Authors: Niv Kaplan
The boyfriend had stopped at a wayside diner and was having breakfast while Russo remained in his car, worrying.
He trusted Sollet up to a point. The Frenchman was prone to flying off the handle at times, an attribute Russo could do without. He knew Sollet to be reliable when the situation called for quick reactions, but he also knew him to be less than patient with the more tedious tasks. He knew he could keep up with the girl but was worried he may decide to take matters into his own hands and find an excuse to confront her. He would have felt better had he or Lance, or even Maloney, had accompanied the Frenchman to keep matters balanced.
He himself had learned patience the hard way and now appreciated its importance, realizing that uncalculated, hasty actions were a recipe for failure. That got his best buddy killed and had put himself and Lance in prison. Had they waited and assessed the situation better, they may have spotted the unmarked police vehicles and would have never attempted to strike the money truck.
He had learned patience in prison, a cruel place where one could easily be dragged into taking certain actions without ever assessing any long term consequences. Russo, by no means a pushover, had shied away from confrontations and had made a name for himself as a reasonable and reliable inmate who could be trusted to settle
matters in peace. Had it not been for that, he could easily have added several more years to his prison stay, possibly enough to never see the light of another free day.
Unlike many discharged inmates, Russo took to freedom and never once considered himself unfit for society. He knew the limits of his ex-con status, but the firm had made up for that. The work they performed was by no means an insurance policy and could still get him in a shit load of trouble, but he knew he could minimize risk by acting patiently and not succumbing to impulse.
On their next break, a hundred miles into Georgia, he called the relay again and received Lance's phone number. He and Maloney had opted to remain at the Orlando hotel. He called and instructed them to stay put until Sollet resurfaced. The two were only too happy to oblige.
The boyfriend finally turned in at a motel near Savannah. Russo did not have much use for a room, but he took one anyway to make phone calls. The relay eventually delivered a message from Sollet who had tracked the sister to Los Angeles and was in a motel in the San Fernando Valley. Russo had spent many a night tailing the girl in that part of the country and knew exactly where she had gone. He called Lance at Orlando instructing him to catch a red eye to LA then he called the client.
"They split up," he said into the phone dryly, as the receiver on the other end was picked up.
"Where?"
came the immediate inquiry.
"Girl's in LA, back at her parents. The boyfriend's with me outside Savannah, Georgia."
"Your people in place?" the voice asked.
"Sure are," Russo replied, not bothering with the troublesome details.
"Keep me informed," the voice commanded," every twelve hours."
"Will do," Russo replied and heard the phone click.
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Lisa used a pay phone to call her friend Kathy at work. The two had studied together at UCLA and had been best friends since Junior High. Kathy Miller was an architect working for a large firm in Century City. She had been the main advocate in convincing Lisa to complete her studies and get her life back on track after losing Karen.
"Hello?" she heard the familiar voice answer the ring. "Kathy, hi, it's me."
"Oh hi, where are you."
"Back in LA."
"Great, let's celebrate. I'll pick you up at eight.
Are you home?"
"I am, but we can't celebrate. Not yet. I need you to do me a favor."
"Name it, girl. You know I'll do anything for a price."
"Can you leave work?"
There was a slight pause. Lisa could picture Kathy digesting the request, silently letting her head fall down in resignation, her long silky brown hair spreading across her desk.
"Are we at war, girl? Have they attacked Pearl Harbor again?"
Lisa chuckled. Kathy's never failed to raise her spirits.
"We are, as a matter of fact, but not against the Japanese this time."
"What is it then? Are you in trouble?"
"No trouble, Kathy. I just need a monster favor from you and you can't ask questions either."
Her tone became tense and Kathy sobered quickly.
"OK, I'll leave right now. Where shall we meet?"
"We can't meet. I'll need to give you instructions over the phone. We can meet later."
"Sure sounds like trouble to me," Kathy remarked, "or you are working part time for the CIA?"
"A bit of both Kathy, but don't concern yourself. Just do what I ask and I'll owe you bigtime!"
She needed her friend but her boss had lost his life helping her and she was damned if she was going to get another friend in trouble. On the way over from Orlando she had gone through a mental exercise, putting up all kinds of arguments against involving her best friend, but Kathy remained her only choice.
"Will you be here holding my hand, when my boss goes into one of his daily fits about us procrastinators?" Kathy joshed.
"I'll do anything you ask."
"OK, shoot."
"You need to go down to San Clemente to check up on a house. All I want you to do is to watch it for a while. Don't go knocking on any doors now. Just watch for any activity then tell me what you saw."
"Sounds simple enough," Kathy said.
"Just be careful not to be noticed. You may drive by now and then, but mainly you need to find a spot with a good view and stay in your car."
"OK, then what?"
"Meet me at the Lakeview and tell me all about it."
"How long do you want me to stay there?"
Lisa looked at her watch. It was 9:30. San Clemente was an hour drive from Century City. She wanted the house surveyed for as long as possible but during hours that were reasonable for the tenants to be around.
"I'd like you to get there at one and stay until seven, if that's OK," she said cautiously, realizing she was asking a lot.
There was another brief pause then a quiet sigh before Kathy replied. "You paying for all the munchies and drinks I plan to consume?"
"That, and dinner after," Lisa said, relieved.
"OK then, I'll see you at the Lakeview at nine-ish."
"You're a pal," Lisa said.
She gave her the address and instructed her to bail out if she thought she had been noticed by anyone even remotely suspicious including any neighbors, the police, or anyone from the house, then wished her luck and hung up quickly, afraid she would change her mind if they talked any longer.
CHAPTER 42
There was no particular rationale for choosing which house to check first except for their location relative to the airport, and since Glen Cove seemed closer on the map they went to it first.
Having arrived late at night, they took up residence at the Kennedy Airport Travelodge and drove out in a rented Corsica early the following morning. They had considered splitting up, each of them assuming a house, but eventually decided against it. Eitan's English was not up to par, making it quite difficult for him to find his way around. He had been doing most of the driving while Sarah guided them by way of conventional Triple A maps. Moreover, the proximity of the two houses made it possible to cover the both of them in the same day if need be.
They took the Belt Parkway to the Cross Island then on the Long Island expressway, traveling east until they reached the Glen Cove exit and took it north. They veered off Glen Cove Road past Greenvale to Roslyn Harbor then drove north toward Sea Cliff.
Even the gray December setting could not take away from the magnificent scenery along the narrow Hempstead inlet that steadily widened into the Long Island Sound. The narrow highway twisted along the rocky shore, gray, turbulent water to one side, affluent gardens enveloping majestic mansions to the other side. The early morning atmosphere was icy and damp, the wind shrieking across the road tilting fences and trees. They reached Sea Cliff stopping at a cozy little shop serving coffee and muffins and took their time enjoying the warm, aroma-filled shelter, watching the locals drift in and out for their morning nourishment.
Before leaving, they took a stroll around to stretch their muscles, inspecting the layout of the picturesque little town with its narrow, luxurious streets, and attractive store fronts.
"Cute place," Sarah said out loud, walking backward to avert the gusts of chilling wind from freezing her face. "If it wasn't for this weather, I could get used to it."
"Too established for my taste," Eitan called out, trying to
outperform the shrieking wind. "Can't go hunting wild hogs around a place like this."
"I bet you could in Elkhorn County," Sarah said.
"Actually, they hunt deer not far from there. There were some photos above the cashier at the coffee shack. I spoke to some fellow about it while you were out talking to Duffy Duck. He invited me to join him."
"Just like that?"
"We exchanged tactics. I described how we do it in Israel with Jeeps and automatic weapons. They do it differently here, on foot and with modified hunting rifles."
"Would you have joined him?" Sarah asked
, tightening the grip on her coat as the wind picked up once again.
"In a heartbeat," Eitan said with a twinkle in his eye. "I may even go back there once we settle our business here."
"You think we'll settle it here?"
"I didn't mean necessarily here, in this spot, but for sure somewhere on this continent."
"It's certainly a big continent and we may be running out of options if we don't find something in one of these houses," Sarah pointed out then turned and ran for cover.
They reached their car in front of the small coffee shop and scrambled in, escaping the wind. Eitan gunned the motor, setting the heater full force and the two embraced the heat pouring out the front panel. Sarah inspected the map as soon as she felt blood return to her fingers, noting the two sites she had marked. Their prospects were fast diminishing, she thought grimly.
Together with Lisa and Mikki, they had decided to inspect the house in San Clemente before she and Eitan went on to check the Long Island houses.
They were all pretty doubtful of finding anything in San Clemente. The sequence of postcards sent by Dan Hasson coincided with their own findings at Provo and Omaha and it showed a clear, west to east trend, which gave them plenty of reason to suspect Long Island as being the next destination, but the San Clemente prospect had to be eliminated.
They caught a flight to New York as soon as their suspicions were confirmed. Lisa had affirmed the San Clemente house to be as deserted as the rest of them, leaving the Long Island houses, one in Glen Cove and the other in Huntington, the final two opportunities on the Cascade trail.
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Kumar knew they were on his trail as soon as Devon called in with a report.
At least three of the houses had been visited. Devon's people had reported talking to neighbors who all gave more or less the same account of being approached by strangers of foreign origin and asked about the house and whether a girl had been seen in it. All the neighbors had been handed photographs of a pretty blonde girl who, in two of the cases the fable being, had been an old acquaintance who was being set up for a surprise reunion. In the third case, an old farmer who had been approached not three days ago said the female who had approached him had a male partner and was asking not only about the girl but also about a man.
Kumar interrogated Devon a good fifteen minutes before letting him loose, instructing him to remain accessible but do nothing for the moment. It was time to approach the inner circle.
He was quite troubled by the news but was especially concerned about the reference made to the man expected to be seen with the girl. It sounded almost as if they had a description in mind. Of course the old farmer could have sparked accidental interest reporting seeing one of the bodyguards, but Kumar suspected otherwise. The apparent interest was not a fluke but rather quite intentional and yes, they had someone in mind.
The Cascade trail had been uncovered, that was a foregone conclusion. The information from Johnson had managed to filter through and the setup was apparently cracked. It was an unfortunate impediment but not something impossible to deal with. Much more troubling and complicated, resolution wise, was the suspicion that the one person who could link the entire scheme together may have been singled out.
Kumar made a mental log of significant events he kept in his mind to try and piece together what led them to that person. The German operative in Denmark had been tracked and made to talk. That gave away Glass, but not much else. The elimination of Johnson and Eckert came too little too late but he was not aware they had any information about the man. The sister and boyfriend were well within his sights and did not seem to be causing harm, and the feds were not even close.
He wondered about the Israeli security arms and whether they had decided to covertly return into action. After all, the threat to their country had never really gone away. He could not rule out that option completely but he had made various inquiries that proved nothing of the kind.
He was in the dark about who else was involved, but sensed that whoever it was, had to be collaborating with the sister and boyfriend,
who were probably much more resourceful and careful than he figured them to be. If they had managed to find out about the project and the chain of events that led to the kidnapping, then they had to know about Dan Hasson.
The more he thought about it, the more he realized how vulnerable his setup had been against people who were not affected by political considerations. His entire premise was shot to hell once the scheme simply became criminal. Anyone who treated the affair as a straightforward kidnapping case could easily trace their movements once he held one end of the string.
In a tiny country like Israel where everyone knew everyone, tracing the chain of events would have been a cinch if you knew what you were after. Someone can gain access to the particular confidential file and inform an interested friend who they happen to owe a favor. After that it would only be a matter of putting two and two together to come up with a connection and follow the footprints to where they lay now.
There were gaps in this rationale and some items still unresolved, but - bottom line - he was already in trouble. They were knocking on his door and threatening the entire project and it would be his skin if anything went wrong.
He disconcertedly lifted the receiver and dialed the house.
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They spotted signs of occupation during their first run of the house.
Verifying the address, they drove by fairly slowly and immediately noticed the activity at the end of a long driveway. The house was partially obscured from the street, surrounded by a wide, circular lawn with several bare rose patches, a few trees, and a set of neatly trimmed, shoulder high bushes, surrounding most of the bottom floor. The front of the house and the adjacent garage could be seen directly in front via the driveway or from the sides through narrow gaps in the natural wall of bushes. It was actually possible to see through the winter bare bushes, but the view became blurred from afar. The entire second floor was quite visible except for a side window where a neighboring tree thickly spread its limbs.
They spotted a dark minivan parked by the front entrance to the house where the driveway widened and disappeared under a partially open garage door. Two of the minivan doors were open and two men were walking from it to the house.
They drove past the house, turned right on the first cross street and circled it from aback. Careful to avoid being conspicuous, they did not drive past its front again. Instead, they drove away from it a
few blocks, turned and approached it from a different direction aiming to reach a vantage point they thought was concealed enough and offered a reasonable view.
The vantage point turned out better than anticipated. They parked just beyond an intersection facing the house from a slightly elevated position, partially obscured by a large Cadillac, some bushes, and whatever traffic happened to go by. The driveway and front entrance were clearly visible and so were most of the front windows on both floors. The dark minivan was still parked in front but the people were gone and the garage door was shut.
They had barely managed to settle into a surveillance routine, when the inexplicable happened. Eitan, making a first pass at adjusting the binoculars, saw her exit the house.
He had been focusing on the front door when it abruptly opened and three figures appeared, closely shielding a fourth. Her face simply popped into his line of sight, jolting him. He had but a few seconds before she disappeared into the mini-van, but it was enough. It was Karen, he was certain of that - her hair cut short and dyed black, her image scrawnier and coarser than she had appeared in her photos, but he could recognize the face anywhere.
He dropped the binoculars on his lap and started the car. Wildly putting it into gear, tires screeching, he maneuvered around the parked Cadillac and shot across the intersection, nearly hitting a passing garbage truck.
Sarah looked at him in astonishment but said nothing.
The minivan was slowly pulling out of the driveway heading away. Eitan slammed on the breaks and waited to give it some room. Then, as he was about to proceed, a second car pulled out of the driveway and followed the minivan. Eitan swore and halted a fraction longer.
"It's her! In the minivan!" he said deliriously, maneuvering the Corsica at a distance from the second car. "It's Karen."
Sarah did not reply and Eitan kept focused on the road, in pursuit, barely able to squeeze by several traffic lights. When he managed a peek at her, he noticed her cheeks wet with tears. She sat upright, her hands holding on to the dashboard, her gaze alertly following the chase, her expression a mixture of relief and concern. At a stop light he held out his hand to her and she squeezed it tightly turning to him with a silent glance of acknowledgement. They held each other's gaze for a brief moment treasuring their accomplishment before abruptly resuming the chase.
They drove through a maze of quiet side streets before reaching a more active boulevard. Eitan had managed to stay with the back-up
car, losing sight of the minivan from time to time. To their relief, the backup car overtook the minivan as they veered onto the busy boulevard, accelerating out of sight.
They were on Route 25A, the North Hempstead Turnpike,
heading east. After several miles they turned north on Mill River Road toward Oyster Bay. The minivan drove carefully, obeying traffic rules and was rather easy prey for Eitan, whose experience chasing wild hogs through meadows and creeks proved quite handy. Once they reached the town of Oyster Bay, traffic became a little denser allowing them keep an even lower profile.
At the center of town, the minivan turned left to West Main heading north along the Oyster Bay Harbor to West Shore Road which flanked the enclosed harbor from the west. They drove along the water for about five miles before the minivan abruptly entered a small side alley and stopped in front of a secluded house.
Eitan slowed the car's progress but remained on West Shore Road, driving past the alley, catching the minivan doors fly open and its entourage racing to the house in a huddle; the backup car was parked in front as well.
They drove on until they reached the next alley and doubled back, slowing down across from the house again, in time to see the back-up car pull away. It was coming after them. Eitan increased his speed to the permitted limit restraining an urge to race away, carefully monitoring his rear view mirror. The backup car turned in their direction and quickly closed the gap, remaining aft of them for several trying seconds before accelerating around them and pulling away.