Rick Mofina - They Disappeared

The report showed shaky cell phone video of the SUV burning.

“There were several small explosions. When the fire department finally doused the fire, they found the bodies of two males, burned beyond recognition inside, in what has been classified as a double homicide. Maria.”

“Tyko, Action News has just learned that police may have tentatively identified one of the victims as Omarr Lincoln Roderick Aimes, aged thirty-two, after an early-morning raid on his home near Morningside Park?”

“Yes, Maria, our sources have just confirmed that. Now, police don’t know, or aren’t saying, who is behind this series of crimes. Nor are they saying why a schoolteacher and her son on a family vacation to the city were targets. One source told me this morning that there’s every indication that they’re still alive and may be being held somewhere. The NYPD is working with the FBI and a multitude of other agencies on this case. Sources say investigators would not rule out anything at this stage and they’re asking that anyone with any information call the hotline immediately.”

“And you’ll keep us posted, Tyko.”

“We will, Maria.”

Jeff sat down on the bed, not listening as the news continued.

“Thank you. Now in other news, the yearly United Nations General Assembly Meeting gets under way, and with more than one hundred and fifty world leaders come the usual traffic headaches….”

As Jeff struggled to absorb everything, the hotel room phone began ringing again and he got up to answer it without adjusting the TV.

“A chief concern for security officials is the planned visit to Battery Park for the 9/11 memorial by the Russian president and the president of Mykrekistan, the troubled Russian republic. Officials are bracing for what could be violent protests against the Mykrekistan government for alleged human rights….”

The hotel phone continued ringing until Jeff shifted his attention from the TV and answered.

“Good morning, this is Russell Powell of the New York Times . May I speak with Mr. Jeff Griffin please?”

“I’m Jeff.”

“Mr. Griffin, the Times is preparing a story on the abduction of Sarah, your wife, and Cole, your son. Would you agree to an interview now over the phone?”

“Yes.”

“Thanks. I’d like to start by confirming names and ages-”

Jeff’s attention shot to the nightstand as the keypad lights on the cell phone illuminated as it began ringing.

“Wait,” he told the Times reporter, and put the hotel phone down.

His heart began racing. The number was blocked. Was it Cordelli? Another reporter? He answered and pressed it to his ear.

“Hello?”

Static crackled. Then: “Jeff! Oh, God, Jeff, help us!”

His skin tingled at the sound of Sarah’s plea.

“Sarah! Where are you?”

More static and commotion.

“Daddy! Please come and get us! Please hurry!”

“Cole! I’m coming, son! Where are you, tell me!”

The line went silent. Jeff kept the phone welded to his ear, his digital lifeline, his only hope to see his family. For that moment all he heard was the small tinny voice of Russell Powell from the New York Times on the handset on the nightstand.

“Hello, Mr. Griffin? Are you still there? Hello?”

Jeff ignored him and hung up.

The cell phone connection was unbroken. As Jeff called into it for Sarah and Cole, it clicked with a deep robotic voice, filtered through a scrambler.

“If you want to see your wife and son again, do as instructed. Your son’s bag was mixed up with ours at the airport. When we arranged to have the bags exchanged an item was missing from our bag. We want our property.”

“What? I don’t understand. Is this Hans Beck? Everything was in the bag! Please, this is a mis-”

“We want our property returned. It is a small toy airplane. It is only of value to us. Find it, bring it with you and leave now on foot for Grand Central Terminal. Keep your phone on for instructions. If you fail, if you inform police, your family will die. We are watching. Leave now! ”

“Please, let them go! This is mistake! I’m begging you, please let them go!”

The line went dead.

Manhattan, New York City

They’re alive.

For now.

His heart racing, Jeff scanned the room.

A toy airplane?

His family had been abducted for a toy?

This is insane.

He couldn’t make sense of the absurdity. Time pummeled him. Each second was a fist striking him with desperation, demanding action.

Concentrate.

Cole had dumped the bag’s contents on his bed. A vague memory of him playing with a toy surfaced, then Jeff recalled Cole telling Hans Beck about the airplane.

Maybe it fell out, got misplaced.

Immediately Jeff sifted through Cole’s clothes but found nothing. He ran his hands swiftly over the bedspread. Nothing. He dropped to his knees and looked under the bed, no sign of a plane.

What if I can’t find it?

He pressed his face to the room’s carpet and inspected the area around the bed, the dresser, the desk, then saw the curtains.

The curtains! Cole was playing near the window behind the curtains!

As Jeff searched the area on the floor, the interior windowsill, his cell rang. He kept searching. As he moved to the area behind the chairs and table near the window he heard a slight rattle coming from the curtains.

The cell phone rang a second time.

I’m losing time!

Jeff ran his hands along the hem of the curtains, pockets formed at the bottom of the folds. Suddenly, miraculously, he felt something hard in one of them and inserted his fingers, feeling a plastic casing.

Got it!

He retrieved the toy plane Cole had been playing with, then answered his cell phone.

“Jeff, this is Cordelli.”

“Did you guys get that call? They’re alive! I’m going to get them back!”

“We got it but I need you to listen to me!”

“Did you get a name on the phone? Was it Hans Beck?”

“No. They’re using an untraceable cell phone, a throwaway. Listen. Don’t move. We’re scrambling to set up.”

“Christ, didn’t you hear them? No police, they’ll kill Sarah and Cole!”

“Jeff, we can’t take any risks. We don’t know who we’re dealing with or what they might do.”

“Yes, we do! They’ve already killed two people!”

“Don’t go anywhere, don’t give anyone anything. Wait for us to come to you!”

“No, I’m going now and I’m going alone!”

“Jeff, wait! Listen to me, there are things we can do that no one will see. We can put plainclothes people on the trains. We can stop the trains if we have to.”

“No! They said no police. Cordelli, they already killed two people. I’m not going to risk my family’s life!”

“Jeff, you’re not thinking this through. We’ve got people rolling to positions now. Wait in the hotel lobby. Don’t move!”

“There’s no time, Cordelli!”

As Jeff headed for the door, the hotel phone rang. Jeff got it.

“Mr. Griffin, Russ Powell from the Times. I think we got cut off. What just happened there? Did you get a call from your wife?”

“I can’t talk right now.”

Jeff hung up, slid the phone in his shirt pocket and rushed to the elevator. As he jabbed the down button, his heavy breathing filled the hall. The elevator car was empty. On the way down, he looked at the plane.

It was a 747 jumbo jetliner, made of hard plastic a couple of inches long. He activated the lights and jet engine sound. He rolled the wheels in the palm of his hand. It had no markings, other than a Made in China sticker on the bottom of the battery compartment.