Disappearance (21 page)

"Cold feet?"
Eitan asked, seeing his sulky expression.

"Yeah…" Mikki answered sincerely.

"We can't quit now Mikki.   Not with this breakthrough," Nadav said.

"Why the hell not?"
Mikki shot at him, surprising them all.

"Because when I take on an assignment I generally like to see it through and I certainly don't intend to quit when we are finally making some progress," Nadav answered emphatically.

"Don't be so mission-oriented Nadav," Mikki dismissed him. "This isn’t one you need to promptly submit a report about. There's just more grief at the end of this one.  Besides, do you honestly believe he can keep her stashed away for so long without the family knowing?"

"And what if the family does know?"

"Then there's obviously no reason to look for her.  She may not even be a prisoner anymore.  For all we know she may be leading a happy, comfortable life, and have forgotten all about us.”

"What's gotten into you Mikki?" Nadav exclaimed. "Have you forgotten that we're all in this to try and find your girl? Don't you want to know what happened?  Have you given up on the chance you'll love her again and she you, and if nothing else, wouldn't you just want to see her, talk to her, and find out the truth?"  He looked around the room.

Sarah and Eitan were intently watching Mikki who seemed to be fighting to control his emotions.

"What's scaring you, Mikki?" Sarah asked softly.

"Everything," he answered, lips quivering. "Her dad, her mom, her sister, her condition when we find her... if we find her…"

His voice trailed off and he glanced sideways, fighting his tears.

PART THREE

THE HUNT

CHAPTER 21

Paul Glass sat
like  an  overbearing  tyrant  on  an  imposing leather swivel chair at the crest of a long oak conference table that nearly filled the entire room.  He had just completed reviewing a brief that did not unearth anything he was not already aware of since he knew the project to its tiniest detail.  His Nd:YAG, diode pumped laser had achieved an output of 120 milli-joules, three times that of any available laser, and he would prove it to the partners, next week at the test range.

The briefing's only purpose was to once again make sure his subordinates understood the magnitude of the trial's success or failure in terms of the company's future.  Glass did not mince words when he felt there were loose ends.

The conference room at his back was completely dark as the briefers were allowed to step from beyond the shadows, one at a time, to present a short synopsis of progress.

Robert Chang, his diode expert, was fussing with his transparencies, trying to correctly position them on the Over Head Projector so they would be projected right side up on the screen.

"… And so," he raised a frightened glance at his boss when he was done  fussing and  pointed at  the  screen with a  silver lecture stick, "the achievable excitation power out of these Gallium Arsenide diode arrays   should be sufficient in achieving our desired output energy.”

"Should or will?"  Glass thundered at the frightened employee. "There's no room for speculation here Mr. Chang.  It either achieves it or it fucks up the project!"

"The lab tests show sufficient power Mr. Glass, sir, but the loss of energy at the optical path of the full system may prove otherwise.  It's hard to predict before our laser has been fully integrated in their system.”

Glass knew his expert was right but was too anxious to leave matters to chance.  If next week's tests were to fail, there would be hell to pay.  The partners were threatening all kinds of retribution.

He had to deliver.

Glass pressed a switch on a control panel attached to his chair and the room was flooded with bright neon lights.

"I don't have to tell you, ladies and gentlemen, how crucial next week's tests are," he boomed with scornful venom, instructing them to devote all of next week to making sure the trial was a success. "If we fail, you can all whip out your fancy resumés and begin looking for work.”

Life at PhotonTek had become an unending fight for survival since
its  near  collapse  following  the  1982  Florida  verdict.  Many had left.  The ones who remained did so out of necessity rather than  devotion  to  the  company.  The  condemning manner  in  which  he  now addressed  them  had  become  quite routine.  Practically every test in the preceding four years was classified crucial and  was  approached  in  a similar fashion. What had once been the pride of the industry, the clever transformation of high technology into smart business, had transpired into a gun for hire, losing direction to corporate pressures. Long term research and development efforts were tightly scrutinized, budget deviations were dealt with harshly, and penalties and sanctions dictated employee behavior.  The union was dismantled and each worked via confidential personal contracts.

To survive, Glass had agreed to place the company's future at the mercy of one of the most ruthless and reckless investment firms nesting on Wall Street.  He was not blind to the abrupt change of atmosphere in the organization but felt it was negligible compared with the sacrifices he had had to make.

"If any of you have any sense left, you'd better make sure your teams are fully prepared for next week.  The meeting is over!"  He dismissed them and whipped around in his chair turning his back to them.

When the last of the executives had silently closed the conference room door, Glass turned his swivel chair once again.  He gazed at the framed pictures spread around the room, collecting dust, hanging over the wood patterned wallpaper, noticing PhotonTek's old and colorful ads displaying some of the company's breakthrough products along with several framed excellence awards.  There were no windows in the room, only air shafts running five floors up to the
roof.   Ever since the launching of the Portable Anti Air Missile, or PAAM project, he had moved his office and conference room to the basement for security reasons and for wanting to keep a watchful eye on the development efforts and production line.

He left nothing to chance. He could not afford to. If PAAM failed, so would his company.  To achieve this goal, he had all but neglected most of his other products.  Once proven, it would be fitted on every Portable Anti-Aircraft Missile currently under development by the Matlock Corporation. No telling how many units
were needed but he knew it meant stupendous earnings to PhotonTek who would cease to control the worldwide portable laser kit market.

He got up off his chair and slipped through a side door to his office, walked around the large oak office desk and stiffly lowered himself down on his leather chair.  A picture of his wife, smiling and considerably younger, stared at him from within a heap of memos, briefs, reports, faxes, floppy discs, letters, phone messages, and plain old scrap paper.

There were no pictures of his daughters.   He couldn't bear to look either one in the eye.

-------

Lisa felt her body being squeezed from all sides as the elevator barely shut its doors behind anxious executives. The irritating stop and go ride made her feel a little woozy as she stepped out on the forty-first floor.  In front of her, subscribed in gold lettering on fancy glass doors, was “Eckert, Lambert & Associates Inc”, a prominent market research firm that occupied the entire floor.

She straightened her outfit and walked briskly through the lavishly decorated lobby, sulking in its rich carpeting, waving a friendly hello
to  the  receptionist.  Muted phone murmurs came from everywhere as she traversed through rows of cubicles, reaching her own in front of a large glass window overlooking New York's imposing metropolis.

She threw her purse on the floor, placed her briefcase on her desk and quickly sat down, taking off her Reeboks and fitting into appropriate high heels. She released the two combination locks and opened the briefcase with a metallic bang.  Taking out a neatly typed report, she closely examined it for a few minutes, and then leaned back in her chair enjoying her handiwork.

It was due on Eckert's desk first thing that morning.  She had worked on nothing else for the last two months.  Eckert, Chairman of the Board and her inspiration, had personally requested her involvement and she was especially proud of that fact.

He had hired her sixteen months prior, fresh out of business school, to his Venture Capital department.  She had completed her MBA with honors and left for New York the morning following her graduation ceremonies, hangover still very much present.

She had not been back home since.

Her main occupation was performing new product market surveys, assessing the potential and risk of start-up companies, trying to persuade investors to pump money into their inventions.

It was the perfect choice and she found it fascinating, quickly gaining a name for herself, making several shrewd and brave recommendations to the firm's affluent clients.  Eckert quickly noticed her talents and took her under his wing, carefully guiding her progress in his company.

It was an accepted rule of thumb at the firm that rookies were initiated by senior members their first year and were let loose after having assisted in a few projects.  The more talented newcomers were approved after ten months. Lisa was granted independence after six months.  Eckert followed her progress from above and insisted on setting her loose much sooner than was accepted.   No one objected.   Not even Chief Executive Officer, Ed Lambert, who made a point of opposing his partner and close friend of some thirty years on almost every issue.

Market research was not an exact science, she recalled Eckert lecturing her.  There was always room for debate.  Someone's analysis of an opportunity could be another's assessment of great risk.   Eckert was the optimist; Lambert the pessimist. They generally saw the two opposite ends of a predicament, but their differences were also key to their success as they each compensated for each other's weaknesses.  The proof was in the outcome of having built one of the most successful and respected research firms on Wall Street.

Neither had any financial resources or family money when they started out.
  Eckert came from a middle class suburb of Chicago where his parents saved their last penny to get him through the city's prestigious university.  Lambert came from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, where his family owned a couple of 'break-even' hardware stores and he had to work his way through the Wharton School of Business.  Legend had it that the two had met at La Guardia airport when they had first arrived in New York and due to  shortage of money had shared a cab into the city and had not been separated since.

They were also great educators and Lisa felt grateful to be their disciple.  Especially Eckert; after performing a few rather simple tasks on her own, he set her on a case that was of great importance
to the firm both financially and reputation wise.

It was the report she was proudly inspecting when the phone buzzed and she was asked to report to his office.

She walked past the maze of busy cubicles and across the lobby once again, stopping for brief chats with some of her affiliates, reaching the senior partner's sector at the established time.

The subtly lit hallway encompassed a row of offices, names etched in gold-on-silver metal plates on their doors. There was a majestic silence to the place.  Lisa walked by, daydreaming of one day residing in one.

Eckert's office was on the right, facing Lambert's at the far end of the luxurious hallway, in front of the conference hall entrance. Suzy Chambers, Eckert's plump secretary, greeted her cheerfully.  She was an extension of her boss, animated and encouraging.  Being inherently good natured, she ran the entire office with great patience and wit.

"Have a seat Lisa," she
said, handling several phone calls simultaneously, "he'll be with you in a moment." 

She pointed to the guest corner by the Chairman's door, which took only a small portion of the spacious office.

Lisa sat on the comfortable antique sofa and watched Ms. Chambers, as Eckert liked addressing her, run the intense office activities. Two assistants sat with their backs to the entrance, punching away on word processors, typing countless correspondences.  Eckert was a hands-on person who insisted on performing regular research duties along with his heavy corporate responsibilities. A third assistant sat over a compact switchboard handling calls.  Suzy herself masterfully screened the Chairman's phone calls.   Every now and then, Eckert's voice would sound over the intercom, and Suzy would rush into his office.  Lisa admired the graceful manner in which she carried out her complex duties.

"Ms. Chambers, send in Ms. Glass please," she heard his voice booming over the intercom.  Suzy smiled at her, aware that there was no need to relay the message.  Lisa straightened up, holding the report in both hands, she smugly walked in.

CHAPTER 22

Lisa was back at her desk after an hour that had seemed an eternity.  She feverishly turned on her computer searching for the report files.  The meeting did not turn out as she hoped it would.  Eckert was not as  forgiving  this  time.   He had pounded her with unexpected questions and sent her back for revisions.  It was her lack of technical background that made her so blatantly miss the essence of the technology's limitations.  It seemed so obvious after his explanations that she cursed herself for being so nonchalant in understanding the telecommunication environment, where the growth potential of digital technology and available frequency bandwidth was limited by the relay stations' ability to handle the load.   She had come over so enthusiastic about the technology's prospects, that she had totally overlooked its most threatening flaws.

Her phone rang and she absent-mindedly drew the receiver from its cradle and placed it on her shoulder.

"Lisa Glass…" she said, frantically searching the directories for the report's main file.

"Hi Lisa…" she heard a muffled, yet not a totally unfamiliar voice, addressing her through a clatter of background noises.

"Speak up, I can't hear you," she said, still involved with locating the report.

"Lisa, it's me, Mikki.”

"Mikki?" she repeated then her stare shifted instantly to a picture of her sister positioned next to the computer screen on her desk.

"Mikki Dotan," the voice persisted.

"Oh…" she let out a surprised gasp, shifting her attention from the computer to the phone.  "Mikki, Mikki from Israel?"

"Yes, Lisa, Mikki from the kibbutz.
I'm in New York."

"Where?" she asked, having trouble focusing her thoughts.

"Kennedy Airport; I just arrived.”

There was a long pause.  She could hear the congested terminal in the background.

"I came to see you.”

Karen's eyes stared at her from the photo.

"Is it about Karen?"  she asked, noticing she was holding her breath.

"Yes. I've got some news. We need to talk.”

"What news?" she blurted out, feeling her body tense up. "Not over the phone. We have to meet!"

"What terminal are you in?" 
she asked, feeling weak.

"TWA.”

"There's a Carey bus that stops right in front of your terminal. Take it to Grand Central station. I'll meet you there.”

"OK, Lisa.  See you there," she heard him say then the phone clicked off.

She sat for a long moment staring at the photo of her sister, her research problems completely forgotten.   No one at the office knew the dreadful story behind the innocent photo so proudly displayed on her desk.  When asked, she would give an ambiguous answer, afraid to open her personal nightmare for debate.

Someone was talking to her.  She looked up as if snapping out of a bad dream. It was Chester Caldwell; A junior associate.

"You OK, Lisa?" he inquired, a concerned look on his face.

"Oh...I...I'm fine, thanks," she stuttered, reaching for her purse and rushing to leave.

"I just need to borrow your…"

"Not now Chester," she said abruptly, "I'm late for a meeting. I'll see you when I get back.”

She  brushed  past  him,  leaving  him  glued  to  the  floor, practically running to the ladies room, taking out her makeup in stride.  As she pounced in front of the large mirror, it occurred to her why Chester had asked the question.

Her face was remarkably pale.

With quivering hands she quickly applied some powder and blush, added some bright red lipstick, and frantically rushed out the door, oblivious to inquiring stares.  She felt a panic begin to build up as she waited impatiently for the elevators. She  wondered  how  Mikki  had  located  her  but  instantly recalled that she had left her work number with his parents soon after she had settled in New York, just in case.

She berated herself for not insisting on hearing the nature of the news.  A myriad of fantasies flashed through her mind, painfully shifting between hopefulness and gloom. Why would he take the trouble to come such a way if the news were bad?
she thought.  He could have just as well called.  On the other hand, why didn't he simply say that she had been found?

At first,
after  ten  agonizing  weeks  in  Israel,  suspended between hope and despair, she could not comprehend that such a fate could actually strike her family. Terrorist kidnapping dramas in faraway countries were things she had read about or watched unfold on the TV.   It was not something that happened to people she knew. But the stark reality slowly began to sink in as the days passed and Karen did not show up. When they had decided to leave Israel, Lisa realized for the first time, that she may never see her sister again.  If only they had learned her fate, even if that meant learning that she was no longer alive, it would have made things a little more tolerable.

A sudden emotional heave brought tears to her eyes as she realized that until this moment she was certain that she was the only person on earth that still cared for her sister.

It was her mother's condition that had forced Lisa to confront the dismal reality, snapping her out of her own surrender. Her father had retreated back to work as if oblivious to the grim situation and her mother was fading fast.  She had lost all appetite and had confined herself to her bed for most of the day, unwilling to cope.  Lisa had realized that unless she took action, she might end up losing her mother as well.  So she took it upon herself to nurse her mother back to a reasonable state.

To alleviate some of the pain and guilt she felt not searching for her sister, even though she had lost all hope, she kept in close contact with the State Department investigators and on occasion she would talk to Mikki or the intelligence people in Israel.

After four months of agonizing desperation, being trapped within the confines of a crippled family, she began to feel a strong urge to break out of the vicious circle and find an outlet for herself.  She decided to enroll for the spring semester in Pepperdine, having missed the entire winter session.  Two months later, with her mother coping just a fraction better, she began taking classes for her Master’s in Business Administration.

Could she be alive? 
she thought excitedly, finding herself running down the building's wide steps, flipping on her sunglasses to shield her eyes from the blinding autumn sun, hurrying down John Street among the immense downtown glass and concrete canyons to the Fulton Street subway station.

Twenty minutes later, she hopped off the express 4 train at 42nd Street, Grand Central station, and ran up the escalators, skipping two steps at a time, exiting the immense structure at its southern exit.   She crossed 42nd street underneath the elevated Park Avenue ramp and stood underneath, across from the Satellite Air Line terminal
disembarking platform.

As she waited she mused at the great contradiction of big city life. Always the distinctive rotting stench that consistently loomed in damp enclosures such as the underground stations, the filth and neglect at street corners – these were overwhelming and in
stark  contrast  to  some  of  the  most  magnificent  and advanced architectural masterpieces of modern times. Glistening skyscrapers, amidst graffiti and unattended garbage piles, the homeless sprawled around glittering stores and opulent building entrances.

She had been slow in adjusting from the California suburban life but New York never ceased to amaze her and she was slowly becoming emotionally attached to the colossal metropolis.

The big red, white, and blue Carey bus stopped in front of its assigned post among the endless row of yellow cabs that were maneuvering in and out of position.   She heard the familiar sound of released air as the doors opened and the driver, leaving the engine running, jumped out to open the cargo doors and hand out luggage.

Her  heart  was  pounding  and  a  lump  was  forming  in  her throat; Mikki emerged from within the bus.  She recognized him instantly, immediately noticing a remarkable transformation.  He was no longer the eighteen-year-old boy. His once lean figure was now a sturdy adult frame.  The curly brown hair remained but was cut much shorter and his strikingly handsome face radiated an aura of quite self-assurance. He patiently waited to be handed his belongings and then swung his duffle bag over his broad shoulder and gazed around.

Lisa took a deep breath and moved toward the street crossing. As the traffic stopped she hesitantly moved across the street with the wave of pedestrians.  Mikki met her on the other side.

They looked at each other for an instant then grasped one another in a passionate hug. She held on to him, feeling his tense muscular frame effortlessly supporting her weight.  It reminded her of their first encounter when she had embraced him before leaving in front of an astonished crowd that had included her parents at the kibbutz guest house.

She gently disengaged herself from his embrace, took him by the hand and led him eastward on 42nd weaving their way through hoards of oncoming pedestrians. The chilling autumn breeze penetrated their clothes, freezing their exposed faces, making their eyes water.  They reached Lexington and turned north. It was eleven in the morning, early enough to find a decent coffee shop with no lines and with room to sit.

On the corner of 48th Street they finally entered a cozy cafe filled
with rousing scents of fresh home-cooking and coffee aroma.  They ordered at the semi-circular deli counter: Swiss cheese sandwiches with coleslaw, a chocolate croissant for each, and two cups of fresh coffee which came in firm paper cups with folding paper handles.

They sat themselves at the back of the cafe beneath a web of fern limbs spiraling on wire fixtures to the ceiling.  Amongst antique Brooklyn Dodgers baseball photos and memorabilia they attentively faced one another across a small table.

The words came out sluggish and small talk felt out of place. Lisa could not contain her eagerness.

"I think Karen is alive," Mikki finally said.

She held her breath, feeling her temples pulsating with excitement and fear.

"A photograph of her and her kidnappers was found in Southern Lebanon about three months ago by an IDF reconnaissance unit..."  He continued leading her through the complex evolution of remarkable events that were to corroborate his opening statement, stopping short of revealing the primary reason why her sister was presumed to be alive.

Mikki had been racking his brain trying to think of an ingenious way to ease into the matter or avoid it altogether, but there was no sidestepping the suspicion of her father's involvement.

She had to be told.

And Mikki was the one who had to break the harrowing news.

-------

Chester Caldwell paced impatiently in the congested vicinity of the Bugsy Natural Food Deli across from the Lexington Avenue Dodgers American  Bistro,  where  he  could  barely make out the two figures sitting at one of the back tables.

They had approached him two months after she joined the firm. He had been with Eckert, Lambert & Associates for over a year and had been the one assigned to show her the ropes. She had assisted him on a few minor research assignments, proving to be quite competent.  He had been quite proud of his capable assistant, attributing part of her success in the company to his skillful guidance.

He had also fallen in love with her and his desire for her grew the more time he spent with her.

They had offered to pay him a thousand dollars every month just to eavesdrop on her calls, rummage through her desk once in a while, and report of any non-work related meetings or out of the ordinary personal encounters.

Chester had bargained and doubled the amount.

A  man  with  a  long  black  raincoat,  collar  raised  and  face partially hidden, had met him in Washington Square one dark June night, giving him instructions and six months’ advance payment.  Since then, Chester had deliberately moved to a cubicle adjacent to Lisa's.   He eavesdropped and recorded anything he heard, saw, or found.   Once a month he would meet the man in the same spot, receive a payment and report his findings.

They had told him she was one of two daughters of an overprotective, very wealthy father, who was back on the west coast and wanted to make sure his daughter was leading a prudent life. Chester was no fool; he had his doubts.  He also did some checking but the arrangement was clean and convenient.  He could certainly make use of some extra, tax free cash, and above all, it gave him full justification to keep his passion within his sights.

So far, in the fourteen months he had been stalking her, he could find nothing extraordinary to report.  She led a rather timid life, rarely socializing, putting most of her efforts into her work. On one occasion after work, she had met a few office employees at a surprise birthday party thrown for Chairman Eckert. Chester was not invited.

On weekends, though he was not expected to watch her, he sometimes followed her on a morning jog along the East River that ended at a small cafe overlooking the 59th Street Bridge and Roosevelt Island.  There, she would sit alone for a long while, sipping hot chocolate and carefully surveying
The Times
. After two hours or so, she would leave, taking the same route back to her apartment.