Tracks by Niv Kaplan

specified, just
the time frame.”
    “Who did you have in mind?”
she queried.
    “CIA director, no less,” he
concluded, then sprung off his chair. “I’ll give you the name of my superior
once the first two conditions are met.”    
    “How will I reach you?”
    “Get me hard evidence to
London, end of next week. We’ll take it from there.”
    He was out the door.  She
hurried to stay with him.
    “Book into the Bailey’s Hotel
on Gloucester Road,” he said walking briskly, “I’ll get in touch with you
there.”
    He stopped and turned to
her.  “This is where I disappear. Make sure this is legit and limit our
acquaintance to yourself for now. Good day, Ms. Li.”
    He shook her hand again and
disappeared along the grassy path.  
     
    *****
     
    Peka caught up with Natasha
the day following their meeting at the UN, at a deli in the East Village, her
regular lunch hangout.  She was not surprised.  Sitting on a barstool
sipping lemonade with her back to the entrance, she saw him approach in the
overhead mirror.
    He slid an envelope along the
bar and took the stool next to her.  She nodded politely and took out the
contents; a single sheet of paper with the Romanian UN delegation logo and a
short notice by the Romanian ambassador assuring the US State Department will
have his country’s full cooperation on the unfortunate matter of the “Flesh
Trade” of young girls happening in his own country.  Ms. Natasha Usher
from the Center for Missing Children was the only person copied.
    “Hard to believe it is we who
have to twist your arms to resolve this matter,” she remarked, eyeing Peka
accusingly.
    “Some people would rather
whore than starve,” he answered evenly.
    “Would you?” she shot back.
    “Depends on the
circumstances,” he replied coolly.
    “Would you send your
daughter?” she added vehemently.
    “Look lady, none of us think
it right. No one in his right mind would overlook such horrors. It’s chaos over
there now.  Total anarchy.   The system has
collapsed.  People are desperate.  They do whatever they can think of
to survive and crime is a very big part of that.”
    She eyed him again
suspiciously, unyielding.
    He lowered his tone. 
“The government has little control, Natasha.  Most officials are crooked.
They also do whatever they can to survive.”
    She sighed.  There was no
point arguing.  It would take decades for Eastern Bloc countries to
recover after the communist regime’s collapse.  Some may never recover,
she thought sadly, reflecting on her own country of birth, Russia, whose
problems were mounting.  She often wondered what had happened to her
father.
    She had not heard from him or
of him since his failed attempt to kidnap her, an event she still vividly
recalled.  She was convinced her mother had had no word as well, though
she suspected her mother would not inform her if she did.
    She eyed Peka again. 
“You Romanian?” she suddenly asked.  “You don’t look it.”
    “My mother is.  My father
is Croatian.”
    Natasha nodded.  That
explained his blonde hair and distinct features.
    She got up to leave. 
    “Meet me at JFK.  We’re
flying Tarom,” she said, handing him an envelope she fished out of her bag.
    “Tickets are inside.”
    He slid off his stool, took
the envelope and bent to whisper in her ear.  “My sister is one of those
girls we’re looking to save.”
    She turned to him, stunned,
but he was out the door before she could respond.

CHAPTER FIVE
     
    Sam took an Iberia flight, New
York JFK to Madrid.  El Chino met him at the gate at Barajas.  He had
taken an earlier flight from Barcelona, following the Carlos Rio trail. 
    Sam was surprised to see him.
    “Change of plans, Sammy. 
They never made it to Barcelona.”
    “What happened?”
    “They did not arrive,”   Ortega admitted. “I waited around then I checked the
passenger lists on the train.  Nada.   I
finally called the travel agency direct, making up I was some