Vanishing Act

by John Feinstein

  “Well, we know you’ll be back,” Macatee said as the crowd cheered lustily again. Symanova waved, blew kisses, and cried some more. Someone had picked up her racquets for her. She headed for the tunnel, the crowd growing even louder as Macatee moved over to Evelyn.

  Symanova was surrounded by four security guards as she reached the tunnel. The ones in front of her moved aside when they saw Dowling. “Nadia Symanova?” he said.

  Symanova was clearly surprised to see her security people allow someone to get so close to her. “Yes. What is it?” she asked.

  “Ms. Symanova, my name is Peter Dowling,” he said. “I’m with the FBI.” He flashed his badge. “You are under arrest for conspiring to kidnap Brendan Gibson and for conspiring to fake your own kidnapping.”

  Stevie suddenly noticed that a CBS camera that had been following Symanova as she left the court was recording the scene. But they weren’t on live because he could hear Macatee talking to Evelyn Rubin.

  “You are now, officially, America’s newest sweetheart,” Macatee said as cheers broke out again.

  Stevie didn’t hear Evelyn’s answer, because Symanova was screaming at Dowling. “What?! You are completely crazy! Where are my parents? Where is my agent? They will straighten this out, and then it will be trouble for you.”

  “You’ll see all of them shortly,” Dowling said. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to put handcuffs on you. You’re accused of a federal crime. You will be charged as an adult. It’s the law.”

  Even in sneakers, Symanova was still the tallest person in the tunnel. For a split second, Stevie thought she might try to bolt past everyone. Instead, she began crying uncontrollably as Dowling gently put the cuffs on her. He turned to the female police officers. “Take her to the holding room with the others,” he said. “Then we have to figure out how to get them all out of here.”

  The cops nodded and led Symanova up the hallway. The cameraman tried to follow, but the security men stopped him.

  Rubin was wrapping up with Macatee and taking her star turn around the stadium before exiting. Dowling’s cell phone rang and he walked up the hall to answer it. That left Stevie, Susan Carol, and Gibson as the welcoming committee. Evelyn went straight to Gibson. “I’m so proud of you!” he said as they hugged.

  She was crying. When she saw Stevie and Susan Carol, she gave them each a very sweaty hug. “I don’t know how I can ever repay all of you. Where’s Mr. Dowling? I want to thank him too.”

  “Right here,” a voice said behind them. Dowling was walking back down the tunnel with Olmstead.

  “Have you got everyone?” Gibson asked.

  Dowling shook his head. “No, not everyone,” he said. “Ms. Rubin, congratulations.” He wasn’t smiling. Stevie was baffled.

  “Sir, we’ve got everyone in custody,” Olmstead said. “Everyone you told us…”

  Dowling held his hand up. “I know, officer. Your guys were great. Stay here a minute, will you?

  “That phone call was from my office. It took a while, but we finally figured out who owns the apartment where you were being held, Mr. Gibson.”

  Stevie saw a look of panic come over Brendan Gibson’s face.

  “You—you did?” he said.

  “You want to tell her or should I?” Dowling said, looking at Evelyn. Gibson said nothing.

  “The apartment is owned by ISM—Integrity Sports Management,” Dowling said.

  Evelyn and Susan Carol both shrieked at the same moment. Stevie was too shocked to say anything.

  “You staged your kidnapping—just like Symanova did,” Dowling said. “We also did a records check on the cell phones of the two men who were holding you. There were two calls from your cell phone number to one of them. One was Wednesday, a couple hours before Stevie was pulled off the subway. They told us they were given cash to beat Stevie up and, later, to hold you. The second call was Friday. Of course, they had no idea that it was you who told them to hold you.”

  Evelyn and Susan Carol both had tears in their eyes. “Uncle Brendan?” Susan Carol asked. “Are you behind this whole thing?”

  “No, no,” he insisted. “I mean…” His shoulders slumped. “What I told you in the car was the truth. I didn’t know anything about the original fake kidnapping until the Makarovs brought it up on Monday. Then I did get involved with SMG. I was going to get a five-million cut. But when Evelyn started playing so well…” He stopped. “Maybe I need to talk to a lawyer.”

  “You saw a chance to have it all, didn’t you?” Susan Carol said, her eyes now flashing with anger. “You knew Evelyn could win the match, but you wanted the Symanovs completely removed from the stage—even if she lost. So you staged your kidnapping to make sure they would go down. They could deny it, but it would all fit. After all, they’d already staged one kidnapping.”

  “And then you have both big stars—Evelyn and Makarova,” Stevie picked up. “It was a no-lose situation for you. Five million would be peanuts compared to what you would make if the two of them made the quarters.”

  “So you really needed me to win,” Evelyn said, now grasping the whole thing.

  “You set it up so we would find you, didn’t you?” said Susan Carol.

  Gibson hung his head.

  “You left the address in your apartment where you knew I’d find it. How about the message on your phone? Who left that?”

  Gibson broke. “My assistant, David Salk. He also left the note with a guard to be put in Evelyn’s locker today.”

  “Where is he right now?” Dowling asked.

  “I honestly don’t know. Probably at our office.”

  Dowling gave Olmstead instructions to pick Salk up. “You almost pulled it off,” he said to Gibson. “I’m going to have one of the police officers read you your rights now.”

  “I have one more question,” Susan Carol said as Dowling was handcuffing Gibson. “What was that apartment for?”

  “For clients who want a quiet place to stay and not be hassled. We hid the ownership to make it completely private—not as well as I thought we’d hidden it, apparently.”

  He looked at Rubin. “I’m sorry, Evelyn,” he said. “I just got carried away by the thought of making millions. I let you down.”

  “You let a lot of people down,” Evelyn said.

  Brendan Gibson looked at Susan Carol as he was being led away. “Tell your mom and dad not to hate me,” he said.

  “They won’t hate you,” Susan Carol said. “But they’ll have a hard time forgiving you.

  “I know I won’t anytime soon.”

  22: FAREWELLS

  EVELYN RUBIN had to go to a press conference once Gibson departed. No one wanted to ask her about the match. Word of the arrests had spread like wildfire. CBS had shown the tape of Nadia Symanova in handcuffs. Suddenly it was as if the match had never happened. Under instructions from Dowling, Rubin said repeatedly that she couldn’t answer questions until she had given her statement to the FBI. She was thrilled to win the match, horrified to see her opponent led off in handcuffs.

  Stevie and Susan Carol watched the press conference on the TV monitor in Arlen Kantarian’s private box. Dowling had them taken there because Stevie had been seen on camera during the Symanova arrest and reporters were clamoring to talk to him. “As soon as Evelyn’s ready, I’m going to have all of you taken to our office to give statements,” Dowling told them.

  “What about Bobby Kelleher and Tamara Mearns?” Susan Carol asked.

  “I’m going to have them brought downtown too,” he said. “Kelleher is screaming he has to write first, but we have to do it this way. I’ll make arrangements for all of you to be able to write from there.”

  They left in two cars that had been driven underneath the stadium. Stevie’s parents had spotted him on TV and had called his cell phone, wanting to know what in the world was going on. Stevie had turned it off during the match but now he called them back from the car to tell them he was all right, but he would not be coming home that night as pl
anned. His mother was not at all happy at the idea that he was going to miss the first day of school. “You’re a ninth grader,” she said. “Not a celebrity.”

  “Mom, I didn’t do it on purpose,” he said, wondering what they would both think when he told them the whole story.

  Susan Carol waited until they got to the FBI office before calling her parents. Dowling put her in a private office. She was red-eyed when she came out.

  “My dad’s going to fly up in the morning,” she said. “He’s going to see what he can do for Uncle Brendan and then bring me home. He said he’s never letting me go to another major sporting event.”

  “I’m sure my parents are going to say the same thing,” Stevie said, tentatively putting an arm around her. “And I’m sure they’ll all get over it—in a while.”

  She threw her arms around him and cried on his shoulder. Stevie didn’t say anything. There was nothing for him to say.

  They all gave their statements. When they were finished, Kelleher suggested Stevie and Susan Carol do what they did in New Orleans: coauthor a first-person account of what happened. In this case, the stories would run in the Washington Herald and the Fayetteville Observer. Susan Carol shook her head. “I can’t do it,” she said. “My uncle is at the heart of the story. It isn’t right for me to be involved in writing it and, even if it wasn’t wrong, I honestly don’t think I could do it.”

  Kelleher nodded. “You’re probably right. You could say at the top of the story that Gibson is your uncle to get around the ethics issue. But the question of your emotions is something you have to decide yourself.”

  Susan Carol looked at Stevie. “What do you think I should do?” she asked.

  “I think you should do whatever is best for you,” he said.

  “Forget the journalism issue, worry about the Susan Carol issue.”

  She managed a smile. “If you were in my shoes, I think you’d write.”

  “Why?” he asked. “Do you think I would love my uncle less than you love your uncle?”

  She shook her head emphatically. “No, not at all. I just think you’re a little bit tougher than I am. Maybe it’s because I’m a girl.”

  Stevie almost laughed out loud. “That may be the silliest thing I’ve ever heard you say,” he said. “You’re the one who walked into that apartment and put herself at risk this morning, not me. You’re the one who never loses her cool. So don’t even talk to me about toughness. I’m not sure what I would do if it was me. What I do know is that you’ll do the right thing. You always do.”

  She didn’t say a word in response. Instead, she turned to Kelleher and said, “Stevie will write the story. I’ll help him edit it.”

  Kelleher nodded. “Stevie knows you well. That’s the right call—on every level. Tamara and I have to write our columns.”

  Susan Carol looked at Stevie. “You start writing,” she said. “I’ll go get you a hamburger somewhere. You must be starved.”

  Stevie was about to answer when Evelyn and Dowling came into the room. She had been on the phone with her parents. “Now they’re upset that they didn’t come,” she said, smiling. “I reminded them that I did win the match, but they said enough is enough. They’re going to fly up here in the morning and stay with me for the rest of the tournament.”

  “You’re going to need a new agent,” Susan Carol said, a tinge of sadness still in her voice.

  “I know,” she said. “My dad also said we’re going to have to hire a coach who will travel with me when I’m on the road. But I’m not going to worry about any of that until the tournament is over.” She smiled wanly. “It isn’t as if there won’t be people who are interested in me.”

  One more decision had to be made: where Evelyn would spend the night. She couldn’t go back to the hotel; it was overrun, according to Dowling, with media people looking for her.

  “You can stay with us,” Mearns said. “There are two couches in the living room. No one will have any idea where you are. Susan Carol, I assume you’ll be staying with us too?”

  Susan Carol nodded. “I’m not going back to my uncle’s apartment, that’s for sure,” she said.

  Dowling volunteered to drive Evelyn to the apartment and wait there with her until Kelleher, Mearns, Stevie, and Susan Carol were finished writing and editing. “Call the apartment when you’re getting ready to leave,” Dowling said. “I’ll have food brought in for you. What do you think you guys want to eat?”

  “John’s Pizza,” Susan Carol said before Stevie could open his mouth. She gave him the smile. He was glad to see it.

  It was nine o’clock by the time they all finished. Susan Carol made a couple of smart suggestions to help with details when Stevie had finished writing, and then Kelleher read the story after she had finished with it. “You write like a pro, Stevie,” he said.

  “I write okay,” he said. “I had a pro for an editor today.”

  The pizza was waiting for them along with Evelyn and Dowling when they got to the apartment. The TV was on and Evelyn was watching. “They’re saying that Brendan has confessed to trying to turn the whole thing on the Symanovs,” she said. “They’re saying it could have been a hundred-million-dollar deal for Brendan. They’re saying I’m going to be the new ‘it’ girl in tennis.”

  “You are the ‘it’ girl now,” Stevie said.

  She smiled. “Just what I never wanted. I never figured I’d make the second week here. I’m supposed to start school on Tuesday, but instead I’m going to play Serena Williams. How do I go back now and act like a normal kid?”

  “That was gone the minute you stepped on court today,” Kelleher said. “Even without the two kidnappings and all the conspiracy, you were going to be famous after today.”

  She nodded, picking up a slice of pizza. “I almost wish I’d lost to Maggie Maleeva,” she said. “My life would certainly be a lot simpler right now if I had.”

  No one argued.

  Stevie and Susan Carol said their goodbyes the next morning. Susan Carol’s parents were coming in on a midmorning flight. Stevie’s parents had called back before they all went to bed and asked if there was any reason Stevie couldn’t get to an eight a.m. train. He had made his statement and written his story. “We’ve alerted the teachers you’ll be a little late,” Bill Thomas told him. “From what I’m hearing, you and Susan Carol were right in the middle of this whole mess.”

  “I guess so, Dad.”

  “Well, then I’m proud of you. But we’ll have a long talk when you get home. We’ll pick you up at the train station.”

  “Don’t you have to go to work?”

  “I’ll be late.”

  Mearns made breakfast for everyone and they sat quietly until it was time to go downstairs. “I’ll go get the car and bring it around,” Kelleher said. “Stevie, I’ll meet you outside in about ten minutes.”

  “I can take a cab, you know,” Stevie said.

  “It’s okay,” Kelleher said. “I need to get out to Flushing early anyway. The whole tennis world just crashed. I have a lot of people to talk to. Tamara’s going to stay here with Susan Carol until her parents get here.”

  Stevie wished he could stay to work on the follow-up stories. And to see how Evelyn Rubin did the rest of the tournament.

  Susan Carol insisted on going downstairs with him. They stood on the street, waiting for Kelleher.

  “I guess I should kiss you goodbye now before Bobby gets here,” she said.

  “Kiss me goodbye?”

  “If you don’t want me to, I won’t….”

  “No, no. I mean, I do want you to….”

  She leaned down, put her arm around his neck, and kissed him—on the lips—quite firmly and for several seconds. Stevie was fairly convinced he would wake up and find out he was dreaming at any moment.

  “Just remember,” she said softly, her arm still around him, “Evelyn Rubin is not your girlfriend. I am.”

  He tried to find his voice to respond but couldn’t. So he put his arm around he
r and kissed her back. With feeling.

  Kelleher pulled up an instant later. Stevie’s heart was pounding. Susan Carol was giving him the smile.

  “I’ll IM you when I get home,” he said.

  “Promise?” she said.

  “Oh yes, Scarlett,” he said. “I promise.”

  OTHER YEARLING BOOKS YOU WILL ENJOY

  LAST SHOT, John Feinstein

  HOOT, Carl Hiaasen

  HOLES, Louis Sachar

  CRASH, Jerry Spinelli

  THE PHANTOM TOLLBOOTH, Norton Juster

  BUD, NOT BUDDY, Christopher Paul Curtis

  SWEAR TO HOWDY, Wendelin Van Draanen

  THE LEGACY OF GLORIA RUSSELL, Sheri Gilbert

  VOYAGE OF ICE, Michele Torrey

  Published by Yearling, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books a division of Random House, Inc., New York

  Copyright © 2006 by John Feinstein

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law. For information address Alfred A. Knopf Books for Young Readers.

  Yearling and the jumping horse design are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

  * * *

  Visit us on the Web! www.randomhouse.com/kids

  Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us at www.randomhouse.com/teachers

  * * *

  Reprinted by arrangement with Alfred A. Knopf Books for Young Readers

  eISBN: 978-0-375-84925-1

  v3.0_r1