Authors: Niv Kaplan
With a sigh of relief Eitan turned off the main road to a side street and stopped at the curb.
"We must find a place where we can watch the house," he said, shifting the car into park and turning to Sarah.
"I saw a small dock with some people by the water," Sarah said, uttering her first words since they sighted Karen. "We may be able to watch it from there."
There was an awkward pause as each searched for words to describe their bizarre state of mind.
"Are you OK?" Eitan inquired, looking concerned.
"I am now," Sarah said. "What a shock…"
"I still can't believe it happened…” Eitan confessed.
"Is it really her?" Sarah marveled.
"It's her," Eitan affirmed, "a little different but definitely her."
"We're lucky to have you around," Sarah conceded, smiling weakly at him.
"Does this make up for what happened before…?"
"Nice try," Sarah giggled, nudging his shoulder. "You'll be getting your pardon when we get her to Lisa; now let's get on with it."
"Let's do that," Eitan said and swung the car around returning to West Shore Road. He drove north until they spotted the dock opposite the alley. An outline of a path, marked by snow-filled tire treads, led them off the elevated highway ramp to a deserted, snow-covered lot, adjacent to the dock. At that point they were obscured from the house and could see it only after ascending several slippery steps up the dock.
The small dock turned out to be a mini fisherman's wharf with a pier for renting out small fishing boats and a wooden cabin displaying a sign for a fish restaurant at its far end.
The place looked deserted. The boats for rent were stacked and covered with canvas inside a locked screen pen, the crooked sign barely readable due to the accumulation of ice, and the wooden dock in between the rental place and restaurant completely bare and covered with a thick layer of fresh snow.
"I thought you saw some people here," Eitan remarked as the two of them cautiously walked along the dock leaving deep shoe imprints in the powdery snow, trying to duck the wind and an occasional icy sprinkle
from the jagged waters of the Oyster Bay harbor.
"I could've sworn..." Sarah started to say, when a man wearing an apron and rubber gloves emerged from the opening underneath the restaurant sign, carrying two nylon garbage bags, hurrying to a dumpster by the main road. As they approached closer they noticed the main entrance to the restaurant was on the opposite side of the cabin, obscured from the dock. The small opening underneath the sign was actually the back entrance to the kitchen.
They walked around the snow covered wooden cabin, realizing it was bigger and more active than had seemed from the dock. There was a second, larger parking lot for diners, sporadically occupied at that hour of the morning. It was linked to the main road via a narrow asphalt path, nestled among piles of removed snow, which ran along the water a good half mile before turning to meet the main road.
The location offered a decent view of the house.
They could see it at an angle, through a row of trees that ran parallel to the main road. It was a two-storey, New England style house, with a white frame and blue painted windows, enclosed by a column of trees, surrounding a spacious, snow-covered lawn. The trees were bare and at a distance from one another and were only partially obstructing the view.
Snow was piled all around the house perimeter, covering the driveway to the standalone garage and pathway to the front entrance. Contrasted with a neighboring house and two other houses across the alley, it was apparent the house had not been inhabited for quite a while, or at least during the present winter.
The minivan was still parked outside.
They entered the restaurant through a heavy oak door that led to a small waiting area which featured padded benches cut into the wooden walls and some shelves for hanging coats and umbrellas. Following the hostess into the dining area, they noted the two pay phones positioned by a small alcove that led to the restrooms. Inside, the cabin was dimly lit but warm and cozy with a crackling fireplace, tables and chairs built of heavy oak wood, and windows situated on opposite sides; two facing the harbor and two facing the main road. They asked to be seated by the side facing the main road but quickly realized neither window offered a reasonable view of the house. Apologizing to the scrawny waitress who came by to take their order, they left with two coffees to go.
Back outside, Eitan went to fetch the car and Sarah inspected the parking lot for a suitable surveillance site. The snow had been cleared away, unevenly piled around the lot's perimeter, shielding some of the view. She crossed the ditch separating the lot from the main road, looking for a spot that offered a clear line of sight to the house, pausing at a spot she thought served that purpose. While she waited, she noticed two men come out of the house and begin shoveling snow, clearing off the accumulation around the front entrance and both the driveway and pathway to the street.
When Eitan arrived she joined him in the car and they both watched as the men finished removing the snow then backed the minivan into the garage. When the backup car appeared once again they turned to talk to whoever was driving the car. Eitan had the binoculars out and was studying the two men, noting any outstanding identification marks. They were both wearing heavy parkas with dark sunglasses, though the sun was securely tucked away behind a thick mass of clouds. He did manage to distinguish one with a beard and another with dark curly hair.
Curly had been the one clearing the driveway and backing the minivan into the garage while Beard Man had cleared the pathway and front entrance. Both had stooped to the driver side to talk to whoever was driving but Eitan could not discern a face due to a reflection off the car's front windshield.
The backup car quickly pulled away after the short exchange with the men, this time turning north on West Shore Road and driving
past the turnoff to the restaurant.
As the two men approached the front entrance, they were met by another man whose features stunned Eitan for the second time that day.
He had made a conscious effort to memorize Nadav's description and amateurish portrait of Noga's dad and he was reasonably certain he was looking right at him. Dan Hasson/Arbel had finally surfaced.
He quickly gave the binoculars to Sarah instructing her to focus on the entrance, but by the time she had managed to locate the spot, the three men had disappeared into the house.
"That was Hasson with the other two," he blurted out.
Sarah shifted her gaze from behind the binoculars and looked at him inquisitively.
"Are you sure?"
"Pretty much," Eitan replied. "I saw his face and build. If Nadav's description is anything close, that's our man."
Sarah looked through the binoculars once again hoping to get a glimpse but the perimeter of the house was empty. She surveyed the windows for a bit then gave up.
"You realize this isn't the house we were supposed to inspect," she remarked.
"How's that?" Eitan asked, his turn to be surprised. "I thought there were two houses around here."
"Two that we knew of, this one is a third."
She reached for the map in the back seat, folding it to the appropriate section and showed him the markings she had made.
"We followed the minivan from the Glen Cove house to where we are now, which is just north of Oyster Bay."
She gave him a moment to catch his bearing then went on. "But the second house we were supposed to have checked is right here in Huntington," she explained, pointing to the spot on the map. "Had we been ten minutes late getting to the house in Glen Cove, we never would have found her."
There was a moment of silence as her statement sank in. Eitan had a sudden flash of a documentary he had seen on the first manned flight to round the moon. The success or failure of the
mission, depended on a split second ignition of an engine to get the spacecraft orbiting the moon at just the right trajectory. The slightest delay in the firing of the engine would have flung Apollo 8 into space, condemning them to be circling aimlessly until they ran out of oxygen. That brought on another association - the infamous
Ground Control to Major Tom
line, from David Bowie’s
Space Oddity
, depicting an astronaut who had been flung into space and was drifting away. A ten-minute delay and they would have gone to Huntington only to find that house as deserted as the rest of them.
A thought struck him.
"Why, then, did they all of a sudden decide to move her here and not to the other house?"
"I've been thinking about that myself," Sarah said, "and I think it's because they're on to us. Somebody found out we were sniffing around and gave the order to sneak her away. I guess this house served as a backup for just this kind of circumstance. We just happened to be in the right place, at the right time."
"We don't know that for a fact," Eitan remarked. "This could be pure coincidence."
"You may believe in coincidences, but I don't," Sarah said. "In any case, we have to assume this is the situation, even if it isn't. If they are on to you and me assisting Lisa and Mikki, they may decide to get rid of the liability. They'll drop her in a heartbeat once they realize the kind of trouble she’s brought them and we can't assume otherwise.”
"But if they know about us, and have already eliminated two of our people, why delay moving her till now?"
"You and I were not supposed to be discovered, remember? They brought us here to discreetly follow the trail while they led them astray." Sarah paused a moment, then added: "I suppose they did not anticipate any danger as long as Lisa and Mikki kept leading them in wrong directions but once they got wind of us, they hurried to move her.”
Eitan hesitated with his reply.
"OK," he said after a short pause, "what do you suppose we should do next?"
"First and foremost, we make sure they don't hurt her."
"They could be doing it right now.”
"I know, and it worries me. We have to work extremely fast to try and buy her some time.”
"Why not call the police and storm the damn place right now."
"It doesn't work that way."
"Why not?"
"Because you don't want to raise any red flags so that, by the time you plead and explain your case to the authorities, she'll be gone. This is
n’
t Lebanon or Israel for that matter. You don't go around storming houses just because someone is shouting foul play. There are warrants and procedures and territorial jurisdictions which will complicate matters and use a heap of time we don't have.”
"What do we do then?" Eitan persisted.
"I think the right thing to do is to keep a real low profile around the house, so as not to alarm anyone, warn Lisa and Mikki, and buy as much time as possible until we figure out a way to get her released.”
"Assuming we have time," Eitan pointed out.
"I think we have some time, provided they believe they've eliminated the threat by moving her to this supposedly unknown location. If they so much as suspect this location to be unsafe, they'll not hesitate to..." She did not complete the sentence.
Eitan took the binoculars and surveyed the house again. All was quiet. A flurry of snow whirled across the icy lawn carried by a sudden gust of wind that tilted the trees making them jar off a cluster of icicles. Across the alley, a neighbor guided his car out of the garage and carefully headed out leaving deep tire marks in the fresh snow.
PART FIVE
SHOWDOWN
CHAPTER 43
The Magnificent Greek was Lisa's favorite restaurant in the LA metropolitan area. Having celebrated most of her special occasions with their savory Mediterranean cuisine since finding it back in her senior year of high school, she deemed the place reasonably suitable for
breakin the news to her mother. There really was no suitable place or manner in which to break such news, but knowing her mother, Lisa hoped a public place would moderate her initial reaction.
She had reached that conclusion late the previous night as she tossed and turned, fretting over the problem.
She tried to anticipate the reaction before deciding on an approach. There was a distinctly cheerful side to the revelation but Lisa was not sure of her mother's ability to deal with the initial shock and everything else that had to be told. She herself had been overwhelmed to the point of emotional paralysis, long before she felt any joy. It was, no doubt, a fortunate transformation, but one so drastic it needed time to settle in.
The news of her sister being seen alive had caught her off guard though she thought she should have been prepared. The shock was followed by a state of flux and only after came the tears and finally relief mixed with apprehension. The joy was acutely tainted by the still uncertain predicament.
Karen was alive but still very much a prisoner.
A direct, straightforward approach seemed too brutal and too hazardous to her mother's psyche. She could not think of an intelligent way to prepare her, but she knew she had to find an approach which would both minimize the shock and compel her
mother to lend them a hand.
They needed her, fit and willing to play an active role in their plan to free Karen.
Finally, too nervous to plunge into the matter one-on-one alone in their home, Lisa opted to confront her mother in a more supportive atmosphere, thus the restaurant approach.
The Magnificent Greek was located in the San Fernando Valley on Ventura Boulevard between Laurel Canyon and Woodman. It was lunch hour and the place was humming. Lisa had gotten there early and was sitting at a corner table watching burly Greek waiters fuss around demanding business parties. The mirrored back wall and mirrored columns separating the two dining areas gave the illusion of space, but in actuality the place was quite small, too small to accommodate the irritable lunch crowd which had formed a line outside the front entrance and was restlessly waiting to be called their turn. Fortunately for them, the sun was out after several days of rain and a few of them had their faces turned upward trying to acquire some color in the midst of a predominantly dreary winter.
She saw her mother arrive, handing the car keys to the valet parking attendant, and push her way through the line. A hostess assisted her, hanging her overcoat on a shelf by the bar as Martha tensely inspected the gathered crowd. She waved in relief as she finally spotted Lisa and came over, gingerly slipping by the maze of crowded tables.
Physically she was still quite frail, Lisa observed, but mentally she seemed much sturdier. In the last three days she had been much more upbeat and cheerful than during Lisa's previous visit. Albert was apparently doing her some good but her solace was painting. Setting up a makeshift studio in her garden out back, she now spent quite a bit of time refining her hobby with abstract sketches of whatever possessed her mind. It was an agreeable substitute for therapy and Lisa dreaded breaking the encouraging trend.
"Hello dear," Martha said collapsing into the seat opposite her daughter. "Been here long?"
"Few minutes," Lisa said, not wanting to reveal the fact that she had been sitting there for quite some time, dreading the encounter.
"Had anything to drink?" Martha asked.
"Just water," Lisa said raising her glass. "Shall I get you anything?"
"Strawberry daiquiri is what I feel like," Martha said and turned to look for a waiter.
Lisa liked the daiquiri idea and they ordered two of the same, adding some appetizers to compensate for the alcohol.
"I think this is a lovely idea, meeting here for lunch," Martha said, settling snugly into her seat as the waiter left with their order. "We should do it more often.”
"I suggested it for a reason, Mom," Lisa said seriously, unable to bear the secret much longer. "There's something I need to discuss with you and now is the time.”
"Is something wrong?" Martha asked, leaning over the table, a worried frown cast across her face.
Lisa spoke hesitantly.
"Mom… the last time I was here… I didn't come here for any market survey. I was here for a much different reason which… I mean… there was no way I could tell you...it would've complicated matters and... I'm pretty sure would've hurt you real bad...”
She paused to study her mother's reaction.
Martha remained frozen; her shoulders tensely raised, her arms pressed against the table supporting her body, her eyes fearfully searching Lisa's.
She had planned to ease into the matter by describing the sequence of events before delivering the bottom line, but intuitively, for her mother's sake as well as her own, Lisa realized, she had to come straight out with it.
"Karen's alive," she said, her voice tense with emotion. "We know where she is."
The shock registered on Martha's face as her eyes opened wide for a split second then opened her mouth in search of air.
"Oh, my God!" she exclaimed, extending a hand across the table grabbing hold of Lisa's outstretched hand. "Is it true? Is it really true?"
Lisa nodded her head, unable to speak, aware of the tears welling up in her eyes. All she could do was sit there, feeling her mother's nails dig into the palm of her hand. She wiped her eyes with her free hand and tried to focus her thoughts, monitoring her mother's reaction through a haze. She wanted to circle the table and hug her but the waiter was suddenly there with their drinks and they were forced to disengage and settle back. Martha closed her eyes, remaining rigid in her seat as the waiter served them their drinks and cleared room for the appetizers.
When he left, Lisa spoke.
"Mom," she called gently, getting no reply. "Mom," she repeated with a touch of hysteria. "Don't blank out, now; talk to me! Tell me what's happening.”
The urgency in her voice caused her mother to open her eyes and give a blank stare. Lisa stretched her hand across the table again and Martha obliged, nestling a shaky palm on her arm. She closed her eyes again and swallowed, then hastily searched for her drink and brought it to her lips. She lightly sipped it then put it on the table and straightened her gaze at Lisa.
"My Karen…" she began, a tear running down her cheek, "our Karen..." She looked at Lisa in total disbelief.
"It's true Mom, she's alive. Karen's alive. She was seen two days ago by...”
"Can't I see her?” Martha interrupted, her voice cracking, tears pouring down her face now. "Can you take me to see my daughter? Please...”
"We can't see her just yet and I need to tell you how this all came about," Lisa maintained, "but if we do things right, you will see her again.”
Her tone of voice had a sobering effect on Martha who became attentive all of a sudden, wiping her mascara-smeared face with a napkin and focusing intently on her daughter.
"Karen is being held captive by some people, Mom," Lisa continued. "She has been ever since she disappeared. We don't have all the details but we know enough and we've managed to track her down. We know where she's being held and we have a plan to free her but it's not a simple task and we need your help.”
"
Who's we?" Martha asked hoarsely, wetting her dry lips with the tip of her tongue.
"It's Mikki Dotan and a few other people. You remember Mikki, don't you Mom?" Lisa asked, knowing her mother had put partial blame on him.
Martha lowered her gaze and nodded slowly.
"After all these years…" she stated gloomily, visibly tormented by the terrible memory.
"We owe him, Mom," Lisa said firmly. "We owe him a great deal. He's the one who never lost hope...”
The statement hung in the air a good while before Martha acknowledged it. When she did, her eyes watered again and she resumed crying, this time with no holding back. She reached for her table napkin, covered her face with it, and wept silently.
Lisa looked around the room. It struck her that no one was paying any attention to the drama at their table. Even the people seated in their immediate vicinity seemed to be totally unaware, engrossed in their own private affairs. She hated to see her mother that way but thought the crying could certainly relieve some of the burden and allow her to digest the news.
The waiter appeared again, but one look at the untouched appetizers and half-filled cocktail glasses, diverted him to another
table.
"I want to know the truth," Lisa heard her mother say, startling her out of her reverie. "I want you to tell me what they did to her and why and who are the monsters who took away some of the best years of her life.”
A solid look of determination appeared on her mother's face replacing the helplessness projected just a few seconds before, and before Lisa could respond, she was on her feet.
"I'm going to freshen up now, and when I come back you're going to tell me everything," she said adamantly, then turned and marched indignantly toward the back where a sign indicated the presence of a ladies room.
-------
The Delta Airlines jet landed at St. Louis International Airport at eleven-thirty
am. Lambert, with only a briefcase, quickly made his way down Concourse C to Gate 40 where he took the elevator one floor up to the executive lounge. There, he reconfirmed his one-thirty pm return flight to JFK, ordered a scotch and sat down to read the papers.
The man walked in an hour later. Lambert recognized him instantly. He was of average height, his face surprisingly tanned for the time of
year, his graying hair brushed straight back showing the beginning of a receding hairline at the temples. He wore an elegant gray Armani suit, was wearing round, wire rimmed glasses and holding a soft, brown leather teacher style briefcase. He looked quite fit for his age and there was an alertness about him that made him stand out in the crowd of executives that had gathered in the lounge.
His gaze brushed over Lambert, pausing for a brief second, before diverting his gaze to the hostess serving drinks at the bar.
The two men ignored one another during the rest of their lounge stay and through boarding, but were seated next to each other in the rearmost seats of the 757 business class compartment.
Twenty minutes after takeoff, they began a polite dialog.
His name was Arthur Davidof, Chairman and CEO of Davidof Investments and a personal friend of Ed Lambert. Davidof was one of the leading investment banking firms in the country specializing, amongst others, in high tech investments both in the civilian and defense industries. His father, Jacob Davidof, now retired and living in Vermont, made his fortune backing start up personal computer manufacturers in the early seventies. His son, Arthur, had continued in his path, expanding the firm's expertise to computer software and related products. It was a privately held firm, the family retaining sole ownership, and their personal assets were estimated to be worth three billion dollars.
The two had been classmates at Wharton and had kept up with one another through the years. Both owned successful businesses on Wall Street, both owned apartments on the Upper West Side, and both were active in financial circles and community functions in and around the Big Apple.
They did not wish to be noticed at this particular meeting which was the reason they chose to meet on a jetliner cruising at thirty-five-thousand feet.
Lambert outlined the Karen Glass account, providing only what he thought Davidof should know, leaving other pertinent data out. Davidof, who was on his way back from vacation in the Fiji Islands, had known George Eckert quite well and was quite distraught by the affair.
"Bottom line, Arti," Lambert said, addressing his friend by his nickname at their alma mater, "I want to complete the job. I warned George thinking we ought to get the Feds involved but now I'm convinced otherwise. We'll never get to the girl if the press gets wind of this and the Feds are a sure bet to a leak.”
Davidof nodded in agreement and popped the question. "How do I fit in, Eddy?"
Despite their friendship Lambert knew Arthur Davidof would not commit his resources to anything that did not make business sense and would not satisfy him personally. To convince him, Lambert knew he had to offer something that would not only sound lucrative but would also compensate him for the huge risk involved.
"I need someone to invest in the Matlock project," Lambert said. "I want someone to put in an order for those missiles.”
Davidof displayed a cunning smile.
"You don't mean…?"
"No," Lambert interrupted him, anticipating the question, "it's got to be a foreigner; European preferably; someone who comes in from the cold and cannot be linked to any of us.”