Chapter 22: Orthanc

During the first four weeks after Jennifer's reappearance

Cold Calling

Manfred Randolf is sitting behind his desk in the Chief Executive's Office, high up in the dark glass and steel tower of the Randolf Corporation corporate headquarters.

He puts down the phone, takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose as he squints out at his blurred view of the city. His attention wanders for a moment from the financial future of his company to the personal worries of a father who has lost a daughter. Not only has he lost a child, but some very sensitive information has gone with her. It's hard to know which comes uppermost in his mind.

Again, his thoughts are interrupted by the telephone.

"Mr Randolf?" It's his PA.

"Yes?" replies Randolf testily.

"I have Agent Holloway from Houston FBI and his colleague, Agent Anderson, here to see you."

"Who? Oh. Show them both right in," replies Randolf, with much more generosity in his tone of voice.

"Gentlemen, this is unexpected but I am glad you could stop by..."

Randolf's office has three areas set aside for different types of encounter. There is the area in front of his desk, where he dictates to his employees. There's a conference table, where he can hold more detailed debate about policy and operational matters. Finally, there's an area by the window, which affords a magnificent panorama of Corporate Houston. This is where Randolf likes to entertain guests and hold more informal discussions.

"Let's go over to the window..."

"Actually, Mr Randolf, we would prefer seats at the table." Agent Holloway gestures to the conference table. "There are issues to discuss."

Randolf is wrong-footed. He usually directs the goings-on in his own office. In this moment, he has that awful 'free fall' sensation familiar in dreams. His rational mind points out that he is losing control at the very moment when control and the facility to steer the conversation are of paramount importance, yet he can hardly object to Agents from the FBI wanting to do serious business with him. It all depends on what the business actually is? Have his various creative financial sleights-of-hand come to light at last? Holloway he has met before, but who is Anderson? Are these the first polite words before Accusation and Arrest? On the other hand, could the Agents have come with news concerning Tracy's disappearance? The true precipitating causes of her disappearance are in the front of Randolf's mind, especially at this very moment. Most of the details Randolf must keep strictly confidential if he is to avoid sharing a cell with 'that dumbass Jeffrey Skilling, ' Randolf's characterisation of his erstwhile Houston business colleague, now in prison for his part in the Enron scandal. As the trio takes their seats around the table, Randolf ponders when it would be a good point to call his lawyer.

The Agents take seats in the middle of the long side of the table. Randolf has to take a seat opposite them. The position of an interviewee. Warning bells begin to sound in his brain until it occurs to him that this would be the same position he would take if he was interviewing two employees about a project. Maybe he can gain the initiative back?

He tries: "Well, gentlemen. What ne..."

"Mr Randolf," cuts in Agent Holloway, "we have two things to say and some questions to ask." Randolf notices that Agent Anderson has opened an iPad and Holloway has a notebook.

He takes a careful look at both Agents. Holloway is tall, slim, in his thirties and very well presented. He almost has the cliché appearance of J Edgar Hoover's G Men, Law Enforcers of the Nineteen Thirties. Anderson is older but still in reasonable shape. His face has begun to carry the lines of age and responsibility. Randolf guesses he is somewhere in his fifties. He is also letting Holloway do the talking. At least, so far.

"Well, if there is anything I can do..." replies Randolf, cautiously.

"First," continues Holloway, "I think we may have some encouraging news. In July this year, a British female who had disappeared in 2009 was found in Sweden. The British police suspect she was an abductee. She let slip that when she was in captivity..."

"We have to add, Mr Randolf, that those are our words, not hers," interjects Anderson.

" ... she met an American girl called Tracy and we are wondering if this could be your daughter?" continues Holloway.

"The question is, Mr Randolf," it's now Anderson speaking again, "the question is, do you have any interests which might have taken your daughter to Russia, or any business interests which have a Russian connection?"

For a moment, Manfred Randolf is lost for words. The problem is not words to say, but how to carefully choose the right words...

In the end, Randolf opts for a question. Several questions. "Can I just ask you to expand on what you have just said, just a little? You said the British police thought the British gal had been a captive. For Pete's sake, why don't they just ask her? And who is she anyway? What sort of connection does she have to me?"

Now the Agents must respond to his agenda. He is getting back into control of the situation.

Holloway begins. "It may be easier to take your questions in reverse order. Question Three: What connection does she have to you? We don't know, and that is one of the things we are here to ask. Question Two: Who she is, and this is something to get you thinking, she is called Jennifer McEwan. She was a PhD student in psychology at a British university at the time of her disappearance. She is married to a..." Holloway checks his notes... "to a Joseph McEwan who is a concrete engineer working for a company called..." Holloway riffles through the pages of his notebook again. " ... New Horizons in Civil Engineering. Question One: Abductees, particularly people who have been under duress for an extended period — this lady was absent for almost two years — abductees can suffer from something called Stockholm Syndrome, which is a psychiatric condition in which they strongly identify with their abductors and they put the interests of the abductors first before the interests of themselves or their families or the wider interests of Justice."

"So, we don't know because she isn't telling," adds Anderson, just to make the position clear.

"Well, gentlemen," responds Randolf, "I can tell you right away that I have never heard of Jennifer McEwan or her husband or a company called — what was it?"

"New Horizons in...", offers Anderson

"That's right. Them. Never heard of any of them. So, right now, I am interested in knowing what the British are doing to get some sense out of Mrs McEwan? I mean, for goodness sake. If she has information pertinent to the whereabouts of a kidnapped American citizen, why in hell's name is she not under arrest and made to sweat it out in jail until she finds her tongue?"

"We would prefer to let the British handle the situation on their own, Mr Randolf. She is one of their citizens, after all, and though extradition may be possible, we think a faster resolution will be had if she stays in the UK," replies Holloway.

"Hmm, yeah, well OK. I suppose they will know their own business best," replies Randolf grudgingly, but in the privacy of his mind he feels very differently. If this McEwan woman has information, what could he do to screw it out of her, and fast? And now, he has a name and an approximate location. The faster he has Tracy back in his hands, the safer he will feel.

"So, we were wondering, Mr Randolf," continues Agent Anderson, "about Russia?"

"Why Russia?" counters Randolf.

"Because Mrs McEwan can now speak Russian and she could not do so before her disappearance. Our British colleagues think that's where she might have been. It could be where your daughter is," explains Anderson.

"So, we come back to the question, Mr Randolf," asks Agent Holloway, holding Randolf with his gaze. "Do you have any business interests in Russia which might lure your daughter from Germany and keep her in Russia?"

Manfred Randolf reflects quickly on what he should say. The Randolf Corporation's activities and relationships with other companies are mostly in the published accounts but, of course, not entirely. At this point, frankness would be appropriate but it would be extremely unwise.

"Well, gentlemen, yes, the Randolf Corporation has a number of joint projects with oil interests in Russia. It is not an easy business environment, not a straightforward environment, whether you look at the negotiations or the legal framework or the accounting side. That said, there is a lot of business to be done. We have been in negotiations quite often. Closed some deals. Failed to close others. Some investments turned out to be better than others..."

"Your daughter Tracy disappeared in Germany; do you run the Russian operation from Berlin?" asks Anderson.

"Mainly. We have a Moscow office, but Berlin is our major European base. Family connections there." Randolf smiles to solicit understanding from Holloway and Anderson. "But we try to do as much as we can from the Moscow office. Too much coming from Berlin brings back bad memories for the Reds, sorry, Russians!" Randolf smiles again. To make his point clear, he continues: "You know. History an' all that. Tracy has been in Moscow once or twice, but she is based in Germany. I am looking to her to take over from me as CEO in due course, so she is moving round the company to get a thorough knowledge of how it works."

"Mr Randolf," it's Agent Holloway speaking now, coming to the point of the conversation. "Did you have, or do you have, any sour business relationships which might have provoked your daughter's abduction?"

Randolf can almost see the yawning pit now open before him. There were unorthodox business relationships a-plenty. Tracy was in Berlin trying to sort out the situation, for goodness sake. Promises made but only half kept. Debts paid but not fully settled. The "Special Purpose Vehicles" invisible to the US financial authorities but all too visible to his Russian collaborators. Is this the end game at last? Is he one of the Clantons, facing down Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday in the blinding Arizona heat? He looks at Holloway and Anderson. For Randolf, this might be High Noon. In his mind's eye, he looks down at his gun and then up Main Street at his nemesis. He cocks his weapon...

"What do you mean, for goodness sakes? Who would go after a daughter just because some two-bit business deal has gone sour? That's just plain crazy! OK, when I look back, I have had some business problems, it's true, but they are all resolved now. I don't owe anyone nothing. Not one cent. Not one favour. Actually, some people owe me."

Scott Anderson is an experienced player when it comes to interrogation. He stays calm as the squall of verbal bullets from Randolf whine and ricochet past him because, during the assault, Scott notices a disconnect. Randolf has scornfully denied the very suggestion that a difficult or unsatisfactory business relationship could have provoked his daughter's abduction but, right after, Randolf owns up to problems in the past and moves on rapidly to deny any problems in the present, yet adds the information that favours are owed to him! Implicitly, Randolf had validated the idea of abduction for business reasons.

Scott's experience tells him to take a careful note of this part of the conversation and allow time for further reflection, time to pick the best future opportunity to make best use of it. He merely follows up with a bland and apparently unconnected question of his own.

"Mr Randolf, have you had any relationships in particular with a company called AKE or any negotiations involving a man called Anatoly Kustensky?"

Randolf's face lightens. At last a straight question to which he can give a straight answer.

"AKE? Nope. Not with them. We have not done anything with them or their associates."

The Specialist

"Mr Randolf?"

"Yes, Martha. What is it?"

"I have your 2pm in the outer office."

"Petra?"

"Yes, that's right, Sir."

"Show her in, Martha. Show her right in."

A tall, fair, blue-eyed woman appears at the office door. Her camouflage trousers, desert boots and khaki sweat top mark her out as seriously different from the corporate Barbie's that normally walk the corridors on this floor. "Come in, Petra," Randolf calls.

The two shake hands and sit themselves down in the comfortable chairs, by the window.

"So, what's new in Germany?" Randolf watches as his PA shuts the office door and then turns back to Petra. "Have you found out any more about what happened to that dim bitch of a daughter of mine, yet?"

Petra Tennerby gives a tolerant smile. "That's a curious position for a loving father, Manfred."

Randolf snorts, "For a loving father, you're right. For a father that has to cope with the spawn of a bitch like Shanice, it's a reasonable reaction. Do you know about Shanice?"

"No, Manfred. I don't generally get involved with that sort of gossip."

"No, well, Shanice and I got married before we should have and probably for the wrong reasons. Her daddy was rich and my daddy wanted me to marry well and do well. We had a good couple of years ... Tracy was born ... I got more and more busy at the Corporation. Shanice got more and more busy with charities and socialising. I got to thinking she was more interested in what I could provide than she was interested in me. I guess she thought I was more interested in the Corporation than I was in her. Things can grow pretty sour pretty fast in that sort of soil. When Shanice left, well, let's just say things between us have not been amicable."

After a short reflective pause, Randolf gets back on track.

"Petra, this abduction wasn't about Tracy. This is personal. This is to get at me. This was a personal attack on me, something to get my attention, to get my attention to my finances. They wanted to get at me. Well, they did, they certainly did. And now, I've cleaned up every damn mess. All of the dogies are back in the corral (1). But, whichever bastard is running this game still hasn't returned my daughter to me! Now, come on,..."

"So, a loving father, after all?"

"Petra, I am a father who wants his daughter back, is very interested in the security of information about the Randolf Corporation and has no interest in being constantly nagged by his ex-wife. I admit: there were some debts. They have been repaid. My daughter still has not been returned. Now come on! This is your patch, Europe. Germany is still in Europe isn't it?"

Petra Tennerby smiles and starts on her report.

"Yep, it's still there and, as you know, I found the guy in the photograph. We had an 'interesting' evening together. He confirmed he had been hired as a bait. After spending the evening with Tracy, that was the evening of the last day she was in the office, he handed her over to the Abductors. I will spare you the details, but the guy I found is an amateur. On the other hand, the abduction team was 100% Pro. It seems Tracy was shipped out of Germany, probably by freight train, probably to Russia."

"And then?"

"I am afraid the trail in Germany goes cold. Investigating in Russia is a whole different ball game. I don't think we can really handle that ourselves. Yes, we employ people in Moscow, but none of them have the right training to follow through with something like this. They probably don't have the motivation, either."

Manfred sighs. He's not really surprised, but he's disappointed anyway. Still, Petra had confirmed his gut feelings about the situation.

"OK, Petra, now here is some information I have for you. This morning, by coincidence, I had a visit from the Houston FBI. A couple of agents. Holloway, I had met before. There was another one called Anderson who was older, maybe more senior. He was new. Anyway, it seems that some British gal who disappeared two years back has been found and she mentioned she had been held with an American called Tracy. The Feds and the CIA obviously think that this Tracy is my Tracy, otherwise they would not have come to see me. The British bitch won't talk: she has some syndrome or other..."

"Stockholm Syndrome?"

"Yeah. Something like that. I think you need to go and find her and then we will see what needs to be done after that."

"Did they say anything about her?"

"Her name is Jennifer McEwan. She was a postgrad at some university in England, studying psychology. She was found recently after she'd been out of sight for about two years. Her husband — Joseph — works for a civil engineering outfit who call themselves 'New Horizons in Civil Engineering, ' for goodness sake! Also, and this is particularly interesting in view of what you have just said, there seems to be a Russian connection. Anderson was very interested to know if I had any association with a Russki called Kustensky. The answer to that was 'No, ' by the way, but we are in the same business: energy and, in particular, oil and gas. Is that enough?"

Petra smiles. "Yes, that's plenty!"

"So, what next?"

"Now we have this new information, you want me to go on looking, right?"

"Absolutely right."

"So, this is not going to be cheap."

"Compared to being yelled at by Shanice, it's cheap. Besides, I don't like being played for a sucker. I've paid my dues. Someone isn't settling up with me."

"OK: I am heading to the UK to find Jennifer. I will keep you posted."

"Petra, find that British gal and screw the information we need out of her. I don't really care what you have to do and I am not going to ask. If you need me urgently, use the prepaid cell' I gave you. It's virgin. Unused. So, no one will have a trace on it. For routine updates, air letter, please. No one suspects the postman anymore!"

Petra smiles at Manfred Randolf's shrewdness. She smiles back in reply. She merely says, "You got it."

Googleplex

Petra Tennerby steps out from the foyer of her hotel. She's staying not far from London's Exhibition Centre at Earl's Court. It's a cosmopolitan part of the capital, not smart but not shabby either. Petra likes it; it's away from the hustle and hassle of the West End but it's a part of town where no one worries too much about your coming and going.

She's heading for breakfast. There's a special café in the Earl's Court Road, not one of the coffee clone chains: small tables, big couches, food cooked to order as long as it's what the chef feels like doing, twenty sorts tea and if you ask for coffee — well, you just don't ask — but the café also has free Wi-Fi.

Petra sits at a table by herself, orders tea and porridge with maple syrup and gets to work. That's an advantage of small tables. When your laptop is open, there is no room for anyone else and Petra is keen to work alone.

She opens her laptop and makes a list:

Jennifer McEwan

Psychology

University

Joseph McEwan

New Horizons in Civil Engineering

2009

Anatoly Kustensky.

Newspapers

Petra is an experienced investigator. Back home, Stateside, she has a Limited Liability Company called Spiral Galaxy Incorporated. The company is registered in Nevada where the state does not require the disclosure of the company owners, merely a local Registered Agent attached to an in-state law practice to receive any legal papers which have to be served and to settle any accounts which Spiral Galaxy cannot settle with PayPal.