Free Vanishing Act by John Feinstein Page B

was playing. “The standard is one player, one security guard,” he said. “Basically, we’re just trying to make sure the players can get through the crowds unimpeded. Most fans, when they see security people coming with a player, get out of the way. With a well-known player, we usually add a second security person. In the case of someone like Symanova, who attracts a lot of attention, we add a third guard. That was the case here—she had three security guards with her.”
    â€œTo follow up, then, what in the world happened?”
    Loconto smiled wanly and looked at Kantarian to see if he should continue. Kantarian nodded. “There was a commotion,” Loconto said. “Several people walked across the path of the players, and all the security guards got jostled. It isn’t all that unusual for that to happen, especially near the entrance to Armstrong before a big match, when people are bunched up trying to get inside. When the security guys got untangled, they looked around and Symanova was gone.”
    â€œJust like that?” It was the same questioner, still holding his mike. No one objected. He was asking the right questions.
    Loconto nodded. “No one really knew what had happened. The security people thought perhaps she’d fallen or gotten too far ahead of them. By the time they realized she wasn’t anywhere in their vicinity, the crowds appeared to have swallowed her. Her racquet bag was found a few yards from where all this happened, but we haven’t found anyone who can remember seeing her drop it.”
    â€œIsn’t that kind of remarkable?” the reporter with the microphone asked—as if reading Stevie’s mind.
    â€œYes, it is,” Loconto said. “This whole day has been remarkable.”
    Someone on the other side of the room had a mike. “Agent Campbell, is the FBI looking at this as a kidnapping?”
    â€œWe aren’t looking at it as anything yet, but we have to consider kidnapping a possibility,” he said. “We’re still in the process of interviewing her family, other players, and”—he nodded at Norwood—“her agents. The NYPD did its best to seal exits and check people leaving as soon as the incident occurred, but in a place this size, if someone is trying to sneak out, they probably can do it—especially if this was a preplanned event.”
    â€œArlen, are you going to stop play?”
    It was Collins, violating the rule about being at a microphone. No one seemed to mind.
    â€œNo, Bud, we’re not,” Kantarian said. “We’ve spoken to the Symanovs and they want play to continue. We’re in agreement with the FBI that it doesn’t help the investigation to stop play. If the FBI told us it would help, we’d stop, but they don’t think it will.” He paused and smiled for a moment, which surprised Stevie. “We get criticized by you people quite a lot because it takes us three days to play the first round. This is one time where it helps us. If we can find Nadia in the next forty-eight hours, assuming she’s up to it, we can reschedule her first-round match and it will be as if this never happened. That’s what we’re hoping for.”
    Someone brought up Joanne Walsh. “We understand she and her agent think the match should have been defaulted.”
    â€œI think once Joanne understands the unique circumstances here, she will feel differently,” Kantarian said. He stood up, indicating the press conference was over. “We’ll keep you informed as we know more.”
    The babble of voices broke out again, people trying to shout questions. One voice, clearly British, kept asking loudly if anyone knew where “R.J.” was and had he been informed.
    â€œWho is R.J.?” Stevie asked.
    Susan Carol rolled her eyes. “R.J. is R.J. Tenuto, the lead singer for Boys-in-Demand—they’re a kind of teen hip-hop