Disappearance (42 page)

The mixture of sleet and snow fell heavily, the bulk of it coming down in swirls, before the storm began to wither and was carried on eastward aiming at Omaha and Iowa beyond.

A young girl working the cash register offered directions but those turned out useless as well.  They drove back and forth on the main road until they finally stopped a drenched farmer riding his John Deere, a flimsy piece of fabric mounted above his head serving as his only shield from the drizzle.  He instructed them to turn off at the fifth mail box from where they had stopped. They counted five mailboxes but only three turnouts and found themselves on a narrow asphalt road weaving its way among rolling hills adorned with the season's bare vegetation.  They crossed the Elkhorn Creek on a squeaking wooden bridge a mile from the turnout.  The wooden sign indicating the name of the creek was split, the sign was partially erased and they could not be certain they were on Catlin Lane.

They saw the house as they cleared the next ridge.

In the bleak December weather it looked chilly and gray.  The trees were bare, the grass a frosty yellow, the stables muddy and damp, and the snow piled up on the roof and around fences and walls.

There was no sign indicating a street address but the road did not go beyond its front gate.  They stopped and surveyed the house from beyond the ridge for a while.  It modeled the familiar scene.  No people, no cars parked in front, the stables empty and no activity inside or out - deserted as anticipated.

After an hour they retreated to the coffee shack and warmed up with a steaming bowl of broccoli soup which only aroused their hunger so they ordered a full lunch.  Later, dipping the left over fries in catsup and sipping their Cokes, they discussed what to do next.

The coffee shack, as they had named it, looked to be a family operation.  The mother waitress, a large feisty woman with a huge cleavage and a quick temper easily handled the entire floor by herself.  Her daughter, the young girl who attempted to give them instructions, was a frail version of her mother, lingering shyly behind the cash register.  The father, a lanky character with a bushy beard and a worn down baseball cap over an unkempt parcel of hair, was kept outside pumping gas. Only the cook remained a mystery.

It was warm and jolly inside as the weather outside continued to fluctuate between drizzle and ice.  The only one forced to step out was the father every time the spiteful bell would sound indicating a customer at the lone pump.  All tables were occupied, now that the small diner had become a refuge, the aromas from the small kitchen filling the dense air and the fogged windows shielding the small sanctuary from the unruly storm.

Most of the patrons seemed to know each other, greeting one another across tables.  Sarah gained a glimpse of the cook and the mystery was quickly solved.  The cook was a she, looking the splitting image of the mother waitress.  She had her hair pulled under a white cook's hat, walking in her stained apron to the cash register for a short chat with the girl, making it difficult to judge who the real mother was.

Eitan had been in favor of a quick strike, suggesting they swiftly comb the surroundings and go as far as breaking in. Sarah preferred the more cautious approach, opting to take an extra day to survey the house from afar and interview whatever neighbors existed.

They finally got up with the conflict remaining unresolved. Stopping at the cash register to pay for the meal and prepay for gas, Eitan felt a hand tugging at his shoulder.  He turned quickly, startling a short man with white hair and a creased face, wearing a brown leather jacket and jeans over pointy leather boots. The man took a step back then stood his ground.

"Heard ya' was lookin' for the Catlin house," he stated in a Midwestern drawl.

Eitan looked uncertain for a moment but Sarah stepped in.

"We found it," she said quickly, "thank you."

"Find anybody?" the man insisted, rolling his eyes.  Sarah shook her head, glancing around the diner to see who else was paying attention, noticing a few heads turned their way.

"Didn't think ya would," the man said with a sly grin.  "I'm the closest neighbor and I ain't seen no one there in over a year. Who y’all lookin' for anyways?"

Sarah paused, appraising the situation.  There were only two people they had asked for instructions so far and both had been asked about Catlin Lane and not the Catlin house.  The old man's comments should have hardly come as a great surprise to her, knowing the way gossip traveled in such communities, but under the circumstances they had to be very cautious. It was obvious that he must have assumed they were looking for the house since it was the only one along that road and picnics were certainly not in season.  In truth, there really was no legitimate reason to drive out there other than to visit the house.

Her own experience taught her how typical it was for people to become curious when strangers appeared asking questions and there was always the spokesman who took it upon himself to convey the message.  Still, they had to remain alert, for such a neighbor may have been paid to keep an eye on things.  She had not considered such a hazard before, not while scouting the other house.   But this was a different scenario and intuitively she felt that for whatever reason, she should deal with it carefully and even more important, discreetly.

She flashed an awkward smile hoping to buy some more time just as mother waitress appeared beside them. 

"Don't be hassling ma' customers, Duffy," she waved at the man with her one free hand, her other hand balancing a tray full of dirty dishes. "You got somethin' to say, you take it outside."

Sarah thought she heard a murmur from the crowd as old man Duffy glanced at the mother waitress for a silent moment, rolling his
eyes again, a gesture that made him look like a Disney character, then bowed his head and headed out into the icy drizzle.  On impulse, Sarah beckoned at Eitan to stay put and followed him out, feeling relief at moving off center stage.

"Excuse me," she called after him in the rain.

He kept moving, hunched over in a shielding posture, holding his jacket over his head.  The sleet was coming down at an angle, stinging Sarah's eyes as she hurried after him.

"Sir!" she called over the howling wind seeing him hop into his pickup, slamming the door shut.

He saw her through the windshield and rolled his window a crack.  Sarah's face stung, her lips already feeling numb. 

"Can we talk?" she beckoned, emphasizing each word.

"Get in," he said through the crack, indicating she use the door on the other side.

She gingerly ran around the front of the pickup and climbed in, shutting the menacing storm out.  Once inside the cabin, among randomly scattered tools, farming equipment, and two sacks of grain crowding the floor, she felt her nostrils flare as strong fertilizer odor whisked her face.

Duffy was gazing at her inquisitively, his huge eyes rolling in their sockets. The odor made it hard to focus.

"We're looking for a girl," she said, directing her gaze at him.

"What's she look like?" he spat, his face becoming animated again.

Sarah took out the photo and handed it over.  He snatched it, producing a pair of glasses from his cluttered dashboard and flicked on the cabin light.

"I seen a girl in the Catlin house," he said, studying the photo. "Hair’s black though.  Short too. Played around the stables quite a bit."

"Was she young - a child, or a…"

"Could've been yaw age, I suppose," he said stroking his beard, brooding at the storm.

"How long was she there?" Sarah asked.

"Not long. Couple, three months, be ma guess."

"Was she there alone?"

"Most of the time; I'd come down with ma cattle past the corn fields and see her playing 'round, feedin' the horse."

"A horse?"

"Yup, just the one. When she left, so did the animal."

"When did she leave?"

"Oh, 'bout a year ago; maybe less.  Six months.  Kinda lost track for a while." He paused.  "Ma Sal, bless her soul.  Got sick real quick; left me lonesome."

"I'm sorry," Sarah said, noticing his eyes becoming glassy.

They remained silent, Duffy turning off the cabin light.

"Neva seen her anywhea' else," he said with a sigh after a long pause.
"Kept damn close to the house."

"She must have had some company?" Sarah remarked.

Duffy frowned trying to remember, his eyebrows convulsing over his bulging eyes, "I seen a man with her once or twice, come ta think of it; Seen a pick-up drive around too."

"You saw a man, I...I mean...with her?"  Sarah gagged, unable to sustain her excitement.

"Yeah," Duffy replied, rolling his eyes again, "what's so special 'bout that?"

"Could you describe him to me?"

"Can't say.  Only seen him a couple times talkin' to the girl at the stables. Had his back ta me."

"Was he tall?"

"Taller than her."

"How much taller?"

"Can't recall," Duffy said irritably.  "What's all this 'bout anyway?"

Sarah realized it was useless and quite risky to pursue that line any further. Old Duffy was reaching his limits.

"Did you know the previous owners?" she asked, shifting her angle of inquiry.

"Sure did.  Able Collins; moved out west. 
Took the family an' all. Arizona, I believe. Musta won the lottery."

"Did he?"

"Musta, way he took off?  Them corn fields neva made em any money and neitha did them horses."

"When did that happen?"

"’Bout the time the girl appeared.  She musta bought the house."

"How much do you think he got for it?"

"Coupla gran' I reckon. Ma farm ain't worth much more."

"Miss him?" Sarah said, trying to sound sympathetic.

"Hell no," Duffy said, convulsing his eyebrows even more. "Damn fool use ta scare ma cattle and they were the only ones eating his damn corn too."

"New neighbors give you any trouble?"

"Not at all.  Didn't care much for the land, be ma' guess."

"You know why they left?"

"Like I told ya.  Hadda take care of ma Sal.  When I went back, they was gone."

A ray of light poked through the mist reflecting off the pickup's
slippery hood.  Sarah wiped the foggy windshield with her palm and stared out at the deteriorating storm.  Several more rays shone through at the clearing in front of them and the swirling vapor became luminous, its shiny droplets oscillating randomly.

The overall scenario sounded fitting, she thought.  There was a girl who could certainly fit the description, never mind the hair which nowadays could easily be transformed into any shape or color.  There was the house; bought recently, used discreetly for a few months then abandoned.  There was the behavior pattern of keeping close to the house, and there was the man, who until now had been an obscure figure.  Of course it could have been any man; it could also have been any house, any girl, and any one of a million different scenarios...

She was startled out of her trance by the roar of the engine. Duffy was already shifting into gear. Signaling he was ready to release the clutch, he looked at her expectantly, impatience written all over his round face.

Sarah reached for the door handle.

"Appreciate your help, Duffy," she said.

He did not answer but impatiently thrust his gas pedal a few times.

Sarah got the message and quickly jumped out of the truck. Duffy took off as soon as the door slammed shut, his wide wheels spraying mud as he did.

Sarah took a few steps back but was unsuccessful in avoiding mud stains on her jeans.  She watched the pickup disappear beyond a curve in the road then headed back to the coffee shack.

CHAPTER 41

The backup team woke Russo at four am.  He grunted his displeasure into the phone but forced himself out of bed anyway.  Herb Lance had taken over watch only two hours prior and Russo needed the sleep.

Five minutes later, they were in his room.

Russo briefed them in his green boxer shorts.  He knew both of them well.  They were long time confederates and now members of the same firm.

Hank Maloney and his accomplice Pierre Sollet, also known as 'The Frenchman', had collaborated with himself, Lance and several others, eight years back, on a bold but, what turned out to be, futile attempt to simultaneously hold up and loot several Brink  armored vehicles distributing cash in the Newark area.

Except for the Frenchman, they had all been from the New York/New Jersey area, young up-and-coming thugs, trying to shoulder their way into the ranks of the underworld and gain recognition.   For its part, the so-called organized underworld was not so generous with them.   Conflict of interests among various factions spoiled their plans.  Someone did not want
them making waves.  Of the five trucks they had planned to strike, only one showed up and with augmented escort.  Russo's crew tried nonetheless, failing miserably.

Both Russo and Herb Lance were caught and convicted. They were sentenced to eight years in a New Jersey State penitentiary, serving two thirds that
time before being paroled. The third member of their three-man crew was shot and killed in the ensuing skirmish with the police.  None of the others, including Maloney and the Frenchman, were caught partly owing to Russo’s and Lance’s unwillingness to turn state witnesses.

Their sacrifice did not go unnoticed and they were immediately rewarded once out of prison.  The surviving members of the futile Brinks conspiracy had all relocated around the US but eventually gathered in Miami, conspiring once again to offer 'special' services to
organizations in 'need'. Those included extortion services, drug trafficking across the Caribbean, illegal alien labor supply, and, among other illicit derivatives, surveillance services.

Once freed, Russo and Lance were each given
apartments, their own cars, bank accounts with limited funds for their pleasure, and were instantly hired by the group and given appropriate titles.

Maloney and Sollet had been the last to join the group.  It was rumored, though never confirmed, that both had fled to France, Sollet's native country, remaining there for six years before daring to reenter the US.  One day they simply showed up and no one asked any questions.  Since then, all had mastered the various disciplines of their organization, yet Russo and Lance, Maloney and Sollet, preferred to stick to their long-time partners and worked as teams whenever possible.

For the last two years their firm had chartered its services to run surveillance on a group of business people in various locations around the continental US.  They were asked mainly to watch and report using whatever means necessary to ensure complete coverage.  They were to supply a minimum of two two-person units, primary and backup, round the clock.  The teams were placed under direct orders from a single source they had never met, but who interacted through prearranged code names known only to a chosen few.  The teams were placed under the source's disposal for as long as necessary, provided payments were received promptly.

So far, payments had been received promptly and the particular contract had turned out to be worth maintaining.  It had all the ingredients necessary to making it lucrative and worth looking after.  It was long term, held little risk, used up minimum resources, and had been kept steady throughout. The client never renegotiated and submissively accepted any rate hikes.  Payments were always cash, provided to the different crews at random by obscure personnel who would transfer sealed envelopes from anonymous cars.

Russo had been put in charge, initially not taking to it, but eventually realizing it had been boosting his reputation at the firm.  The task was quite tedious and boring but it had been quietly and steadily bringing in money without once causing a stir or a crisis like some of the other projects who on more than one occasion threatened the entity's existence. Internally, his operation had often been referred to as the model project.

He had naturally chosen Lance as his deputy and the two of them had been running the show ever since, using different team members depending on availability.

Russo updated the two on the developments of the last few days and laid out a rudimentary plan of action.  Assuming he and Lance had been recognized he switched combinations, assigning Maloney to Lance and Sollet to himself.  The idea was to have one known and one unknown assigned to each of the subjects in case they split up.  The known tail would tend to business as usual; if they manage to slip by him, the unknowns would remain discreetly on their track.

As the two nodded in sync, Russo could not help but marvel at how similar they were in appearance.  They were the same average height, both had black hair cut short with somewhat exaggerated sideburns, both were thin and they almost always wore similar clothes.  On closer examination, their faces were distinct.  Sollet was sharp featured with hollowed black eyes, a pointy nose, and thin colorless lips, while Maloney's nose was flattened against round cheekbones and somewhat bulging brown eyes.   But from afar and without fussing with particulars, they looked alike.

"How about you guys changing looks for now," Russo suggested, careful not to sound mocking.  "In these outfits they'll spot you a mile away."

He had made similar suggestions to them in the past, but they kept drifting back to looking alike.  "You guys spend way too much time together.   It isn't good for this business," he remarked.

Maloney spoke for the two of them, his husky voice tired and irritated.  "Just get us a room, Russo.  We'd like some sleep. Talk to me in the morning if you don't like what I wear."

Russo shrugged and pointed to a door behind his back.

"That's your room, gentlemen.  The firm is cutting costs. Make the best of what you got 'cause the sister likes to jog real early."

The two grunted, picked up their luggage and disappeared into the next room.

Russo knew they despised the work.  Despite their trendy appearance, the two possessed a nasty streak and had developed their reputation collecting debts, preferring to terrorize people than to be tailing them.  A Puerto Rican smuggler learned that when he attempted to cheat the firm out of some cash.  First day on the job, Maloney and Sollet were sent after him.  When he could not be found they went after his family.   The stray smuggler resurfaced after they had butchered two of his brothers.  The cash was recovered.  The Puerto Rican ended up alive but half blind and with a serious speech impediment as the two had sliced up his face and neck with a butcher knife poking one eye out and damaging his vocal chords.  The affair brought much respect to the firm among the small time Caribbean drug haulers who, from then on, were careful paying their debts.  For their part, Maloney and Sollet established themselves as the favored enforcers in the firm and had often been the default crew used in sensitive coercion duties.  But on occasion, just as everyone else, they would be expected to perform the essential tailing detail under Russo's supervision.

Russo looked at his watch.  It was almost five.  He had an hour before Lance would wake him.  He lay back in bed but felt too alert.  Sleep, all of a sudden, was out of the question. He decided to take a stroll, prowl their subjects' floor and maybe check up on Lance.

The long corridor was empty as he silently walked by their room, hesitating a fraction in hopes of discerning any activity inside.

He heard their door unlock when he was two doors past their room and instinctively rushed toward the stairs, a third of the corridor from where he had been hovering. Not sure he made it in time he hopped three stairs at a time and took refuge on the floor above.

Out of breath, he heard them enter the elevator hauling luggage.

As soon as the elevator shut its doors, he rushed down the stairs to his room.

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The two were at the reception when he stepped out a fire exit door at one end of the lobby floor and rushed to his car, Sollet hot on his heels.  Maloney was left to collect the luggage, check out, and unite with Lance.  They would rendezvous where ever, assuming the miniature radios worked. If not, they would default to calling the relay person at the firm.

The sister and boyfriend, as referred to by the client, walked out of the hotel three minutes later.  They flung their luggage in the trunk of their car and drove away.  Russo and Sollet followed them around for a while, stopping at a donut shop for coffee, then stopping at a pay phone, the sister making a short call.  It soon became apparent they were headed for the airport.  Both Russo and Sollet knew the area quite well and could tell they were headed that way as soon as they merged south on Route 436.

They stopped in front of the United Airlines departure terminal.  Russo and Sollet watched as the two fussed around the trunk of their car then stood a minute, talking intimately.

Russo had to make a split-second decision when it became absolutely clear the sister was the one taking the flight.  Under the premise that he may have been recognized, he decided to let the Frenchman tail the girl.   It made sense for him to remain obscured behind the wheel of a car and let the unknown individual follow her at an airport and eventually on the same airplane.

Sollet yanked his lone travel bag from the back seat and was on
his way within seconds.  He spotted the sister at the domestic check-in lines and joined in himself, keeping a reasonable distance.

The only United flight leaving Orlando at that particular time was a flight to Los Angeles via St. Louis.  There were other flights flashing on the bulletin board, but leaving much later, and most of the passengers, Sollet observed, were checking in for the LA flight. It was safe to assume his female subject was taking this same flight, but he needed to be certain.  He could not overhear her conversation with the airline attendant but as he stepped to the counter himself, he managed a peek at her luggage tags passing by on the conveyer belt behind the counters, confirming she was on her way to LAX.  He purchased a one-way ticket in business class since there were no seats available in coach, and kept his one travel bag with him.

He next saw her at a bookshop leafing through magazines, then watched her eat a muffin with her second cup of coffee of the morning, and eventually followed her to the lounge by their gate.

They had an hour before boarding commenced.

As he watched her casually reading a magazine she had purchased in the shop earlier he was suddenly aroused, imagining her body under the thick clothes.  He liked her looks.  Her stern face was pretty under the wavy brunette hair flowing down her shoulders.  Her physique was partially obscured by a thick sweater and a black polyester overcoat, but he had noticed her shapely buttocks and legs under the tight fitting pair of jeans.  He could already picture himself peeling them off her, running his hands up her smooth legs into her crease, then all the way up to her firm breasts, pinching her nipples as she squirmed under him, unable to prevent his assault.

He had been out of action for the last ten days, stuck on a small boat with Maloney and a few other people, island hopping in the Caribbean, distributing merchandise.  He had made plans to visit his favorite madame once back in Miami, but was sent to assist Russo instead.

Watching the girl, he recalled Nice, and another girl with smooth black skin, twisting under him in terror.  He had met her on the beach, half naked, her bronze breasts and reddish nipples, exposed to him for hours until he could no longer control the urge.  Back at her apartment, she had put up little resistance.  He could still see her shocked face after he had broken in and recalled ripping the clear silk dress off her shoulders and attacking the bottom half of her bikini, exposing her nakedness.  She looked totally helpless as he stripped letting his erect member dangle in front of her face. Then she had tried to run, but that only made it more exhilarating as he chased her naked frame around the apartment, cornering her in her own bathroom.  He remembered her moans as she finally succumbed.

The damn sluts, he thought, always made him act crazy. Always the games, teasing him, making him sweat, getting him hard.  He never asked for it.  They'd seduce him then pretend to be frightened.  It was their fault it always ended up the way it did.  That was why he preferred the madame.  She let him have his way…

He straightened uncomfortably in his seat, looking hastily around, realizing she was gone.  He got up, methodically surveying the lounge then backtracked to the main concourse, a touch of hysteria beginning to choke at his throat.  At first glimpse he did not see her on either side of the concourse and he began trotting along the row of shops when he spotted her in a phone booth adjacent to one of the shops.  She had her back turned as she spoke and he waited a good ten minutes for her to conclude before following her back to their gate.

The boarding announcement came soon after.

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Russo followed the boyfriend to Route 528 east then north on the 95 toward Jacksonville.  That took him well out of miniature radio range so on their first break he called the relay and left a message for Maloney, Lance, and Sollet, none of whom had yet to make contact.