by Sara Forbes
"I do not know, Mr. Harwood."
"When...when did this happen?" I fling back the cover and scramble out of bed but this makes me so lightheaded, I have to sit right back down.
"We think in the night. The last time the housekeeper saw her was twenty-one hundred hours."
"Are you out looking for her?"
"We are doing our best."
"Look, Kline, I need to know where you are."
"As you know, that is impossible, Mr. Harwood. It is against the rules. It would compromise the comfort and privacy of our other guests. but I assure you—"
"It's already compromised," I growl. "Cut the bullshit. I need an address to start from or you else can forget about further business with me. I need security footage from your cameras because I'm sure you have them. I need witness reports. I need everything you've got."
"I cannot do that, Mr. Harwood."
The guy has the nerve to sound supercilious.
"Look, Kline, I'm paying you 5 million—"
"Please, Mr. Harwood, do not mention such details on this line."
"Look, Kline, I'm paying you 5 million dollars. I've been playing by all your rules but I've had enough of this."
"You will receive a refund if there is—"
"I don't care about a refund, I only care about you finding that girl. So help me, I will come over and tear that house apart looking for clues. Please tell me you have the best detectives on the case?"
"We do. And we will call you if we have further details."
The line goes dead.
"No, no, no, no," I yell. I fling the phone on the bed. He won't pick up if I call him back. It's no use. I have to do this without his cooperation. It was a mistake to call him.
Images crowd my mind of Natasha being abducted by brutish men in black clothing. Being shoved into a car boot. Being thrown into a cell in Moscow. Being tortured. God forbid.
I clutch the sides of my head.
Think! Come on, think.
I can't let myself succumb to desperation. If only I knew where to start. Kline's place could be anywhere. Why did I ever trust him? What insanity of mine led me to believe that not knowing the secret location would be a good thing?
And what is this going to do to Natasha? She's been through more than a person should ever have to bear. This will send her over the edge. Her spirit will be broken forever. And it's all my fault.
Slowly, I lift my head. I need to do something. And fast.
There's only one thing I can think of. I need Paul. Actually, I need them all.
***
They all respond immediately to my call of distress, even those in the same time zone as me, at 4:30 a.m. Six faces appear on the screen, peering out at me with varying degrees of concern. Sean looks more smug than concerned but I don't care anymore.
I've calmed down enough to conduct the meeting with a semblance of control—but inside I'm a mess, a cold, jittery mess. "I can't think who'd kidnap her," I tell them. "The only ones with a motivation to silence her are the Russian FSB officials themselves or their reps. If that's the case, they'll want to silence her. They certainly won't be in business of returning her for a ransom."
"So, we should be looking for people trying to leave the country?" Jack asks.
"Already on it," Paul says. I nod gratefully at him. His ability to hack security systems is going to be crucial now.
"I no longer care if it's ethical hacking or not," I tell him.
He raises his eyebrows but nods.
"This is bad," Liam says. "If the pilot project doesn't work, and it clearly doesn't, then how are we supposed to continue?"
"Maybe it's the leadership?" Sean adds.
"How would you have done it differently, Sean?" I ask.
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe I'd be focusing on the project at hand and not spending energy trying to bend the rules to get my girlfriend in the group. And maybe I'd have delegated the Syrian task to someone who can handle it."
"That's a whole lot of maybes, Sean."
Sean leans in. "So, while you're dating your girlfriend, and presumably sharing company secrets with her—something you explicitly told us not to so, you let our dissident slip through your fingers. Is that your definition of getting the job done?"
"What do you want to hear, Sean? Let's focus on solving this. On Natasha."
I haven't even seen Jess in two days, so I'm not even sure we're dating anymore. She's drawn a line in the sand and I can't give her what she wants.
"Hold up, hold up, guys." Axel's smooth voice cuts through the argument. "We don't know whether Natasha was abducted or she simply ran away, do we?"
We all stop talking in amazement. Partially at what he's said and partially at the fact that he's said it. Axel rarely speaks up so we often forget he's even there.
"She wouldn't run away," I say. "That makes no sense."
"Actually, it's the simplest explanation," he counters. "Would you say she's smart?"
I pause to reflect. "Yeah. I'd say she'd get out of anywhere if she wanted to. Okay, you're right, Axel, we need to go with both theories."
"If she were to run," Felix says, "where would she run to?"
"Back to me? Back to the office, I guess. Maybe even to Jess. Although I don't see how she'd have either of our home addresses. We didn't tell her. She had no access to the internet."
"Those are the first places to check anyway," Jack says.
It sounds so logical and yet, I didn't think of it. I feel my authority slipping away.
"And while you're sitting around, would it be possible to get moving on the Syrian project?" Sean asks. "Find out where they brought Farhid? Or is that too much multi-tasking for you?"
"What?" I say. "Don't abuse the situation."
Sean leans into the camera. "It's not abusing the situation. It's getting on with business in the face of adversity, as any good leader would know."
Nobody, I notice, is disagreeing with him. Their faces are stony, as though my internet connection has stalled, only it hasn't. I feel their collective desire for mutiny. Damn Sean. Damn the fact that he's right.
"I'm calling this meeting closed," I say with as much dignity as I can muster. There are nods all round.
"I'll keep you up to date on the cameras and anything else I can pick up," Paul says in private.
"Thanks, Paul."
This time, Paul doesn't elect to stay on to give me a pep talk. He probably thinks I'm beyond saving. And he's not the only one.
31
JESS
WHEN I GET TO THE PLATINUM STAR, Egan's car is outside. I give a little start. I haven't talked to him in days. I skipped a day of work and never heard a peep from him, like he doesn't care anymore. We're on shaky ground. I know all relationships go through this. I shouldn't let the negative feelings overcome me. I want to make up with him, to build a bridge over the rocky bit. I don't know whether it's because I want to save the relationship for its own sake, or because working with him is the only way I'm going to be able to help Natasha. Weirdly, the two things are intertwined in my head and I can't untangle them.
The door accepts the old combination. So, I walk right in and head for the stairwell. I go up to the second floor.
He's there, usual place, typing away at something.
He swings around. When our gazes meet, my heart feels like something is squeezing it. How did we get into this situation? We're both too pig-headed, I guess.
"Hey," I call out. I'm going for breezy, but it comes out as nervous. "Just calling in to do my work."
He spins around. "Jess." His customary smile isn't there. It breaks my heart.
"What is it?" I ask because I'm getting this sixth sense chill up my spine.
He lets out a sharp sigh. "Natasha's gone."
I take a step back, nearly losing my balance. "Gone? What do you mean, gone?"
"They called me. From the safe house. Said she'd gone. Kidnapped, or run away, we don't know which. We're working on both scenarios."
/> "Is there a search party? The police?"
"No, we can't call the police. Come on, Jess, you know this."
"When? When did it happen?"
"Two days ago."
"Two days ago?" I screech. "What exactly are you doing to find her?"
"I'm driving up there to look for her. Paul's located geo-coordinates of a likely safe house. It's all we have to go on. But of course, if she's been abducted then she could be anywhere by now. She won't get across any national borders without a passport. But the abductors could have issued her with a fake one—"
I shake my head. "No abductors, Egan."
"What?"
"She ran away."
"You don't know that."
"I do."
"How do you know?"
"Because she was miserable, of course!"
His eyes narrow. "You sound very sure."
"She was deeply depressed and lonely. You should have known this might happen. You should have bent the rules and let me contact her. I could've given her the necklace."
"Are you still talking about that necklace?"
"Yes, I am. It's important to her. That's the kind of thing you'd know if you regarded her as a person and not just a project."
He slams his fist on the table. "Is that what you think? Is that really what you think?"
Heat rises into my face. My eyes are burning. "I think you shipped her off without thinking, yes. It was all next project, next project with you. You didn't want to lose face in front of your guys. Come on, admit it."
"Ugh." He turns away. "I can't believe I'm hearing this. You of all people should be on my side!"
I fold my arms tightly. "Right now, I'm on Natasha's side because someone's gotta be. You shipped her off to a bunch of strangers without a second thought. You weren't prepared to bend some precious rules to let me go see her. As far as you were concerned, she was somebody else's problem."
"Take that back."
"No, Egan, I won't. I'm not taking anything back. I'm fed up of taking things back and not being able to say what I need to say. I have a right to be angry, too. And right now, I'm very angry."
"Well, if I make you that angry then there's no point in hanging around here. You're dismissed from cleaning duty for the rest of the week. Don't worry, I'll pay you."
"Fine. There's nothing to do here anyway. You might as well pay me 'til the end of the month while you're at it. That'll save you having to look at my face."
"Done and done," he says.
"Huh." I turn and march away.
I go home trembling with fury. I sit at the kitchen table, furiously trying to figure out a way to solve this, but as the light fades and my eyes grow heavy, I know I've got nothing. I'm helpless. Once again, I've put myself in a situation where the guy has all the control and I have none. Only this time, it's worse because it's not just my welfare at stake—it's Natasha's, it's Martha's, it's Charlie's, it's Lily's.
I've been such a fool, blinded by looks, charm, and money, diving headfirst into a pool without checking to see what was lurking underneath.
32
EGAN
ANOTHER DAY HAS PASSED with no results on the Natasha front. I'm sitting in the Platinum Star because a tiny part of me hopes Natasha might return here. Yes, Paul located Kline's safe house but it hasn't led to any leads on where to find her. She could be anywhere by now, and with every passing hour, the radius of possibility grows wider. This is what happens when I get involved in the real world, with people. I can manage money, but people? I seem to be the worst possible leader in the world. I don't need Sean to tell me that.
Everything is in jeopardy, everything I've fought for. I can't even do one thing right. I'm a fool for trying to have it all.
I should go back to managing Bitcoin profiteering. Nothing else, Just numbers. Because everything else is too messy. Maybe I'm not fit to be a manager in real world affairs, trying to do big world things like other philanthropists. I'm not one of them. I'm just a poor boy at heart who got lucky. My luck was bound to run out run day—and now it has, at the worst possible time.
And yet. I can't give up now. For Natasha's sake, I must keep going and find her, or die trying.
I don't blame Jess for running off. I can't give her the reassurance she's looking for right now. I can't seem to give her anything but trouble. What made me think for one moment I could be the man for her? She's better off without me. Clearly, she's figured this out for herself because I haven't heard from her since our heated conversation yesterday. Although it was hard to bear what she was saying, and how she was saying it—such embittered passion—she was justified. She does have the right to be angry.
I made a mistake trying to do too much, and trying to have it all. The dignified move now is to resign from leadership to concentrate on finding Natasha. I can't do everything, and sometimes you just have to choose.
33
JESS
MARTHA AND I HAVE TO work together in the hospital today so we don't have much choice other than to be civil and co-operate. Stony-faced, she rolls her cart alongside mine to the staff elevator in the G-Wing. My jaw is stiff from clenching it so tightly.
Dr. James is coming out of the elevator. I watch as he nods at her and she nods back. Those days of frivolous teasing seem to be gone.
We walk on.
Work is work and we just get on with it, robotically, keeping it civil so we can get the job done. While we're nearing the end of cleaning the ER, I manage to topple over my bucket and the water gushes out over the floor we've just disinfected, dried and polished.
"Shit!" I leap up to avoid the water getting on my sandals. "Sorry, this is going to set us back," I add in a mumble. "Tell you what, you take a break outside while I deal with this."
Martha shakes her head and hands me a dry cloth then takes one herself and starts to wipe it up. "Are you okay? Your face is so pale. Are you're sweating."
"Oh, God," I moan, mopping. "I'm just getting a flavor of it."
"A flavor of what?"
"The fear!" I wring out the cloth into my bucket. "What this type of life does to your peace of mind. I'm sweating. I'm scared, I was nearly going to cancel today, but not coming to work would just pile up more problems on top, and you've got enough problems of your own without needing to cover for me."
"What...are you talking about?"
So, I sit on the nearest ER bed and I tell her. I mean, fuck it. She needs to know. Leaning against the heart monitoring machine, she listens. I tell her about Natasha. About Egan's "business". Martha's face goes through predictable motions—curiosity, shock, incredulity, concern.
"But why didn't you tell me?"
"I promised him I wouldn't."
"And now?"
"Now, I don't know if it's good to be quiet about it anymore. The rules make no sense, Martha. Not when she's out there, lost, somewhere. He begged me not to tell the police but what should I do?"
"That's bad alright. And, yes, sounds like you have to take matters into your own hands. But was there a reason he didn't want you to call the police?"
I shrug. "No. He's so secretive."
"Maybe best not to, in that case. Alerting the police might alert other people too. Bad people."
"Are you actually sticking up for him?"
"No. But you know, I should tell you, Jess—" she heaves out a breath. "I had a long think about what went down. And I've decided to let my kids take the damn scholarship exam. I checked with the school's director and he says it's legit."
"What really?" A ray of light pierces through my clouds. I picture Charlie and Lily's little faces, tight with concentration, scribbling away at an exam.
"Yeah. When I saw them studying, refusing to go on play dates, I just couldn't snatch it away from them, you know? No matter how much I despised Egan." She laughs. "Turns out—from what you're telling me—he's not as bad as I thought. I mean, he's a stickler for rules, and is a stubborn ass, worse even than you, but my gut's telling me his heart's in
the right place even if he's monumentally fucked up."
"Yes," I say miserably as the truth comes crashing down around me. "But it's too late now. I don't fit into that life. He's off rescuing new people from some place with red sand in God knows where. I get too emotionally invested, I guess. All I can think of is Natasha."
"I hear you, girl. When we're done, come over to my place and I'll cook you something—you look like you haven't eaten for days. You won't solve anything on an empty stomach."
I smile tentatively. "I'd like that."
We hug.
It's the only good thing that's happened me in days.
***
My phone bleeps in the middle of dinner with Martha and her kids. My heart gives a traitorous leap.
Martha tosses me a knowing look. "Him?"
I peer at the number and shake my head. "Don't recognize the number."
There's a series of breaths. I frown. A prank call? I'm so not in the mood for this.
"Hello?" I say sharply.
"Jess?"
Only one person pronounces my name like that. "Natasha?" I cry. "What the hell? Jesus Christ, where are you?" I mouth "sorry" to Martha for the profanity at the table with the kids.
"I...I just wanted to talk," comes her scared, little voice. "Don't worry, I'm on a pay phone."
"Yes, yes, are you safe? Where are you? Are you all right? Hurt?"
"I'm fine. I ran away."
"I guessed."
"Yes. It was so boring there."
"Boring?" I have a stupid urge to laugh.
"I was alone all the time. I couldn't go anywhere. I had this room full of old furniture and floral curtains, and history books and…ugh, there was nothing to do. Nobody would talk to me. They wouldn't let me go outside the garden. I thought if I stay here, I will kill myself. I can't believe he left me there."
"In his defense, he didn't know what it was like," I say. "Oh, Natasha." I sit down again. "We have to tell him."
"He doesn't care."
"Natasha," I say firmly. "He cares. He needs to know where you are. He's so worried about you."
