Vanishing Act (20 page)

“Gibson,” a voice said. “We can't make it before five o'clock. Take it or leave it. Meet us at twenty-five East Tenth. It's apartment 4B.”

Now they knew when Gibson had written down the address and the time. Evelyn looked frightened.

“Should we go there?” Evelyn asked.

Susan Carol shook her head. “It's almost eleven o'clock,” she said. “We can't just go charging down there in the middle of the night and kick the door in.”

“What're you saying?” Stevie said. “That we
could
go kick the door in tomorrow morning?”

Susan Carol shook her head. “No. I think we need adult help. My uncle may very well be at this apartment. But we don't know for sure.”

“How do we find out?”

“I think Kelleher needs to contact his FBI friend as soon as possible. Maybe he can find out who the apartment belongs to or figure out a way to get in there and see if Uncle Brendan's there or not.”

Evelyn looked at Stevie, clearly wanting to know what he thought. “She's right,” Stevie said. “We have no idea what Brendan has walked into. We don't even know if he's a good guy or a bad guy.”

She looked baffled. “Why are you both talking about Brendan like this? What aren't you telling me?”

Stevie told her about what had happened Wednesday after she had gone up to change.

“Stevie, I am
so
sorry,” she said. “I know Brendan has been uptight all week. But I can't believe it was him who sent those men.”

“Maybe he didn't,” Stevie said. “That's why we need help. We don't know what we're dealing with. But we know it's serious.”

“Okay,” Evelyn said. “Call Kelleher.”

Susan Carol picked up the phone on her uncle's desk and dialed Kelleher's cell. “I'm getting voice mail,” she said. She left a message asking him to call her cell as soon as possible. “It's
very
urgent,” she said.

She hung up and said, “Okay, let's get out of here.”

“You aren't staying here tonight?” Stevie said.

“No way. I'm not staying here alone. I'll sleep on the couch with you guys again. It's actually comfortable.”

He wasn't going to tell her to stay here, that was for sure. And he figured they should be together when Kelleher called. Before they left the apartment, he handed the contract he had found to Evelyn. “I know you don't care much about this right now, but it looks like Brendan was telling the truth about you getting rich,” he said. He showed her the paragraph with the numbers. Then he showed her the one that mentioned the twelve tournaments.

She sighed. “It's an awful lot of money,” she said. “This is my eighth tournament this year, so twelve isn't
that
much more traveling. I'm sure Brendan was thinking he could talk my parents into it. Right now, though, I can't even think about it.”

They left the apartment and went downstairs. Riverside Drive was deserted. They started walking over to West End Avenue, hoping to find a cab. Every few steps, Stevie found himself turning to look behind to make sure no one was following. There were no cabs in sight on West End either, so they kept walking to Broadway. Stevie's heart was pounding and he breathed a sigh of relief when they reached Broadway and found it brightly lit and crowded with people coming out of nearby restaurants and bars.

Finally, they were able to flag a cab and decided that Evelyn would drop them off at the apartment, then continue on to her hotel.

“You get some sleep,” Susan Carol told her as they got out of the cab.

“Easy for you to say,” she said, forcing a smile. “I guess they won't come after me as long as they have Brendan.”

“They won't,” Stevie said. “But call us when you get to your room.”

“And we'll call you if we hear anything,” Susan Carol added.

The cab pulled away. Kelleher and Mearns weren't back yet so Stevie and Susan Carol turned on the TV and watched some Open highlights from the day. Andre Agassi had won, which might have been a big story except for the fact that all anyone seemed to care about was the upcoming Symanova-Rubin match. Evelyn called to report she was safely in her room in the middle of a lengthy piece about the match, which included an interview with Brendan Gibson. “I wonder,” Susan Carol said, “when they taped that.”

Stevie heard the Duke fight song. Susan Carol picked up her cell and looked at it. “It's Bobby,” she said.

She hit the button to answer the call and, after a few seconds, said, “There's a lot to tell you, are you in a good place to listen?” A pause. “No, I don't think it can wait for you to get here.” Stevie listened as she filled him in. “Okay,” she said finally. “We'll see you soon.” She snapped the phone shut.

“What'd he say?” Stevie asked.

“He's calling his friend at the FBI,” she said. “He says that's the way to go, especially since there may be a kidnapping going on here.”

“Two in a week,” Stevie said.

She said nothing in response, just stared into space.

“What do we do now?” he asked finally.

She stood up. “We do what we told Evelyn to do,” she said. “Try to get some sleep.”

“Easy for you to say,” he said. Like Evelyn, he wasn't kidding.

20:
THE RESCUE

IT TURNED
out Stevie was wrong about not being able to sleep. The sun was up and streaming through the windows when he heard a knock on his door.

“Stevie,” Susan Carol said. “Wake up. You need to get dressed.”

He walked to the door, still in his pajamas, and opened it. “What's up?” he asked.

“The FBI guy just called Bobby. He's going to be here at eight o'clock.”

Stevie looked at his watch. It was almost seven-thirty. “Should we call Evelyn?” he said.

“No, not unless we absolutely have to. Let her get ready to play.”

He took a quick shower and got dressed. Eggs and an English muffin were waiting for him on the table when he walked into the kitchen. Kelleher was standing at the stove. “My day to make breakfast,” he said.

Stevie was finishing his breakfast when the doorbell rang. Mearns opened it and a man Stevie guessed was the FBI agent Kelleher knew walked in. Stevie remembered the FBI people in New Orleans as very stern-looking. This one was different. “Pete Dowling,” he said, shaking hands with a smile. Susan Carol offered everyone coffee and they all sat down.

“Bobby briefed me on the phone about what's been going on,” Dowling said. “My partner is waking a judge up right now, trying to get a search warrant for that apartment. But honestly, I'm dubious. What you have is hardly definitive.”

“Have you been able to find out who the apartment belongs to?” Susan Carol asked.

“Not exactly,” Dowling said. “The official listing is a company called TB-Inc. As far as we can figure, it's a bogus name.”

“Well, that makes it suspicious, doesn't it?” Susan Carol said. “Can't you find out who's behind the fake name?”

“We're working on it, but it takes a while, especially on Labor Day weekend. These people have insulated themselves pretty well.”

Kelleher leaned forward in his chair. “Pete, we don't have time,” he said. “We need to know if this guy has been kidnapped, and if so, why.”

“Has anyone been contacted?” Dowling asked. “Has Ms. Rubin heard anything leading her to believe this is connected to her match today?”

“Not so far as we know,” Kelleher said.

Dowling stood up. “That's the problem,” he said. “I can't get a warrant for this apartment based on a phone message and the address being on a notepad. There has to be some tangible evidence that someone is being held against their will in that apartment. If you can get me that, I can make a move. Until then, I can't.”

They all looked at one another. “It is a little bit strange that no one has called, isn't it?” Susan Carol said. “If someone wants Evelyn to throw the match, they should have contacted her by now.”

Stevie heard the Duke fight song again. Susan Carol answered. She listened for a minute and then said, “Okay, we'll get right back to you.”

“That was Evelyn,” she said, closing the phone. “The Makarovs just told her that SMG has scheduled a press conference for Symanova after the match today. They're convinced SMG is going to announce the movie deal. They say CBS is going to cover it live—and the other networks are fighting to get onto the grounds to cover it too. CBS is trying to keep it exclusive. Big battle going on.”

“They must be pretty confident Symanova's going to win today,” Mearns said.

“Exactly,” Susan Carol answered. “Now, why would that be?”

It took a while, but they finally came up with a strategy: Kelleher and Mearns would pick up Evelyn and drive her out to the tennis center. She had turned down a ride from the Makarovs and had told Susan Carol she couldn't bear the thought of making small talk in a courtesy car.

Dowling was going to see if he could find a judge to grant some kind of conditional warrant—one that wouldn't allow a search of the apartment but would at least authorize using his FBI badge to get into the apartment. “Long shot,” he said. “But it isn't out of the question.”

Stevie and Susan Carol would wait for a call from Dowling and then meet him if he found Brendan Gibson. Kelleher wasn't thrilled about leaving them in the city on their own, but Susan Carol was desperate to be close by if her uncle was found. So Kelleher made them promise not to do
anything
until they heard from Dowling, no matter how tempted they might be to try something on their own. Reluctantly, they promised. “This isn't New Orleans,” Kelleher said as they were leaving. “I'm not sure those academic types would actually have hurt you guys. But we already know these goons mean business—don't we, Stevie?”

Once they were gone, Susan Carol made more coffee. Stevie tried joking about it stunting her growth, but she could only manage a wan smile.

“I guess I misjudged your uncle,” he said finally. “Whatever he was up to, he wasn't involved in this.”

“Oh, he was involved,” she said. “But obviously not the way we thought. At first, I just couldn't imagine him being crooked. Then I thought I was wrong. Now I just can't imagine him being…”

“He won't be,” Stevie said. “Mr. Dowling will come through.”

The time crept by. They turned on the TV and watched
The Sports Reporters.
Mike Lupica was talking about Symanova versus Rubin. “If you took this plot to a movie studio, they would turn you away because it's just not believable,” he said. “This is the Russian supermodel against the girl next door. This is the girl every boy wants to date against the girl they're all going to want to marry someday. The victim of a kidnapping against America's newest sweetheart. This could be the most dramatic tennis match any of us has seen since Bobby Riggs played Billie Jean King in 1973. And the only thing we know for sure? Both these girls are going to be very, very rich no matter who wins this afternoon.”

“I guess he's got that right,” said Stevie, remembering the contract he had seen the night before.

They flipped around. Tim Russert was interviewing Hughes Norwood on
Meet the Press.
After listening to Norwood talk for thirty seconds, Stevie hit the remote again. George Stephanopoulos was on ABC talking to Arlen Kantarian and Bud Collins. One more click to CBS and, yup, there was Bob Schieffer lobbing questions at Mary Carillo and Billie Jean King. “What happened to Nadia is a nightmare,” King said. “But because of all the circumstances, this could be the biggest match in the history of women's tennis—it will certainly be the most watched, based on the ratings so far this week.”

“As big as when you played Riggs?” Schieffer asked.

“Bigger.”

“I think if the president of the United States resigned today, it would be the second-biggest story going,” Susan Carol said.

Her phone rang again. Again, she listened. “Okay, we'll call Mr. Dowling right now,” she said. “Don't worry. It's going to be all right. Someone will be there right away. Just sit tight and don't even think about anything except winning the match.”

“Evelyn?” Stevie said as she hung up.

She nodded while dialing.

“They called?”

“No. There was a note in her locker. It said something like ‘As soon as you lose today, your agent will be released unharmed.'”

“Holy…”

“Mr. Dowling,” Susan Carol said, “I think we have the tangible evidence you need.”

Stevie listened as she filled him in about the note and then saw a frown cross her face. “But that'll be too late,” she said. She nodded her head. “Okay, but
please
hurry. The match starts in four hours.”

She stood up and started for the door. “Come on,” she said. “We need to get going.”

“Where?” he asked.

“Mr. Dowling said an agent would go find Evelyn at the tennis center to see the note and make sure she's okay. Then he can get a warrant, but it may still take time,” she said. “We can't wait that long.”

“But we promised…”

“That was before Evelyn got the note. Come on. I'll think of what we're going to do in the cab.”

“Cab? Where are we going?”

“Twenty-five East Tenth Street,” she said. “Apartment 4B.”

Neither of them said much in the cab. Even though it was late in the morning, the streets in Greenwich Village were still quiet. They had the cab stop a few yards short of the green awning that said 25 on it and got out there.

“Now what do we do?” Stevie asked when they were standing on the sidewalk.

“I've got a plan,” she said.

“I figured you would.”

“Mr. Dowling told me that if he knew someone was in imminent danger, he wouldn't need the warrant. The note to Evelyn isn't quite enough.”

“So?”

“So I'm going in there. When I do…”

“You're doing
what
? What in the world are you talking about? You're just going to walk up there and ring the doorbell?”

“Exactly.”

“And what do you expect them to do? Invite you in for coffee?”

“I expect them to hold me against my will.”

He looked at her closely to see if she might be joking. She wasn't.

“Why would they even open the door?”

“Because if they won't, I'll yell that I'm going to get the police if they don't let my uncle Brendan go. You can bet they'll open the door then. As soon as I'm in there, you can call Mr. Dowling and say I'm being held and I'm in danger. He'll
have
to come then.”

It wasn't a bad idea. Well, it was a terrible idea—but it might work.

“You can't do it,” he said. “I won't let you.”

She smiled at him. “Yes, you will,” she said. “Because you know it's a good idea. And we can't waste any more time.”

He thought about it for a minute. “Okay,” he said. “We'll try it. But
I'm
going in.
You
call Mr. Dowling.”

She shook her head. “Nope, it has to be me,” she said. “They'll open up more quickly for a girl.” She put her hand on his shoulder. “He's
my
uncle, Stevie. I have to try.”

Stevie still didn't like it. But he wasn't exactly full of alternative plans. And he could see there was no talking her out of it. He took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said. “But I'm scared.”

She smiled. “Me too,” she said.

She looked at her watch. “It's eleven-fifteen. If I'm not back down here at eleven-twenty-five, call Mr. Dowling.”

“How about eleven-twenty?” he said.

“It'll take me a minute to find the right apartment. And maybe someone unexpected will answer the door, or maybe the apartment will be empty…,” she said. “Wait ten. Then call.”

“You sure Dowling will come? What if he's mad at us for doing this?”

“Oh, he'll be mad. But he'll come.”

She handed him a piece of paper. It was the one on which Brendan had written down the address. “Keep that,” she said. “You'll need the door code when they get here.”

“I hope you're right about that being what ‘DC' stands for,” he said.

“Well, let's go see. If I'm wrong, we'll need a plan B,” she said.

She squared her shoulders and turned to go. Stevie had an urge to do something before she left—he just wasn't sure what. He caught hold of her arm and pulled her back. “Susan Carol…,” he choked out, but he couldn't think of anything to say. Finally, he settled for “Be careful,” which was kind of dumb—by walking in there, she was being anything but careful.

“Don't worry,” she said. “I know you'll come and rescue me.” She gave him the smile and walked up to the front door of the building. She punched the code into the keypad next to the door, and in a second she was gone.

Stevie began staring at his watch. And sweating.