Vanishing Act

by John Feinstein

Kelleher and Mearns finished writing by six o’clock. They asked Stevie and Susan Carol if they were sure they didn’t want to go to the dinner.

  “We’re really tired,” Susan Carol said. “I thought Stevie and I would order in Chinese and then I’d go home to bed. Tomorrow is going to be a big day.”

  Kelleher grimaced. “The problem is, we have no idea what kind of big day.”

  Mearns smiled. “Susan Carol, can I trust you two alone in the apartment?”

  They both blushed. Stevie hadn’t even thought about being alone in an apartment with Susan Carol. Then he remembered he wouldn’t be alone for long. Evelyn would be there soon after they arrived.

  The drive into the city took a while because of Saturday-night New York traffic. Kelleher and Mearns were still trying to puzzle out if there was some kind of fix going on. The question was, why would someone fix the match—on either side? “The one who has more to lose is Symanova,” Kelleher said. “People are saying that if she plays Makarova in the quarters, it will be the highest-rated tennis match in history. CBS has already cleared the time to put it on.”

  “But why would they be worried about her losing to a player who started the summer ranked hundred-and-eighth in the world and is still only forty-eighth?” Susan Carol asked.

  “For one thing, Evelyn’s pretty good,” Kelleher said. “For another, Symanova hasn’t played well so far.”

  “But when does the plot date back to? No one knew any of that when Symanova disappeared,” Stevie said.

  They drove in silence for a while.

  “Is it possible,” Susan Carol finally asked, “that we’re dealing with two different plots? One to kidnap Symanova, another to fix this match? Could there be two completely different groups at work here?”

  “That would almost have to bring the SVR back into play,” Mearns said. “Because we’ve seen everyone else involved meeting together—or at least you and Stevie have.”

  “Well, maybe there are more people involved still…,” offered Stevie.

  They went back and forth with theories until they reached Manhattan.

  Susan Carol ordered the food while Kelleher and Mearns were quickly changing for dinner. It was almost eight by the time they were ready to go.

  “You two stay out of trouble tonight,” Kelleher said as they left.

  “We’ll try,” Susan Carol said.

  Stevie was glad she made no promises.

  Evelyn Rubin was right on time, buzzing the apartment at eight-thirty on the dot, just as Susan Carol was paying for the food.

  She looked like she had been crying when Stevie opened the door for her, but she accepted some chicken and an egg roll. “I forgot I haven’t eaten since lunchtime,” she said.

  They sat at the kitchen table and ate dinner while debating what to do next.

  She told them that she had last seen Gibson on Friday afternoon at a private tennis club in Manhattan where she had gone to practice. “That’s when we made the date for lunch,” she said. “He told me he was going to wrap up the Makarova contract last night. He was pretty excited about it. I did wonder a little if I was going to get shoved into the background once she was on board. But Brendan told me after the Letterman thing that his phone was ringing off the hook. He said he had offers into the millions to sign me for shoe and clothing contracts, plus a camera company, a perfume company, and one of the fast-food hamburger chains all lined up to make offers. I’ve never had any endorsements before.”

  “Aren’t you a little young to endorse perfume?” Stevie asked.

  “Jennifer Capriati endorsed a wrinkle cream when she was fourteen,” Susan Carol said, again amazing Stevie by knowing something that, to him, seemed unknowable.

  “You weren’t born when Capriati was fourteen,” Evelyn said, apparently just as amazed. “Look, I’m not sure I’m going to sign with any of these people. I’m still in high school and I’m not dropping out. But Brendan says these companies understand that and want to sign me anyway. Staying in school makes me different. Plus, he says all the offers might double if I win tomorrow. That actually scares me a little.”

  “It should,” Susan Carol said. “All of this is scary.”

  “But Evelyn…,” Stevie began hesitantly. “Are you more scared of winning or losing?”

  “What?”

  “Well, the way this looks to us, we’re wondering if someone is trying to fix tomorrow’s match. Has anyone approached you at all?”

  “What?! Of course not! You think…I would never…”

  “We believe you,” soothed Susan Carol. “Really. But this whole situation is so…out of control. Something big is going on and we’re just trying to puzzle it out. So Brendan never suggested to you that you might not win?”

  “No! Just the opposite. He’s been pumping me up—making me believe I can win. How can you, of all people, ask me that?”

  “I think we need to go to Brendan’s apartment,” Stevie broke in, sensing the conversation spinning out of control.

  “What? Why there?” Evelyn asked.

  “I don’t know,” Stevie said. “But we might find something.”

  Susan Carol nodded. “He’s right,” she said. “Sometimes when you don’t know what you’re looking for, you just have to start looking someplace. Maybe we’ll find something. At the very least, we can listen to his phone messages. There might be a clue there.”

  “Do you guys feel safe running around New York City at night?” Evelyn said.

  Stevie grunted. “Good point.” She didn’t know anything about what had happened to him on the subway and there was no point freaking her out further by telling her. “But I don’t think we have any choice.”

  Susan Carol nodded. “I agree. We can’t just sit here and do nothing. I was going to get a cab over there anyway—now you’ll both be with me.”

  They were able to get a cab right outside the door of the apartment building. The cab breezed through the park and deposited them outside 52 Riverside Drive within ten minutes. The street was empty when they got out, causing Stevie to shiver just a little even though the night was warm and comfortable. Susan Carol walked over to the keypad and punched the numbers. They waited for the buzzer to let them know the door was open. Nothing. Susan Carol frowned, hit the clear button, and tried again. Still nothing.

  “I’ve done this a dozen times already this week,” she said. She punched the numbers again, this time slowly. There was no response.

  “Now what?” Evelyn said, leaning against the side of the building, looking very tired.

  “Hang on,” Stevie said. “Someone’s coming. Susan Carol, get ready to crank up your Scarlett act.”

  Evelyn looked baffled but Susan Carol didn’t flinch.

  A well-dressed man with dark hair was approaching. Seeing the three teenagers, he frowned.

  “Can I help you kids?” he said, stepping past them to the keypad but making no move to hit any numbers.

  “I hope so,” Susan Carol said, both the smile and the drawl going full throttle. “I’m stayin’ with my uncle this week for the U.S. Open, and for some reason I can’t get this keypad to work.”

  So far, she had told the truth.

  “What numbers are you pressing?” the man asked.

  “It’s 7-5-5-7-0-8-0-6,” she said.

  The man smiled. “Well, that was the right number,” he said. “Until today. The code changes the first of every month.”

  Stevie almost groaned out loud. Today was September 1.

  “Who’s your uncle, anyway?” the man said.

  “Brendan Gibson,” Susan Carol said. “He’s in apartment 14A.”

  The man nodded. “I know who he is. I live in 10A. I heard that girl tennis player mention him on Letterman the other night. I didn’t even know he was an agent.”

  “That girl tennis player is me,” Evelyn said, appearing reenergized. She was smiling with wattage that matched Susan Carol’s.

  The man peered at her for a second and did a double take. “My
God!” he said. “That is you! You’re Evelyn…”

  “Rubin,” she said.

  He snapped his fingers. “Right!” He started to punch the buttons on the keypad. “So where is Brendan?”

  “Got stuck in a meeting out at the tennis center,” Susan Carol said, prepared as always. “He said to meet him here.”

  The door was buzzing. “The September number is easy,” the man said. “It’s 2-4-6-8-8-6-4-2. I’m Todd May.”

  They shook hands and Susan Carol introduced Stevie as they walked inside. “And what’s your connection here?” Todd May asked.

  Before Stevie could answer, both girls said, “He’s my boyfriend.”

  Whoops. Todd May laughed and patted Stevie on the shoulder as they got on the elevator. “That’s nice work, Stevie,” he said.

  Stevie breathed a sigh of relief that Todd May hadn’t decided to question the girls’ faux pas. He appeared completely dazzled by both of them. He shook hands again when the elevator got to 10. “Good luck tomorrow, Evelyn,” he said. “Now that I’ve met you, maybe I’ll root against Symanova. Tough, though, after what she’s been through.”

  “You’re right,” Evelyn said. “If I wasn’t playing her, I’d feel the same way.”

  He waved again as the door mercifully closed.

  “You guys just about blew it by not letting me answer a question he asked me,” Stevie said to both of them.

  “He’s right, you know,” Evelyn said.

  “He is…on occasion,” Susan Carol said, unable to resist a smile as they reached 14.

  As soon as they were inside the dark apartment, they began flicking on lights. “Let’s spread out,” Susan Carol said. “Stevie, you take the bedroom. Evelyn, you check the kitchen and the dining area. I’ll look in the office.”

  Stevie headed into the master bedroom. The bed had been made, but that told him nothing. The room was very neat, except for the night table next to the bed where the phone was. There were books stacked up on it and what looked like a contract. Stevie picked it up and began to look at its contents. There was a cover letter on top, explaining to Gibson that the enclosed was a proposed contract for Evelyn Rubin. He noticed the swoosh logo on the top of the letterhead. Picking through the pages of mostly unreadable material, he finally came to a paragraph that was in boldface type: “In return, The Company will pay The Player the amount of $2,000,000 the first year; $3,000,000 the second year; $4,000,000 the third year; and $5,000,000 the fourth year.” Stevie gasped. Apparently Gibson had been telling Evelyn the truth about the offers he was getting for her. One paragraph was circled: “Player agrees to play at least twelve(12) tournaments each calendar year.” Stevie wondered how Evelyn and her parents would feel about that. He was starting to read the paragraph about bonuses for being ranked in the top ten, the top five, or number one, and for winning major championships, when he heard Susan Carol calling.

  Clutching the contract, he walked quickly into the room Gibson used as an office. Susan Carol was holding a yellow legal pad in her hands. “Look at this,” she said, handing him the legal pad. It was covered with what appeared to be phone numbers and little notes. Stevie noticed one that said “Call Manhattan Café for rez.”

  “The Manhattan Café—that’s where he was supposed to meet you for lunch, right, Evelyn?” Evelyn nodded.

  “That’s not it,” Susan Carol said. “Look at what he circled at the top of the page.”

  Stevie looked up and saw an address that had been circled: “25 E. 10th—apt. 4B. 5 p.m. DC: 83325A.”

  “The question,” Susan Carol said, “is why did he write this address down and when did he write it down.”

  “And what does ‘DC’ stand for?” Evelyn asked.

  “I’m betting it’s a door code to get in the building,” Susan Carol said.

  “So what now?” Stevie asked.

  “Let’s check his phone messages,” Susan Carol said.

  Brendan Gibson had one of those old-fashioned answering machines. It was right there on the desk next to the phone and the notepad. Susan Carol began playing back the messages. There were sixteen and they were in reverse order—the last one to come in playing back first. They went through messages from Evelyn and the Makarovs and a number of people they didn’t recognize. The last message—the oldest one on the tape—was the most intriguing.

  “Gibson,” a voice said. “We can’t make it before five o’clock. Take it or leave it. Meet us at twenty-five East Tenth. It’s apartment 4B.”

  Now they knew when Gibson had written down the address and the time. Evelyn looked frightened.

  “Should we go there?” Evelyn asked.

  Susan Carol shook her head. “It’s almost eleven o’clock,” she said. “We can’t just go charging down there in the middle of the night and kick the door in.”

  “What’re you saying?” Stevie said. “That we could go kick the door in tomorrow morning?”

  Susan Carol shook her head. “No. I think we need adult help. My uncle may very well be at this apartment. But we don’t know for sure.”

  “How do we find out?”

  “I think Kelleher needs to contact his FBI friend as soon as possible. Maybe he can find out who the apartment belongs to or figure out a way to get in there and see if Uncle Brendan’s there or not.”

  Evelyn looked at Stevie, clearly wanting to know what he thought. “She’s right,” Stevie said. “We have no idea what Brendan has walked into. We don’t even know if he’s a good guy or a bad guy.”

  She looked baffled. “Why are you both talking about Brendan like this? What aren’t you telling me?”

  Stevie told her about what had happened Wednesday after she had gone up to change.

  “Stevie, I am so sorry,” she said. “I know Brendan has been uptight all week. But I can’t believe it was him who sent those men.”

  “Maybe he didn’t,” Stevie said. “That’s why we need help. We don’t know what we’re dealing with. But we know it’s serious.”

  “Okay,” Evelyn said. “Call Kelleher.”

  Susan Carol picked up the phone on her uncle’s desk and dialed Kelleher’s cell. “I’m getting voice mail,” she said. She left a message asking him to call her cell as soon as possible. “It’s very urgent,” she said.

  She hung up and said, “Okay, let’s get out of here.”

  “You aren’t staying here tonight?” Stevie said.

  “No way. I’m not staying here alone. I’ll sleep on the couch with you guys again. It’s actually comfortable.”

  He wasn’t going to tell her to stay here, that was for sure. And he figured they should be together when Kelleher called. Before they left the apartment, he handed the contract he had found to Evelyn. “I know you don’t care much about this right now, but it looks like Brendan was telling the truth about you getting rich,” he said. He showed her the paragraph with the numbers. Then he showed her the one that mentioned the twelve tournaments.

  She sighed. “It’s an awful lot of money,” she said. “This is my eighth tournament this year, so twelve isn’t that much more traveling. I’m sure Brendan was thinking he could talk my parents into it. Right now, though, I can’t even think about it.”

  They left the apartment and went downstairs. Riverside Drive was deserted. They started walking over to West End Avenue, hoping to find a cab. Every few steps, Stevie found himself turning to look behind to make sure no one was following. There were no cabs in sight on West End either, so they kept walking to Broadway. Stevie’s heart was pounding and he breathed a sigh of relief when they reached Broadway and found it brightly lit and crowded with people coming out of nearby restaurants and bars.

  Finally, they were able to flag a cab and decided that Evelyn would drop them off at the apartment, then continue on to her hotel.

  “You get some sleep,” Susan Carol told her as they got out of the cab.

  “Easy for you to say,” she said, forcing a smile. “I guess they won’t come after me as long as they have Brend
an.”

  “They won’t,” Stevie said. “But call us when you get to your room.”

  “And we’ll call you if we hear anything,” Susan Carol added.

  The cab pulled away. Kelleher and Mearns weren’t back yet so Stevie and Susan Carol turned on the TV and watched some Open highlights from the day. Andre Agassi had won, which might have been a big story except for the fact that all anyone seemed to care about was the upcoming Symanova-Rubin match. Evelyn called to report she was safely in her room in the middle of a lengthy piece about the match, which included an interview with Brendan Gibson. “I wonder,” Susan Carol said, “when they taped that.”

  Stevie heard the Duke fight song. Susan Carol picked up her cell and looked at it. “It’s Bobby,” she said.

  She hit the button to answer the call and, after a few seconds, said, “There’s a lot to tell you, are you in a good place to listen?” A pause. “No, I don’t think it can wait for you to get here.” Stevie listened as she filled him in. “Okay,” she said finally. “We’ll see you soon.” She snapped the phone shut.

  “What’d he say?” Stevie asked.

  “He’s calling his friend at the FBI,” she said. “He says that’s the way to go, especially since there may be a kidnapping going on here.”

  “Two in a week,” Stevie said.

  She said nothing in response, just stared into space.

  “What do we do now?” he asked finally.

  She stood up. “We do what we told Evelyn to do,” she said. “Try to get some sleep.”

  “Easy for you to say,” he said. Like Evelyn, he wasn’t kidding.

  20: THE RESCUE

  IT TURNED out Stevie was wrong about not being able to sleep. The sun was up and streaming through the windows when he heard a knock on his door.

  “Stevie,” Susan Carol said. “Wake up. You need to get dressed.”

  He walked to the door, still in his pajamas, and opened it. “What’s up?” he asked.

  “The FBI guy just called Bobby. He’s going to be here at eight o’clock.”

  Stevie looked at his watch. It was almost seven-thirty. “Should we call Evelyn?” he said.