“Sounds sweet to me,” said Crocker.
“You think you can extend your stay past the weekend if we need to?”
“That’s up to Captain Sutter.”
“I’ll call him. My money says Wong and Petroc will be moving soon. I’ll have my guys keep an eye on them and let you know. Just don’t kick their asses in a public place, like the hotel or casino. Okay?”
“Ten-four.”
“Yeah, guys,” Walker added. “Please be discreet. No blood on the carpets or YouTube moments. Management will lose their shit.”
Chapter Five
Never give up, for that is just the place and time that the tide will turn.
– Harriet Beecher Stowe
It was 8 p.m. EST, or 2 a.m. the next morning in Geneva, and Nan Dawkins was starting to worry. It wasn’t like her husband to not call. She had phoned his room three times, left messages twice, and spoken to a clerk at the front desk at the Swissotel Metropole, who established that James wasn’t in his room. Now, after putting their adopted Chinese daughter, Karen, to bed, she called the room again. Still no answer.
So she contacted the concierge, who told her that the ISEE conference had broken up at 8 p.m. local time. Since it was past 2, all hotel restaurants were closed for the night. Armed with James’s description, the concierge searched the lobby, the Mirror Bar, and the rooftop bar. James wasn’t there, nor had either bartender seen anyone matching his description. After some prodding Nan was given the name and room number of the ISEE representative. She promised not to call her before 9 a.m. Geneva time.
At 3 a.m. EST sharp she called Joanna Siegel, the event organizer. Ms. Siegel said that she had last seen Mrs. Dawkins’s husband yesterday evening, shortly after he delivered his speech and she went up to thank him. She had no idea where he had gone after that but suggested that many of the conventioneers went to dinner in groups, and maybe her husband had joined one of them. Nan didn’t quite understand how that explained his disappearance, but she thanked her and hung up. The ominous feeling that had started at dinner deepened and grew stronger.
She wasn’t one to put much stock in feelings, but she couldn’t come up with a logical explanation for her husband’s silence. After fifteen years of marriage, she knew he wasn’t the kind of man to act irresponsibly or make a rash decision. Sometimes he could be absentminded, but he usually wanted her to know where he was and what he was doing. James wasn’t a gambler or a drinker, but modest, careful, and dependable. The kind of man who enjoyed puttering in his home office after dinner. He fussed sometimes about how Nan spent money but otherwise never complained. Their sex life was infrequent but healthy. He doted over their daughter and loved his work. The prospect of him suddenly running off with another woman didn’t seem likely, nor could she imagine him going off to party at a strip club with a group of men without calling her with some excuse.
So where had he gone? Nan racked her brain for an answer. The only ones it came up with involved some kind accident, sudden illness, or violence.
Six thirty a.m. After waking Karen to get ready for school, she called James at the Metropole again. Still no answer. So she contacted the front desk and asked them to send someone up to the room to check it.
A half hour later, the clerk called back. “Mrs. Dawkins, your husband isn’t in his room. The bed doesn’t appear as though it was slept in last night. But his suitcase and clothes are still there. Does he have a cell phone with him?”
“Yes, but since he’s only staying a few days he didn’t purchase the international plan. It won’t work until he returns to the U.S.”
“I understand that he’s scheduled to check out this morning,” the clerk pointed out.
“Yes, that’s correct. He’s leaving on an 11 a.m. flight.”
“I’ll tell him to call you when we see him. Hopefully that will happen soon.”
“Thank you.”
She dropped off Karen at Hunters Woods Elementary School and arranged with her neighbor Leslie to pick her up and drive her home.
Unsettled and not knowing what to do with herself, she drove to Dulles airport and waited. From the International Arrivals terminal she called the Metropole again, only to learn that James hadn’t checked out. Nor did he arrive four hours later on his scheduled flight.
So she called James’s best friend and colleague, Kevin Willis. When she told him James was missing, Kevin became as alarmed as she was and suggested she contact the State Department and file a missing-person report.
She spent the rest of the evening calling hospitals in Geneva. None reported admitting her husband or anyone matching his description. Next she tried the U.S. consulate. A junior officer there checked with Metropole security and local police stations. No one had seen her husband. Nan, who prided herself in being a strong-minded woman, was starting to grow desperate. As her anxiety grew, she got angry, very angry, and poured herself a glass of wine. Then another. Then another.
She was slightly inebriated by the time two officers from Homeland Security-one male, one female-rang the front doorbell. The Late Show with Stephen Colbert was ending. She turned off the TV, let them in, offered them coffee (which they declined), and proceeded to answer their questions.
“When is the last time you heard from your husband?” the female officer asked.
“It was a little after 4 p.m. in Geneva. He was on his way to the conference to give his speech.”
“Did you argue?”
“No. We talked about plans for our daughter’s birthday.”
“How old is your daughter?”
“Eight. Turns nine on Tuesday.”
“Your husband and she are close?”
“He adores her; she adores him.”
“Has he recently learned about any problems involving his health?”
“No.”
“Have you been experiencing financial problems?”
“No.”
“Do you suspect that he has any investments or bank accounts you might not know about?”
“I doubt it.”
“Relationship issues?”
“None.”
“Does he gamble, drink, take drugs?”
“None of the above.”
“Has he recently made any new friends?”
“No. Not that I know of.”
“Has any new name or person come up in conversation?”
“No. Why?”
“No particular reason. These are the questions we ask in cases like this.”
As Nan watched the male officer record her answers on a yellow form, she started to weep. She couldn’t control herself. The female officer sat beside her on the couch and took her hand. In a sympathetic tone of voice, she said, “The only reason we’re here is that your husband has a top-secret Department of Defense clearance, but you shouldn’t read too much into that. In ninety percent of these cases, the spouse shows up a day or so later with a reasonable explanation.”
“And in the other ten percent?”
“Try not to think about that. We’ll continue to monitor all local Geneva police and immigration reports and call you in the morning.”
“Thank you,” she muttered with her face in her hands.
“Is there someone in the area, a close friend or relative, who you can call and ask to stay with you until this is over?” the officer asked.
“No. My daughter’s here. I’ll be fine.”