Turbulence Page 10

  As I lay there panting, she cuddled to me and said, “And I love you too, Kevin, with all my heart.”

  In my completely at peace body and mind, without a care in the world at that moment, I still brought myself to the thought that said, not unkindly, but as a statement of realization, Kevin, you did it now, you’re world is changing and you are in real trouble.

  Perhaps all confirmed bachelors go through that process when it happens. We live as if we enjoy the single life so much, with all sorts of beautiful women in our present and our future, and are the envy of our married male friends everywhere.

  Yet the reality is that we are searching, in most cases, desperately, for the same thing that most women want as the ultimate lifestyle, a partner they can love and be loved by for the rest of their life. Men will generally not admit that because they are hardwired differently and have acted accordingly since the beginning of time, but at times like this, it becomes crystal clear. We kiss goodnight, and in sweet exhaustion, drift off.

  The alarm rudely interrupts the wild dreams of morning, and while fuzzy, I reach over Allison to shut it off. It’s seven a.m. and the faint sounds of the city enervate me. I look at her with her hair spread over the pillow and realize once again, that in every circumstance, she is not just pretty, she is truly beautiful and I am some lucky guy. Realizing that I did not set the coffee machine last night, I do that first and while it’s perking, shower.

  If I can, I’m going to let her sleep. There’s no reason to wake her and I’m planning a full day at the office. Not only is there the board meeting tomorrow, but I have a world of messages and correspondence to sort through. Most of the other hotel managers in the United States and the Caribbean have reports that deserve attention, and I need to meet with staff people such as Braden and Mark regarding Mexico City.

  I eat breakfast and hurriedly scribble a note to Allison. I leave a credit card with her and ask her to sign Kevin F. Logan if she needs to use it. I include a couple of twenties for cabs, as well as keys to the apartment and one of the many Manhattan maps that I keep for family visitors. I highlight Central Park and leave the membership card of the Athletic Club close by. I also color in the blocks on Fifth Avenue where most of the shops are. Coward that I am, I sign it Love, Kevin instead of I love you, which I acknowledge to myself, I really do, and include a business card if she wishes to call me at the office.

  Margie greets me at nine with a message from Len. He wants to know if I can attend a meeting with the NYPD and the FBI this afternoon in the precinct office. I call him immediately and he does most of the talking and me the listening.

  “Kevin, I’ve given the black box to our tech investigators. They will be working on it immediately. I’ve talked to the DEA and the FBI and they are extremely interested because it affects interstate commerce in a major way. By the looks of the device and the pull out antenna, there is no question that it has to do with frequency transmission. By the time we meet, they’ll have a report ready. Can you meet with us at four this afternoon?”

  “Yeah, Len, it’s tough the first full day back. I have to report to the board tomorrow because my boss is headed to South Korea for the grand opening of the hotel, so it’s a busy day.”

  “Look, Kev, I know your job’s important, but we have no time to spare. You have to make this a priority, there’s no telling what may happen next. You’re aware of the threats.”

  “Okay, okay, I’ll be there. See you at four.”

  Margie has the reports from the field, but I needed to meet with Braden and Mark first. Braden admonished me with a Where you been? question. “I thought you were following us back after a few days in Acapulco.” With apologies and an explanation, we moved on to the Mexico City situation.

  Braden advised me that the board will officially vote tomorrow on our position arrived at in Mexico, although in his unofficial conversations, he believes they will approve our decisions and continue toward completing the terms of the project. Mark has already talked to Russ about the earthquake preparations, and although it will require an expansion joint in every guestroom, he believes it will be okay and partially hidden by the bed headboard.

  Back in my office, Margie and I plow through the correspondence and reports. I look at my watch and realize we’ve taken the full morning and worked past lunchtime. I order in and continue on while Margie breaks for lunch. The phone rings and it’s Allison.

  “Thank you for your thoughtfulness in setting up my day. I had a run in Central Park and finished an hour at the Athletic Club, and I’m loving every moment of New York. I want to do some shopping, but I’m going home first to change clothes and just wanted to touch base.”

  “Great honey, I’m loaded down with work and have an appointment with Len, the detective you met, along with the FBI and others, so I may not be home until six. In the meantime, be careful when you enter and leave the apartment, and watch if anything seems out of order, per Len’s instructions.”

  “I’m a big girl, Kevin. I’ll be careful and I’ll be fine.”

  “All right, dear, I’ll see you this evening.” A kiss sound, an “I love you,” and a goodbye.

  Realizing I only have a few hours to prepare my presentation for tomorrow, I leave instructions for the balance of the answers back to the field for Margie and concentrate on the report for tomorrow. I never before had the opportunity to field the whole range of questions from the board. That is usually handled by Russ. While it causes a burden for me, it likewise provides a splendid opportunity to let the board be exposed directly to my on-my-feet explanations and strategies normally handled by the CEO, and I sure want to be prepared for this unique career opportunity.

  By the time I look up from my report, it is three-thirty. I give it to Margie to type and ask her to have it ready for my review by eight a.m. tomorrow. If it requires overtime, I would appreciate her doing it tonight. I grab a copy of the report to Len, freshen up a bit, and grab a cab outside the office for the twenty block ride uptown just when the traffic starts to build.

  Walking into the precinct, I try to gather my thoughts especially for the FBI. I had never been involved in or been questioned about something that was of interest to the FBI and I wanted to make sure I had all my facts straight. What I don’t know, of course, is the truth of my suppositions about the “lost bag theory.”

  While it appears to be far-fetched, there is certainly a situation that airline executives agree is completely out of control. To lose one and a half million bags year after year, with no explanation and no answer how to stop it, is a problem that someone could take advantage of, no question. Moreover, if that someone has an unlimited budget that can buy just about anything and anyone, and whose sales dwarf the entire monetary allocation that the world’s richest country uses to operate its admitted war on drugs, there certainly is grounds for investigation. That someone, of course, are the cartels operating out of Mexico that both governments have failed to control.

  The receptionist recognizes me immediately. “Yes, Mr. Logan, we have been expecting you. The gentlemen are all here and waiting for you in the conference room.”

  Len immediately jumps up, greets me, and in what I thought was a most officious tone, takes a minute to introduce me to each and every person around the table, guiding me from person to person.

  Clearly, he makes it obvious to all that he is the point man and the driving force to initially set in motion an investigation that is clearly a big f-----g deal, possibly in the billions of dollars. While it’s a little off-putting, I guess I can’t blame him. Because of our friendship, he’s come up with something that is of national, and perhaps, international importance and he rightly should be acknowledged, even if it’s only with the introductions.

  There are four people with the FBI, including one female agent. The agent in charge was Section Chief Anthony Ricco. The DEA had two, the New York area top agent Brett Manson, and his assistant. I’m introduced to the captain of robbery and assaults, George Forbes, and the lie
utenant of the vice squad who handled the city drug busts, James Edwards. Finally, Len left the top cop for last, the chief of police of the NYPD, Lester Jones. Len had copied my reports and there was a copy for each officer. After we were introduced and seated, Chief Jones addressed all of us.

  “Gentlemen and Agent Murray, we all are aware of the critical drug situation throughout the country, but especially in New York. The seriousness of the situation cannot be ignored. All or most of our capital crimes are related to drug infestation. Murder, robbery, assault, extortion, blackmail, kidnapping, you name it. All of it is related to the sale and distribution of heroin, methamphetamine, cocaine, and marijuana. Ninety percent of all of these drugs, even the ones that are grown, manufactured, or processed elsewhere, come from or through Mexico. The delivery system that was uncovered by Mr. Logan approximately two weeks ago could very well be a diabolical program that could cause enormous damage to our country and our city.

  Chief Jones then introduced FBI Section Chief Ricco. He gave basically the same message, but concentrated on the airline industry in particular, where the major transportation network was at risk and could threaten our country’s security in a violent way if this delivery system was successful. Bombs, explosives of all types, anthrax, sarin gas, biological agents, other chemical weapons, and any manner of poisons could threaten our nation’s very existence if the airline baggage systems were compromised. He declared that only one organization had the financial resources and wholesale and retail delivery systems in place, and that was the dreaded cartels of Mexico.

  The DEA was next. Their concern was immediate. They wanted the drugs in their hands now, without a day’s delay. They were not pleased with my decisions regarding the time lapse and the storage arrangement. They wanted to put an agent on one of their planes tonight with keys to the Fort Worth storage location. Agent Manson gave the group some key geographic information.

  By far, the major drug transactions took place on both coasts, and the DEA knew which cities on each coast had the greatest drug activity. In the East, it was, of course, New York, followed by Philadelphia, Washington, D.C., and Miami. In the West, it was Los Angeles, San Francisco, and Seattle. Chicago was also a major market. The cartels monitored supply and demand logistics as carefully as the largest legitimate distributors. It is highly probable that there was a supply problem in San Francisco at the time I made my last minute baggage destination decision, and they seized upon it.

  Len’s boss, Captain Forbes of robbery and assaults, reported that the device, referred to by me as the black box, was indeed a radio frequency transmitter. It could be set at a frequency different than any other, making it a device used only for a single purpose, the secret notification to a person or persons who had a receiver that would capture that frequency. They weren’t sure of its specific use, but theorized that along with a system that transmitted the description of the baggage, the signal from the RF transmitter could identify a single bag buried in a baggage cart, pile, or on a conveyor belt.

  Thereafter, I became the epicenter of the inquiry from all of the investigators. I patiently answered questions about information that had been explained in the report in front of them, but even if they were repetitive, I answered them again. As to my motivations of storing the contraband, not notifying any law official, separating the black box from the storage of the drugs, and leaving the contraband in a Greyhound locker as I continued halfway around the world, I painstakingly repeated what I had told Len. That telling anybody about the discovery in my bag would have prevented my trip, which could and would have severely injured my employer and cause havoc for my employer’s partner.

  Finally, asked if another employee could have stepped up in my place, leaving me to notify the officials and canceling my flight, my answer was that any result about a substitute would be a hypothetical one and that my accomplishments proved I had succeeded where a replacement might not have. As a last interrogation, I was asked if I had ever used drugs, what kind, and when, and do I use drugs now for recreation. My answers were a firm no, no, no, and no, and unless alcohol was labeled as such, my answers would have to be never.

  The meeting ended with an agreement that the departments would cooperate with each other, and when significant evidence was uncovered, the heads of all departments represented would be notified. Len announced that I had transferred possession of the storage key to his department and he in turn had papers that authorized the transfer of the key to the DEA immediately.

  I was also required to notify Len whenever I needed to leave the city, and for the immediate future would be prohibited from any flights into Mexico. Len asked that during the investigation, I be given personal protection in New York City for as long as the NYPD considered necessary, which was granted by Chief Jones. There would be no promises, but any future action by the NYPD regarding charges would be withheld pending the results of the investigation and my assistance in that regard.

  Pleased that I would not be the subject of the investigation and perhaps not receive any criminal penalties for my stupidity, and excused from the rest of the meeting, I took a moment to thank Len and went looking for a cab home. As I hopped into the taxi, I was thinking, Man, I’m one lucky guy in more ways than one. That feeling of impending doom for every waking moment for the last two weeks has been lifted and I’m almost buoyant that I might be back to normal. If that’s not enough, I’m feeling like a new bridegroom going home to his beautiful wife. I am flush with anticipation. Life is good again. Until I open the apartment door.

  Fourteen

  My apartment was ransacked. Sofa pillows were on the floor, the couch table had been overturned, the television in the armoire had been ripped out and dangling from its wires, and drawers in the living room and kitchen were open everywhere. Papers and other items were lying on the floor. The coffee table glass was broken and side tables were overturned indicating a struggle. Somebody, or more than one person, had been frantically searching for something. The drugs. the device, or both.

  My God, it had to be Allison. The last I heard from her, she was on her way home to change. I ran into both bedrooms. They were as disheveled as the others, with dresser drawers open and clothes hanging out, and other clothes on the floor. I found her pocketbook on the bed with her wallet in it, untouched. I was about to pass out from anxiety. What happened? Where was Allison? She wouldn’t still be out. I told her I’d be here about six, and she certainly wouldn’t leave her pocketbook if she was going shopping. Dear God, she’s been kidnapped. What do I do? Why did I leave her by herself? Why did I involve her at all? Why? Why? What have I done? WHAT THE F--- DO I DO?

  I picked up the phone to call Len at his office. The night detective answered and said that Len had left for the day. I called his home and his wife answers, “The Graham residence.”

  “June, is that you? This is Kevin Logan, is Len home?

  “No, Kevin, he isn’t yet. He called me to say that he’d be delayed. He was with some people and he might have a drink with them.”

  “Oh, God, I need to reach him as soon as possible.”

  “What’s wrong, Kevin? You sound distraught.”

  “I am, June, I don’t want to bother you, but something has happened that I need to talk to him about as soon as possible.”

  “Well, he has a beeper on him at all times. Do you want the number?”

  “Yes, please, I forgot about that. I’ll take it down.”

  I ring the number, which identifies my home phone. He’s probably out with some of the people from the meeting and it would take time for him to recognize my number and call back, but seconds are like minutes and minutes like hours as I stare at the phone waiting for a reply. I can’t wait any longer, and though it’s not more than five minutes, I reach for the phone. Before I can touch it, the phone rings and I almost jump out of my skin, I’m so wired. I catch myself, take a breath, and pick up the phone.

  “Len,” I almost holler, “is that you?”

  “Yea, Ke
vin. What’s the matter?”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m at the Cowboys bar with some of the guys, why?”

  “I just got home from the meeting and I found my apartment’s been ransacked and Allison’s gone.”

  “Jesus, I was afraid of that. Allison’s gone where?”

  “I, uh, I think she’s been kidnapped,” I reply, and tell him about her pocketbook.

  “Listen, don’t touch a thing. I’m only a few blocks away and I’ll be right there.”

  Within fifteen minutes, Len is at the door. “Did you touch anything?” he asks as his greeting.

  “No, I didn’t,” I respond.

  “Okay, good, let’s take a look.”

  He moves quickly through the apartment, with me following, and him asking questions and me answering. He wants to know the time she last talked to me, where she was, where she was going, what she was wearing, and what she was planning to do. Back in the living room, he picks up the phone, dials the night detective, and requests a crime photographer and a fingerprint technician, and gives the address.

  “Did you check the shower in the master bedroom? I ask.

  “I think so, why?”

  “Well, if it’s dry and she was in the apartment when they came in, she had her gym clothes on, shirt, shorts, and sneakers.”

  “Okay, I’ll make a note of it, cause it didn’t look like the shower was used.”

  “What’s your initial feeling, Len, about what happened?”

  “I agree with you that there was some kind of struggle, so I would say she let them into the apartment. I am anxious to go through her pocketbook, but I don’t want to disturb any evidence until the techs arrive. I believe her keys are there and they gained entrance somehow after she came home. My best bet is they were watching the apartment, knew that you went to work, saw her go out, and waited for her to return. It would be a simple matter of posing as a deliveryman who required a signature. She would respond to that because she would feel it would be important to you. Kevin, do you have a picture of Allison?”