The Missing Dead

by Karlous Naderi

  “Okay, you do that. Please be careful and don’t forget to call me after your done.”

  As Jack was about to tell her, “Aye aye, I sure will,” sirens rang from a block away. A shot echoed somewhere in the distance. Jack quickly looked back to the third-floor balcony. Sure enough, first he saw Mr. Jackson going down, and, a second later, Melvin right behind him.

  Chapter 13

  Rapallo, Italy

  “Signor Andrews!” the Italian man said, attacking the A in the name and rolling his tongue on the R.

  The old silver-haired man snapped out of his thoughts and turned to his heavily accented Italian host, who was approaching him with a jolly smile. Although the short, no-neck man had accommodated all of his daily needs to the fullest, and pleasantly, he knew if he ever stepped out of line, the nicely dressed, polite, no-neck guard would snap him in half like a twig.

  “So, how is the town of Rapallo treating you?”

  “It’s fine, Lorenzo, thank you,” the old man said flatly. He turned his gaze back to the Ligurian Sea. From where he was seated, outside at the back of the villa, he could clearly see the tiny waves, growing bigger and bigger before slamming into the jagged rocks beneath him. Waves that were much like his continuously growing thoughts, banging daily against the walls of his brain. Except there were times when even the untamed sea calmed to a soothing rest, while his mad thoughts continued on and on, night and day.

  “What is it, Signor Andrews?”

  The old man didn’t reply for a long time. Finally he asked, “What do they want from me?”

  “Oh come on, Signor, not this topic again. You need to enjoy the beautiful scenery around you and, when the time is right, I’m sure they will tell you all about it.”

  “What about Anya and Jozsef?”

  “Again, Signor, as Mr. von Braun told you, they are fine.”

  Tired of hearing the same repetitive answers, the old man let out a sigh that could have been interpreted in many different ways. But however the coin flipped, it was obvious that he was in a state of deep sorrow.

  “Come on, Signor, let’s go back inside.” With a happy whistle, Lorenzo escorted him through the large double doors into the classy mansion and closed the doors behind them.

  “So, what would you like to eat today?” When the old man ignored those words, Lorenzo added, “Anything you want.”

  It was all too much for the old man. During his seventy-seven years he had never had this type of treatment. He was not used to men serving him hand and foot while he walked around in two-thousand-dollar Berluti Italian leather shoes. He paused, unsure exactly how many days he had been there. He had bathed in a large marble tub, slept on a huge bed with clean silk sheets, eaten everything possible to mankind, and even been entertained by a beautiful woman. Although he didn’t do anything sexual with her—though she offered—her company was more than pleasant. He talked about himself, Anya and Jozsef, and then asked about her. When he thought he had built a close relationship with her, he tried to see what she could tell him about his situation, but all he got was, “Oh, sorry, Signor, you know I don’t know nothing. Me just come here to love you, that’s all.”

  A few nights ago, when he was lying in his room, he thought he had heard the red-faced chubby German, von Braun, enter the mansion. In the minutes that followed he heard more voices and a few names that the German had assumed he wouldn’t remember after the sit down around the large oval table in New York City. One was the big-nosed Italian auto manufacturer, Alberto Deovancha, and the second the Argentinian banker, Ronald Plomaz. Hearing their names, he didn’t leave his room. He quietly tiptoed to the door and sharpened his ears like a rabbit to see if he could hear anyone else. There had been the European billionaire, Arnold Manse. Chairman Ho of China Global International. Director Sandoval from Venezuela Oil Industry. There was the Swiss banker, Otto Welbond. The Chilean banker, Romus Glans. The American business man, Chris Jackson, and, next to him, Skylar Phillips. There were a few others that he didn’t recall, but he was sure once he saw their faces again the names would come back to him.

  It was true that the Good Lord hadn’t blessed him with many fortunes, but one thing he had granted him was a good memory. That night he didn’t hear any voices other than that of the German, the Italian, and the Argentinian, Ronald Plomaz. He waited and waited, and waited some more, assuming they were going to check up on him, but they never did. Maybe four or five hours later they gave Lorenzo a set of orders and left with a slam of the door.

  Now, as he had done every evening around this time, he walked around the nine-room classy mansion, staring at artworks, thinking about his situation while Lorenzo prepared dinner. In about three hours the outside guards would rotate, and, shortly after that, somebody would bring in Rocky and Sunny, the two Dobermans on the property. Before he retired back to his room for the night, Lorenzo would pour him an alcoholic beverage of some sort and play some calm music.

  Although that would have been the end of the night for most people, when they laid their heads peacefully down to sleep, his battle of thoughts just intensified. Each question tried to dominate the others, until at the end the champ stood on its own. It was the same undefeated question that overpowered his head night after night, and it concerned Anya and Jozsef. Were they were alive and okay? Was he ever going to see them again?

  Although the chubby German von Braun had assured him time after time that he would, that didn’t ease his concerns. Before he was snatched from Romania they showed him images of Anya and Jozsef with guns pointed at their heads. What the hell was all this about? Why him? He was nobody. He had no enemies, never stole, or even hurt a poor, harmless animal. Everybody knew him as the man with the pure heart. He was the poster man for decency, the man who would give the shirt off his back for a fellow human being. The man who would give his plate to somebody else while he starved. He was who he was, and his adoptive parents had ingrained that into him since childhood.

  They were much the same, sacrificing the little they had to share with the two-year-old child they had adopted during World War II. The child knew nothing about his real parents, other than that maybe they were Jewish. At the age of ten, when he lost his Romanian father, that affected him greatly. He hit rock bottom when his half-American mother passed six years later.

  After that, life served him one moment of bad luck after another. As years passed, he thought his luck was changing for the better when he met Ioana. He was sure it was when she accepted his marriage proposal and a year later gave birth to Anya. But life has a way of twisting good into bad. Ioana passed way three years later, and he was forced to raise young Anya all by himself on the streets of Romania. They lived hand to mouth, slept on the streets, under bridges, in parks and between buildings. Years passed and life had its ups and downs, but for him mostly downs. Eventually, somehow, through the clusters of hard times, he managed to raise Anya into a beautiful girl, who ended up marrying a decent, hardworking man who lived an average life. During those years his luck changed for the better, especially when Anya gave birth to Jozsef. Although life was good, he still kept his eyes open, waiting for the storm to arrive.

  The years accumulated and, to his surprise, the sun was still beaming over his small family as brightly as ever. Every time he checked for clouds, they never came. Eventually he stopped looking, placed his hard times behind him and tried to enjoy life. Like a fighter that was fooled by his opponent’s moves, as soon as he had taken his eyes away, life served him with a combination of hard punches and upper cuts. First Anya’s husband died. Then she and Jozsef were forced to move into his place that wasn’t much bigger than a fishbowl. But this was still much better than living back on the streets. Next thing he knew, ten years had passed; another five soon after; and eventually the sun was again beaming on them. This time, it was little Jozsef who had grown into a mighty person and pushed the stormy clouds away by finding his true talent with food. The boy had made a name for himself internationally, with many praisin
g his style of cooking. For the last five years they had lived comfortably. But now this new turd storm had him lost, worried and bedeviled to his soul.

  “Come, Signor Andrews, the table is ready.” Lorenzo snapped the old man out of his deep thoughts. Once they were comfortably seated behind the round table, the no-neck Italian, wasting no time, served him fresh pasta con le sarde with pine nuts, garnished with whole fennel fronds. With his thick hands, he broke a piece of bread and handed him half, with a cup of red wine filled to the brim. “Okay, Signor Andrews, mangiamo!”

  When the old man hesitated and just stared at the beautiful food placed in front of him, Lorenzo chimed in again. “What is it, Signor, you don’t like the food?”

  This time the old, silver-haired man quietly looked up at his Italian guard and stared into his warm, gentle eyes for a moment or two. Lost in his emotions, he finally said in a broken voice, “Tell me, Lorenzo, why do I have to be Mr. Andrews?”

  Chapter 14

  Bernese Oberland, Switzerland

  Almost twenty hours had passed since Jack had witnessed the cops hauling Melvin’s butt into the back of the cop car, while the Red Cross ambulance took Mr. Jackson’s lifeless body away on a stretcher.

  He wasn’t sure what exactly had transpired on the third-floor balcony, but once Melvin had been escorted away in handcuffs, Jack hung up on the startled Abby and followed the four vehicles from a good distance. His confusion increased when the four cop cars separated, and the car with Melvin in the back seat pulled over next to a parked van. The cops handed him over to three casually dressed men. At that moment Jack wished for his lucky Glock nine. If he’d had his black pistol, he would have made his move and performed a quick drop and snatch. The scene wasn’t perfect, but they were momentarily parked, there were only five in total, and, most importantly, they had Melvin out in the open. He had the element of surprise. He could have taken out three of them in no time before they realized they were facing the flames of hell.

  With a sigh, Jack pushed his wishful thoughts aside when the cars were on the move again. For about three miles, the cop car escorted the van. Then the blue van went in one direction, and the cops the other. Jack continued tailing the van. It was obvious they were headed towards the snow-capped mountains. At the moment, there was a good distance and a few cars between him and the van, which kept him hidden. But the higher they went the less traffic there was, and he would soon stick out like a sore thumb. That was only one of many problems he faced. He couldn’t get any help from the police, since it appeared they were involved with whatever was unfolding. He didn’t know where he was driving to, since there were no freaking signs anywhere. And lastly, and perhaps most importantly, how was he going to get Melvin out without any weapons other than his tactical flashlight, with the saw and knife? Driving and thinking about his dilemma, Jack realized there was one more problem that outweighed the others hands down: How the heck was he going to break the news to Tania?

  If he waited too long, and by the time he had retrieved his manhood, it might be too late, high up in the mountains without any phone reception. He finally found the courage to call her, but as soon as she heard his voice she snapped, “What the hell did you get Pig into this time, Jack?”

  Although Jack had prepared himself for a good tongue-lashing, he hadn’t expected those to be the first words out of Tania’s mouth. Maybe he had, but he had hoped for a much softer approach. With a deep sigh, Jack told her everything he had witnessed. He finished with, “I’m sure it was a setup. Whoever shot Mr. Jackson had called the cops beforehand. First I heard the sirens, then the shot from a distance. In less then a minute the cops flooded the street and stormed the building as if they knew exactly where to go. I don’t know what’s going on, but once the cops moved Melvin into back of the van and split it was obvious this pile of poo stinks all the way to the top.”

  “Maybe they are a Swiss special unit?” Tania said wishfully. “You know what I mean? Maybe they’re the equivalent of the FBI and they’re transferring Pig in an unmarked vehicle to somewhere private to interrogate him?”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  There was a long, uneasy silence between them until Tania bluntly said, “I hate your freaking guts, Jack. I really do.” If Jack didn’t already feel bad enough for all the trouble he had caused again, before he had a chance to apologize to Tania and tell her not to worry, he’d figure something out, the phone battery died and he unintentionally hung up on her.

  Jack tossed the cheap plastic phone aside and focused back on the van. Not too far into their drive through the forested mountains, between his unpleasant thoughts about everything, Jack felt a small glimmer of hope when he noticed they turned into a major road with rows of hotels and cabins, and much more vehicles than he had anticipated. Feeling more comfortable, Jack checked the fuel gauge. The tank was three quarters full, which was two thirds more than what he had inside him. An hour later that changed when the blue van pulled into a small private cabin: the fuel gauge had dropped to half a tank, but his own had risen by a quarter. With a straight face, Jack casually passed the van and followed other cars. He pulled in at the first hotel resort he came to and parked not far from the entrance. He was a little over two hundred yards away from the cabin, the mysterious wooden cabin. Swirling smoke from the cabin’s chimney indicated there were more men waiting for Melvin inside; more people to deal with during his rescue attempt.

  Throughout the rest of the night Jack made no moves. He waited in his rental car to make sure they were not going to haul Melvin somewhere else. When the sun finally came up around six in the morning, Jack stepped out of the car. Second guessing himself—should he go or stay?—with bag in hand he finally went inside the two-story hotel and booked a room. When the receptionist handed him a key to a room on the first floor, Jack politely asked if there was anything on the top floor, preferably with a window or a balcony towards the east.

  He paid an extra fifty francs for his request, but the money was well worth it. He had a perfect view of the cabin. If they decided to move Melvin, in no time at all he could be back in his car, behind them for the chase. Wasting no time, Jack plugged in his phone for charging and called Tania with the room phone. When she didn’t answer he left a message with a few details about his location and called Abby next. By now she had probably had called him about a thousand times. After three rings she picked up. Her relief, excitement and joy were obvious.

  “Oh my God, baby, you don’t know how glad I am to hear from you!”

  Jack cut in and told her everything. “I’m telling you, this was a well-organized setup. Whoever these people are, they must be professional. Only a trained operative would call the cops before making the kill. The way the cops stormed the building minutes after the shot was fired, there was no time for Melvin to escape anywhere.”

  “So now what?” Abby sounded concerned as well as curious.

  “Well, I’m going to see if I can fly the drone and get a closer peek at the cabin to form a plan.”

  Before Jack hung up, Abby told him about her day at the hospital and proudly declared, “When I approached Doctor Phillips about USC not having any record of Margret, the old bastard crumpled his face and mumbled with his stuttering quacks. It got even worse when I asked him if he knew Margret’s birth name, or about an organization called the Foundation for a New America, and if he thought Miss Davis’ accident was committed on purpose.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Well, other than a bunch of noes, nothing else. But it was the stuttering way he said it and that weaselly expression of his that told me he was lying through his teeth.”

  “Did you ask about Mr. Andrews?”

  “No, I haven’t brought him up yet, but I’m going to do that the day after tomorrow when I get back to work.”

  Jack didn’t even try to discourage Abby’s next move. No matter what he said she would follow through with her investigation. He diverted the subject back to his situation and assured her h
e would call her again when he had something to report.

  “Do you want me to stop by Tania’s later tomorrow?” Abby asked.

  “Yeah, but call her first. See if she wants you to keep her company until I come back with Pig.”

  “Okay, baby, will do.”

  Jack spent the rest of the day trying to get a closer look at the cabin with his small drone, but this bore no fruit because of the tall trees blocking his view. Disappointed with his results, he formed a game plan once he saw the development on the ground. Two men from the cabin left with the blue van and it would be better to hurry and make his move after night fall. Rather than storming the place like a wild boar, he considered conning his way into the cabin innocently and attacking with his knife. That shouldn’t be difficult. On the way up he had seen plenty of hotels and ski resorts. All he had to do was pretend to be a lost tourist who couldn’t find his hotel. If he played his cards right and managed to get inside the cabin, it was all over. He was ex special forces, as good with a knife as with a gun. A few sliced arteries here, a couple of stabs in the chest, liver and kidneys, and he would have Melvin out of there in no time.

  Just after eleven at night, he doubled up on his clothing, grabbed his tactical flashlight and knife and made his move. His best plan would be to make his way from the back of the hotel that faced the open woods and the mountains and from there circle in from the rear of the cabin to the front door.

  Without bringing any attention to himself, two steps at a time, Jack left the hotel. Every step of the way he opened and closed his fingers so they didn’t freeze in the cold, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to pull out his knife and strike with ease for the kill. Although he had been walking for a only few minutes, he couldn’t feel his toes. He was prepared with two shirts and Melvin's extra Warriors sweater under his jacket. That kept his upper part warm, but he had no protection for his feet. The shin deep snow didn’t help, but it would help with the illusion that he was a poor lost tourist in the snow and in need of a hand.