They Disappeared

had yielded nothing.

But he was not defeated.

Cutting through Battery Park near Ground Zero he found a bench and unfolded the color printouts Detective Lucy Chu had made for him. Shuffling through the sharp images, he examined the black boot with a fine line of bright red trim, the duffel bag, walkie-talkies, folded maps, bullet tips in magazines, figures in sweatshirts. He continued with the take-out food wrappers, a take-out bag, take-out coffee cups.

He’d been fixated on the logo.

Was it the key?

Again, he had to accept that his obsession was not founded on any real, logical belief. Besides, the NYPD was going to canvass all the restaurants and coffee shops on Cassidy’s list.

Maybe they already did that? So why am I doing this? Jeff continued searching the pictures. Because I can’t give up, there has to be something I’ve missed, overlooked or haven’t tried.

Sitting there, in the shadow of the new One World Trade Center soaring over the site of the twin towers, his heart was racing. He was not afraid, not in the physical sense. He would stand up to any fight. He’d charged into fire to save people and he would do it again. He was prepared to lay down his life for Sarah and Cole.

What he feared was loss and the things he couldn’t control: Lee Ann’s lifeless body in his arms… Her tiny casket sinking into the earth under the eternal sky… His utter sense of weakness, guilt and helplessness. I can’t understand how a person can suffer a wound like this and live.

Jeff looked up at the tower, then toward the water at the Statue of Liberty, knowing he faced impossible odds but refusing to give up hope that he’d find some way to rescue his family.

I can’t lose them. I can’t lose Sarah and Cole.

A rush of wind rolled in from New York Harbor and tugged the pages from Jeff’s hands, sending them skipping into the park. He rushed after them, collecting them one by one as they bounced deep in the northwest section. He found the last page pressed against a tree; it was the picture of the take-out coffee cups with a stylized L logo. As he reached for it, he froze with sudden understanding. The page was angled and for an instant he saw the L as a V and it hit him.

That’s it!

It was a V. The logo was a V! Yes!

Gripping the page in his hand, his breathing quickened.

The memory, the image from the van, came to him like a crystalline photo. The logo did not represent Laka, or Laska. The logo started with a V and the first letters were V-A-K-H. He was certain. He needed to get online fast. He wasn’t that good at using the phone for internet searches. He kept walking until he was out of the park and on West Street where he came to the Ritz-Carlton. He hurried into its soft lit, spacious lobby and went to the desk.

A man in a gray jacket and tie lifted his head from a keyboard and smiled. “May I be of assistance, sir?”

“Yes, I’m very late and don’t have time to go up to my room, could you please look up a couple of addresses for me?”

“Certainly, sir.”

“I only have a partial name, I need the proper name and address of a restaurant or coffee shop somewhere in New York, but I only have the start.”

“Shouldn’t be too difficult, what do you have?”

“It starts with a V for Vak or Vakh, something European similar to that.”

The keyboard clicked as the clerk launched a search.

“Hmm, I have some Russian places?”

“What are they?”

“They are all excellent, by the way. I have Veselka over in the East Village, and two others. Let’s see, Uncle Vanya is in midtown and the Russian Vodka Room is in Times Square, but technically these don’t start with a V-A.”

“Is that all you have showing? Nothing with V-A-K-H?”

“Hmm, I’m not having much luck. I’m afraid there’s not much showing that fits your information.” The clerk’s brow furrowed and he tapped a few more keys. “Is it in Manhattan, sir?”

“Not necessarily.”

“Because- Oh. Wait. I have something in the Bronx called Vak-not sure if I am saying it right-Vakhiyta’s Kitchen, spelled V-A-K-H-I-Y-T-A, specializing in Eastern European food.”

“Starts with V-A-K? That could be it. Can you give me the address please?”

“Printing for you now.”

“Great, I’ll need a taxi.”

“The doorman out front will arrange for one. Here’s your address.”

Jeff thanked the clerk with a five-dollar bill and rushed for the door.

53

Somewhere in New York City

Bulat Tatayev gazed into the jaws of disaster.

A troubled warlord on his throne, he sat in a swivel high-back executive chair, left elbow propped, fist supporting his chin as he watched one minute melt into the next on the digital clock of the worktable.

Still no word from Alhazur on whether they’d received the component.

We need the microdetonator.

Alhazur was one of his best men.

Without the component we fail.

At every step, circumstance had conspired to thwart his mission. Zama, the passionate fighter, proved himself a fool by losing the critical detonator, then drawing attention with the murders and kidnappings. And now Russian agents were closing in on their backup plan.

Then the boy escaped. Only by luck was he recaptured.

We cannot fail. Our blood cries out.

Bulat drew upon the horror of the tanks mashing his mother’s and father’s corpses in the blood-soaked snow and mud and pulling the bodies of his wife, Leyla, their son, Lecha, and Polla, their little girl, from the rubble after the bombings. He remembered all the innocents who’d been murdered, the brave fighters who’d sacrificed their lives for freedom. Everything Bulat did, he did for those martyred before him.

I will not fail them.

Throughout his life Bulat had learned to turn adversity to advantage. Instead of killing the woman and the boy, as he’d planned, he would incorporate them into his new plan, which had a new fail-safe element.

Yes, it’s a much better plan.

One of the cell phones on the table vibrated. It was Alhazur.

“Yes,” Bulat answered.

“Success.”

Bulat stood, cupped his hands to his face, letting relief wash over him until it gave way to concentration and he summoned some of his men to the table. Again, they studied computer and paper maps, calculating distances, travel times. They scrutinized scores of photographs taken by the advance teams. A good number of his men were U.S.-born and had come from New York, Philadelphia, Boston and Chicago cells. They examined aerial maps and reviewed range, structures and crowd size.

Bulat produced a classified agenda obtained through threats made on the family of a member of a VIP security agent. The agenda provided invaluable security details, locations, dates and times.

Less than forty-five minutes after Alhazur called, he’d returned with his team and presented Bulat with the