Forced Disappearance (6 page)

The security manager obliged her without a word.

She watched the footage again, this time looking at the traffic. “There,” she pointed at an unmarked black van, excitement surging through her.

Traffic flowed. The cars that appeared on the first exterior camera moved into the view of the second a moment later. But there was a delay with the van. It must have stopped for a couple of seconds in the blind spot between the two cameras.

She leaned forward. “Can you enlarge that?”

The manager did. Sadly, the image was too grainy to make out the faces in the front, or the license plate.

“It doesn’t look like an official National Guard vehicle,” Roberto observed.

“Could be an undercover car.”

“Could be,” he agreed. Then he added, “The colonel had no record of Danning in the system.”

“It’s possible that a couple of guardsmen picked him up to extort money, as you said. Off the books.”

Roberto didn’t respond.

She stared at the frozen image on the screen. Glenn had been taken by whoever was in the black van. Possibly the National Guard, who handily denied everything. She had no authority to conduct a search of their building complex in Caracas. She had no authority to request any documents.

This is what a dead end looked like, she thought, and wanted to kick the table leg in frustration. Instead, she asked the manager to save a still shot of the van and send it to her phone, which the man did without argument. Once again, she had a strong suspicion that she wouldn’t have seen anywhere near this level of cooperation without Roberto being present.

On the way down in the elevator, he asked her to lunch again. She agreed, insisting that they’d go back to Especiero.

But she didn’t find any new clues at the restaurant, no matter how carefully she observed the place and how many questions she asked the waitstaff.

After lunch, she talked Roberto into staking out the corner by the parking garage and talking to every single panhandler within view, which ate up the rest of the day. She was hoping for more information, more detail, but nobody seemed to know anything, not even for money, and neither Juan nor Rami had come back.

When Roberto returned her to the hotel at last, he asked to come up for a chat once again.

“I’m really tired.”

He raised a dark eyebrow. “There’s someone else.” His sexy lips pulled into a pout. “You’re a beautiful, intelligent woman. He’s a lucky man.”

“I’ve recently lost my husband.” She rolled the tightening muscles in her shoulders. Probably nobody else would think that two years ago was
recently
, but that was how she felt. Matthew, Abby, then the army incident—the last two years had been rough. Romance wasn’t on her radar. Not even, if she wanted to be honest with herself, no-strings-attached sex with a stranger.

“I’m sorry,” she said, then fled to the elevators, leaving Roberto staring after her.

After a long, hot shower relaxed her, Miranda ordered room service and downloaded the day’s photos from her phone to her laptop while she ate. As she’d suspected, the picture of the black van was unusable, no matter how much she played with contrast and brightness.

The photos she took of the National Guard transportation log weren’t much better quality. She’d held the phone at the wrong angle.

But maybe with some expert help . . .

She attached her three image files to an email and sent them to Bjorn, the in-house IT specialist at CPRU.
Let’s see what the guy is made of. Time for a test.

Next she called Tyler Danning. After she identified herself, she began with an apology, “I’m sorry for calling this late.”

“Have you found my brother?”

She hesitated, then plowed ahead with the thought that had been swirling around in her head all day. “Are you familiar with the term
forced disappearance
?”

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s an international human rights term for when someone is secretly kidnapped or imprisoned by a state or by someone with state authorization.”

A pause on the other end, then, “You mean like the CIA?”

“I meant the Venezuelan government.”

“But why?”

“Usually it’s done to place the abducted person outside of the law. If the government wants to question or even kill a member of the opposition or a foreign national with impunity, they make the person disappear. Then they claim no knowledge of the person’s whereabouts, so they can do whatever they mean to do in secret.”

Another long pause on the line. “It sounds like a spy novel.”

Maybe. But— “Can you think of any reason why the Venezuelan government would be interested in your brother?”

“Absolutely not.”

Frustration tightened her jaw. “Your brother’s life could depend on me having all available information.”

She could hear the deep breath Tyler drew before he came back with, “His disappearance has nothing to do with why he went there. People disappear in foreign countries all the time. Just find him.”

“I think he came here to do business.” His credit card had been used mostly in the industrial district and the business district, he’d been dressed for business, there was no record of him doing anything touristy. “Was he meeting heads of oil companies here? Why? Trying to sell them your products? For a collaboration?”

“That kind of information getting out and reaching the competition would kill the entire project,” Tyler snapped on the other end. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t repeat anything like that.”

“Is the project worth more than your brother’s life?” she pushed back, running out of patience.

“Look,” Tyler snarled, “the Venezuelan government is paranoid about US businesses interfering in their country. They think the US is trying to overthrow their government so US energy conglomerates can get their hands on Venezuelan oil. The energy industry is government controlled down there. The last thing they want is capitalist foreign companies grabbing their natural resources.”

A picture was beginning to emerge in Miranda’s head. “But if Glenn traveled as a tourist, how would the government know that he was here on a business trip?”

“They wouldn’t,” Tyler assured her with a dramatic sigh. “He set up his appointments very carefully. This was just a scouting trip, putting feelers out. Nobody knew why he went to Caracas except for executive-level management here at home, and the three people he was meeting there.”

“Do you have their names?”

“I contacted them already. The meetings had gone smoothly. Nothing unusual. None of them even knew that Glenn disappeared, until I called.”

“I want names, Tyler.”

“They stuck their necks out to meet with us. I don’t want to cause trouble for them.”

Maybe he was being thoughtful, or maybe he thought the project could be still salvaged. She couldn’t say he wasn’t right to be cautious. She did have Roberto shadowing her every step.

After a few more questions, including asking about Glenn’s returned personal effects, and receiving only the vaguest of answers, Miranda ended the call and, swallowing her frustration with the lack of progress, went to bed.

She slept restlessly, all her old nightmares coming back—Matthew dying on the battlefield, Abby, the other little girl, then herself, pulling the trigger. She woke to her laptop pinging at eight a.m., grateful for the end of the gruesome movie reel in her brain.

She rubbed a hand over her face, shook the last of the images from her head, then focused on the screen. Incoming email from Bjorn. He sent back her three photos digitally enhanced.

Miranda brought up the van photo. Still unusable.

The transport log from the National Guard popped up on her screen next. She scanned the first page, ran down the names. Another odd list: Bieber Gonzales, Leonardo Ruiz, a couple of Jos
é
s, an odd mixture of traditional and celebrity names. The second page was more of the same.

Except for the very last line.

The last person they identified only as Prisoner #786. Next to that, the transport log had one printed word: Guri. After that, somebody had handwritten
Strictly Confidential.

She touched her fingertip to that last line on her screen. Prisoner #786 had been transported to Guri under heavy guard on March second. Excitement surged through her.

Prisoner #786 had to be Glenn.

She dressed in a hurry, packed her suitcase, and sailed downstairs.

Roberto was waiting for her in the lobby, leaning against the reception desk and flirting with the young woman behind it.

The smile slid off his face as he glanced at Miranda and the suitcase she was dragging. “Are you leaving?”

“Just the hotel.” She stepped up to the counter to check out. “I want to see more of your beautiful country. How do you feel about visiting the Guri Dam?”

He raised an eyebrow. “The dam is close to seven hundred kilometers from here.”

Sounded doable. “What does that mean in drive time?”

“Over ten hours, depending on road conditions.”

“I can go alone. I don’t want to waste your time.”

“Nonsense. I promised to help.” He reached up to rub his chin as he watched her. “Why don’t you walk back to the restaurant and have breakfast. I’ll grab an overnight bag for myself. I’ll be back by the time you’re finished.”

She hesitated. She was pretty sure he’d been assigned to her to keep an eye on her. But he
was
helpful, knew the language better than she did, definitely knew the roads better. He had a badge that could come in handy with getting answers at Guri. He hadn’t tried to impede her investigation yet. She could find no reason to refuse him.

She let her face relax into a smile. “All right. Breakfast would be great.” She paused for a second. “You wouldn’t know by any chance if there’s a National Guard outpost at Guri, would you?”

He had this look on his face, as if he was impressed with her for some reason. “Just a small outpost. The dam provides more than a third of the country’s power needs. It’s a strategic installation.”

Meaning, any damage to it would be a national security threat, so it needed protection. “I thought Venezuela was big on oil and gas.”

“The more hydroelectric energy we make for our own consumption, the more of the oil and the gas we can sell on the international market.”

That made sense.

While she had breakfast, she brought up the map again on her laptop and zoomed in as much as possible, using satellite images to scan Guri Lake and the dam. The area didn’t look like much, as far as population went, maybe a hundred houses altogether.

She kept coming back to the same small compound over and over. That had to be the National Guard outpost.

Once she found Glenn, she could contact the home office and the US government could exert pressure on the Venezuelan government to have him released. She refused to think of the alternative, that the only thing she’d find at Guri would be Glenn’s body.

Chapter 6

GLENN WASN’T AT
Guri.

The commander denied any knowledge of him. While Falcon went off to make some phone calls, the commander personally escorted Miranda through the compound to show her that no Americans were being held there. He let her go wherever she wanted, seemingly a man with nothing to hide, yet the way he watched her made her skin crawl.

His men, on the other hand, gave her wide berth, avoiding eye contact as if instructed. If she tried to question them, they claimed not to know English, or not to understand her Spanish accent.

Every instinct she had said that the whole garrison was lying.

“What do you think?” Roberto asked as they left the outpost. “Back to Caracas?”

“No. I’m sure Glenn was here.”

“He’s not here now.”

“Which means they either killed him or he escaped.” She thought for a minute. “If he was killed, I’m not going to find him without cadaver dogs and a CSI team.” Her heart twisted. She pushed any thought of defeat away and looked up and down the road, her gaze settling on the dam.

Other than Guri Dam and the lake there wasn’t much here—forests and mountains in the distance. Most of the country’s population seemed to be concentrated in the north, the central and southern states kind of a no-man’s-land, save a few cities and towns here and there. “If he escaped, where did he go?”

“Toward the nearest airport?”

“They’d be looking for him at the airports. He’d know that. How far are we from Brazil?”

Roberto shrugged. “Another six hundred kilometers. The only major road between here and there is Route 10. It goes to Santa Elena de Uair
é
n, right on the border.”

“Let’s try that first. If we can’t find anyone who’s seen him, we’ll come back here.” She headed back to their car.

Roberto had traded his Mercedes for an older-model military Jeep before they left Caracas, a choice she hadn’t been crazy about at the time, since the Jeep didn’t have air-conditioning, but she now approved wholeheartedly. The all-terrain tires and high clearance would serve them well if the road got any worse.

They got into the car at the same time, but Roberto didn’t start the engine. Instead, he looked at her, then he reached for the glove compartment, retrieved a handgun, and handed it to her. “We’ll be cutting through the jungle,” he said simply.

She checked the magazine. Full. She stared at the gun in her hand for a second, then at him. She hadn’t expected this kind of vote of confidence. Maybe she’d misjudged the man. Maybe she didn’t need to be so wary around him. “Thanks.”

He nodded, then drove a few hundred feet and stopped at the town’s store for more food and water. While Roberto shopped, she showed Glenn’s photo around. The locals wouldn’t say anything. They probably didn’t want to risk the commander’s ire.

Roberto drove about fifty miles before they reached the next batch of houses, a dozen huts haphazardly lined up by the side of the road. Again, Miranda showed the photo around, but nobody had seen Glenn.

“Are you sure?” she asked the middle-aged man with missing bottom teeth who seemed to be the small community’s leader.

The man brushed off his simple peasant clothes. “I can only tell you what I told the soldiers, señorita. I did not see that man. He didn’t come here.”

Her heart rate picked up. “You told the soldiers that?”

“Sí.”

“When?”

He paled and stepped back. “I can’t tell you no more, señorita. No gringo here. You go now. I don’t want trouble.” He made a shooing motion toward her and Roberto, then turned and hurried away.

She grinned.

Roberto raised an eyebrow. “You think he’s lying?”

“No. But if the soldiers were looking for Glenn, that means he escaped. There’s a good chance he’s still alive.” The first piece of
good news she’d gained since she’d arrived in the country.

By tomorrow this time, he’d be out of danger, Glenn thought as he limped into Santa Elena de Uair
é
n, keeping an eye out for soldiers. A whole week passed since he’d come across the illegal logging operation in the forest. Hiding in the back of one of the trucks, stealing food and water at night, had worked out better than he’d expected.

The loggers had cut across to Route 10 under Guri Lake, then drove south through Canaima National Park. They weren’t cutting, so Glenn figured they were scouting new territory. He’d jumped off when they turned north again two days later. Then he’d walked and come across an indigenous village. Just in time. If he hadn’t found the witchdoctor, he would have probably lost his right foot to gangrene.

He was just recovering his full strength. If he had to limp all the way to Brazil, then so be it. He had the map and the clothes he’d lifted off the loggers, even a decent pair of boots. He was ready.

He glanced back. No sign of Winky. The monkey had followed him all this time, even bringing him fruit from the forest every once in a while. But it seemed the animal drew the line at entering the city.

Glenn shook his head. You knew you spent too much time in the jungle when your best friend was a monkey.

He moved forward. He needed supplies for his trip across the border.

Once in Brazil, he’d head to Boa Vista—about a hundred and thirty miles from Santa Elena, according to the map. He could hitch a ride on the road. He wasn’t wanted in Brazil, he wouldn’t have to hide in the woods and make his own way. He could take transportation from Boa Vista to the US embassy in Rio and request a new passport, then fly home to Baltimore.

Glenn pulled his floppy green hat low over his face as he walked through the maze of huts on the outskirts of the city. He did nothing to draw attention to himself and soon reached a more affluent area with houses, then the main drag with shops.

Santa Elena was the closest settlement to the border, a fairly large town from what he could see. They had to have police.

Did the local officers have his picture? He was less than ten miles from safety. As long as nobody recognized him.

He kept his head down as he crossed the road, nearly tripping over his own battered feet in surprise when a voice called out his name.

“Glenn! Glenn Danning!”

Oh.
The past hit her with a force of a tank, and Miranda felt blown over.

She moved toward him.
Glenn.

He was not the geeky college student she remembered—and he didn’t resemble the image on the grainy parking garage video either—but he
was
Glenn. Her lungs struggled for breath as memories rushed her, feelings she’d long forgotten.

She should have looked him up long before now. They could have been friends again.

He’d lost weight. His face was gaunt. He walked with a limp. No more expensive business suit, he was dressed like a native, poised to run before recognition dawned on his face.

“
Jesus.
Don’t yell my name. Miranda?” He narrowed his eyes as he stared at her. “What are you doing here?”

Okay, the voice was him, exactly the same, floating through her, bringing back a million more memories. She shoved them all aside and for a second just luxuriated in sweet relief.

“I came to take you back home.” Impulse pushed her to hug him but, okay, she was here in an official capacity, and he seemed keen to keep some distance between them.

Why wasn’t
he
more excited? “What’s wrong?”

The way he kept his head down and kept glancing around reminded her of Oreo, an abused dog her aunt had adopted when she’d been a kid. No matter how much love that dog received, she always acted like she was expecting a kick.

The Glenn she remembered had a meticulously ordered way about him and confidence that came from his mental abilities and family background. Now he looked scruffy and uncertain.

“What happened to you at Guri?”

He looked ready to flee.

“Wait,” she said. There’d be time for questions later. Step one was to reassure him. “The United States government sent me to return you to US soil. I’m here to save you.” She grinned.

He didn’t return her enthusiasm. He frowned as he checked up and down the street once again, his steel-gray eyes confused and wary. “You came with the army?”

“I’m not with the army anymore. I came with a local investigator.”

While she’d been showing Glenn’s photo around on the streets, Roberto had gone to the lodge to book them rooms. They’d slept in the car on the side of the road for a few hours last night, but they needed more rest, a shower, and something to eat.

She smiled at Glenn. “We’ve driven across the whole country.”

But Glenn wasn’t listening. Keeping his head low, he hurried away from her, half running, half limping toward a narrow side street.

She caught up with him. Put a hand on his arm. “I’m on assignment here to take you back.”

He shrugged her off and kept going, his eyes filled with alarm. “You can’t trust the locals.”

“I know.” She had no intention of taking Glenn to Roberto. “Come on.”

He hesitated. “Where are we going?”

“Finding you a safe place to stay until I can come back and get you.” Her mind raced. She could spend the rest of the day pretending to search for Glenn, give up, tell Roberto she’s come to believe the colonel was right and Glenn had moved on to Brazil. Thank Roberto for his help, tell him she was moving her investigation across the border. Make a production out of having Roberto take her to the local airport, and fly away. Then rent a car in Brazil and come back for Glenn. “I can come back for you in twenty-four hours.”

“I have my own plans.”

“Trust me.”

He stopped at last in the shadow of a coffee shop’s doorway. Stared at her.

She stared back. She’d found him. Bruised and battered, but
alive
.

He reached out, touched the end of her short hair with caution, his eyes never leaving her face for a second. He breathed in and out slowly. “It’s hard to believe that you’re here.”

The tightness that had squeezed her chest since she’d found out that he was missing eased. But beyond feeling ridiculously happy that he was found and safe, she felt some small sense of relief for herself too. She’d found him. In just three days.
Mission accomplished.
Maybe she
was
cut out for the job. Maybe she wasn’t too messed up. Maybe she could still do this.

In some odd way, in finding him, she felt as if she found herself too, a little.

She’d think about that later. Right now she needed to think about him. “As soon as you’re safely stashed away somewhere, I’ll call your family. They’ve been worried about you.”

A police car rolled down the street, slowly, as if looking for someone. Glenn tucked his chin in and turned into the coffee shop, cut through it, among the tables, heading to the back exit. She hurried after him.

They burst out into an alley and ran.

Or rather, she did. He couldn’t keep up.

She slowed. “Are you injured?”

He shrugged, and her heart twisted.

“When was the last time you ate?”

“Three days ago.”

She wished she had some food on her. She matched her steps to his and they hurried out of the alley, down another street, and another.

“Cops,” he hissed, skidding to a halt.

Okay, she saw them, another blue car cruising.

Glenn turned back, and they cut through an empty lot, came out on one of the wider streets. She glanced around. They’d be too out in the open here. She wanted to find an abandoned store or a boarded-up house where Glenn could hide for a day. Not on a busy street like this though. They needed to check more side streets.

She headed toward the nearest turnoff with Glenn, but couldn’t see the type of place she was looking for. She did spot a small eatery, however. Nobody would look at them twice in a hole-in-the-wall place like this.

“Come on.” She hurried forward. “I’m treating you to a meal.” They should be safe. Roberto was making arrangements on the city’s main drag at the tourist lodge.

Glenn’s jaw tightened. He looked like he was going to argue, but hunger won out and he went with her. “We’ll have to be fast.”