Disappearance (48 page)

"I'll have to check into this," Matlock said.

"Fair enough; I'll expect an answer in a week," Vitcon said.

As if on cue, the three executives rose from their seats and approached the door.

"This better be legit, Mr. Vitcon," Matlock said as the two men stood facing each other at the reception area.

"You'll be thanking me one of these days Mr. Matlock.  Good day to you all.”

Leaving the Matlock chief and his crew baffled, Vitcon turned
and strode out the door.

-------

The entrapment was camouflaged amongst the New York mayhem. Two unmarked police cars were at each end of the block, agents pretending to be doing something useful.  Marla Wilkins, a radio hidden in her purse with the tiny mouthpiece exposed at the seam, stood with Lisa at a corner deli overlooking the hotel.  There was a side access which could also be observed from where they stood, but they were counting on Kumar coming out the main entrance.  Lisa, the only person on the team to have ever seen the man, had arrived from Los Angeles at six that morning and was rushed to Federal Plaza for briefings and preparations.

The plan was simple.  Wait for him to come out, then grab him whichever way he turns.  Lisa was quite confident she could identify him. Glass had given them his whereabouts.

They did not have to wait long.

Lisa recognized him instantly as he came out of the rotating glass doors and stood looking undecided amidst a current of pedestrians rushing past him both ways.  Wrapped in a long overcoat, collar raised to shield him from the biting evening wind; he looked this way and that before finally moving in the downtown direction.

Marla spoke quickly into her miniature microphone and Lisa watched as the team sprang into action.  Everything shifted to fast forward.  The agent in the lobby appeared, joining the one stationed at the entrance and the two followed the unsuspecting subject toward the waiting car where one of  two agents had left the back door open and was fumbling with the car's trunk.  The second unmarked car had turned the corner and was inching down the avenue, playing backup. The human net was quickly tightening.

A few steps from the corner, Kumar was abruptly met by the agent who had just slammed his car's trunk shut and now stood in his way gesturing toward the open door.

Surprised, he tried to sidestep the man but the agent persisted, blocking the attempted aversion with his body, still gesturing in the direction of the open car door.  A quick about-face saw Kumar staring at two more agents leaving him no real choice but to scramble into the car with two of the agents, one at his back, the other rushing to the opposite door.

Roaring to life, the car screeched away, thrusting from the curb, doors barely shut.  It traversed the avenue startling the traffic to a halt and disappeared into the street across, backup car in pursuit.

Marla, glued to her earpiece, breathed a sigh of relief.

"Let's go!" she said to Lisa, rushing out of the deli to her waiting
car.

-------

The encounter took place in a dungeon, twelve blocks away, two floors down, the basement of a New York City police precinct.  The site was an obscure, windowless room equipped with a table, some chairs, a loosely hung bare light bulb and a one-way looking glass for onlookers.

Marla Wilkins and Yossi Gadot sat poker faced as Kumar was brought into the room.   Sarah stood with Lisa on the other side of the looking glass intently watching the proceedings. Their first meeting was a sentimental one.   While Lisa had been busy rounding up the subject, Sarah had linked up with Yossi as he arrived in New York, spending the entire day updating one another and hashing out the details of their plan.

Sarah recognized Lisa's uncanny resemblance to her sister. She introduced herself and the two hugged each other warmly, Lisa becoming visibly moved and they agreed to meet privately later.

Kumar did not seem particularly intimidated as he nonchalantly took a seat across from Marla and Yossi.  But in the ensuing silence, as the participants assessed one another, he began to exhibit signs of nervousness, shifting uncomfortably in his seat and wiping a sweaty brow now and again.

Marla spoke first.

"Has anybody read you your rights?" she asked coolly.

"Not a soul," Kumar replied.

"Good.  That won't be necessary since no charges will be filed against you at this time.”

"That won't hold in court," Kumar challenged.

"There won't be any need to go to court if you…"

"There will if I decide to press charges," he sneered, interrupting her.

"Press what charges?"

"Charges against you for violating my rights, false arrest, the works…"

"You're not under arrest Mr. Campour," Marla said keeping her cool.  "We're simply borrowing an hour of your time since we figured you won't cooperate if we were to ask you nicely.”

"The judge will certainly uphold that," Kumar mocked.

"This is how this is going to work," she continued, ignoring the remark.  "First, you listen to what we have to say.  I'm Agent Wilkins from the FBI and this is Agent Rosenberg from Israel.   To be totally honest, once you hear us out, we don't foresee you filing charges because you've created such a mess that now has you in a shit load of
trouble and this unofficial meeting is your one and only chance of saving your ass from spending the rest of your life in prison.  But, once we've said our piece, if you're still not convinced, you may do as you please.”

Kumar's eyes darted from Marla to Yossi, trying to appraise their sincerity and in so doing assess his own situation, but they remained poker faced and silent.  After a few tense moments he leaned back in his chair raising his hands in resignation.

"Just remember, Agent Wilkins, anything you say will be held against you in a court of law.”

"I'll keep that in mind Mr. Campour, now pay attention," she said leaning over, her shadow partially cast on him, suddenly all business, as if they were about to close a deal they had been negotiating.  "Bottom line, we want the girl.  Unconditionally freed and unharmed.  We know she's alive and we know where she being held.  Anything happens to her and it's off with your head.”

She paused, allowing him to digest this then resumed in her businesslike manner.  "We want the people responsible for the deaths of Mr. George Eckert and Mr. Carl Johnson.  They cannot walk.  We also want Langone and anybody involved in your crooked missile deal.  If you deliver, you and Karen's keeper, one ex-Mossad agent Dan Hasson, are off the hook. Agent Rosenberg is here to offer him immunity from prosecution in his own country.  Am I making myself clear?"

The atmosphere both inside the room and behind the looking glass turned dead still.  All eyes were focused on the elegantly dressed dark skinned man who everyone deemed capable of bringing the entire affair to a decisive conclusion with one nod of his head.  But it was not to be.  At least not right away.  His expression remained non-committal and calculating as he spoke.

"You forgot to include Jimmy Hoffa on your wish list, Agent Wilkins," he uttered, skillfully demeaning her opening maneuver, drawing chuckles from the gathered crowd of screened onlookers.

"That'll teach her," Lisa heard someone murmur in back, turning to see Marla's second-in-command, a balding, short, stocky detective, puffing on a thick cigar, whose only restraint from storming the house was Marla's direct threat to shoot him in the nuts if he went against her better judgment.

"What brings you to figure I am involved in all this?" Kumar queried.

"You're the hatchet man Kumar.  We know all about you and your people," Yossi Gadot, alias agent Rosenberg, spoke up for the first time.  "We know about the Matlock missile program.  We know
you kidnapped Karen Glass to get us off your back.  We've traced everyone's involvement including our man Dan Hasson/Arbel, and it all leads back to you.  You're the designated point man and you're the one who'll take the fall once the big boys realize they're in trouble.  Right now we're the only chance you got, so cut the charade and start talking sense before we change our minds and use you for bait.”

The cocky demeanor seemed a touch shaken.  The big dark eyes darting more confused and a little unnerved but, Kumar was not yet ready to fold.

"Your concern is much appreciated sir," he said turning to Yossi, "but I'm afraid you're talking to the wrong man.  I haven't the faintest of what you're on about.”

Gadot, tilting back in his chair, abruptly leveled to the floor and jumped up.  In one swift motion, he went to the door and peered out at the assembled crowd, motioning Lisa to come forth.

"You say nothing," he whispered in her ear then led her into the room.  Lisa gingerly obeyed; accepting his seat, as Yossi politely drew it for her and remained standing in back.

"Now Kumar, I know you've met Lisa.  We know that because she identified you for us.  You met in Los Angeles about a month ago when you were invited to dinner by her father at their house.  Now tell me I'm mistaken about this as well.”

"Quite true, we've certainly met," Kumar said, avoiding Lisa's gaze. "Her father and I have a business relationship.”

"I'm sure you have," Yossi said, "and I'm sure you're quite aware that PhotonTek Incorporated, her father's company, is a major subcontractor to Matlock in that illegal missile project Agent Wilkins was referring to."

"I'm aware he has dealings with Matlock.  As for what specific projects, I couldn't tell you.  They don't allow foreigners access to such information.”

"Not the way we heard it Mr. Campour," Yossi said eyeing Kumar carefully, "according to Glass, you do all the dirty work to secure this deal.”

The statement hung in the air a long moment.  Glass's change of allegiance was now out in the open and everyone anxiously watched for a reaction.  His expression changed rapidly from taut to menacing.

"Did he also tell you how he sold out his daughter," Kumar said, eyes darting from Yossi to Lisa, mouth contorted in a cruel half smile.

"You left him no choice, now did you, you bastard," Yossi said, clutching Lisa's shoulder, subduing her response.

"Oh, he certainly had a choice, the dumbass, but we had him figured right.”

"That's certainly changed now," Marla interjected.  "You apparently hadn't had him totally figured out.”

"I guess we never figured on this one squeezing his balls," Kumar muttered, gesturing toward Lisa.

"I guess you never did," Lisa said throwing him a hateful stare. Kumar chuckled and leaned back in his chair.  Then, he was suddenly up and standing.  Fists clenched, eyes flaring, he leapt toward Lisa ready to strike.

"You bitch!" he hissed, losing all decorum as he lashed out, clawing with his hands.

His assault was curtailed by Yossi who swiftly stepped in front of Lisa, deflecting the charge with a solid blow to the face, knocking Kumar to the ground.  Marla and the rest of the crew, piling in through the door, were on him in a matter of seconds.

Handcuffed, his nose bleeding, Kumar was seated back in his chair as everyone filed out, leaving him alone with the FBI agent and ex-Shabac agent to hash out the particulars.

CHAPTER 47

Wes Bradley had a reputation for bending under pressure, causing him to sometimes lose judicious control and grind out anyone who happened to be in his way, regardless of rank.

Langone had seen it on a few occasions when all seemed dark and hopeless, but never had he seen him this livid, storming his office, uninvited, shouting obscenities at the top of his lungs, banging his fist on the white mahogany desk to no end.

"We can probably both look for a job," he exclaimed, ramming his fist on the desk incessantly.  "I looked like a damn idiot in front of my boss, letting that Brit walk in and threaten us.  How could you let this happen?"

"Relax, Wes, he's got to be bluffing.”

"Bluffing? He isn't bluffing. Why would he be bluffing?"

"Bigger piece of the action, maybe?"

Bradley exhaled loudly.  "Now you listen to me, Edgar, and you listen good!  Nobody - and I mean nobody - walks into Matlock's office claiming something this big without proper clout.  This Vitcon guy meant business.  He wasn't bluffing nor was he trying to impress anyone.  He had his mind set and knew exactly what he was after.”

"Come on, Wes, we both had him checked and so did Stana. If there was any indication as to…"

"Screw that now!" Bradley exclaimed mercilessly.  "The threat is on the table and I'm expected to provide real answers, real quick. Now tell me what you plan to do about it.”

Langone sighed.  The threat was real.  He was certain of that, only he did not want to acknowledge it to Bradley, hoping to buy some more time to thwart the crisis.  As vulnerable a position as Matlock had been put in, they at least owned the technology and could still sell the product while he and his partners would lose everything.

Vitcon was trouble from the very beginning.  He and Stana had discussed the matter following their meeting in London, agreeing that the circumstances were too coincidental, but greed and mounting losses had obstructed reason, causing them to act against their better judgment in allowing Vitcon access to the project, a
condition he had stressed all along.

It made perfect sense at the time but they should have been alarmed when in addition, Vitcon requested a private meeting with Matlock.  The prospect had looked so promising that he, Langone, had actually wanted Vitcon in with Matlock to encourage the surprising investor, but hindsight proved him wrong and now he had to clean up the mess.

He needed to locate that damned Kumar.

"You need to give me a day," he finally said, pressing the intercom for his secretary.

"Find Kumar," he instructed, hearing her come on line.

"Sure Ed," she answered and clicked off.

Bradley, still red faced and annoyed sat back on the white leather couch grunting.  "You've got exactly one day, Edgar," he said, looking depleted, "Matlock cannot afford to lose this one. If you don't come through, we go elsewhere!"

"Now wait just one minute, Wes.  You can't make that decision alone.  We've matched every dollar you've invested and you're obligated to carry out these contracts.”

"Not if we encounter export restrictions which you were supposed to rescind.  Plus we own the rights! You are in no position to tell me how to recoup my investment and if your route fails, we go another route.”

Now it was Langone's turn to bang his fist on the desk and turn red with rage.  "Now you listen to me Bradley.  Nobody is calling off the deal on account of this Vitcon guy," he exclaimed, waving a finger at the stuffy executive.  "We've handled more serious hazards before and we'll handle this one as well.  You don't come storming in here every time something goes wrong and threaten me with tearing up contracts. We've got just as much invested in this as you have, and we don't plan to give it up just because you got a little embarrassed.”

"This isn't just another hazard you can fix with money Langone," Bradley said, looking slightly unnerved.  "Once those boys get a hold of you, that's it!  You can kiss your money goodbye and pray they don't throw you in jail.  Now, I'll go domestic if I have to but I can't sit here worrying about export regulations which you promised to fix.”

"Export regulations are not the problem, I assure you," Langone said in reconciliation, "we've had that taken care of long ago.  This - this noise that's got you all upset will go away if we don't panic.  If we let it get to us and cause us to go at each other's throats, then yes, we can kiss our money goodbye. But if we stick together we'll blow it
off, trust me, we've been through worse with this project.”

The two executives stared at one another, each holding his ground in rigid stalemate, avoiding a host of imminent undercurrents aiming to surface.

Bradley got up to leave.  Arranging his jacket and tie, he collected his overcoat from where he had irately pitched it, picked up his briefcase and stepped to the door.

"I'll be at the Marriot," he said half turning, his hand on the doorknob, coat slung over his arm.

"I'll find you, Wes.”

"You do that, Edgar, or we'll go another way," Bradley said grimly and with evident discomfort walked out the door.

-------

Russo had been following the boyfriend, making his way up the East Coast almost at leisure, on remote, weather beaten highways, stopping at odd times and in odd places for a gas refill, a latrine visit, an occasional bite to eat and a routine phone exchange.

By now he was extremely concerned with his team's effort. The sister had disappeared and there was a delay in releasing Lance and Sollet from the hospital.   Sollet had managed one call into the relay shortly after the accident but Maloney, who had reached Los Angeles the following morning, was still unable to get close to the injured duo who had since been put in isolation and all efforts to clarify the reason had been cordially but vaguely refused by the medical team.

Russo had been calling the relay at almost every stop hoping for fresh news from his disabled crew but no new word had come since Maloney's last scheduled communication and he was beginning to weigh his options.

Watching the boyfriend fueling his car at a Gulf station near Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, after a hair-raising ride on a slippery country road through fog, hail, and an occasional snow flurry, he wondered whether he should call for reinforcements and attend to releasing his men, or abandon the boyfriend, who seemed to be heading nowhere, and concentrate on finding the sister or maybe reassess their entire approach and start anew with the likes of a Chester Caldwell or someone with comparable traits.

Russo had always prided himself on being loyal to his subordinates. Getting them out of a jam was high on his list of priorities, but he tended to avoid asking for reinforcements, hesitant about exhibiting his weakness and knowing how thinly spread everyone was over numerous projects now in progress. Never, in the two years he had been in charge of the contract, had he exceeded the quota of men assigned to him and more often than not, he had been
the one sending people to reinforce others in need.

The more he thought about his alternatives, the more he realized he was stuck with chasing the boyfriend and counting on Maloney to come through for the others.  The sister had managed to shake them off
and  Russo, whose only function so far was to watch and report, knew he had to stick with what he had and look for guidance from the people who were paying the bills.

There was, of course, another option.  He could confront the subject, force him to talk. But for that he needed permission and the contact had been uncharacteristically absent.  Russo was not about to overstep his instructions and jeopardize a contract he and his superiors all considered good money.

The boyfriend had by now parked his car next to the small diner adjacent to the gas station and was scrambling inside amidst a downpour of rain.  Russo remained in his car long enough to guard against another evasion maneuver then, keeping the rental car in sight, he drove by the diner to the far side of the gas station to a phone booth and quickly entered it, leaving his engine running and his headlights on.

"Russo, is that you?"  He heard the relay's voice, one of four girls manning the post around the clock, sounding urgent and distressed.

"It's me. What's wrong?"

"Get out now!" he heard her say and immediately began to inspect his periphery. "The word from Maloney is that it's the Feds holding Lance and the Frenchman and that we've been jeopardized by the contact.  It's abort all the way.  Get your ass out of there and do it quick.”

As he thoughtfully cradled the receiver, he noticed the boyfriend walk out of the diner flanked by two men who sprang in his direction, following the boyfriend's lead.  The two were fast, running full tilt on the muddy ground across the small parking lot.  Avoiding a car pulling in and an outstretched pump line, they raced toward him covering the distance in no time. But they came up short as Russo was able jump in his car and flee the gas station, spraying mud in all directions. The two stopped short of flinging their bodies at his car, turned and ran the other way.

Russo pulled onto the main road, flooring the accelerator as he felt the wheels grip dryer land.  The narrow, two-lane road widened into four lanes after several miles, Russo's vehicle shooting through at full throttle spraying water all around, wipers laboring away in the rain swept air.  Dodging cars right and left he flew by a quiet little neighborhood, passing its only traffic light on red.

Yet there they were, he marveled, in his rear view mirror, a gray sedan with a flashing blue light, gaining ground.

Russo kept going straight on the four lane highway welcoming a sudden foggy stretch where he veered right onto a side street and gunned the car through a maze of snow mounds and glassy vegetation.  A sharp turn in the road sent him reeling off balance through the stacked white powder, off the embankment and into a gully, snow cushioning the blow.  The engine choked instantly and in the ensuing stillness, Russo could hear his own heart beating wildly.  Breathless but otherwise unscathed, he tried the door.  Finding it stuck, he went for the passenger door and managed to slip out through a crack.  Battling waist high snow, he scrambled out of the gully and, moving away from the road, took refuge in the icy thicket.

The gray car appeared moments later almost driving past the scene.  It stopped a few yards beyond and reversed to where Russo's car had swerved off the road.  The two agents stepped out of their car and stood a moment evaluating what they were seeing before drawing their guns and carefully sliding down the gully.

Russo did not wait around to watch them discover his fresh tracks.

-------

Returning to the hotel at seven the following night, precisely twenty-four hours after he was snatched by Federal agents, Kumar dropped exhausted in his bath, taking great care in washing remnants of clotted blood from a painfully sensitive nose.

Welcoming the privacy but utterly disgusted with the way things had evolved, he tried to put things in perspective.

To say he was in trouble was a ghastly understatement. Caught totally unawares, he now had a few decisions to make, none of which could turn back the clock.  The lines had been drawn for him and now he had to decide which ones to cross. His livelihood, his reputation, his duty to the project, to his partners, and to those he employed, all took secondary consequence to basic survival which meant he had to cross them all.  He had little choice in the matter now that he had been admonished.  The wolves were out there, waiting, watching his every move, ready to strike at the slightest provocation and he could not afford to play it fair.  Sacrifices had to be made and at least one consideration was acutely clear: the girl was now his only bargaining chip and she had to be kept alive.

Astonished by the simplicity and swiftness of the trap that had been set for him and the amount of information gathered against the campaign, reflecting on his own complacency and poor management, he still kept up a feeble hope that his adversaries were still speculating rather than acting upon solid proof.

To himself he had to admit they were right on track but he still felt there were a few issues he needed to clarify before taking the next step.

Crawling out of the tub, he slipped into his bathrobe and went to the phone to listen for messages.  Langone's secretary had called every hour since eleven that morning and finally Langone himself, sounding tired and irritated, left a message at six.

He waited another hour, dozing,
scenes from his capture whirling in his mind, then he called Langone at home.

"We did everything short of coming over," the financier complained loudly, adding insult to injury.  "Where the hell have you been?"

"I went shopping, Edgar.  What difference does it make? I don't owe you hourly reports of my whereabouts.”

"Well maybe you should consider it," Langone boomed, "it would've made a difference today."

He updated Kumar in short blunt sentences on the developments of the last 24 hours.

His account of the meeting with Bradley removed any doubt the Feds were on the ball, adding merit to their contentions. The project had certainly been infiltrated from all directions. Not only had they caught him but had managed to cleverly frighten Matlock into reconsidering their allegiance.   Vitcon was no doubt another set up.