Tracks (14 page)

Sam left Elena to shower and
went to the phone extension in his room.  The two phone calls he had
received were from Mai-Li asking him to help secure money and authorizations
for the Kashmir operation, and from a concerned Anna Patrese, Christine’s
mother, who said her
daughter
had been out of touch
for quite a long time and she was beginning to worry.  Anna, who knew only
partially of her daughter’s involvement with the Center, claimed her daughter
never failed to call every few days while on assignment, wherever she happened
to be in the world and it had been more than a week since she last heard from
her.

Sam, sensitive to Christine’s
family ordeal, having lost her reporter father in Kurdistan on assignment,
promised Anna to promptly alleviate the matter.  Mai-Li’s requests were
far more complex and would need focused attention for days to come.

He had Black Jack’s hotel
number in Dahab and he called there first, surprised to learn Black Jack and
Christine had been gone for three full days.  His people, himself
included, always left a phone contact with one another wherever they went and
would make sure and update it upon a change of venue. 

It was odd to learn Black Jack
had left without informing anyone. 

He checked his phone messages
but none were from Black Jack or Christine.  He then checked the office
messages and found nothing there either. 

His one last resort was the
fax machine at the office, but that was a long train ride away.  Mai-Li
was the only one who made it back home, from the UK, and she had heard nothing
either.

Perplexed, he tried the Dahab
hotel again, asking for the manager who spoke better English.  He
questioned him on Black Jack’s whereabouts, heard him confer with the reception
people but the answer came back the same.  Jack and Christine had checked
out three days ago.  Sam called Mai-Li and asked her to help with the
inquiries, then found Ortega at his hotel room in Madrid and briefed him on the
situation asking him to try and help.  Natasha was nowhere to be reached.

Elena was just getting out of
the shower when he stepped back into the living room.  Wrapped in his
towel, she walked past him smelling refreshed, her hair dripping wet.  She
fished in her bag for a pair of knickers and stood up letting the towel fall to
the floor.

Something primitive stirred
within him as he saw her, unabashedly naked in the middle of his living room,
her smooth skin damp and glistening.  Her body had aged somewhat but was
still slender and arresting as he had known it, her features round, her long
legs shapely and smooth.

“If you are trying to seduce
me, it’s working,” he said, unable to take his eyes off her.

“I am,” she admitted, turning
her body to him, not bothering with the knickers.  Sam went to her and
they engaged in one another’s bodies, kissing and caressing as if for the first
time.

“I need a quick shower,” he
said before she had him totally stripped.

She appeared in the shower as
he began to soap, and took matters into her hands, passionately caressing his
body, driving him mad with lust.  They made love in the tub, their bodies
slippery with soap and water, Sam unable to hold back.  Naked they ran to
his bedroom and continued their passion on his bed. 

Later, as they lay, backs
against the pillows, talking quietly, the shadows of New York present in the
window, he confessed he had been terrified that images of Michelle and her
horrible end would mar his pleasure.  But that had not happened.

They fell asleep late that
night in each other’s arms, like two schoolchildren.

Sam got up at seven the next
morning preparing to go to the office.  Elena watched him dress.

“Do you want some of my money
for whatever it is you do?” she suddenly asked.

He smiled at her, pulling up
his zipper.  “I could use every cent I can get, especially now, but I
wouldn’t dream of asking you for any of it.  I’ve got enough sources to
milk before I turn desperate.”

“If you’ll let me, Sam, I
think helping you would be a good way to start rebuilding my life.”

“I’ll think about it,” Sam
replied. “Meanwhile, you being here is something we both need getting used to.”

She smiled and stretched,
pulling her arms backwards, exposing her breasts to him, her large nipples dark
and erect.

He looked away, afraid to be
drawn back into bed.  He walked out of the bedroom, trying hard to
concentrate on what he had to accomplish.  He checked the hallway for the
Times
,
prepared the percolated coffee again, washed the evening dishes, poured cereal
into a bowl and sat at the counter for his morning ritual.  Two cups of
coffee later, having thoroughly scanned the morning paper, he scooped whatever
laundry he had from his trip into a nylon bag for the cleaners, retrieved his
briefcase and stepped into the bedroom to take his leave from Elena who he
found sound asleep in the same position he saw her exiting the room, arms over
her head, breasts exposed, a calm expression on her face.  He stood there
a moment, hesitating, then walked over and kissed her on the forehead. 
She made a purring sound, turned her side to him, and went on
sleeping.     

He quietly left the apartment,
leaving her a note on the counter with the office phone numbers. 

He caught the 3 train to the
East Village and stepped into his office an hour later, finding Mai-Li
absorbed, scanning the faxes.  She looked up at him, concerned, and handed
him a fax.  It came from a Red Cross post in Egypt, a station in the Sinai,
near Dahab.  Apparently, Black Jack had asked them to signal the office in
case he did not communicate with them at least once a day.  The fax had
arrived a day earlier with everyone away.

“Find anything else?” he asked
Mai-Li who had piled the faxes neatly on his desk.

“A
brief report from Natasha, but nothing else.”

“Do we know anyone in Egypt or
Israel who can be of help?”

“Let me check Jack’s
office.  He may have left a few contacts or clues we may be able to use.”

She disappeared in Black Jack’s
office.  Sam went to pour himself some of the coffee Mai-Li had prepared,
then sat back to once again scan the faxes.

He quickly read Natasha’s
account noting her encouraging progress with the Romanian authorities: 
“...received full cooperation from Ministry of Interior and Bucharest Police
chief... accepting our approach to start small and use the media to recruit
support...”  She added that she planned to return in a few days with a
specific case to explore.

Mai-Li returned and sat across
from Sam.  “There’s a name and a phone here of an Egyptian attorney Jack
had contacted in Dahab before he left.”

Sam dialed the number but got
no response.  He redialed a while later without any results, an apparent
ring tone left unanswered.

“I’ll ask Ortega to go there,”
he said to Mai-Li a little later.  “He’s the closest one of us.”

“We might want to wait just a
bit longer before we take such action,” Mai-Li remarked.  “Jack or Chris
may still call.”

“I’ve got a bad feeling about
this one,” Sam said.  “I think we need to move
quick
.”

Mai-Li got up.  “I may
have an Israeli contact
who’ll
help us,” she suddenly
recalled.

“Call him,” Sam said. “I’ll
call El-Chino.  Ask him to get prepared.”

They were both glued to their
phones for the next hour, Sam briefing Ortega then calling the agent for travel
arrangements.  Mai-Li took a bit longer locating her Israeli
contact. 

Retired Colonel David Kessler
had worked as an advisor to the military attaché in Thailand when Mai-Li
dealt with him.  He was now stationed back in Israel.  She was never
quite sure what his true function was at the Israeli Embassy in Bangkok, but he
did manage to assist her in resolving a case involving a Thai family, split on
account of the father going to work in Israel, then sending for his
ten-year-old son and disappearing under false pretense.

Most Thai men working in
foreign lands would support their families back in Thailand.  The mother
began to seriously worry when the money she expected from Israel stopped coming
in.  Kessler helped track the father to the Galilee Mountains where he was
herding sheep.  The son was tasked to the labor as well and both were
living in a shack, on the fringes of a kibbutz, sharing their space with a
young Israeli woman. 

Visa revoked, the father had
no choice but to return to Thailand, his son along with him. Both Mai-Li and
Kessler witnessed the reunion at Bangkok airport, the mother accepting her
husband back into her home.

She found Kessler’s home
number through the use of the Israeli phone directory, though she did speak to
at least three David
Kesslers
before reaching the
right one.  He instantly recalled their involvement in Thailand and
offered his assistance.  She explained the situation and asked him to help
check the Eilat border traffic of the last week.

“I’ll do better than that
Mai-Li,” Kessler said.  “I’ll put all border personnel on alert for your
two associates.  I’ll know the minute they go through.”

“We’re sending one of our
people to investigate,” Mai-Li revealed.  “He’s a Spanish guy, Louis
Ortega by name.  May he contact you?”

Kessler disclosed his contact
details, received hers and Ortega’s, wished them all success and disengaged,
hurrying to fulfill his promise.

A grateful Mai-Li hurried into
Sam’s office to conclude the game plan.

Ibrahim was bitten by a snake
on the second leg of their journey following their escape from the Egyptian
convoy.

They had followed a treacherous
mountainous route that took them through a gaping canyon with huge
elephant-like boulders they had to repeatedly climb to surpass.  Barefoot,
Samir led them down the canyon and up a murderous incline to a narrow granite
ridge along which they trekked in severe heat, exposed to the merciless Sinai
sun.  Not used to such extreme conditions, the intense physical effort
began to take its toll on the four non-natives, and travel slowed almost to a
halt with all of them needing constant shade and rest. The ridge turned to a
sandy plateau with scarce bushes and palm trees situated at long
intervals.  The soft sinking sand made things even more difficult and the
group could barely move from one fleck of shade to another.

Toward dawn, with the water
supply threateningly low and all of them half delirious, they reached a Bedouin
encampment on a windswept rocky ravine high in the mountains with a magical
clear water pool into which they collapsed to regain their senses.  Samir
sat on the edge of the pool pointing at them, laughing, making faces, all while
explaining to the inhabitants how the group had come about.

Jack
hoped Ibrahim would pick up what they were saying, but the boy had half drowned
himself in the pool, eyes shut, mind
gone,
his
drenched mother Clair, by his side, tending to him.

Jack offered them the rest of
his Egyptian money, an amount equivalent to twenty US dollars, for a
heartwarming meal of skewered lamb, potatoes, and goat cheese.  For
dessert, herbal tea was served with pita bread and honey.  Christine and
Clair prepared sandwiches for the following day, with the leftover pita bread,
goat cheese and Zaatar herbs.

The encampment, as Ibrahim
later explained, belonged to a single family of the Tarrabin tribe, goat
herders and close relatives of Samir and the Santa Katarina clan.  There
were fifteen people in all: the father, his two wives, and twelve children, six
girls and six boys, the eldest aged thirty to the youngest aged two. 
Dressed in typical Bedouin attire, a kafiya up top with long colorful robes
covering the entire body, the adults did not seem to move much about.  The
father sat by the finjan, the kettle for making the tea, while his wives
prepared the meal.  The younger kids just moved about finding all sorts of
activities to engage in.  The older girls helped with the food and dishes
while the older boys looked after the sheep and goats.  They were a
harmless, curious bunch who loved the bright shiny hardware of the progressive
West.  With hand signals and some translation they asked to play with the
watches and cameras.  Jack even took some of their photos, careful not to
capture any of his own companions.

They slept on the ground in a
tent vacated by the younger children who crept in with their older folk. 
Samir woke them up very early.  Two of the older boys prepared more tea,
and they were off before the sun was up.  Samir bid them goodbye, placing
them in the hands of the eldest boy, Kabir, who picked up exactly where Samir
left off, walking barefoot, briskly along the rocky terrain,
not
looking back at his faltering company.

The snake had come out of
nowhere causing Ibrahim to shout in agony.  But luck, as it turned out,
was on their side this time.

It happened just as they sat
for their first break to watch the sun emerge over the steep mountainous
horizon.  Someone must have woken the snake out of his slumber for it sank
its poisonous teeth into Ibrahim’s ankle with lightning speed and fled between
a
pile
of rocks.  Kabir, no stranger to snake
bites and various kinds of mountainous hazards, reacted instantaneously,
sinking his own teeth into Ibrahim’s ankle catching the poison and spitting it
out, before it had a chance to spread in the boy’s blood stream.  He then
secured his Kafiya above Ibrahim’s ankle, under the knee, and laid him flat on
the ground, closely watching the leg swell, sucking Ibrahim’s blood a few more
times.

“You’ll
live if all the poison is out,” he said to the boy who translated
further.  “That was a very poisonous snake.”

They laid
Ibrahim in the shade and sat around him, a worried Clair wiping his forehead
with a wet cloth, talking to the agonized boy constantly.  The pain began
to subside several hours later, though the ankle remained swollen.  Kabir
had gone back to the camp to bring more food and water.  He returned with
one of his brothers and, seeing Ibrahim, smiled with relief. 

“The
boy will live!” he declared to Clair who heard the translation from her wounded
son and began to sob. 

They
made camp in the same spot and remained there for the night, more of Kabir’s
brothers joining them for dinner with cold meat and cheese sent by their
parents. By morning the swelling had diminished somewhat though the ankle was
still blue and red and extremely sensitive when Ibrahim stood to test it.

Jack
and Clair consulted with Kabir who was of the opinion that Ibrahim was totally
out of danger and ready to walk.  The boy was not convinced but he made an
effort and they began a slow trek toward the east and their destination, many
miles away.

*****

The
Romanian Border Control people began to act strangely as Natasha and Peka
approached their cubicles at the Bucharest airport.  Soon several of them
were clustered around, studying Natasha’s passport.  Finally, both she and
Peka were asked to step into a windowless room where they remained long after
their scheduled flight had departed.

Lena
Taler appeared several hours later, with an entourage of police and
plainclothes men, who were instructed to remain outside the room.

“Not
what I call appropriate farewell treatment,” Natasha remarked, fighting to keep
her cool.

“I was
held up.  I’m sorry,” Lena Taler said, as she took a seat opposite the two
across a bare wooden table.  “We have an urgent matter we think you could
help with.”    

There
were all sorts of indecent remarks Natasha urged to throw at the Romanian woman
for detaining them, uninformed and quite anxious, but she decided to hear her
out before she exploded.

“We’ve
uncovered a ring, here in Bucharest, involved with, how you say - the flesh
trade business,” Lena continued as if unaware of the antagonism her little
prank had produced.

“We
believe a shipment of at least five girls is due to leave Romania through here
within a few days – destination unknown.”

“We
need you to arrange surveillance on the other side of wherever they are going
and track them to their final destination.  We believe this could help
provide evidence to nail this ring.”

“Then
what?”
  Natasha asked, unperturbed.

“If we
nail this ring, we may be able to nail others and possibly put an end to this
misery.  Isn’t that what you wanted?”

There
were a million questions Natasha wanted to ask - how the Romanian authorities
were able find a lead so quickly whereas before it seemed to take
forever?  And why wouldn’t
they
track the villains to their
destination? All the things they could and should have done a long time
ago.  But at least, she figured, the Center’s involvement had pushed the
right buttons and outwardly the Romanians were doing something of value for those
poor wretched souls, and if she could contribute - though she had no idea if
she could - she would play their game.   

She
caught Lena’s stare and held it for a while, thinking that maybe she at least
was sincere.

“I’ll
need to make some inquiries,” she finally said.  “We’ll need to go back to
the hotel.”

Lena
Taler got up and called someone from behind the closed door. 

“This
is Detective Orlov,” she introduced a short, stocky, well-built man with a
hardened lined face and a piercing stare, dressed in a suit.  “Detective
Orlov has been assigned to lead this investigation and he reports directly to
me.”

The
detective bowed his head slightly and just kept staring, saying nothing. 

“He
will be your point of contact,” Lena declared.

Natasha
regarded him with a cool look,
then
got up to shake
his hand.  “How is your English, Detective?” she asked, towering over him.

“Good
enough,” Orlov said with a noticeable Eastern European accent.

“Reason
I ask,” Natasha explained, “is that you will have to interface with whoever we
can recruit on the other side, and most likely they don’t speak Romanian.”

Orlov
nodded and kept staring at her.  She wondered whether he might have been
offended.

She
turned to Lena.  “Shall we go back to the hotel?  I’ll need to make
these phone calls now.”

Lena
nodded and reached for the door.  Her entourage poured in to receive
orders.  Ten minutes later they were in the back seat of a black Sedan
headed back to town, Detective Orlov and his driver sitting up front.