They Disappeared

29

Somewhere in New York City

The old casket factory was an anomaly.

In a city with some of the most expensive real estate on earth, abandoned buildings were quickly sold, renovated or demolished.

But this aging four-story stone complex, standing forgotten near the East River, had changed hands many times over the years. Various permits had been issued, only to expire, with new ones reissued as the property fell into a bureaucratic black hole.

Established in 1896 to build coffins, the factory’s business peaked during the 1918 flu epidemic. After the Second World War it became a furniture warehouse that went bankrupt. Now it was a tax shelter for a numbered corporation-an absent landlord.

The corporation had contracted a property management agency with a record for violating local codes. Long ago there was talk that the agency was a front for a global money-laundering operation.

That was the history.

Rumor had it that several months ago the empty structure had been rented to an international production company. The company had paid in cash and intended to use the building for a movie, but the windows and doors remained boarded up. The rust-stained wrought-iron gate was padlocked. It was opened for the few vehicles that appeared and disappeared into the rear loading bays.

No one paid much attention to the place where Sarah and Cole were being held.

And today, at the very moment investigators were appealing to New Yorkers for help in their case, Jeff Griffin’s voice spilled from the large TV their captors were watching in a far reach of the factory. Sarah and Cole could not see Jeff but his words carried hope through the taut, foul air.

“I love you, Cole…I love you, Sarah… You were right…we have to fight to hold this family together….”

A great sob rose at the back of Sarah’s throat. Tears rolled down her face. She ached to break free of her binding and hold her husband. When the press conference ended she spoke in a quavering tone to Cole.

“See, honey, Daddy’s doing all he can to help us. We have to be strong.”

Cole didn’t react.

Sarah’s heart sank and her chain made a soft clink-clink when she brushed at her tears. Her pulse was still racing and she couldn’t stop trembling, for now things were worse after Jeff had tried to save her earlier that morning. Much worse.

Their captors were enraged.

In the aftermath, after the van had vanished into traffic, they’d replaced the hood over her head and began arguing with one another. Again, she guessed at their language: Russian, something Slavic, or Eastern European.

When they’d returned, and replaced her next to Cole, they’d removed her hood and the tape over her mouth. Once more they locked one handcuff around her wrist and threaded the second cuff to a long chain, as was the case for Cole.

Their chains were fastened to a steel beam.

Sarah and Cole had been put on ripped, stained mattresses that reeked of urine. They were given torn blankets, bags of chips, doughnuts, bottled water.

Their chains reached into a small bathroom. It had a battered, ill-fitting swinging door that shut, offering some privacy, but the handle was missing so it wouldn’t lock. Inside, the cramped room had filthy walls and an air vent the size of a milk crate wedged into patched-over, crumbling drywall. There was a discolored toilet that still flushed, a sink with running water, paper towels and several bars of soap still in their packages.

Their mattresses were pushed against a wall.

Sarah found a broken broom handle to fend off the rats. The floor was encased with bird shit from the pigeons that had entered through the holes in the roof. Often the birds made aggressive raids for their food.

Across the vast factory floor, dirty with islands of crumbling half walls, were steel drums of trash and scraps of rotting lumber. Forests of cracked concrete columns and rusting steel beams rose from the waste. Webs of wiring and broken light fixtures drooped from the great ceiling. Daylight dimmed because it was filtered through the lines of weathered factory windows yellowed with age, filth and bird droppings.

Sarah and Cole could see their captors in the far section. Twenty in all, she guessed. There was a lot of movement and Sarah saw an array of new computers and electrical equipment along with crates of components, supplies, weapons.

She also saw what looked like wardrobe racks with official-looking uniforms, and the wheels of several vehicles that were covered with tarps.

There were tables bearing maps, charts, books, binders, cell phones, walls with more maps and radios kept low with emergency chatter. She knew from Jeff’s firefighting work that they were police scanners. There were fridges, large TVs and cots.

The few times the leaders spoke to her it was in accented but strong English. They were disciplined and intelligent men. This was a small army, she thought, and they continued to terrify her as they did since that moment they stole them from the street.

At first they were only interested in taking Cole. Sarah fought them but her struggle ended as quickly as it began when they took her, too.

“I have a gun pointed at your son’s head! Say nothing, cooperate and no one will die!”

It had all happened so fast.

Inside, they’d handcuffed them, put hoods on their heads and pushed them down to the floor of the vehicle as they drove through New York City. Twice they’d switched vehicles before they arrived in this hellhole.

Sarah was certain they were plotting something massive, something terrifying. Her fear deepened when the news conference ended and their arguing intensified.

A glass was smashed.

Now, some of the men began shoving others until a small group started directly toward Sarah and Cole. You did not have to understand the language to know the worst was coming.

“Mom?” Cole said.

“Shh, shh, honey. It’s going to be okay.”

Several men, with full thick beards, dark pants, T-shirts, their eyes bulging with rage, stood over them. One had a large flag, which Sarah did not recognize. One had a video camera. One seized Cole from the mattress. Cole’s chains jingled as the man positioned him before the flag. One of the men held Sarah down.

“Mom!” Cole’s eyes filled with tears.

The fourth man, the leader, kept his hands behind his back.

“Your husband failed to obey our instructions.”

The leader nodded to the cameraman, the red record light came on and Sarah’s heart nearly exploded. The leader suddenly displayed his pistol, prepared it for firing and pointed it at Cole’s head.

Sarah screamed and struggled in vain. Cole cried out.

“Your husband gambled with your lives and lost.”

One of the men began reciting a manifesto in a foreign language as they prepared for the first execution.