CHAPTER
THREE
The phone rang, shaking Sam
and Black jack out of their fax scanning trance. Sam picked it up
.
“
Morning Sammy,” Christine said from across the
Atlantic. Her day had started six hours earlier
.
“
Hi,” Sam replied in a subdued voice, sounding
almost surprised
.
“
Rough morning?” Christine asked
.
“
It’s the eighteenth,” Sam said expecting she
knew what the date meant
.
“
Oh, I forgot,” she said, “he’s eleven tomorrow
.”
“
Yeah,” Sam sighed, “another year gone by
.”
Christine did not immediately
reply. There was nothing she could say that would keep Sam from feeling
blue on his missing son’s birthday
.
“
Is Jack there?”
she
asked after a few silent seconds
.
“
Yeah, he’s right here. I’ll put him on
the speaker
.”
“
Hi Chris,” Black Jack said as Sam pressed the
speaker button and put the phone back in its cradle
.
“
Hey Jack, I may need you here soon,” Christine
announced, hastening to proceed with business rather than continue with
unsettling small talk
.
“
What’s up?” Black Jack said, straightening in
his seat
.
“
The El Shara case, it’s back in the spotlight
.”
Ibrahim El Shara had been
twelve when his Egyptian father kidnapped him from his French ex-wife, a music teacher
living in Marseilles, six years after their separation. The mother,
Clair, approached Christine who handled the case for the Center with help from
Black Jack. They tracked the boy to an apartment in Cairo but lost track
soon after and never regained a trail
.
“
Clair’s mother called me this morning,”
Christine continued. “Apparently Clair managed to find the boy but got herself
arrested
.”
“
Where is she?” Black Jack asked, alarmed.
He and Christine had both warned the mother not to try anything on her own
.
“
She’s being held at a place called Dahab in the
Sinai Desert. It's a resort of some sort along the coast of the Red
Sea. She managed to call her mother yesterday but she’s been there a
while
.”
“
How long?” Black Jack and Sam asked in unison
.
“
Two months!” Christine replied dramatically
.
Black Jack and Sam stared at
one another. The most basic and difficult task of any investigation was to hold
the parents in check and make them follow your lead. Most would, but a
few always managed to get themselves in trouble, a fact that obviously made
things much more complex. In most cases, the parent would at least warn
of his or her intentions and the team could try and prepare. On rare
occasions they knew nothing
.
“
Where were we?” Sam asked, careful not to point
blame
.
“
She swore she’d never do it,” Christine said
defensively. “I personally met her and explained the situation not two
months ago. I guess she left the next day. I admit, I kind of lost
track there for a while but I got real busy with the rest
…”
“
It’s not your fault,” Sam interjected. “She
knew the risks. She should have warned us
.”
There was a pause as they
considered the situation. Christine was silent on the line
.
“
We need to go there,” Christine said suddenly,
urgency in her voice
.
Natasha appeared from nowhere
cupping a steaming coffee mug in both hands. She stood at the door
assessing the mood then slipped in and stood behind Black Jack, her slender
frame alert, her blonde hair still a little wet and dripping from the rain outside,
her large blue eyes dodging from Sam to the silent phone box, taking in the
situation
.
“
Let me make a few calls,” Black Jack finally
said. “We’ll call you later today to set a plan
.”
“
I’ll wait for your call then,” Christine
concluded. After another short silence she added, “Ortega called me from
Madrid today.
Wants you guys to call him.
He may have a lead on the Rio boy
.”
“
Thanks Chris. We’ll call him,” Sam said.
“Say hello to Natasha, she just walked in
.”
“
Hey you,” Christine said, sounding a little relieved
to change the focus of the conversation
.
Natasha smiled and waved
toward the phone. “Hi love, you OK
?”
“
I’ve known better days,” Christine remarked.
“The guys will fill you in. Gotta go. Bye
.”
They heard a click, then a
buzz before Sam disconnected. Black Jack hurried to his office. Natasha
took his seat. She put aside the coffee mug and laid her long hands on
the table facing up, in question. Sam filled her in on the morning’s
events then they both called the Spaniard
.
“
Chino,” Sam said when they finally tracked him
down, “you looking for us
?”
“
Si
señor
,” the
Spaniard replied, “I may be on to something
.”
“
I’m here with Natasha, go ahead
.”
“
Ola
señorita
,”
El Chino said. “We’ve found a travel agency which claims to have arranged train
tickets to Barcelona for the Rio family, mother and grandparents together with
an unknown child. They never actually saw the party but the kid who delivered
the tickets saw them at the hotel and swears they fit the description
.”
El Chino paused for a few
seconds and they heard some background noise. “I’m in Barcelona right now
trying to figure where they went. They seem to have contacts everywhere
.”
“
Are the Barcelona locals giving you a hand?”
Sam inquired
.
“
They are but I need backup. We’re close
this time, I know it. Can you send someone
?”
Sam eyed Natasha
inquiringly. “What’s your schedule look like
?
“
Booked solid. I’ve got meetings at the UN this afternoon
then it’s on to Bucharest. One of the Romanian UN people wants to join
me. They think they can pressure the locals to cooperate
.”
“
What’s Mai-Li up to
?”
“
Not a chance. She’s on her way to DC for at
least two days. She finally managed to convince Harley to see her
.”
“
I get the picture,” Sam said.
“Chino, you still there
?”
“
Barely,” the Spaniard said
.
“
Where can I reach you later?” Sam asked
.
“
I’ll call you in two hours,” El Chino said and
clicked off
.
Sam shut his eyes for a brief
moment then met Natasha’s stare. Her look was kind, but without
pity. He could not stand pity in others but felt it for himself
.
“
You should take today off,” she remarked
.
A surge of deep sorrow washed
over him. There were instances where women like Natasha made him feel
sorry for himself and for everything he, his son and his wife, had missed in
ten years. Michelle still lingered large in his memory. He could
not imagine what little Sammy looked like. He gulped down his now
lukewarm coffee and stood up
.
“
It would only make it worse,” he remarked
stepping to the door. “Let’s go talk to Black Jack
.”
Black Jack was intently
listening on the phone as they walked in. He remained that way for a few
seconds then mumbled a few words of thanks into the receiver and put the phone
down
.
“
They can get me to see her,” he said, still
looking anxious. “Release will be harder to come by
.”
“
What about the boy
?”
“
We’ll see,” Black Jack said. “I’ll need to
leave tonight. If I go through Paris, I can hook up with Christine on the
way
.”
“
You want her along?” Natasha inquired.
Black Jack normally refrained from taking anyone along to that part of the
world
.
“
Dahab is deep into the Sinai desert. I’ll
need to drive quite a ways and I could use some company
.”
They called Christine and
arranged for her to meet Black Jack at Orly, where they would both board a
plane to Tel Aviv, then drive down to Eilat, the southernmost Israeli
settlement by the Gulf of Aqaba, and cross the border into Egypt at Taba.
Dahab was by far closer to Eilat than to Cairo and it was, Black Jack reasoned,
much simpler to enter Egypt through remote Taba than at Cairo. They would
also use a better rental car procured in Israel and pose as tourists, a common
motive for entering Egypt from Eilat to vacation along the magnificent Red Sea
coast
.
Plans and travel arrangements
made, Black Jack went home to pack. Natasha was off to the UN. Sam
would meet up with Ortega in Spain
.
The Center for Missing Children
was abandoned of all occupants by two pm that afternoon. A meager bunch
with the world’s problems on their shoulders, their efforts a drop in the sea,
their reward: a reunited family’s joy and a glimpse of hope for parents like
Sam Baker
.
*****
Natasha took the Lexington
Lines uptown and got off at 42nd street. She walked east toward the East
River entering the vast United Nations complex at 43rd where she was led to the
Romanian delegation’s quarters on one of the top floors. Manhattan’s breathtaking
skyline came into view as she entered the smart conference room where three
people sat waiting for her
.
The two men got up to greet
her. She knew one of them, Vassilli, a short stocky character, dressed in
a gray suit and a yellow tie, balding with a round face and wire rimmed
glasses. The other, Peka, was quite tall with short cropped blonde hair
and strong handsome features. The woman was not introduced. She simply
sat there behind a laptop ready to record every word
.
Natasha gracefully shook their
sweaty hands, ignoring the admiring looks and took a cushioned seat across the
large oak conference table. She hoped she had not made it this far on
looks alone
.
“
Miss Usher,” her contact, Vassilli, began in his
heavy Romanian accent, “we’ve considered your request and are looking favorably
to assist you provided two preliminary matters will be resolved
.”
Natasha nodded. Focusing
her large blue eyes at Vassilli, she kept silent. There was never, ever,
anything accomplished in her neck of the woods without settling preliminary
matters, primarily symbolic tokens of appreciation to any and all government
officials involved. This, of course, would not be mentioned in the meeting, but
would be arranged unofficially in the hallway or at a nearby coffee shop prior
to her departure to Bucharest
.
“
Peka here will join you in Bucharest. He will
have set up meetings with both the Ministry of Interior and the Romanian
police, in which case you will be free to discuss any cooperation you deem
necessary to help your cause, uh, our cause,” he corrected himself, smiling
apologetically. “The illegal commerce of those wretched souls has got to stop,”
he declared, trying to make up for his slip of the tongue. He meant, of
course, the worldwide flesh trade going on with poor, young Romanian girls who
respond to seemingly innocent ads in local newspapers and find themselves
engaged in whoring in countries around the world
.
The Center had received
hundreds of calls for help from Romanian groups representing families who had
lost children, especially young girls, to this whoring trade. In some
cases, the families would find the child but be unable to bring her back home
due to legal obligations signed by the girls who never knew what they were
signing
.