A tall, skinny waiter brought him his beer and he sat back enjoying the ambience.

Sarah showed up ten minutes later.

They went about the usual small talk.  He ordered salmon, she just a salad.

She seemed a little different, he thought.  A touch of makeup and a tight black turtleneck shirt, showing off her slender upper body, combined with the unique background in which they sat, made her look remarkably attractive.