Disappearance (19 page)

She put her hand on his. "We're in this together," she pointed out, "and Yossi Gadot is one guy we can trust.”

He was still silent, looking intently at her.

On their way out of the cafeteria, as the humid, smog-filled air caught their breath, Nadav spoke, somewhat cautiously. "I've got to get back to the base.  Do you need me to check on anything?"

"Call me later and I'll let you know if they've called.  I may have some news then.”

"I apologize for my outburst," he said.

She stopped and faced him amidst a rush of pedestrian traffic. "I suppose I'd have reacted in the same manner," she acknowledged, grinning acquiescently.  "We're all stressed right now, but we seem to be on the right track.”

He looked hesitant again.  For a second she thought he meant to embrace her, but instead, he performed a clumsy about face and began marching away.  "Wait, I almost forgot," she called after him making him stop.  He turned and waited for her to approach.

When she reached him she spoke softly into his ear.  "Gadot confirmed the Volvo belonged to an ex-Mossad agent.”

A devious smile formed on his lips, replacing the hurt expression. "Did he mention a name?" he asked.

"Dan Hasson," she said proudly.

Nadav lifted a
clenched  fist  in  a  triumphant  gesture  and walked away, much lighter on his feet.

-------

They thought they had spotted the German on day three of their stay.  Mikki was out exploring, cruising historic sites and crowded malls on an old bicycle rented for twenty krone from Cykelcenter at the central railway station. He rode about the enticing city, touring Tivoli Gardens, climbing Town Hall's bell tower overlooking Radhuspladsen Square and sunbathing with the lunch crowds in front of the Vor Fruekirke Cathedral. He circled Christiansborg Castle twice and roamed aimlessly, stimulated by the vibrating city.

Music stores, book stores, jewelry shops, high tech arcades, flashing movie theaters, pubs and mouthwatering food outlets, were
all pulsating with human activity.  He found himself a little envious of the tall, proud Danes, who seemed to enjoy the most out of their glorious city that even managed to make him forget his own reasons for being there.

Standing amidst the commotion-filled Stroget Mall absorbing the festive atmosphere, he suddenly realized he had left Eitan for more than half a day.  Hopping on his bicycle, he quickly found his bearing, and sped away.

Eitan stopped him before he could reach their post.   He appeared out  of  nowhere,  a  block  from  the  coffee  shop, pulling Mikki into a small alcove.

"We may have our man," he blurted excitedly.

"Where?" Mikki asked, out of breath from the ride.

"A tall, skinny, blond fellow, with a mustache, wearing an expensive suit walked in there about an hour ago.”

"Go on," Mikki said.

"That's all," Eitan shrugged.

"Why do  you suppose  it's him?"  Mikki asked, somewhat irritated at the shallow presentation of the findings.

Eitan grinned. "He seemed to fit the bill. His looks, his behavior, being more leery than average. Looking around, practically sneaking into the doorway.  Besides, the only other person to enter the place was a fat lady with a heavy load of groceries, and they certainly don't seem the pair.”

"Was he carrying anything?"

"Yeah, a black briefcase.”

"No sign of his woman or baby?"

"None whatsoever.”

Mikki swore.  "It's too damn risky.  What if Mustafa misled us?"

"It's possible," Eitan muttered, "but we should've considered that before coming over here.”

-------

It
was  past  midnight  when  the  tall,  blonde,  skinny  man discreetly peeked in both directions, before hurrying out the glass door of Seventy- nine Studiestraede, mingling with the dwindling pedestrian traffic.  He made an abrupt turn at the first alley and swiftly moved among the  narrow,  dimly lit streets of Fiolstraede promenade in the old Latin section of town.

As he crossed Norreport Station, turning north on Vendersgade, he was forcefully run into and thrown to the ground by a biker who rode in from Norrevoldgade street.

"Greetings from Raul," the biker hissed, standing over the astonished German who blinked only for a second before throwing a knee to the biker's groin area.  The biker cringed and fell to the side.  The German sprang to his feet and sprinted away, seeking the solace of a darkened alley.   His heavy breathing and hurried steps echoed across the deserted brick-face facade before he was abruptly hit again, square in the face with something solid, lost his footing and fell flat on his back. A heavy knee was pressed to his chest and a gun was pointed threateningly to his forehead.

"Kollsmeyer," Eitan hissed.

Blood trickled down from the German's nose as he blinked several times trying to gather his bearings after the menacing blow.

Mikki appeared on his bike.

"How'd you know he'd end up here?" he asked in Hebrew.

"Lucky guess," Eitan said, not taking his eyes off his prisoner.  "You OK?"

"Yeah, he just missed my sensitive parts.”

The street remained deserted.  Mikki ordered the man up and gestured for him to follow.   Eitan took a step back, threateningly pointing the gun at the man.   The German staggered to his feet and followed Mikki who slowly rode the bike a few feet ahead.  Eitan stuck the gun in his belt, hiding it with his shirt, and followed close behind.  They walked across Norrevoldgade to Orsteds Park.   Traffic was light and most restaurants and shops were shut down for the night. Partygoers wearily returned to their homes and police patrols were yet to be seen.

The curious party of three managed to reach the confines of the murky park unnoticed.  The park was predominately dark with the sparse illumination along its walkways sending long shadows across the grassy surroundings.  They reached the embankment of Orsted's elliptical lake and walked around its perimeter, the city lights reflecting across the darkened waters crackling against its banks.

They finally spotted a wooden bench hidden amongst thick bushes and overshadowing trees and used it as the interrogation site.

"I believe you owe our friends some money," Mikki began, seated across from the German at the far end of the bench. Eitan remained standing a few feet away, closely eyeing the foe, hand holding on to the gun in his belt.

"What is this, an Israeli collection agency?" the German sneered easily detecting the accent.  His English was fluent with no trace of a German accent.

It did little to help confirm his identity.

"You'll want to politely thank God we found you, Kollsmeyer," Mikki said calmly.

"You talk as if I should be afraid of something," the German stated.

"You certainly should because Raul and his people have not given up on the money and it's your head they want with it. No one crosses Raul, Kollsmeyer, you know that.”

"Look friend, I don't know who you are or what you're after, but it certainly doesn't involve me.  If you don't immediately let me go, your country will have a first degree diplomatic scandal on its hands and  you guys will  be  thrown into  a Danish prison.”

He calmly reached inside his shirt pocket for a handkerchief to wipe his bleeding nose.  Eitan alertly drew his pistol and took aim with both hands.

"We can save your ass," Mikki persisted.

"I don't need protection from anybody," the German snapped and threw the bloody handkerchief into the bushes.

Mikki gestured to Eitan who moved closer, cocking the gun then reached  inside  his  pant  pocket  producing  a  packed syringe which he began to unwrap in front of Kollsmeyer's troubled stare.

"This'll make you talk," he murmured threateningly, expertly drawing some liquid from the hypodermic needle. The German moved uneasily on the bench.

"Raul is not alone," Mikki continued, preparing to inject the man.  "His clan will seek revenge.  It's their way and they're not far behind.  We're your only hope.”

"What'd you have in mind?" 
the German suddenly seemed more cooperative, looking fearfully at the syringe.

"Answer a few simple questions and we'll get them off your back.”

"How?"

"Very simple.
We'll tell them you're dead; that we killed you."

"Since when does the PLO consult the Mossad?"

Mikki and Eitan exchanged glances.  They never said Raul was PLO! They had indeed found their man.

"You'll need to trust us on this," Mikki said.

"I trust no one!" Kollsmeyer protested, the German accent suddenly evident.

"In this business you pay your dues, Kollsmeyer.  If you had any sense, you would have paid on time, or at least made sure you represented the right people.”

"Don't lecture me, I've had bigger fish than you for breakfast," the German muttered, glancing nervously at the syringe.

"It's your choice," Mikki said without losing his cool, "talk to us or take your chances with Raul's clan.”

The lanky German suddenly leaped for the bushes.  Eitan proved ready, leaping after him at almost the same instant. He latched onto his back clutching his neck, whacking the back of his head with the gun.   The German fell to the ground before ever reaching the bushes with Eitan clamped on top retaining a headlock. Mikki sprang from the bench, landing on top of the heap, aiding his partner in subduing the German who was still jerking under their weight. It was another minute before movement was seized.  Their subject lay still on the ground.

They stood up over him
,  watching carefully as he wearily raised himself to a sitting position, then grabbed him by his armpits  and  threw  him  back on the bench.  Kollsmeyer flopped, noticeably spent.  He sat back, shielding himself with his hands anticipating additional blows, but none came. Eitan remained standing a few feet away aiming his gun while Mikki returned to the bench and resumed fiddling with the syringe.

There was a long pause before Mikki proceeded.

"Where is Karen Glass?" he asked quietly, trying to control his eagerness.

"Is that what you're after?"  
the German sounded somewhat relieved.

"Yeah," Mikki concurred.

"I don't have a clue," the German heckled.

"Where did they take her after Beirut?" Mikki insisted.

"They flew her to Mexico on a cargo plane.”

"Then where?"

"The plan was to smuggle her into the States.”

Mikki eyed Eitan who looked as astounded as himself. "Did the plan succeed?"

"I wasn't privy to it, but I assume it did."

"You assume because you got your money?"

"Let's just say I get paid for success not failure.”

"So Karen's kidnapping was a success," Mikki stated sounding somewhat emotional.

The German did not respond.

"Is she alive?" Mikki ventured, bracing himself for the final confirmation of her fate.

"Most likely," the German said, startling them both.

"You seem damn certain," Mikki said in disbelief.

"Unless something went awfully wrong, it would be safe to say she is alive and well, somewhere in the US," Kollsmeyer stated tauntingly.

"Who paid you?" Mikki asked, suspicious once again.

The German did not respond.

"Who ordered the kidnapping?" No response.

"Who put out the contract?" Silence.

"Why was she kidnapped?"

Mikki was up on his feet, hovering over the German, the syringe clenched in his fist, ready to spear the man.

"Talk you bastard!"

The German was looking to dissolve into the bench.

"If I tell you who initiated the contract will you let me go?"

"Only if I like what I hear.”

"You may not like it, but it's the truth.”

"Go on then," Mikki hastened.

"I can't say for sure who hired my services but I did speak to the main conspirer on the phone, the night before the operation," the German began, cowering away from the threatening syringe.   "I would normally get my instructions through a third party but the man had insisted on calling me direct to give me final instructions and set the plan in motion.”

Mikki and Eitan stood frozen.   The German went on.

"The man's accent was undoubtedly American," Kollsmeyer said, pausing again, studying their tense faces.  "It was obvious from his instructions he wanted to make absolutely certain the girl was not to be harmed.”

Mikki considered the revelation. "So he may have been an American who wanted to make sure the girl wasn't hurt.  That doesn't say shit!" he exclaimed impatiently.

"The American was unusually concerned with the girl's safety," Kollsmeyer professed, "and he was the only one who knew to tell me exactly when and where she and her boyfriend were headed.”

Mikki withdrew from his threatening pose and sat back on the bench allowing Kollsmeyer some room to breathe.  He felt a rush of anxiety shoot through his midsection, rattling his thoughts as the painful memory of the disastrous day became real once again.  He looked in  astonishment  at  the person who was partially responsible for ruining his life.