They Disappeared

21

Manhattan, New York City

Grand Central was a thirty-minute walk from Jeff’s hotel.

Jeff ran.

He darted through traffic and weaved around work-bound New Yorkers. He would not take a cab. The caller had been explicit that he travel by foot. Jeff had gotten as far as West Twenty-ninth Street and Broadway when his cell phone rang. The robotic voice gave him further instructions.

“Go to Big World Gifts on West Thirtieth Street, in the forties. The clerk is holding a purchase to be picked up by ‘Jeff.’ Give him twenty dollars. Take the package, open it and continue to Grand Central!”

“Let me speak to my wife!”

The line went dead.

Jeff hurried around the next block.

He was on West Thirtieth and moving fast when his cell phone rang.

“It’s Cordelli, are you at your hotel?”

“I can’t talk right now.”

“Tell me where you are. I’m sending an unmarked. We have to set up!”

“I’ve got to do what they say.”

“Jeff! You don’t know how this is going to go!”

“I can’t talk!”

Rushing down Thirtieth, Jeff scanned the storefronts: the jewelry stores, import-export outlets, the vans and large delivery trucks being unloaded. He pinballed among sweating workers, expertly wheeling dolly carts laden with boxes.

Big World, Big World, where is it?

He was in the high thirties when he came to a busy sidewalk display of new luggage at Discount Prices! and tables overflowing with towers of Cheap T-shirts! The store’s window was curtained with a spectrum of novelty T-shirts on hangers, along with a placard that said Jewelry, Electronics, Cell Phones, Coffee, Snacks.

There it is!

The sign over the narrow storefront: Big World Gifts. It was in a three-story building, rust-stained brick, open steel-grated fire escape. The upper level windows were sealed with plywood.

A wave of stale air hit him when he entered.

The place was cramped, cluttered. A balding man in his seventies, wearing a white shirt, loosened tie and unbuttoned vest, bifocals, was leaning over a newspaper on the counter case. A small Asian woman standing beside him was tapping the keys of a calculator. Other customers entered behind Jeff. He dug out his cash quickly.

“I’m here to pick up a purchase for Jeff?”

The man eyed Jeff, the cash, Jeff again, then turned to a messy storage unit and got a small box with a picture of the Empire State Building on it.

Jeff handed the man a twenty and took the box.

“Who gave this to you?”

“A very polite gentleman came in this morning and took care of it. He said Jeff would pay a little something for holding it and pick it up for his son.”

“Do you know this man? Have you seen him before?”

“No.” The old man nodded to the box. “It’s good to go, all set.”

“What do you mean? What’s good to go?”

“I don’t know. Sir, please.” The clerk indicated the other customers behind Jeff; a woman crossed her arms and jingled her keys.

Then it struck Jeff that the kidnappers may have handled the box.

They’d leave fingerprints.

“May I get a bag, please?” he asked.

“Sir, you have a box.”

“Please.” Jeff put a dollar on the counter.

The old man sighed, reached for a paper bag and slid the box into it.

Jeff returned to the street, found an alcove to examine the item. Before he could open it, it started ringing. Carefully holding the box by its edges, he saw a cell phone inside, nothing more. He tried to be as prudent with the phone but it was impossible.

The ringing underscored the urgency.

He handled the phone normally.

The number was blocked.

Jeff answered.

The robotic voice resumed.

“Police cannot track this phone.”

“Please, release my family!”

“Throw your other phone away!”

Jeff scanned the street, trying to see if he could spot the caller. He pulled his personal phone from his pocket, took the few steps to the nearest sidewalk trash can and dropped his hand into it.

“All right, I tossed it,” he lied, palming his phone. “Let me speak to my wife!”

“There’s a new plan. A change in direction. You are not going to Grand Central. To the right of the Big World store there is an alley. Take it to West Thirty-first Street.” The caller hung up.

The darkened, cool alley reeked of urine and the odor of a dead cat. Moving along the Dumpsters and bags of neglected trash, Jeff searched for options. He didn’t find many. His personal phone was his lifeline to Cordelli. He hadn’t thrown it away and he would not lose it.

He felt the toy in his pocket, took it out, looked it over.

Why is this so important? Who would go to such extremes over a toy?

This little airplane was his only hope of ever seeing Sarah and Cole.

Cordelli was right. There was no way to know how this would go, or what these bastards would do once he gave them the toy.

This toy plane was his bargaining chip-his insurance.

By the time Jeff had reached the end of the alley, he had a plan.

He had to move quickly.

At Thirty-first Street he hurried into a coffee shop that was jammed with men in suits and ties, women in blazers, people anxious to get to their jobs. The air smelled of cinnamon, bread, perfume and brewed coffee.

“Can I help whoever’s next, please!” a man at the counter called.

“Next!” a woman behind the counter called. “Can I help you?”

Jeff took his place in line with people reading BlackBerries, or folded copies of the Daily News or New York Times.

The staff was fast, the line moved.

“Excuse me, can I use your washroom,” Jeff asked.

“It’s occupied and it’s customers only, sir. Your order?”

“Small black coffee. With a lid.” Jeff put two dollars on the counter.

“There you go,” the clerk said, handing him the key from the returning customer.

Jeff went directly to the washroom.

It was small: one urinal, one stall and a sink. Reasonably clean. He locked the door, took stock, then looked up. He got into the stall, stood on the toilet and lifted a foam ceiling tile. In the ceiling he concealed the paper bag containing the toy plane, and empty box that had held the cell phone.

As he replaced the tile, his cell rang-the one the killers had given him.

Quickly, Jeff returned the key to the counter.

The cell phone rang a second time.

Jeff rushed to the street-“Sir, your coffee?”-and answered the cell phone on the third ring.

The robotic voice resumed.

“Listen carefully…”