Where's Ellen? (Mystery) (MPP A JOE MCFARLAND / GINNY HARRIS MYSTERY Book 1) (11 page)

CHAPTER 24

F
inally, 2:30 rolled around. Steve got off the bed, showered and dressed in clean clothing and went downstairs. Carefully checking the city map Ellen’s father had placed on the kitchen table, Steve figured out and memorized the relatively short walk to the hotel. He left 30 minutes early, allowing time for a few zigs and zags just in case anyone was following him.

At 10 minutes before 4, the door to Room 308 opened as soon as Steve had softly knocked. Before he could take a breath, the door was closed behind him, Ellen was in his arms and she was kissing him more passionately than he could remember her ever doing. Steve was aroused, relieved and confused all at the same time.

“El, are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine, Steve. I’m so sorry. Let me expl….”

“What’s going on? How did you escape? Who took you? Why are you sneaking around here? Shouldn’t we be meeting with the police? Or the FBI? Please, what happened? What’s going on? I’ve been going crazy ever since they took you.”

“Hang on, Steve. I’ll tell you everything. Please sit down. And try to let me get through the whole story without a million interruptions and questions.”

“OK, I’ll try. But no guarantees.” He took a seat in the one armchair in the room, directly across from the bed.

“Steve,” said Ellen as she sat down on the bed opposite Steve. “You have to understand that I did all this for us.”

“Did all this? What the heck are you talking about?”

“I wasn’t actually kidnapped. It was….”

“What? What do you mean? I got the ransom note. We paid the $5 million ransom that they demanded.”

“I know, Steve. I know. And I’m so sorry that I had to put you through all that.”

“Huh?”

“Steve, I wasn’t really kidnapped. I was never in any danger. I faked the whole disappearance and kidnapping.”

“What? Why? How? Are you crazy? What about the police? And the FBI? How the hell could you have put me through all this without telling me? I’ve been worried to death.”

“I know. And I’m so, so sorry. I want to spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I want you to understand that this was all necessary, that it will be worth it in the end. But if I had told you, you never would have been able to fake your surprise and fear and worry with the police and the FBI. You know very well that you have a terrible poker face. You’re too honest and straightforward a person. It’s the same trait that led you away from becoming a courtroom attorney.”

“OK, I don’t deny that I’m not the world’s best actor or con man, but, Jesus, you really put me through hell because of it.”

“I know, but I didn’t see any other way.”

“Maybe. But I still don’t know what the hell you did or what’s going on.”

“I know. I’m trying to explain. Let me explain, starting at the beginning.”

“OK. I’m listening.”

“About a month before my so-called disappearance, I learned that Tycon was planning to fire me.”

“What? Why? You’re one of their top, most-respected executives. They give you great performance reviews. Big raises. Bonuses and stock options. They keep talking about your continuing success, even about the chance that you might eventually become president of the whole damn company.”

“Yes, I know. But one day I was accidentally copied on an e-mail from Charlie Hawkins to the partner in charge of our account at the external public auditing firm that Tycon uses.”

“I spoke with Charlie Hawkins on the phone. He helped me get the money for the ransom.”

“Yes, that’s what I assumed would happen. Now let me continue with the story, Steve. In his e-mail, Charlie told the auditing partner that Tycon was planning to fire me, and asked if the auditors had found or could find any inappropriate accounting issues in any of my divisions. If there were any such accounting issues, they would try to use that to avoid paying me the one year of severance pay per my contract. Any wrongdoing on my part, and they could avoid paying me any severance.”

“Damn. Those bastards! But I’m sure you wouldn’t have intentionally done anything incorrect or illegal.”

“I didn’t. And never have — until now. But that didn’t matter. In the best of cases, they’d fire me and pay me the one year of severance pay. A pretty shitty reward for all my hard work and contributions to Tycon over the years!”

“OK, I get all that. But what does it have to do with everything else?”

“As soon as I learned what they were planning to do, I knew I had to figure out a way to change things.”

“So did you go talk to your boss about this?”

“Hell no. I didn’t want to give up my advantage by letting them know that I knew what they were planning to do to me.”

“And?”

“So I figured out a way to avoid the embarrassment of being fired and, at the same time, collect a lot more than one year of severance pay.”

“But, Ellen, you know that even if they did fire you it would have been for some bullshit reason. You were always very successful, and they repeatedly confirmed that with your performance reviews and raises.”

“Yes, I would have known. And, OK, you would have known also. But to everyone else, my firing would naturally be thought to be performance related — either I was doing a lousy job or I did some terrible unethical or illegal thing.”

“OK, that may be the case. But ….”

“Just let me continue. Please, Steve.”

“Go ahead.”

“As one of the senior executives, I of course knew about the kidnap insurance policy. So that led me to concoct the whole kidnapping story to collect the ransom. Being kidnapped would allow me to avoid getting fired and would also give us a nice hunk of cash.”

“But, Ellen, we have plenty of money, not even counting all your Tycon stock and our house. Why did you need the ransom money? We could live forever on what we already have without that money.”

“Yes, you’re right. But having an extra $5 million makes it a lot easier and more sure. Plus, it wasn’t just about the money. I wanted to get whatever revenge I could against Tycon for their plans to screw me.”

“But why didn’t you talk to me about this? We should have discussed this and decided as a team whether or not to do it. We’ve always discussed and made our big decisions together.”

“I wanted to talk with you about this so much. But, as I said before, if you knew the truth, you never, not even in a million years, could have been convincing to anyone — the FBI and police, Tycon, the insurance company.”

“Christ, you make it sound like it’s my fault that you didn’t tell me anything.”

“No. No. That’s not what I’m trying to say. I’m just trying to explain why I felt that I couldn’t tell you.”

“I’ve still got a million questions. Not to mention a whole jumble of different and conflicting feelings. But, most important, what do we do now? How do we arrange for you to come back home? We have to make it look like the kidnappers finally released you. If the authorities find out what really happened, you’ll wind up in prison for years.”

“I know, Steve. But I think I have a good plan.”

“This I’ve got to hear. Let’s hope it’s better than your fake-kidnapping plan.”

“Steve, I understand that you’re upset, but there’s no need to be sarcastic.”

“You’re right. Sorry. What’s your idea? You keep hiding in different second-rate hotels in Belgium and I go back home and ‘live happily ever after’?”

“At least let me describe my plan before you turn the sarcasm on again.”

“OK. Sorry. Go ahead.”

“The good news,” continued Ellen, “is that I can travel throughout the European Union without having to show my passport or identity papers. The only exceptions are England, Ireland and a few small countries, all of which have passport controls even with the other EU countries. The airlines, of course, check IDs, but I can travel and stay virtually anywhere in the EU except these few countries so long as I travel by car or train or bus.”

“But for how long?” asked Steve.

“With my Belgian citizenship, I can do this forever. And, if I don’t rent a car or book a hotel or an apartment under my real name, and if I never use my credit cards or old cell phone, I can just about literally disappear.”

“And what about me? About us?”

“Steve, if we do things correctly, you also can ‘disappear’ within Europe and we can be together forever.”

“But what about our house? My job? Our friends?”

“We give all that up. Think of it like we’ll be going into the witness protection program. We disappear from our current lives, use new identities and live undetected forever.”

“Jesus, I never thought I’d married a master criminal! How do you propose we get new identities?”

“We already have them, Darling.”

“What? How? What are you talking about?”

“Remember I told you about the year I spent in the Soviet Union after I graduated from university?”

“Yes, but what does th…?”

“Hold on. Let me finish. Do you remember that during that year, one of the young Russian so-called beatniks that I became friendly with was Vasily Maklakov?”

“Yes, I do. And?”

“Until recently, we hadn’t seen or even spoken to each other since that year. As you know, we’ve stayed in touch with birthday and New Year greeting cards. But that was it. Well, it turns out that Vasily wound up being a middle level player in the Russian Mafia.”

“Christ! This story just keeps getting better and better! What are we now — traitors?”

“No, not at all. Vasily and, in fact, the whole Russian Mafia are into all sorts of minor and, I admit, major crime stuff, but not espionage and treason. They only commit financial crimes. Their only objective is financial gain.”

“Nice to know that your friends have such high ethical standards!”

“Please give me a chance to finish. On one of my last business trips to Europe, I bought a pre-paid cell phone and contacted Vasily. I told him that you and I needed help, including a way for me to disappear from our house and get whole new identities for you and me, and I asked him if he could help us or refer me to someone who could help. To make a long story short, he was able to and was glad to help. Thanks to him, I met someone in Ohio who helped me disappear that morning, and arranged for passports for both of us under false names as well as a corresponding identity card for me and drivers’ licenses and so on for both of us. The idea is that we’ve entered the EU under our real names, and we will just drop out of sight and start living under our false identities.”

“And how much did that cost us?”

“Not a penny. Vasily would not accept any money from me.”

“What did you have to do? Sleep with him?” asked Steve in an accusatory tone.

“Steve! No, of course not! I’d never do that. Although I did get the sense that Vasily would have wanted to.”

“Jesus! I feel just like I’m dreaming and should be waking up any moment now. A nightmare, actually.”

“Anyway, on my next trip to Europe, a package was waiting for me when I checked into my hotel in Stockholm. And sure enough, inside it were all the new identity papers for both of us. I left a ‘thank you’ voice mail message for Vasily.”

“With all you’ve done, and the lies — OK, mostly lies of omission — that you’ve dumped on me these past several months, how can I believe anything you say?”

“Steve, hang on. I’m almost done. My idea is to rent or buy, for cash, a nice house or villa in some remote village within the EU. You’d join me, and we’d live there under our false names. We’d use cash for all of our spending and we’d stay out of the spotlight as much as possible.”

“That’s fine for you, Ellen. Your Belgian citizenship makes it relatively easy for you to enter the EU and then fall off the radar screen. They won’t be looking for you to depart by a certain date. But as an American, I have to leave the EU after a certain period. They track that from when I showed my American passport to Passport Control when I arrived in Europe.”

“Yes, it will be more difficult, but still relatively easy, for you. You’re here now as Steve Sanders. You can travel around the EU, initially as Steve Sanders, by plane. Anyone who wants to track your whereabouts can. Then, after a couple of months, you start traveling only by train and bus and, when you’re pretty sure you’re not being followed, you switch to your new identity. Sure, they’ll add Steve Sanders to their huge list of visitors who overstayed their allowed time, but they’ll have a heck of a time trying to search the entire EU for you. And, believe me, they have a lot more serious things to spend their time on.”

“Ellen, I can’t even think straight right now. You’ve dumped quite a load on me.”

“I know. And I’m so, so sorry. Let’s go around the corner to a cozy little bistro there and have a quiet dinner and not even talk about this stuff.”

“OK, I’ll try. But I’m not sure I’ll be able to talk, much less think, about anything else.”

So they walked around the corner, settled into a booth near the rear of the small restaurant and had a pleasant dinner consisting of a small salad, beef bourguignon with vegetables and potatoes, a baguette, of course, and a fruit tart for dessert. The food was very tasty, but it was thanks only to the bottle of Bordeaux that Steve was able to relax his mind for a few moments, letting him enjoy the relief of finding Ellen alive and the pleasure of being with her.

Back in the hotel room, they hugged each other tightly, kissing without pause, practically taking Steve’s breath away. Ellen had always been intense in their love-making, and now she was even more eager, impatient with every button and zipper as they pulled each other’s clothes off.  Still pressed together, they took a few tumbling steps over to the bed.  There, Ellen was like someone half-starved, insistent on more, quickly more, still more. Without a word, Ellen made it clear that she’d not had enough. It turned into the longest love-making session Steve could remember.   Afterwards, both fully spent, they quickly fell fast asleep. 

The next morning, Steve awoke to find Ellen wrapped in a blanket, sitting in the small chair she had moved to in front of the window. “Good morning, El. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, like a baby. And you?”

“So so. El, can we continue where we left off last night?”