Vanishing Act (13 page)

“We have been contacted by Nadia Symanova's kidnappers,” Campbell began, cutting right to the chase. “Obviously, there is now no doubt there has been a kidnapping. They have made certain demands, which I can tell you aren't financial. We are discussing these demands with Mr. Symanov and his wife right now before deciding exactly how to respond.”

“What are the demands?” someone shouted, a simple and logical question.

“For obvious security reasons, we can't share that with you,” Campbell said. “We have been told her life is
not
in danger. This has more to do with whether she will be returned in time to participate in this tournament.”

“Have the kidnappers identified themselves to you?”

“Not specifically. But we have an idea who they are. Right now is not the time to share our suspicions with you.”

“Is it the SVR?” Voices were coming from all over the room.

Campbell smiled. “As I said, I'm not prepared to speculate at this point.”

“Can you confirm that it
isn't
the SVR?”

This time he didn't smile. “I can't confirm or deny anything in that area.”

Bud Collins broke in. “Misha, can you give us some idea of what the last twenty-four hours have been like for you and Yolanda?”

For the next ten minutes, Misha Symanov talked at great length about what he and his wife and their family and friends had been through. He thanked Hughes Norwood and the USTA for all their help and he said he hoped this ordeal would be over soon. He was far more emotional than he had appeared to be in the SMG lounge just that morning. Perhaps he was more worn out. Perhaps hearing from the kidnappers had made the situation more frightening for him. He concluded by saying he was grateful for all the sympathy and support extended to him and to his family since “this nightmare of our lives began.”

He paused for a minute to collect himself. “I know there have been many rumors,” he continued. “I want to say this to all of you: the Russian government has been very supportive since yesterday. They have offered to help my family in any way possible. I have lived in this country five years now and I love it, but I am very proud to be Russian by birth. So too is my daughter.”

“He's either very good or very upset,” Susan Carol said.

Stevie had been thinking almost the same thing. Maybe they were both being a little unfair. He was trying to imagine how his parents would react if he vanished into thin air. And yet Susan Carol was right—something seemed odd about Mr. Symanov. One minute he was as calm as could be, the next he was the brokenhearted father.

Kantarian was breaking up the press conference, saying the media would be kept apprised as more information became available. Before Stevie or Susan Carol could start to leave, a man wearing a USTA shirt walked up and said quietly, “Can I have a word with you two kids?”

Uh-oh, Stevie thought. What could this be? The man walked toward the door and signaled them to follow him. Stevie wondered if they shouldn't go back and grab Kelleher or Tamara or Bud Collins so one of them could vouch for them. The man kept walking toward the door of the media center and didn't stop until they were outside.

“Should we really go out there?” Stevie hissed at Susan Carol as she followed him.

“Beats me,” she said.

Once they were in a quiet spot, the man turned around, put out a hand, and said, “Mark Preston.”

They shook hands. Preston looked around to make sure no one was listening to him.

“I heard what you guys said in there about the father.”

“We didn't mean anything by it,” Susan Carol said. “We were just—”

Preston waved a hand to stop her. “Calm down, I'm not here to lecture you. I think you're right. I don't get why any of the so-called pros in there haven't gotten onto this yet.”

“Onto what?” Stevie said, because he wasn't sure exactly what they were onto.

“Something is funny with the father. We all know he was blabbing to anyone who would listen yesterday that the SVR did this. Kelleher wrote it; Bud's whole column was on his angst right after the girl disappeared. Now the Russians are his best friends.”

“Maybe he has to say that,” Susan Carol said. “Maybe that's how they get her released.”

“Maybe,” Preston said. “But it's all a little too easy, I think. The kid disappears, the father and Norwood are practically chasing the media around yesterday to say the SVR did it. Now it's all hearts and flowers—no more evil Russians.”

“Okay, let's say you're right,” Stevie said quietly. “What do you think we should do about it?”

Preston looked around. “If I was still a reporter—”

“You were a reporter?” Stevie broke in, causing Susan Carol to give him one of her be-quiet looks.

“For twenty-five years,” he said. “My mind still works like a reporter even if doing PR pays my bills. Look, my instincts are telling me something is up with the father, and I think yours are telling you the same thing.”

“So where would your reporting instincts lead you right now?” Susan Carol said.

“Easy,” Preston said. “The U.S. Open Club. I heard Norwood telling Symanov just before they walked into the press conference that their four o'clock meeting would be there. It's unofficial agent headquarters when they're up to something, because the media's not allowed in.”

“Is that the place next to Slew's?” Stevie asked.

“Yeah,” Preston said. “Same food, only more expensive.”

“
More
expensive—”

Susan Carol cut him off. “If the media can't go in there, how can we?”

“Follow me,” Preston said. “I can take care of that.”

13:
MORE CLUES

THEY FOLLOWED
Mark Preston back inside to an office that said
USTA COMMUNICATIONS
.

“Give me your credentials,” he said.

“What! Why?” they said almost together. Stevie didn't feel the least bit comfortable about giving his credential to someone he had just met.

“I'll be back in five minutes,” he said. “Stay right here, you'll be fine.”

Stevie looked at Susan Carol, who nodded. They slipped their credentials over their heads and handed them to Preston, who—after glancing around
again
—disappeared inside the office.

“Why are we trusting this guy?” Stevie said.

“I'm not sure,” Susan Carol said. “Gut instinct? He makes sense. He has no reason to lie—that we know of, anyway. Right now I don't know
whom
to trust.”

He knew she was talking about what was going on with her uncle, but he decided this wasn't the time to pursue it. “Maybe we should ask Kelleher or Bud about him,” he said.

“Too late now,” she said. “They're nowhere in sight and he's got our credentials. We just have to hope…”

The door opened again and Preston reappeared. “See, not even five minutes,” he said. He handed them back their credentials. Then he handed Susan Carol an envelope. “Don't open it in here,” he said. “Walk outside, and while you're walking around the building, slip your media credential off and replace it with what's in here.”

He smiled. “I'm sure you both think I'm nuts, but I'm trying to help and I just have a feeling you guys are onto something. I trust Kelleher and Mearns, but I think you guys might be a little ahead of the curve right now and you might be better able to run this down. Good luck.”

He shook their hands and left. “You want to try it?” Susan Carol asked.

“Let's walk outside and see what's in the envelope,” he said.

She nodded and they headed out and began circling the stadium. After a few steps, she opened the envelope, pulled out the contents, and smiled. “Take a look,” she said, handing a credential to Stevie. “This might work.” He looked at it. Like the media credential it had his photo on it. But instead of a giant “M,” it had a large “F” in blue lettering. Underneath it said simply:
PLAYER FAMILY
.

“These will get us into the Open Club, and if we see Norwood or Symanov, we can still stick to our story about being Evelyn's brother and sister,” she said. “These don't have names on them, just the player family thing.”

“Looks like Mark Preston knows what he's doing.”

“So far,” she said. “Now it's up to us.”

Susan Carol called Kelleher on her cell to let him know they were working on something and might not be back in the media center for a while. Stevie heard her say, “We'll fill you in when we get back” before she hung up. Kelleher was obviously curious.

Their new passes got them inside the door marked
U.S
.
OPEN CLUB
—
CREDENTIAL HOLDERS ONLY
with no problem. Stevie noticed a board on the window that showed who was and was not admitted to the club. There was a very clear X through the “M” badge on the board.

The room was large and open with tinted windows that allowed customers to look out at the plaza but prevented passersby from looking in. There was a very large buffet table in the back. A hostess seated them in a booth that was thankfully tucked away in a corner of the room. Stevie and Susan Carol searched the room for familiar faces. It was four o'clock and only a few tables were occupied. They saw no one they recognized.

“Maybe Preston's not as good as we thought,” Stevie said.

“Let's give it some time,” she said. “I imagine you're hungry again. It's been almost two hours since you last ate.”

She had a point. The waiter encouraged them to try the buffet—“It's a bargain,” he said, noting that the cost was only $27.50 for all you could eat. Susan Carol ordered a salad and iced tea. Stevie sighed and settled for the grilled chicken with a side order of french fries.

They were sipping their drinks when Stevie saw Susan Carol's eyes widen. “Don't look,” she said.

Stevie looked anyway. Across the room, coming in a back door, were Hughes Norwood, the Symanovs, and another man whom Stevie didn't recognize. They sat at a table in the far corner—good news because they didn't notice Stevie and Susan Carol, bad news because there was no way to hear any of the conversation.

“That man with them looks familiar,” Susan Carol said. Then she let out a small gasp. “Oh my God, I know who it is!”

“Who?” he said.

“His name's Glenn O'Donahue. He's a movie director. Does celebrity sensation stuff—really big blockbusters. I think his last big hit was something about Princess Diana's one true love—some guy she dated in high school.”

“High-class stuff.”

“Yeah, but apparently it sells. Seriously, you've never heard of him?”

Stevie shook his head. “What matters,” he said, “is why he would be meeting with the Symanovs and Norwood.”

“I'll give you three guesses.”

He was about to answer when someone else walked in the back door. His first instinct was to duck under the table, but Brendan Gibson headed straight for the corner where Norwood, the Symanovs, and O'Donahue were sitting, without glancing in their direction. There were handshakes all around and Gibson sat down. Stevie looked at Susan Carol. Her face was white.

“This is
not
possible,” she said, her voice filled with anger.

She started to slide out of the booth.

“Hey, wait a second,” he said. “Where do you think you're going?”

“Over there to ask my uncle exactly what he's doing with those people.”

He half stood up, reached across the table, and hauled her back down. “Are you nuts?” he said, keeping his voice to a whisper because he didn't want to attract any attention. “Calm down. You have to think more clearly than that right now.”

She had tears in her eyes. “You hurt my arm,” she said.

“I—I'm sorry, I didn't mean to….”

She shook her head. “It's not that bad. But how can my uncle be involved with those people?”

He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “That,” he said, “is
exactly
what we have to find out.”

Their food came a moment later. Susan Carol wiped her tears on a napkin and took a deep breath. They kept an eye on what was going on across the room. Fortunately, Brendan Gibson had his back to them and everyone else was too involved in the conversation to notice them.

Susan Carol picked at her salad and kept glancing at her uncle. “Something's rotten in Denmark,” she said.

“And in New York, and Moscow, and Hollywood too,” he said, actually causing her to smile.

“Listen,” he continued. “You're the smart one here. What should we do next?”

“Don't suck up to me, Stevie,” she said. “Obviously we need to find out what they're plotting over there.”

“That's the easy part. The question is
how
?”

For a moment she didn't say anything, staring at her uncle's back as if he might somehow not be there if she stared long enough and hard enough.

“Earth to Susan Carol,” he said.

“I'm here,” she said, snapping her attention back to him.

“Okay, here's what I think,” she continued, her eyes refocusing on him. “O'Donahue has no idea who we are. And we have these badges that say ‘player family.' What if I bluff him? I'll tell him that I'm Norwood's niece and he told me I could try out for a part in the movie.”

“Movie?”

“What do you think O'Donahue's sitting over there for? They're planning a movie. Which means they must know Nadia is safe.”

“But if they know she's safe, why haven't they announced it? Why would they keep it secret?”

“Exactly.”

“So what do you want me to do?”

She smiled the old Susan Carol smile. “You need to go to Evelyn Rubin's match tomorrow. You have to find out what—if anything—she knows about all this. We need to know if she's somehow involved too.”

“How would she be involved?”

“Think about it: Symanova's kidnapped, returns heroically to play in the Open, then loses in the third round to someone younger than her who wasn't even ranked in the top hundred in the world before the summer started and has just recently cracked the top fifty.”

“Not a perfect ending for a movie.”

“Right.
But
if the beautiful and courageous young star who wants so much to represent her new country makes it to the quarters and takes on the evil, big-hitting, not nearly as attractive Russian…”

“Makarova.”

“Uh-huh. Good versus evil. That's better.”

“So you think your uncle would convince Evelyn to tank the match? Why, though? Symanova should beat her anyway, at least based on ranking.”

“You saw Evelyn play. She's a lot better than her ranking. Maybe she makes them nervous. That's what you have to find out.”

“But how?”

The smile again. “Stevie, you can be very charming. Charm her.”

“Now who's sucking up, Scarlett?” he said, smiling in spite of himself.

The meeting at the other end of the room was breaking up. “Look down and away,” Susan Carol hissed.

He did as ordered. They both watched out of the corner of their eyes as everyone shook hands. They breathed a sigh of relief when the group exited through the back.

“Okay,” Susan Carol said. “Now all I've got to do is figure out how to get five minutes alone with Glenn O'Donahue.”

They split up once they had paid the check. Susan Carol headed off to try to find O'Donahue while Stevie went back to the pressroom to update Kelleher and find out if he could stay with him that night. They had discarded the idea of Susan Carol talking Brendan into forgiving Stevie. Instead, she was going to pretend to be outraged by Stevie's accusations and stay clearly on her uncle's side. At least for the moment.

“Be careful,” Stevie said.

“I promise,” Susan Carol said.

“I'm serious. These people have a lot at stake….”

“I know, I know. I'll see you back at the media center. If I'm not back in an hour, send a posse out to look for me.”

“Keep your cell phone on.”

“Yes, Dad.”

She said it with a smile—she was glad he cared. He sort of wanted to hug her but held back since he was going to see her in an hour—or less.

Stevie made his way back to the media center. Evelyn Rubin would play the second match on court 4 the next day. Stevie knew from walking around that court 4 was the biggest outside court. It was a long way from where she had played on Monday—court 18 was barely on the grounds. Kelleher walked up behind him as he was staring at the schedule.