Burim asked George to relay the story to him a second time to be sure of the details. He took no notes, but absorbed the information easily — there really wasn’t much to go on. Burim asked George more about this Berman guy. George said he knew he was truly rich — he had a yacht, or access to a yacht, and, of course, the plane.
That was enough information for Burim. He dropped George at the railway station in Paramus, as George said he wanted to go into Manhattan to check on the condition of Will McKinley. Burim Grazdani made no more comments about the events from two years before in which he had been intimately involved, and which had led to McKinley’s injury. He had rescued Pia once, and he was prepared to try to do it again.
Burim drove back to his boss Berti Ristani’s place in Weehawken. Burim’s value as a trusted lieutenant to Berti had only increased over the years, and Berti was happy to help his friend. This was family, after all. On Burim’s behalf, Berti had made a call. In the world of organized crime, Albanian style, it always made Berti proud when he realized how far the tentacles of the beast now extended. As usual on a strictly business call, making even one phone call meant an elaborate charade. The Albanians had been burned by the FBI one too many times. Berti used a burner phone to call another one-use cell phone, which eventually led to a call back to a third phone, which Berti would use once, then throw, along with the first phone, into the nearby Hudson River.
Berti told Burim that he learned from his contact at a friendly family in L.A. that another family had numerous aviation interests around the country, particularly in general aviation at municipal airports and at the FAA. If you wanted to get something or someone into or out of the United States quickly, you could try to use a major hub, or go through a smaller link, like Teterboro in New Jersey, or Boulder Airport.
This was another area where civilians like George Wilson were fatally limited. They were incapable of thinking like a criminal. Burim had no doubt this rich creep had taken Pia out of the country. As Pia had done before, she’d stumbled across someone doing something he shouldn’t, and made a nuisance of herself. This guy Berman fancied himself as some kind of playboy, or so Burim quickly learned. Burim could imagine Pia resisting him, and the guy taking her away somewhere. He felt that familiar rage. When that happened, someone was always going to have to pay.
Then Berti had made another call, to someone outside the Albanian family, but with a connection, and with a favor to repay. Burim sat in Berti Ristani’s office for an hour, waiting for another disposable phone to ring. Berti constantly drank water and chewed gum. After a health scare six months before, Ristani had announced he was going to lose weight, and to his crew’s astonishment he had dropped fifty pounds and he was loving life.
“You know, if we was the police, the jails would be full,” said Berti. “We can find out shit fifty times faster than the cops can or the FBI.”
“Because we know all the criminals,” said Burim.
“That’s right! Perhaps I should go straight and run the CIA. Serve my country.” Berti smiled. “Having said that, I hope these assholes aren’t gonna let me down.”
“Berti, if I need to take some time over this…”
“Burim, don’t worry ’bout nothing. Anything you need. Hold on. This must be them.”
Berti took the call. It had to be the contact out west — no one else in the world had the number to this phone. Berti said nothing to the caller, but he spoke to Burim with his hand over the bottom of the phone.
“Yes, the plane belonging to Berman left Boulder that night, it’s confirmed. He was heading for Milan, Italy. That was the flight plan.”
Burim stood up.
“Wait, there’s more.” Berti listened.
“They know from a contact who was sitting in the tower when they were leaving. The pilot asked about another flight plan, for Stansted, wherever that is. Okay,” said Berti into the phone. “And thanks.” Berti ended the call.
“The pilot talked about a second flight plan they were going to file. He said they were going to turn right around and fly from Italy to Stansted, which is near London, England. That was the final destination.”
“Thanks, Berti,” said Burim. “Listen, I owe you.”
“Hey, it’s nothing,” said Berti. “We know people in London. There’s lots of family in London, and they can help you when you get there. I’ll make another call. I’ll have someone meet your plane with a sign that you’ll recognize. Just come back here safe, you’re valuable to me, you know that. And sort out the scumbag who took your daughter.”
Finally the jetway retracted from Burim’s plane and the plane was pushed off from the concourse at Newark, with Berti’s helpful words resonating in his head.
CHAPTER 59
Pia couldn’t keep track of the days but she knew she hadn’t seen Berman in a long time. The only people she did see were the doctor and the same guard who never looked her in the eye. The slot in the door had been pulled back once and she could swear it was Whitney Jones standing out there, but she never came into the room. Pia’s arm was doing a little better, but she felt very dulled and listless. How long was Berman going to torture her this way? Her muscles felt flabby from lack of use.
It was on the sixth day since his last visit that Berman returned.
“What do you want?” she said. She thought she detected a slight smile on his lips, which just angered her that much more.
“How about a walk?” he asked as if this were the most normal thing in the world for the two of them to consider.
“If it’ll get me out of this room, sure,” said Pia. She had tried to keep flexing her arms and legs in basic Pilates moves but she knew she would be stiff if she walked any distance.
The guard undid the shackles that attached Pia to the bed and bade her to stand. She felt terribly weak, and her head throbbed, but she was able to remain upright if she placed her hand against the wall. The guard helped her to the door as Berman stood outside, where a walker was waiting for her. Pia felt better — perhaps half human, as she grabbed hold of the walker and shuffled after Berman.
“I am truly sorry about this, Pia. I only wish you had been more cooperative. You must realize I am laying a lot on the line keeping you here like this.”
Pia was alarmed — Berman seemed to be talking with a grave finality.
“Where are you taking me?”
“For a walk, I told you.”
A heavy door opened from outside and they walked out into the back garden of the vicarage. It was fifty yards long and shaded all around by thick woodland. A high wooden fence corralled the lawn, which was encircled by a path, with benches at all four corners.
“I want you to get your strength back,” said Berman. “Have you thought about our conversation? Did you read the material I left for you?”
“Of course I thought about our conversation. And I read the material. Sure, it’s very impressive. Nano in 2020 will be the biggest medical researcher in the world. But you’re neglecting some important aspects of your less than glorious past.”
“Pia, I implore you to look beyond that. The bodies you saw, those people were going to die anyway — pointless, anonymous deaths. I think of them now as pioneers of a kind. Because of their sacrifice, we will be able to make these incredible medical advances.”
“That’s ridiculous and you know it. It’s not a sacrifice if you’re made to do it.” It felt good to be walking, so Pia pressed on. She wanted to keep this conversation going. Berman spoke again.