Forced Disappearance (3 page)

“Elaine said two new cases came in today.” She wanted to prove, to Karin and to herself, that her mind was on the job, in the right place.

“One LR, one BR. Milo is taking the Live Retrieval. LRs get priority. The Body Retrieval will have to wait.” She slid a folder over to Miranda. “This is what a case looks like when it comes in. Basic parameters.”

But Miranda didn’t hear the last words. She was staring at the photo stapled to the inside of the folder and the name written under it. In a dazed rush, she read the summary sheet. Glenn Danning. Last seen in Caracas, Venezuela, on the fifteenth of March.

Body Retrieval.

Her heart twisted inside her chest. God, she hadn’t seen him in ten years.
Four weeks!
“Why did the case come in so late?”

“Mr. Danning was on vacation in Venezuela and not checking in frequently, the family didn’t immediately realize that he was missing. And then they tried to find him with their private resources first.”

Of course, they would. Gloria wouldn’t want publicity. She was old money, from an era when prominent families kept their private lives private. She could afford the best help money could buy and handle the search for her son without the press.

Miranda cleared her throat, a million disjointed thoughts flying through her mind. “I know him.”

Karin’s eyes narrowed. “Personally? How well?”

“We went to college together. MIT. Could I work on his case? Please.”

She hadn’t been sure about the job. Part of her was scared of it, what it would do to her, the memories and nightmares it might bring back. But now she held her breath for Karin’s response. She needed to bring Glenn back, even if in a box. She owed him that much. Once, a lifetime ago, they’d been good friends.
Lovers.

Karin raised a strict eyebrow. “We need to go through our protocols first. And training.”

“I can read through the protocols on the plane. I had two years with Personnel Recovery in the army. I know how it’s done. He’s a friend. If it’s just a body recovery . . .” She hated saying the words, wouldn’t think of that until she had confirmation. “I can’t really mess it up, can I? But if he’s still alive, every day counts. I know him. I know how he thinks. I’d be the best person to track him.”

Her new boss assessed her, tapped her pen on the desk, then laid it down. “I’ll check with the general.” She picked up her phone and sent a text.

Then Karin pulled a three-inch-thick folder from her desk drawer and plopped it in front of Miranda. “I have some time this morning. Might as well start bringing you up to speed.”

Karin ran through a couple of past and current cases, explaining the kind of incidents they handled, the type of protocols they used, and the available resources.

A full hour passed before Karin’s phone pinged. She glanced at the screen, then looked back at Miranda, her face emotionless. “All right. If you think you’re ready, Glenn Danning is your first case.”

A test,
Miranda thought. If she failed, Karin had the perfect excuse to let her go.

An hour ago, she would have been fine with that. Not anymore. She was going to bring Glenn back, one way or the other. She was
not
going to fail here.

Chapter 3

HE WAS GOING
to die in the middle of the Venezuelan jungle, without his family ever knowing what had become of him. Despite the muggy heat, shivers ran through Glenn as he lay at the foot of a smooth-barked tree on a bed of rotting leaves. He had no shelter, no way to reach the outside world. His Jeep was stuck in the thick vegetation less than a hundred feet from the main road, at least two-dozen miles behind him.

“Let me know if you spot a pizza joint,” he called up to the monkey above him in the trees. For some reason, Winky had followed him instead of running off when freed.

Glenn listened to the sounds of the jungle, a symphony of birds and bugs. He hadn’t heard the soldiers behind them since that morning. Maybe they’d given up.

They probably thought the jungle would kill him. He hated to make them right, but he was pretty much tapped out. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the pain.

He’d cleaned his feet in a creek he’d come across at one point, wrapped them in banana leaves that he stuffed with moss for cushioning. The makeshift shoes kept his wounds protected from dirt, albeit too late.

His feet were infected, he had a fever, and he was starving. “One quick nap, then we’ll get going,” he promised the monkey.

But instead of sleep, his brain filled with images: the commander, the torture . . . Miranda, because he’d been using the memory of her to disassociate from the present. Except now his fever-addled brain remembered only her leaving, discarding him. Ripping his heart out. Not a woman to trust, obviously. He’d been completely naïve and unguarded with her. He hadn’t made that same mistake since.

First he’d loved her, then he’d hated her. His mind filled with scenes of fights that never happened, of him telling her exactly what he thought of her. She screamed that she couldn’t care less about him. And she buzzed.

Glenn opened his eyes. No, the jungle was buzzing. Or was the sound in his head?

Winky screeched up in the tree, jumping around, clearly agitated. Glenn sat up. Maybe he wasn’t hallucinating the noise. What was it?

He struggled to his feet and followed the sound as the buzzing grew louder and louder.

Roadwork?

That’d mean a road. Hope and excitement lent him strength. He lurched forward. But instead of a road crew, once he fought his way through the vegetation that resisted him at every step, he found a sizable logging operation. He crouched behind one of the denser bushes as he watched.

A dozen men worked the heavy machinery that cut the trees and stripped them of their branches, then stacked the logs onto a trailer. They weren’t nearly as interesting as the twenty-gallon water container and several coolers—presumably filled with food—on the opposite end of the clearing.

He wanted to run for the buffet. Hunger pushed him forward, urging for a blind dash. But even fever-brained, he knew to be cautious. He stayed in cover.

Would the men turn him over to the police, suspicious of a foreigner who couldn’t explain what he was doing here? He couldn’t exactly say that he was on the run from the military, who thought he was a foreign spy.

Illegal loggers, on the other hand, wouldn’t be so keen on contacting law enforcement. But they weren’t keen on witnesses either. They might just shoot him.

His empty stomach cramped with hunger. The loggers had food and water. If he could regain his strength, he might yet beat the fever. If they would help . . .

Except, the dozen burly guys standing between him and the coolers looked rather discouraging. Several carried weapons. Against the dangers of the jungle? Or against anyone who might happen by?

Food and water. Within reach.

He sat back on his heels. Winky dropped to the ground next to him. Not near enough to touch, but close enough to indicate a certain level of trust and camaraderie. A good start, but Glenn needed a favor.

You never knew till you asked. “I could use some distraction.”

The monkey winked at him.

Chapter 4

“THIS IS NOT
what we asked for,” Tyler Danning said. Glenn’s younger brother stood at the head of the twenty-foot tiger maple executive conference table at Danning Enterprises, flanked by Gloria Danning, his mother, on one side, and Cesar Montilla, the company vice president, on the other.

The privately held company owned one of Baltimore’s most prominent high-rises and had its offices on the top floors, while renting out the rest to other businesses. The executive conference room featured a wall of windows overlooking the city. Apparently, making parts for oil rigs brought in good money.

“Why isn’t the FBI handling this?” Tyler demanded.

Miranda turned fully toward him, away from the view. “Because it’s not their job. It’s mine.”

She’d met Tyler ten years ago, when Glenn had dragged her home for a Danning family Thanksgiving. Tyler had been a lanky high school senior at the time. Now he was a pissed-off corporate executive, clearly used to power. He had the same facial structure as Glenn, but while Glenn had inherited Gloria’s lighter coloring, Tyler had their father’s darker features.

Miranda imagined he intimidated a lot of people. Since she’d faced down insurgents with AK-47s, a self-important suit didn’t exactly make her quake. She met his disapproving gaze head on. “Do you have any idea who would benefit from your brother’s disappearance?”

Tyler scoffed.

“Who stands to inherit his company shares?” she clarified.

And Gloria burst out with, “Don’t be ridiculous!”

Cesar moved next to Gloria and patted her hand on the table. They were about the same age and had been friends for decades. His daughter, Victoria, had been married to Glenn, briefly, until their divorce five years ago, according to the files.

Miranda would have liked to know more about that, but the current stage of the investigation didn’t warrant digging into the topic. She waited for Tyler to answer her question.

“In the event of my brother’s death, his shares would be divided between Gloria and me equally,” Tyler said after a long moment. Even her two sons called Gloria by her given name.

The powerful matriarch had aged in the decade since she’d warned Miranda away from her older son in no uncertain terms. She’d acted like the queen of the castle, which, unarguably, she’d been. Even now, she was as much a grand dame as ever, with perfectly coiffed hair, her still slim figure wrapped in blue silk. She wore the famous Danning pearls. But her mouth was bracketed by lines, worry sitting in her gray eyes. She was a mother who’d lost her child. Miranda couldn’t even resent her. She could relate.

She observed the power trio of Danning Enterprises as they glared at her from the other side of the table. The number one question, the one an impartial investigator would ask, was: Did any of the three have anything to do with Glenn’s disappearance?

Glenn was an engineer at heart. He wasn’t given to flights of fancy. He’d never been irresponsible, certainly not enough to wander off on some adventure and neglect to tell his family. That left foul play. But at whose hands?

Tyler kept huffing and puffing. “We’ve employed a team of private investigators for the past several weeks. They came back empty-handed. You seriously mean to go after my brother alone?”

She hadn’t been enough for them ten years ago, and she wasn’t enough for them now. Nothing changed. Okay, not entirely true. This time, their rejection didn’t hurt.

The last time, she’d been in love with Glenn. Even if she’d told herself she wasn’t, to make leaving easier. She’d never, for a moment since that time, acknowledged how much she missed him.

And now here they were again.

Miranda kept her demeanor polite. “The sooner you give me all the information you have, the sooner I can get started. Are you aware of your brother having any enemies?”

Tyler and Gloria looked appalled and offended at the suggestion.

But Cesar Montilla said, “He’s head of one of the largest privately held companies in the country. We push out competitors. We hire and fire hundreds of employees each year, let vendors go if they don’t live up to our expectations. Environmental groups protest us because we work in the oil industry, even if ninety percent of our products have to do with safety. Hard feelings are unavoidable in any business.”

Gloria’s lips flattened. “I want the FBI. This is a travesty. What is the CIA doing? And why can’t we have a SEAL team go after him? That’s what they’re for. My father was a United States senator, for heaven’s sake.”

Miranda met her gaze. “We can’t send the Navy SEALs into Caracas for the same reason we don’t have Venezuelan army troops in New York City when a Venezuelan tourist disappears. NYPD investigates crime in New York. The Caracas police investigate crime in Caracas.”

“Well, the Caracas police are good for nothing,” Gloria snapped. But she nodded at Tyler, and he strode out of the room, annoyance showing in every stride.

Gloria clasped her hands on the top of the table. “Just, please, bring my son back. That’s all I’m asking.” She hesitated. “If I offended you, before, I’m sorry.”

She looked like she meant it. A day for miracles.

“We have such big plans for him. He’s going to follow his grandfather’s path to the Senate.” Her eyes softened. “He could do so much good for so many people. You have to bring him back.”

Miranda nodded. “I’m going to do my best.” Their falling-out had happened a decade ago. She was working a case here, and she was going to give it everything she had, because that was the way she worked.

“When was the last time you heard from him?” She knew the answer from the files, but as an investigator, her job was to look for inconsistencies in people’s stories.

Cesar cleared his throat. “He sent an email to his secretary on March first, around eight p.m. Just checking in.”

That matched the files. Miranda had a copy of the email, nothing suspicious, Glenn saying he hoped everything was going well at the office and reminding the secretary to contact him if needed.

Before Miranda could ask anything else, Tyler returned with a stack of papers. “This is all we have.” He dropped the pile onto the table in front of her. “These are all the reports from the previous investigators, and all the documents we provided them.”

“Including a list of companies you’ve recently taken over and employees fired?”

Tyler gave a curt nod.

She asked questions for another three hours, but didn’t find much to go on. His family obviously loved Glenn. His ex-wife had remarried, happily, lived in New York with three kids by her new husband. Glenn had received no threats prior to his disappearance. He had not, they all insisted, participated in anything remotely criminal.

Yet every time Miranda asked for specifics about his vacation, the energy in the room shifted.
Something there
, she thought. But no matter how hard she pushed, the three people in the room stuck to their story.

When the time came to leave for the airport, Cesar Montilla showed her out, walking with her to the bank of elevators. He’d founded the company with Oscar Danning right after they’d finished college. They’d been like brothers.

The man had to be at least fifty, but he looked younger, had plenty of energy in his steps to complement his swarthy good looks. He aged like a movie star, the graying at his temples making him look only more handsome.

He remained somber as they walked. “I think Glenn . . . something bad might have happened to him. Of course, Gloria doesn’t want to face the possibility.” He pressed his narrow lips together. “When the boy married my only daughter, my Victoria—” He paused. “But even after the divorce, Glenn was like a son to me.” He gave a pained sigh.

He shook his head, his shoulders drooping. “I think the best thing would be to have him declared dead, if you can’t find any proof for the opposite. Gloria has problems with her heart. The prolonged stress of not knowing is killing her, whether she shows it or not. The uncertainty has to stop. She needs to be allowed to grieve and move on to acceptance.”

The thought that Glenn might have had an accident or been killed spread like an ache in Miranda’s chest. Yet, as an investigator, she had to be realistic.
Body Retrieval.
She hated the term already.
We’ll see about that
.

She stepped onto the elevator, but held the door open. “Do you still have contacts in Venezuela?”

According to her file, Cesar had been born there, relocated to the US for his education, then decided to stay and take up US citizenship.

His expression darkened. “My family had holdings in the oil business. In 1976, while I was studying here, the government nationalized the oil industry, confiscated our properties and wells.” He cleared his throat. “My father committed suicide. My mother died of a broken heart the year after. I have not been back since her funeral. I am American.”

“So no contacts?”

“None.”

Miranda nodded. She could understand why he wouldn’t be a fan of the current Venezuelan government.

She glanced toward the glass doors of the meeting room where Tyler and Gloria were talking, their faces tense, as if they were fighting over something.

Those two had the most to gain financially from Glenn’s death, but she couldn’t picture either of them going against family. And yet . . . they
did
wait a good long time before asking the government for help. And they
were
hiding something.

But sticking around here to find out what they were concealing seemed a less effective course of action than going to where Glenn had disappeared and trying to track him there. Time was of the essence.

Miranda drove to the airport, then took the fourteen-hour flight to Caracas—with a brief layover in Mexico City—and had time to sleep as well as review the case materials one more time.

She didn’t push away the memories that rushed her. Anything she knew about Glenn could be helpful to the investigation. She lay back in her seat and closed her eyes, went back to the days she hadn’t allowed herself to think about in the past ten years.

Glenn had been such a geek when she’d met him. Brilliant. Absentminded, yet with ingrained manners. He’d be solving problems in his head, not even knowing what hallway he was walking down, but opening doors for girls on reflex. Unfailingly polite, but barely looking at the opposite sex.

Then he’d looked at her.

“Do you think I could—” He’d hesitated, the two of them alone late at night in the lab.

She’d been working on a scientific paper for publication, and
she’d
thought he was about to ask whether she’d be willing to add his name to the credits. He
had
contributed.

Instead,
he’d
said, “Would you mind if I touched your breasts?”

S
he’d
almost smacked him with a dial caliper. Why did he have to be like the fraternity idiots who bugged her?

But
he’d
seemed so pained and earnest. “For experimental reasons. I’ve never done this. I want to know how it works.”

Okay, s
he’d
understood that. S
he’d
had the same interest in the mechanics of sex, and the same lack of data that could be called remotely empirical.

So data gathering they did. That night, and for many nights after.

The plane’s engines a dull hum around her, suddenly it seemed no time had passed at all, and she could remember everything, the sensations, his scent, his voice that had a way of sending tingles through her
.

Body Retrieval.
The words sliced into her like bayonets.

Her eyes popped open.
No.

She filled her lungs. “All right, Glenn,” she whispered under her breath. “Please, be alive. I’m coming.”

Elaine had booked her into an inexpensive tourist hotel in the vicinity of the Marriott, where Glenn had a room for his stay. Perfectly sufficient, since Miranda didn’t plan on spending a lot of time in her room. She cleaned up, then headed out. She drove through the crowded city, to the police headquarters on Calle la Lagunita.

While she’d been in the air, Elaine had made an appointment for Miranda with the police captain. Captain Ferdinand Renzo—a man in his mid-fifties, stocky as a powder keg, his thinning hair in an optimistic comb-over, his lips topped with a jaunty mustache—received her in his utilitarian office. He wore a green dress uniform decorated with a plethora of colorful medals.

To impress her?

She’d be impressed if he had some solid clues for her, Miranda thought as she greeted him.

“Señorita Soto, welcome to Venezuela!” He gave a smarmy smile as wide as his lips would stretch, and pumped her hand with a little too much enthusiasm. “Please. Take a seat.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

“I’m glad you came so I can assure you in person that Mr. Danning is perfectly well.” He puffed out his chest, looking thoroughly pleased.

“He is?” Excitement buzzed through her. “Did he return to his hotel?” She hadn’t gone to the Marriott yet. She wanted to check in with the police first. Why hadn’t anybody called her?