problems that have recently plagued Haile Enterprises, the family’s New Orleans based company, and do not suspect foul play. A spokesman for the Italian police said that although the incident was unusual, it was not unprecedented.
“We have had several Americans disappear like this,” the spokesman said. “They come here to get away from some business trouble, and then find that things at home have gotten worse. Rather than go back, they just disappear without a trace.
Disappear without a trace. DWAT, Falen thought, and placed a call to Fisher to ask for a list of all Americans traveling abroad who had disappeared without a trace over the last five years. At 7:30 that evening, a woman with an Hispanic accent called and in an uninspired monotone, read Falen the beginning of a sales pitch about Dura-frame windows.
“I rent,” he interrupted, and hung up.
His box was in Washington’s main post office across from Union Station, a hollow stone cube of a building with marble floors that echoed under his leather heels. The sharp click, click had a certain drama about it that Falen enjoyed. His box held only a thick manila envelope. Inside was a quarter inch ream of spread sheets that gave every piece of information on DWATs for a five year period; name, address, date of birth, date of disappearance, countries visited, previous travel history – the works. The top sheets summarized the data, giving only names, dates and location of disappearances. Falen scanned the list quickly and smiled. He liked being right.
As the Italian officer had said, disappearances such as David Haile’s were not unprecedented. But until almost two years earlier, they had been rare. Three one year. Two the next. Then suddenly they increased five-fold. Fifteen last year, and another twelve to date this year. He walked back out into the din of Massachusetts Avenue and called Fisher on his cell phone.
“I need some information. Notify me immediately if other Americans disappear while traveling overseas.”
“You on to something?”
“Can’t be sure. But there appears to be a marked upward trend.”
“Should we notify the State Department first?”
“Let’s see what’s happening. Maybe then.”
“Stay with it and let me know what comes up.”
Falen took the Metro Red Line to Dupont Circle, walked the two blocks to his apartment, and sat down at his computer, plugging in the past two year’s data under the file name ‘DWAT.’ As the Toshiba laptop in the corner of his bedroom office massaged the information for the first time, Falen felt again the adrenaline rush of the Ho Chi Minh trail. Something was moving beyond the trees. A subtle change in the patterns of greens and browns. That ever so slight flicker of camouflaged motion that caught his eye and sent an almost giddy excitement rushing through his body – the first gut-gripping signal that something was about to break.
He sat at the terminal until 3:00 a.m., sorting and re-sorting, urging one pattern after another from the facts and figures until he’d developed three factor groups that seemed significant beyond coincidence.
Elements in Group Three didn’t apply universally to all DWATs, but occurred often enough to raise questions. Most of the group of twenty-seven were vacationing. Only three had been abroad on business. Twenty-two disappeared from locations within 60 miles of a coast, though the countries from which they disappeared were scattered. It still seemed curious that no one at State had become concerned about the rash of disappearances. As far as Falen could tell, embassies didn’t communicate much with each other.
Twenty were carrying their passports when they disappeared and of these, seven passports had been used within twenty-four hours by a person fitting the general description of the owner. In each case, the destination had been a city in central Europe. All but five on the list hadn’t traveled overseas within the previous five years,
“We have had several Americans disappear like this,” the spokesman said. “They come here to get away from some business trouble, and then find that things at home have gotten worse. Rather than go back, they just disappear without a trace.
Disappear without a trace. DWAT, Falen thought, and placed a call to Fisher to ask for a list of all Americans traveling abroad who had disappeared without a trace over the last five years. At 7:30 that evening, a woman with an Hispanic accent called and in an uninspired monotone, read Falen the beginning of a sales pitch about Dura-frame windows.
“I rent,” he interrupted, and hung up.
His box was in Washington’s main post office across from Union Station, a hollow stone cube of a building with marble floors that echoed under his leather heels. The sharp click, click had a certain drama about it that Falen enjoyed. His box held only a thick manila envelope. Inside was a quarter inch ream of spread sheets that gave every piece of information on DWATs for a five year period; name, address, date of birth, date of disappearance, countries visited, previous travel history – the works. The top sheets summarized the data, giving only names, dates and location of disappearances. Falen scanned the list quickly and smiled. He liked being right.
As the Italian officer had said, disappearances such as David Haile’s were not unprecedented. But until almost two years earlier, they had been rare. Three one year. Two the next. Then suddenly they increased five-fold. Fifteen last year, and another twelve to date this year. He walked back out into the din of Massachusetts Avenue and called Fisher on his cell phone.
“I need some information. Notify me immediately if other Americans disappear while traveling overseas.”
“You on to something?”
“Can’t be sure. But there appears to be a marked upward trend.”
“Should we notify the State Department first?”
“Let’s see what’s happening. Maybe then.”
“Stay with it and let me know what comes up.”
Falen took the Metro Red Line to Dupont Circle, walked the two blocks to his apartment, and sat down at his computer, plugging in the past two year’s data under the file name ‘DWAT.’ As the Toshiba laptop in the corner of his bedroom office massaged the information for the first time, Falen felt again the adrenaline rush of the Ho Chi Minh trail. Something was moving beyond the trees. A subtle change in the patterns of greens and browns. That ever so slight flicker of camouflaged motion that caught his eye and sent an almost giddy excitement rushing through his body – the first gut-gripping signal that something was about to break.
He sat at the terminal until 3:00 a.m., sorting and re-sorting, urging one pattern after another from the facts and figures until he’d developed three factor groups that seemed significant beyond coincidence.
Elements in Group Three didn’t apply universally to all DWATs, but occurred often enough to raise questions. Most of the group of twenty-seven were vacationing. Only three had been abroad on business. Twenty-two disappeared from locations within 60 miles of a coast, though the countries from which they disappeared were scattered. It still seemed curious that no one at State had become concerned about the rash of disappearances. As far as Falen could tell, embassies didn’t communicate much with each other.
Twenty were carrying their passports when they disappeared and of these, seven passports had been used within twenty-four hours by a person fitting the general description of the owner. In each case, the destination had been a city in central Europe. All but five on the list hadn’t traveled overseas within the previous five years,
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