They Disappeared. Rick Mofina

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ toy against the window, taking it on a flight over Manhattan’s tall buildings.

      “I can’t find a claim number on my part of the ticket,” Sarah said just as Jeff’s cell phone rang.

      “Hey.” Jeff looked at the display before he answered. “It’s the same number that tried to call me when we were in the taxi.”

      “Mr. Griffin? Jeff Griffin of Laurel, Montana?”

      “Yes.”

      “This is Hans Beck, I tried calling you earlier. I got your number from your backpack. I have it, there was a mix-up at the airport and I was hoping you’d have mine? It looks just like yours—it has some clothes, snacks, maps and my razor inside.”

      “Yes, we have it.”

      “Good, can we trade them as soon as possible? I am running late for a train. According to your information, you’re at the Central Suites that’s near Penn Station?”

      “Yes, we can exchange the bags now if you like.” Jeff nodded to Sarah, who smiled with relief and indicated that she would take a quick shower. After a few more minutes Jeff had worked out the bag trade with the caller.

      “Cole! Let’s go get your backpack, son!”

      Startled by his dad, Cole, who’d been running the plane up and down the curtain, let the toy slip to the lower end as he pushed the curtain aside.

      “Really?” Cole stepped from the window. “Now?”

      “Yes, really, yes, now. So put all that stuff back in the bag. Everything and let’s go.” Jeff had unfolded a map on his bed and studied it. “The guy who’s got your backpack is going to meet us now, so move it!”

      Overjoyed at getting his possessions back, Cole forgot about the plane and gathered all the items as fast as he could, shoving them hastily into the backpack while his dad glanced at the map.

      This Hans Beck had a German-sounding accent. Maybe he was a student, Jeff thought as he and Cole walked toward Madison Square Garden with his backpack.

      They were to meet in front of a diner on Thirty-third Street across from Penn Station. Beck said he was twenty-nine, five foot eleven with blond hair. Jeff gave a description of himself and Cole, noting they would also recognize each other by the backpacks.

      About twenty minutes after Beck had called, they spotted him on the street at the appointed location. Beck’s hair was unkempt, his clothes disheveled. He was dragging anxiously on a cigarette, his face taut.

      This guy’s either on drugs or under some sort of pressure, Jeff thought.

      “Are you Hans Beck?”

      Beck blew a stream of smoke skyward and nodded.

      “Jeff and Cole Griffin.”

      They traded handshakes, then backpacks.

      Immediately Beck began rummaging through his.

      “Everything’s in here, right?” Beck said, snapping his head around at the sound of car horns from the traffic.

      “Sure. We didn’t take anything, if that’s what you mean,” Jeff said.

      “No, no, man.” Beck focused on Cole, then winked. “Because you’re too young to use my electric razor, right?”

      “That’s funny,” Cole said. “The airplane you have in there is cool.”

      “What airplane? You looked inside?”

      “Sorry.” Cole glanced at his dad, then at Beck. “It was when I thought it was my backpack. I saw the little toy plane.”

      “Everything’s in there,” Jeff said.

      “What? Okay. I’m really late.” Beck looked around to the street, closed the bag, then hoisted it onto his back. “Yes, I packed it so fast, I’m not sure what I put in there. Well, I have to split. Thanks.”

      Beck disappeared into the crowds entering Penn Station. Jeff’s attention followed him with a ping of unease before he turned to Cole.

      “Let’s get back to the hotel, son.”

      3

      New York City

      Hans Beck gripped his backpack and pinballed through Penn Station.

      For a fleeting moment he considered boarding a train, any train, and getting away.

      No use. They’re watching, waiting. And I need the money.

      Beck had lied to Jeff Griffin about having to catch a train. Instead, he had to meet his contact and complete this delivery.

      He’d nearly blown this job.

      How could he have been so stupid to have picked up the wrong bag? In his time as a courier he’d never screwed up like this. His customers were enraged. He’d never had contacts so intense. He didn’t know who they were, or what they were involved in.

      He didn’t want to know.

      When he’d given them the Griffin backpack in error, they took no comfort in his assurance he would retrieve the misplaced bag.

      Well, he did it, just as he said he would.

      So everyone should relax, he told himself. We’ve got the right bag now. Soon this would be over and he’d be on a plane to Aruba awaiting a large deposit in a numbered account.

      Beck left Penn Station and hurried by the post office and deep into the heart of the Hudson Yards. He moved quickly beyond the Long Island Rail Road maintenance tracks, where Thirty-third Street dipped into a wasteland near the Hudson River.

      He was nearly jogging now as he hurried along a chain-link fence that surrounded a site where a massive foundation, reaching down several stories, was under construction. The sun had set, the entire area was deserted. He heard the hum of a motor, then brakes, and a panel van stopped suddenly beside him.

      A side door slid open and he got in. It was crowded inside because several men were in the back working. A couple of them were talking on cell phones. Two others were working quickly on laptops.

      The men had already acted on the information sheet they’d found in Cole Griffin’s bag and had quickly searched the family. They’d also taken pictures of Jeff and Cole on the street, making the exchange with Beck.

      Everything had unfolded with urgency.

      The men seized his backpack, dumped its contents, probed them, then tore through the empty backpack.

      Whatever they needed was still missing.

      For the first and last time in his life, Beck had failed to make a delivery.

      His final thought was that a plastic bag had swallowed his head and his struggle against the forces holding him was in vain.

      Everything СКАЧАТЬ