Read Online Tracks by Niv Kaplan - Free Book Online Page B

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
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