SOPHIA - Age of Intelligence

by Mike Donoghue

CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

  Near the Canadian/U.S. border

  “JENNY WAKE UP,” Simon whispered, gently nudging his daughter. He averted his tired eyes from the road only for a moment while driving his hybrid Escalade northward along New York’s Interstate 81 highway.

  Jennifer let out a small groan as she stretched out her arms and legs into the limited space afforded to her. The ride offered by her father’s SUV was smooth but not so gentle as to completely suspend the effects of minor bumps, subtle hills and wide arcing turns. With her eyes still closed, Jennifer dared to ask: “Are we there yet?” When she rolled her head to the left, she squinted several times before returning her father’s gentle smile.

  “We’ll be at the Seaway in a little while,” he said softly. “You asked me to wake you, remember?”

  “Ahh,” Jennifer groaned, lamenting a less than adequate sleep. Upon looking out her window she creased her eyes to the sunlight of a new day. Much in the same way as an eventful Saturday night relinquishes itself to the early hours of Sunday morning, the passing landscape competed with the memory of what had transpired just hours before. It’s all still a blur, Jennifer thought, rearranging the light sweater blanketing her shoulders. After a few moments, she adjusted her front passenger seat into an upright position. “How are you doing? Did you stop for a coffee or something?”

  “Na.”

  The roadway rolled under them as comfortably as the ensuing pause allowed Jennifer’s groggy thoughts to coalesce. Yawning, she further scrutinized her father. “How come you’re not in self-drive?”

  “I don’t know, it’s nice being the chauffeur for a change. It’s kind of therapeutic, gives me time to think.”

  Simon looked out onto a more predictable highway than the one that carved through the first half of their trip. Pennsylvania truck drivers weren’t jockeying for the lead anymore, and the gusty storm, which soaked their Manhattan departure last night, was now well behind them. The northern part of New York State was also better suited to Simon’s temperament, driving and otherwise.

  Jennifer noticed the clock on the dash; it read 10:18 am. “With all that’s happened in the last twelve hours, I don’t blame you.” She then glanced into the back seat and, after finding Tanya curled up comfortably beside Marcus, the haze that accompanied the last several mile markers began to dissipate; the events of the preceding hours began to merge into a single, more manageable narrative.

  The police did arrive at PurIntel’s 90th floor headquarters shortly after Sophia faded from view. Simon suggested to the team’s lead investigator that it was a more a case of commercial espionage than anything else. When Derrick finally answered his phone, he opposed Simon’s plea to go to the hospital, instead insisting that he come to the office in order to, in his words, ‘better reassemble the anatomy of the crime.’ Simon instantly thought the blow to his head had dislodged a fragment of an alternate Sherlock Holmes-like personality, but he chose to equivocate on the point, agreeing a few outstanding issues could better be discussed in person.

  Simon was even more heartened by Derrick’s offer to stay with the police for as long as was necessary, therefore allowing himself, Jennifer, and Rose to leave. As for Susan, she remained at Simon’s desk diligently typing into her phone the story that she would first post to her blog then offer to her magazine’s monthly publication.

  It was during the short elevator ride down that Simon had the epiphany of driving up to his summer home. “You wanna get out of here?” he asked both Jen and Rose.

  “What do you mean?” Jennifer replied.

  “Let’s drive up to the cottage right now!”

  Jennifer looked incredulous. “You mean, like tonight?”

  “Yeah, why not?” Simon said impetuously. He then pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “I’m going to call Marcus. We’ll swing by and pick him up. Tanya as well.”

  Simon quickly scrolled through his cell’s address book and then put the phone up to his ear. Only then did he notice Rose’s uncommitted expression. “I’m going to have to take a rain check, Simon. I’ve got a few matters to sort out.”

  “Marcus, it’s, Simon. Are you up for a road trip?”

  A short pause was punctuated by Simon’s disappointment regarding Rose’s unavailability. In that moment, that near tearful exchange, he knew they were parting ways; that theirs was a relationship not meant to be. He could see the bargaining of their future concealed within Rose’s eyes. He nodded, before clearing his throat. “I know it’s two a.m.” Simon said, still fixated on Rose. He looked away, then toward Jennifer, continuing to coax Marcus into coming along. “But we agreed you need to get away. Don’t worry, I’ll do the driving. You and Tanya can sleep in the back.” Simon ignored any further plea for a reasonable discourse. “Look, I’ll be over in less than an hour, so you’d better start putting a bag together for a few days. Goodbye!”

  Simon looked into his rear-view mirror and noticed Tanya stirring. “Anyone up for a coffee? There’s a service center up ahead.”

  “I’m up for one,” Marcus piped up. He blinked more than once before glancing out his right side window. “Are we there yet?” he asked. Jennifer turned to her father and laughed.

  “We’re about a half hour from the Canadian border,” Simon replied.

  “What do ya know, I guess we’re going to get there in one piece after all,” Marcus joked.

  Jennifer looked into the back seat as Tanya slowly straightened herself into a seated position. With an impeccable, soft-spoken charm that seemed to negate the requirement for dialogue, her honest, smiling eyes competed with her best feature - the depth of her wit. “Six Saint Christopher medallions. That’s how many he’s wearing, did ya know that?” Tanya chided, adjusting her shoulder belt.

  Marcus protested. “I’m a nervous passenger. What can I say?”

  Simon half-heartedly chuckled as he steered his SUV onto the off-ramp for the upcoming service center. Jennifer’s laughter, however, was interrupted by the sound of a text prompting her attention. Grabbing her phone, she stated: “It’s from Susan. I asked her to send me a link to her blog. Looks like she’s updated it with a recounting of last night’s events.”

  “How about reading it to us after we get a coffee?” Simon stated. Everyone agreed.

  As Simon pulled his vehicle off the I-81, the two remaining modes of transport, namely air and sea, were in the process of converging over the Atlantic. At the same time that Prav Gill’s luxury yacht, The Auspicious, was nearing the international sea boundary between the United States and Canada, a helicopter was rapidly approaching on an intersecting course. The sky was clear, but the residual seas of last night’s storm were still prevailing upon the ship’s navigation software to provide the necessary course correction. Prav was sitting in his lower mid-deck lounge having his usual Sunday morning breakfast when the laptop sitting on his table came alive with a video call request.

  He put down his teacup and tapped the screen, opening the video conferencing app. “You’re overdue by eight hours,” he barked.

  The helicopters rotors were thumping away, delivering maximum speed. The chopper’s internal cameras provided Prav with a view into the cockpit. It was Zara. “We were grounded by the winds,” she stated. Sitting to the right of the pilot, both were wearing the same headphone and mic system. “We took off as soon as the storm broke.”

  Prav’s voice was infused with frustration. “I presume you have the last piece to our puzzle?”

  Zara turned her head to her left, as if beckoning a response from one of two passengers seated behind. “We’re heavy with the expected cargo,” a familiar voice stated. It was Decker. Connor was seated beside him. It was the same pair of operatives that intervened in Jennifer’s kidnapping. With their helicopter pounding onward, the trio of mercenaries raced toward a beacon located just beyond the horizon.