The narrow sidewalks of central London were bursting with tourists and Londoners. Groups of armed police stood on major intersections, and local cops tried to keep the pedestrians out of the street. Rock music blared from storefronts, and the aromas of a hundred cuisines filled the air. It was a hot and sunny day, and Berman wondered what had happened to the famously bad English weather.
“Jimmy, what are we doing here?”
“This is Leicester Square, in the middle of London. It is fun, no?”
“No. I’ve never seen more people in my life.”
“I am Chinese, at home I see more people every day. Come on.”
Jimmy grabbed Berman’s arm and steered him through narrow side streets to a doorway. A small sign, in Chinese, hung above the door and Jimmy pushed Berman through.
“We are in Chinatown. Best Chinese food in Europe right here. These people are from my province.”
Jimmy obviously knew the proprietor, who bowed three or four times. The food, when it came, was incredibly spicy, and unlike any Chinese food Berman had tasted.
“Is it too hot? I asked them to tone it down, for a Westerner.”
“It’s good,” said Berman, chewing a piece of fiery meat. “But it is spicy.”
“I want to take your mind off that woman. She is not going to come around, you know.”
Why did Jimmy think that? The rooms at the vicarage were probably bugged, Berman realized, and Jimmy probably knew of Pia’s response to his entreaties.
“She will come around,” Berman said. “She has to. Look, Jimmy, I appreciate your being discreet about her, with your bosses.”
“Who says I haven’t told them?”
“I trust you haven’t. Nothing has happened to this point to jeopardize our enterprise. The only fallout from snatching her out of Boulder is a couple of guys who went to the Boulder police and asked a couple of questions. They are not getting anywhere. In fact, they’re the ones who may be in trouble, not us. As far as anyone knows, Pia’s in the wind.”
Jimmy shrugged. Berman knew Pia meant nothing to Jimmy. But while the deal was in the balance, she could remain as his guest. The marathon wasn’t for another two weeks, so there was ample time for Berman to wear her down. He’d never failed before.
Now, many hours after lunch, with more sightseeing and an endless dinner, Berman was calling it a night,
“As you wish,” said Jimmy. “The car is outside if you want to go back. My friend and I were discussing Chinese agricultural policy. Seriously. I’ll come back later.”
Jimmy turned back to his new companion. Good for you, thought Berman, but I’m done. He wondered how much of what he was feeling was because of Pia or if it was because it was half past two in the morning. Berman had a sense that his feelings for Pia were not just carnal, otherwise he would have made sure he could possess her as soon as they had reached the vicarage. He wanted her recognition that he was a pioneer and that they could build this company together, with Berman at the helm and talented scientists like her alongside. The Chinese phase would be over soon, and there would be no more need for clandestine experimentation. It had been necessary to jump-start the program, to get the capital funding, but now everything was going to be aboveboard. Pia could take the NIH on a tour of Nano herself if that would placate her.
A new rhythm thudded its way into Berman’s head as the disc jockey started a new set. Berman could see that Jimmy wasn’t about to leave anytime soon, so he got up from the leather couch, thanked the man for the enjoyable day, and made his way through the crowd of pretty people toward the exit.
57.
PAUL CALDWELL’S APARTMENT, BOULDER, COLORADO
THURSDAY, JULY 25, 2013, 7:55 P.M. MST
Paul and George disagreed over whether they were likely to receive a visit from the police after their jaunt to Mariel Spallek’s home, and Paul took no pleasure in being proved correct. George had not dismissed Paul’s opinion out of hand, so the two men were able to agree on their story before Detective Samuels came around the evening following with a colleague he introduced as Detective Ibbotson. The four men got situated in Paul’s living room, with Paul and George on the couch and the two investigators on kitchen chairs facing them. The atmosphere was strained. Samuels started in.
“We can talk here, or we can talk more formally at the station tomorrow,” Samuels said. He was looking at Paul as the host, but George answered.
“We’re happy to talk here.”
“So where did you go after we talked yesterday?”
“We drove around, figuring what to do. I mean, we were worried about our friend and didn’t get much satisfaction from our visit to the police.”
“Sorry you feel that way, but we are still looking into the situation. Where did you drive to?”
“About one-thirty, we went out to Niwot. We found out that Pia Grazdani’s boss at Nano, Mariel Spallek, lived out there. We thought maybe she might be home and willing to answer some questions about Pia. We’re really kind of lost about what to do. But Mariel Spallek was not at home, so we went away, thinking we might return some evening.”
“You were out there around one-thirty,” said Samuels.
“Around then, yes,” said George, and offered no more. They had been at Niwot, but by one-thirty, he was in a cab on his way home.
“And you can confirm this,” Samuels said to Paul.
“Yes. I know the time, because I had to get to the hospital. I was late.”
“He drove in, I took a taxi. From Niwot.” George knew that if they checked, they would find that he had taken a taxi, but from a location that might require some explanation.
“Why did you take a taxi?”
“Paul had to get to work. I took a taxi from there rather than from the hospital. I was on my way back here.”
Samuels regarded the two men. He guessed they were being less than truthful, but in the grand scheme of things, did it matter that much. “So you rang the bell at Miss Spallek’s, and no one answered?”
“That’s right,” said George.
“Did you see anyone? Anyone that you might have thought didn’t belong in the neighborhood?”
“There was a car parked suspiciously on the same street.”
“Suspiciously how?”
“Well, not parked suspiciously, but parked in the street with two men sitting in it. It was just down the road from Mariel’s house. There were no other cars or people. It looked suspicious to us, and we talked about it.”
Paul nodded.
“Can you describe the car?”
“Dark blue,” said Paul. “Full-size sedan. American. Buick or something like that. I actually assumed it was a police car. It was kind of drab like that. No offense.”
Samuels looked at Paul, then at George. Very clever, he thought, and closed his notebook. This whole situation wasn’t worth his time. He knew that the police had gotten the tip from Nano, suggesting that Nano had had them under surveillance, possibly because they had tried and failed to get into their facility. Samuels had the gut sense that there was some weird romantic aspect to this story, but at that point he wasn’t going to speculate. The facts of the case were that someone, maybe the two sitting in front of him, had broken into Mariel Spallek’s apartment, but nothing had been stolen or damaged save for a pane of glass in a back door. More important, Mariel Spallek specifically declined to take the matter further when contacted, and the responding police officers hadn’t actually seen anyone, despite the clear evidence of a break-in.
“Detective Ibbotson, how about you head out to the car. I’ll be right out,” said Samuels. His partner nodded and left.
“I don’t know what’s going on here,” he said, “but my sense is that you guys need to cut out playing detective before you get yourselves in trouble. I know those security people at Nano, and
they’re no fools. Next time you try a stunt like this, I hope they don’t get to you first.”
“That sounds like a threat,” said George.
“Actually, it isn’t. It’s a piece of friendly advice. Your girlfriend will come back, provided she wants to. That’s what happens in ninety-nine point nine percent of cases like this. If she doesn’t, then she won’t. But we have the facts as they exist, and we will continue to follow up on the case. We are in direct contact with the Nano human resources department. We have the woman’s description and photo. There was evidence that she had returned to her apartment after sending the text to you, Dr. Caldwell, along with the suggestion that she had driven east. We, of course, will be following up on that. So, fellows, cool it before you get arrested or hurt.”
Samuels got up and left.
“Funny they should know to come right after my shift finished,” said Paul after Samuels had walked out.
“Paul, I’ve been thinking. It’s pretty apparent we’re being followed by Nano, and the police are onto us, and we’re getting nowhere finding Pia. She’s gone, I’m sure of it. I don’t believe she drove east for a second. I think someone took her. I think it was Berman. And we don’t have the resources to find her.”
“So what the hell do we do? The authorities obviously aren’t listening to us.”
“When Pia was in trouble before, her father saved her. I think I have to ask for his help. I hate to do it, because he’s basically a gangster of the worst kind.”
“Her father? I didn’t know Pia had any family.”
“He’s a higher-up in the Albanian mafia organization in the New York metropolitan area. I have no reason to think he’ll even help, but he did the last time Pia got into this kind of trouble, which, I have to say, is remarkably similar in many respects to what’s going on now. She was kidnapped then, too. God, it’s as if she is a magnet for disaster.”
“Albanian mafia. Good lord! I think I saw a movie about them. Extremely violent.”
“The worst.”
“What’s the father’s name?”
“Burim Graziani or something like that.”
“Not Grazdani, like Pia.”
“He had to change his name for some reason.”
“How did he save her?”
“She’d been kidnapped by a rival Albania mafia clan who were under contract by some financial types to kill her. They didn’t because of her last name, which they knew was Albanian. The father, being a connected man, was contacted, and he proved she was family. The Albanians are a bit like the Italian mafia with family and their own idiosyncratic ideas of honor above all else.”
“Mafia or no mafia, I think you should give this Burim a try. Why do you think he might not be willing to help?”
“After he did manage to save her from the rival Albanian group, he tried to resurrect some sort of relationship with her, but she wouldn’t have any part of it. She wouldn’t even talk to him. When she was around six he had abandoned her to the New York City foster care system, where she had been psychologically tortured. He actually called me at that point, which is why I have his cell number. He asked me to try to intervene and get Pia to call him. Stupidly I tried to help, but Pia went ballistic, accusing me of interfering in her life. That was the last I saw her until I popped out here in April.”
Paul shrugged. “This father sounds less than charming, but I don’t think we have a lot of choice. Unfortunately it’s pretty clear the Boulder police are not going to do anything unless some sort of direct proof surfaces of her being snatched. My sense is that she is not here in Boulder.”
“That’s my thought, too.”
“I do have a contact out at the airport. Maybe as a starter I can find out if the Nano jet is around, and if it isn’t, where it might have gone. I don’t know if that is common information or not, but pilots do have to file flight plans.”
“It wouldn’t hurt,” George said. “Shit. I don’t like the idea of talking with the likes of Burim Graziani. He’s very hard-core, but I’m at my wit’s end. I don’t see any alternative.”
“I guess you’d better call him,” said Paul.
“Actually, I already did. Of course there was no answer. I had to leave my name and number.”
• • •
THE CALL GEORGE had been hoping to get came an hour later. As soon as George started to talk, the caller, who admitted he was not Burim, said that he wanted to hear no details over the phone. If George wanted to talk to Burim, it had to be in person in a public place, meaning George had to travel east. The caller then warned George that he better not be wasting anyone’s time. The invitation, grudging though it might be, was what George needed to hear, but the question then arose of how to get away from Boulder without being seen. Neither George nor Paul thought it a good idea to advertise where George was going as long as Nano had them under surveillance.
George booked a ticket on the 8:37 A.M. United flight to Newark, and then he and Paul strategized a way for George to get to the Denver airport without being detected. Which was why Paul sat in his Subaru at four in the morning in the car park of his apartment building with the engine running.
• • •
“HEY, ERIC, they’re on the move.”
Having failed to get Caldwell and Wilson arrested at Mariel Spallek’s house, Chad Wells and Eric McKenzie pulled the Nano security detail’s night shift. They had parked down the street from Paul Caldwell’s apartment building in a spot that afforded them a view of the parking lot. Chad was lucky—he had fallen asleep, as had Eric, but awoke in time to notice Caldwell’s car’s lights on and the engine running and see the men sitting in the vehicle.
“Are they both in the car?” said Eric trying to get his eyes to function. “What the fuck time is it, for chrissake?”
“It’s around four.”
“What the hell are they doing up at this time? Where the hell could they be going?”
“I think that’s what we have to find out. Remember, they are doctors. Maybe they got called on an emergency.”
“It looks like they are both in the car.”
“That’s my take,” said Chad, but he didn’t know for sure as far away as they were. But it seemed safer to sound definite than admit he couldn’t be sure. Besides, it was a good bet both of them were there, as the two of them had done everything together up to this point. Besides, he didn’t want to stand out in the damn cold if Eric suggested he do so.
“Okay, let’s follow. But stay well back, okay?”
“Got it.”
• • •
AFTER FIVE MINUTES, Paul started to move, and he drove very deliberately out of the parking lot making sure his headlights strafed the car he assumed was the surveillance vehicle. The idea was for him to drive out toward Berman’s house, hang out for a time, and then and loop back via the hospital. It would take at least an hour, by which time George would have the opportunity to walk out of the back entrance of the apartment building and be met by a prearranged car service at a gas station a half mile down the road in the other direction. Both Paul and George doubted there would be more than one car involved in any surveillance, and even if a man were to be left behind at the apartment complex, he wouldn’t be able to see George leaving out the back. Or so they hoped.
• • •
GEORGE WATCHED PAUL LEAVE and then let the curtain fall back into place. After waiting fifteen minutes, he followed the plan and left Paul’s apartment, making his way out the rear door, and walked down the road quickly without looking back. He had borrowed one of Paul’s sports coats and a pair of dress pants that fit him well enough. For some reason, he wanted to dress up for the meeting he’d arranged for four o’clock that same afternoon. Just thinking about it gave him an uneasy, queasy feeling that made his pulse race. George knew he was not a risk-taker by nature, but he k
new he had to do it and do it soon. As he approached the gas station, he saw a town car sitting on the forecourt and knew it had to be his ride.
Now George essayed a glance over his shoulder and saw he was quite alone. He’d made it.
58.
VINCE LOMBARDI SERVICE AREA, NEW JERSEY TURNPIKE
FRIDAY, JULY 26, 2013, 4:14 P.M. EST
George Wilson sat at the back of the Roy Rogers restaurant. It reminded him of long family trips he had taken as a child, and of sitting in places like this. His family had always bought their own food, buying only beverages, and George used to sit eating homemade egg sandwiches while other kids gorged on hamburgers. He guessed that was why he’d ordered a hamburger today, but he’d taken one bite and couldn’t eat any more. He nursed his jumbo Diet Coke and waited.
Twenty minutes later, and thirty-five minutes late, his meeting arrived.
“You’re still here,” said Burim Graziani, née Grazdani, surprising George, who hadn’t noticed him walk in. He was accompanied by another man with whom he could have been related. Burim was just as George remembered him. A slight man of medium height, seemingly in his fifties, dark-complected in all respects, with piercing eyes as black as coal. His mouth pulled up slightly in the left corner in a kind of sneer from a scar. In George’s eyes he was the stereotypical hoodlum with a demeanor that suggested he was incapable of remorse. He was dressed in an ill-fitting black leather jacket and black turtleneck. He sat down, keeping both hands under the table. George imagined he was armed. The other, larger man stood where he was with his arms folded, eyeing George like a cat might eye a motionless mouse.