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  Gardner delivered the money into a trap set by the suspecting members of the betrayed gang. He met the gang member, a youth no older than himself, at a narrow alley which turned into a killing zone. The young traitor tried to shoot his way out of the alley but was gunned down along with Gardner who was caught in the crossfire. Their bodies were hauled in the trunk of a car to the East River where they were fastened to pieces of concrete and dumped in the water. NYPD divers never found bodies but traces of blood were found at the spot where the bodies were dumped.

  Mai-Li had tipped off Black Jack who coerced the story out of a gang member who had been jailed for armed robbery and was willing to turn State’s evidence. Three youths were brought up on murder charges but were never convicted for lack of evidence. It was one gang member’s word against another with no supporting evidence, no bodies, and no weapons. The three walked and the member who snitched was later found slain with his tongue cut out of his mouth.

  Mai-Li became Black Jack’s secret collaborator in Lower Manhattan on matters involving missing children. She later joined Sam’s operation as a full-time member when her crippled brother relocated, accepting an invitation to perform jazz with his band at various clubs in New Orleans.

  Christine Patrese was the final member of the team, the French newspaper reporter whose activities led to the discovery of the Algerian ring assisting divorced Muslim fathers snatch children away to Northern Africa from their estranged Western European wives. She had also assisted Sam and Black Jack in locating the family whose child’s photograph resembled little Sammy. Sam had kept in touch with her as a sector head at LMC and later offered her a position at the Center.

  Christine was a twenty-nine-year-old Parisian, born and raised. Both her parents were journalists and much of her childhood was spent traveling with her mother, her father, or both, to troubled corners of the world. Having been introduced to a world of hardship and danger in places of conflict at an early age predetermined much of what she would become, but it was not until her father was accidentally killed in a skirmish on the Turkish border that she took up reporting full time, wishing to fill the void left by her father.

  She was eighteen at the time, just completing her first year in Communication and Media at The Sorbonne when word came from her mother. Details were initially sketchy. Her mother was on her way to Ankara via Istanbul. They later learned that her father, accompanying a troop of Kurdish rebels on a raid against Turkish forces, was hit in the stomach by a stray bullet. He made it alive back to camp but without proper medical care, bled to death in the Back of a truck carrying him to a field hospital.

  He paid with his life telling the Kurd side of the conflict.

  As she mourned her father, a devastated Christine knew he needed to be authentic and would not have it any other way, so she did the only thing that seemed logical at the time, she quit school and joined her mother’s reporting enterprise, picking up where her father left off.

  Sam’s personal tragedy both troubled and intrigued her and she deliberately became more involved, investigating missing children cases, exposing the unsettling issues in a monthly column, attaining something of a celebrity status in France, while troubled parents could turn to her for help.

  Christine and her mother, Anna, shared an apartment in the Paris Latin section just off Boulevard San Germain. The third floor apartment was both home and office for generations of Patrese family reporters: a three bedroom flat, with two bathrooms, a large living room, kitchen and den, the large living room windows facing Odeon.

  She never admitted to it, but her father’s death caused her to keep her social life to a minimum, male company a pursuit almost never considered. She was of medium height, athletically built with wavy blonde hair down to her shoulders and a beautifully structured face with large brown eyes, a small pointy nose and full lips. Her appearance would often turn heads in the street though she never bothered grooming it. She wore simple clothes, mostly jeans and t-shirts with dark sweaters and long overcoats in the winter, wanting to be unnoticeable.

  She felt a sense of responsibility toward her mother, wanting to fill the gap for her dead father, and never let her down. She worked long and hard building a name for herself as a reliable and exciting reporter.

  Christine was the last to join. Sam went to recruit her in Paris once the operation was in place, managing to secure her cooperation on a partial basis. Christine would not move permanently to New York, intending to keep her journalism status in France and unwilling to leave her mother and their enterprise. She did agree to join as the European emissary, splitting her time between Paris and New York.

  It worked fine in Sam’s scheme since most of Christine’s work would be in Western Europe. Natasha’s geographical responsibility included Eastern Europe and Russia; El Chino the Spaniard dealt with Latin America and all Spanish speaking countries; Mai-Li handled the Far East and the Pacific Rim; Black Jack had Africa and the Middle East. Sam’s primary responsibility was the US and Canada.

  Geographical responsibility meant overseeing and coordinating active investigations of cases in a particular area, each investigator having traits such as command of the language and understanding of local culture. It was not by accident such a versatile group was assembled. The Center, feeding on lessons learned from the past, was designed so each geographical area will be covered by someone with added value, above and beyond the essential investigative credentials.

  Of course, they were hard pressed to be able to single-handedly fulfill the enormous obligation required to properly handle all of their responsibilities. None of them had nearly enough knowledge, language or otherwise, to be able to have total command of his or her area. Black Jack, for example, knew no Arabic, but was the obvious choice to handle North Africa. Mai-Li had no obvious advantage in Australia or New Zealand other than her geographical area, the Far East, being closer and somewhat more associated with Pacific Rim immigration. Cases of child kidnapping between Australia and the Far East were a more common occurrence than between the Far East and Europe, for example.

  Their method of work was mostly to employ and oversee local forces. A Center team member would most likely handle ten to twelve cases at a time, each using hired help from local governments, private firms or covert organizations such as Interpol, the CIA, MI6, the KGB and others.

  Child kidnapping cases were a unique circumstance where even traditional foes would join forces. It gave Center members a unique status among international spook organizations, a status they were not ashamed to exploit when called for.

  Their limited resources also limited their capacity to handle cases and each case was carefully evaluated before a Center member was assigned to it. Case credibility was always an issue since bogus demands appeared almost as frequently, if not more than, true claims for relief. Center members were able to eliminate most fictitious or immaterial appeals just from experience but a few had to be double-checked with ancillary sources, mostly local official help in the designated country.

  Once a case was determined to be genuine and of the sort that was relevant and within the Center’s capacity, it would be prioritized and characterized based upon geographical discriminators and member availability. Most cases involved more than one geographical area. Western European cases were frequently linked with North Africa, a prime destination of kidnapped children. The member in charge would generally be chosen from the child’s country of origin but in places like North Africa Black Jack would always provide assistance and expertise. Contacts in such places were almost always the result of a long standing personal relationship and no one dared rattle such arrangements. Christine would hand over the reins to Black Jack once the investigation’s center of gravity crossed the Mediterranean. They would cooperate from opposite sides, Black Jack in Africa, Christine in Europe, until the case was resolved, if it was resolved. Sam and El Chino would cooperate in much the same manner when children from the US would be kidnapped to Mexico and the rest of Latin America.r />
  Member availability was critical since cases were typically solved early rather than late. Time was a crucial element in solving such cases. Early response was always essential and when a member was not available from the onset, the first available member would be assigned to allow for a quick response.

  It was a team effort all around. The Center members respected each other allowing one another freedom to operate and independent judgment. There were, of course, disagreements and rudimentary arguments but mostly disputes were solved in-house, the significant ones by a majority vote of the members involved.

  Sam, as founder of the Center with access to the major donors, and Black Jack with his vast experience and ex-detective status, had something of a right to veto certain decisions but they rarely exercised this prerogative, preferring to allow consensus among the team. No one had claim on foreseeing what circumstances would bring. Experience did help somewhat but since every case developed so differently it was impossible to clearly forecast the appropriate steps needed to be followed to bring positive results. Sam would authorize budgets for each activity and Black Jack would be appraised of the general tactical approach to a case. Beyond that it was the member’s own judgment, intuition, experience, and instincts which would guide the way and hopefully lead to a successful conclusion.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The phone rang, shaking Sam and Black jack out of their fax scanning trance. Sam picked it up.

  “Morning Sammy,” Christine said from across the Atlantic. Her day had started six hours earlier.

  “Hi,” Sam replied in a subdued voice, sounding almost surprised.

  “Rough morning?” Christine asked.

  “It’s the eighteenth,” Sam said expecting she knew what the date meant.

  “Oh, I forgot,” she said, “he’s eleven tomorrow.”

  “Yeah,” Sam sighed, “another year gone by.”

  Christine did not immediately reply. There was nothing she could say that would keep Sam from feeling blue on his missing son’s birthday.

  “Is Jack there?” she asked after a few silent seconds.

  “Yeah, he’s right here. I’ll put him on the speaker.”

  “Hi Chris,” Black Jack said as Sam pressed the speaker button and put the phone back in its cradle.

  “Hey Jack, I may need you here soon,” Christine announced, hastening to proceed with business rather than continue with unsettling small talk.

  “What’s up?” Black Jack said, straightening in his seat.

  “The El Shara case, it’s back in the spotlight.”

  Ibrahim El Shara had been twelve when his Egyptian father kidnapped him from his French ex-wife, a music teacher living in Marseilles, six years after their separation. The mother, Clair, approached Christine who handled the case for the Center with help from Black Jack. They tracked the boy to an apartment in Cairo but lost track soon after and never regained a trail.

  “Clair’s mother called me this morning,” Christine continued. “Apparently Clair managed to find the boy but got herself arrested.”

  “Where is she?” Black Jack asked, alarmed. He and Christine had both warned the mother not to try anything on her own.

  “She’s being held at a place called Dahab in the Sinai Desert. It's a resort of some sort along the coast of the Red Sea. She managed to call her mother yesterday but she’s been there a while.”

  “How long?” Black Jack and Sam asked in unison.

  “Two months!” Christine replied dramatically.

  Black Jack and Sam stared at one another. The most basic and difficult task of any investigation was to hold the parents in check and make them follow your lead. Most would, but a few always managed to get themselves in trouble, a fact that obviously made things much more complex. In most cases, the parent would at least warn of his or her intentions and the team could try and prepare. On rare occasions they knew nothing.

  “Where were we?” Sam asked, careful not to point blame.

  “She swore she’d never do it,” Christine said defensively. “I personally met her and explained the situation not two months ago. I guess she left the next day. I admit, I kind of lost track there for a while but I got real busy with the rest…”

  “It’s not your fault,” Sam interjected. “She knew the risks. She should have warned us.”

  There was a pause as they considered the situation. Christine was silent on the line.

  “We need to go there,” Christine said suddenly, urgency in her voice.

  Natasha appeared from nowhere cupping a steaming coffee mug in both hands. She stood at the door assessing the mood then slipped in and stood behind Black Jack, her slender frame alert, her blonde hair still a little wet and dripping from the rain outside, her large blue eyes dodging from Sam to the silent phone box, taking in the situation.

  “Let me make a few calls,” Black Jack finally said. “We’ll call you later today to set a plan.”

  “I’ll wait for your call then,” Christine concluded. After another short silence she added, “Ortega called me from Madrid today. Wants you guys to call him. He may have a lead on the Rio boy.”

  “Thanks Chris. We’ll call him,” Sam said. “Say hello to Natasha, she just walked in.”

  “Hey you,” Christine said, sounding a little relieved to change the focus of the conversation.

  Natasha smiled and waved toward the phone. “Hi love, you OK?”

  “I’ve known better days,” Christine remarked. “The guys will fill you in. Gotta go. Bye.”

  They heard a click, then a buzz before Sam disconnected. Black Jack hurried to his office. Natasha took his seat. She put aside the coffee mug and laid her long hands on the table facing up, in question. Sam filled her in on the morning’s events then they both called the Spaniard.

  “Chino,” Sam said when they finally tracked him down, “you looking for us?”

  “Si señor,” the Spaniard replied, “I may be on to something.”

  “I’m here with Natasha, go ahead.”

  “Ola señorita,” El Chino said. “We’ve found a travel agency which claims to have arranged train tickets to Barcelona for the Rio family, mother and grandparents together with an unknown child. They never actually saw the party but the kid who delivered the tickets saw them at the hotel and swears they fit the description.”

  El Chino paused for a few seconds and they heard some background noise. “I’m in Barcelona right now trying to figure where they went. They seem to have contacts everywhere.”

  “Are the Barcelona locals giving you a hand?” Sam inquired.

  “They are but I need backup. We’re close this time, I know it. Can you send someone?”

  Sam eyed Natasha inquiringly. “What’s your schedule look like?

  “Booked solid. I’ve got meetings at the UN this afternoon then it’s on to Bucharest. One of the Romanian UN people wants to join me. They think they can pressure the locals to cooperate.”

  “What’s Mai-Li up to?”

  “Not a chance. She’s on her way to DC for at least two days. She finally managed to convince Harley to see her.”

  “I get the picture,” Sam said. “Chino, you still there?”

  “Barely,” the Spaniard said.

  “Where can I reach you later?” Sam asked.

  “I’ll call you in two hours,” El Chino said and clicked off.

  Sam shut his eyes for a brief moment then met Natasha’s stare. Her look was kind, but without pity. He could not stand pity in others but felt it for himself.

  “You should take today off,” she remarked.

  A surge of deep sorrow washed over him. There were instances where women like Natasha made him feel sorry for himself and for everything he, his son and his wife, had missed in ten years. Michelle still lingered large in his memory. He could not imagine what little Sammy looked like. He gulped down his now lukewarm coffee and stood up.

  “It would only make it worse,” he remarked stepping to the door. “Let’s go talk to Bla
ck Jack.”

  Black Jack was intently listening on the phone as they walked in. He remained that way for a few seconds then mumbled a few words of thanks into the receiver and put the phone down.

  “They can get me to see her,” he said, still looking anxious. “Release will be harder to come by.”

  “What about the boy?”

  “We’ll see,” Black Jack said. “I’ll need to leave tonight. If I go through Paris, I can hook up with Christine on the way.”

  “You want her along?” Natasha inquired. Black Jack normally refrained from taking anyone along to that part of the world.

  “Dahab is deep into the Sinai desert. I’ll need to drive quite a ways and I could use some company.”

  They called Christine and arranged for her to meet Black Jack at Orly, where they would both board a plane to Tel Aviv, then drive down to Eilat, the southernmost Israeli settlement by the Gulf of Aqaba, and cross the border into Egypt at Taba. Dahab was by far closer to Eilat than to Cairo and it was, Black Jack reasoned, much simpler to enter Egypt through remote Taba than at Cairo. They would also use a better rental car procured in Israel and pose as tourists, a common motive for entering Egypt from Eilat to vacation along the magnificent Red Sea coast.