by Nancy Skopin
“Oh good. You’re awake,” she said. “We were going to move you to one of the staterooms last night, but Cliff didn’t want to disturb you.” She grinned and twinkled.
I took a sip of coffee and looked my hostess over. She was wearing a very short black silk robe with yellow and green flowers embroidered on the front. As far as I could tell she was naked underneath the robe.
“Great coffee,” I said, and grinned back at Karen.
I wandered outside to the deck and drank my coffee, allowing Cliff and Karen enough privacy to get dressed or to finish whatever was causing the laughter I’d heard earlier. I was about to go in for a refill when Cliff strode outside.
“Good morning, Nikki!” he chortled. That’s right, chortled. “To laugh or chuckle in satisfaction or exultation.” He sat down in the deck chair next to mine, laced his fingers behind his head, and sighed.
“You’re awfully pleased with yourself this morning.”
He beamed at me. “Does it show?”
Now it was my turn to laugh. “Does it show?” I sputtered.
I was happy for Cliff, but I also have to admit to feeling a little bit envious. I was a woman at my sexual peak and I really missed Bill.
Karen came out carrying a tray of warm cheese croissants, a full pot of coffee, and a pitcher of orange juice. We ate in silence, all of us grinning sheepishly at the happy awkwardness of the situation. When all the croissants were gone, Karen lit a cigarette and turned her attention to me.
“Cliff has explained your situation to me,” she said. “And I’d like to help any way I can. I have a car you’re welcome to use, or I can drive you anywhere you need to go. I know the area pretty well.”
I felt my jaw drop. I looked at Cliff in disbelief, then back to Karen, then to Cliff again. I must have looked like an idiot because Cliff started laughing.
“It’s okay, Nikki,” he said. “Karen is trustworthy.” He put his hand on my shoulder.
I scooted my deck chair away from him. “And you can tell this after one night in the sack together? No offense, Karen.”
“None taken,” she said. She refilled my coffee cup, then picked up the tray and went inside, leaving me alone with Cliff.
“Jesus Christ, Cliff,” I whispered as soon as I thought she was out of earshot. “Use your head! Even if Karen is trustworthy, if we get her involved in this we’re putting her life in danger. Did you think about that? Do you think that’s fair to her?”
“Yes, as a matter-of-fact, I did think about it, and she understands the risk. Karen’s lived most of her life to the left of center. She was a student activist at Cal Berkeley. Can you believe that? She went to Berkeley too! She’s also a Greenpeace Board Member.”
“How do you know that?” I asked. “Did she show you pictures of herself saving whales? She could be anyone. I can’t believe you’d trust someone you just met with information that could get us killed.”
“You trusted her enough to tell her your real name,” he countered.
“That was stupid,” I said emphatically.
“Look, Nikki, be reasonable. If she was going to kill us or call someone else to kill us we’d already be dead.”
I thought about that. He was probably right. “That still doesn’t justify getting her involved.”
“She wants to be involved,” he insisted. “And honestly, don’t you think we could use the help?”
I took a deep breath. “God damn it. I want a cigarette,” I muttered.
I was half tempted to smoke one of Karen’s, but only half tempted. Quitting was hard. It was like riding an emotional roller coaster. I never wanted to go through that again, and I knew enough about myself to know that if I smoked one, another would follow.
“Okay, Cliff,” I sighed. “You’re right. We do need help. Did you tell her about this morning’s appointment with Russell?”
“Not yet.”
I dug in my purse and pulled out the disk I was carrying.
“You still have the original?” I asked.
Cliff produced the disk from his front pants pocket.
“I guess she could drive us to the studio. Keep her eyes open for anyone following us. She should probably carry a weapon.”
“Not a problem,” Cliff said. “She has a locker full of them.”
I already knew that.
So it was settled. I called Norris’s private number at 10:00 a.m., and he said the process looked plausible to his friends at MIT, but that they wanted a little more time. Karen drove us to the ABC studio. When we arrived we all sat in the car and watched the traffic for five minutes. Nothing unusual happened, so Cliff kissed Karen goodbye and we got out of the car. The plan was that she would park about a block away and walk back to the studio where she would wait outside for us. If she saw anything untoward, she would alert the studio security guards. None of us knew what to expect. Frankly, I was surprised we had gotten this far unmolested.
I left my Glock in Karen’s car. I’d never been inside a television studio before, but I was pretty sure they’d have metal detectors at the door. Karen had also brought along a Winchester pump-action alley sweeper. Apparently she didn’t keep any handguns onboard, only rifles and shotguns, and a couple of emergency flare guns.
I was right about the security situation. It was just like the airport. My purse was X-rayed on a conveyer belt, and Cliff and I were asked to walk through metal detector archways. Our names were checked off a list by one of the uniformed guards.
My heart rate increased as we were escorted by another uniformed guard to a bank of elevators. We rode up to the second floor where we were asked to wait in a conference room. I knew the reason I was experiencing a heightened level of anxiety was because we were nearing the finish line. We were so close to our goal that everything we did now was magnified beyond normal proportions. Knowing that didn’t calm me down much.
There were two cameras mounted on the ceiling of the conference room, and a laptop computer at one end of the long table. I’d requested that.
At 11:02 the door to the conference room swung open and a security guard wearing a Bluetooth headset stepped in. He looked the room over, then nodded to someone outside, and in walked Brayden Russell.
In person he looks like a subdued, older version of Alfred E. Newman from Mad Magazine, but he has tremendous presence. Cliff and I both automatically stood up.
Russell shook my hand first, and then Cliff’s. “Ms. Hunter. Mr. Montgomery.” He nodded and smiled, then sat at the end of the table nearest the laptop.
The guard closed the door and remained inside the conference room with us. That made me a little uncomfortable, but what the hell, we were being filmed anyway.
I opened my mouth to explain the reason for our visit, but Cliff cut me off before I could utter a single syllable. I listened as he told Russell about Matzek’s classes at Berkeley, how Matzek had sold the process to Batcom and, after the appropriate number of years when the patent had run out, he’d initiated the elite study group. Cliff acknowledged the mistake he’d made by confiding in his mother, and explained that his father had formerly worked for the Federal Government.
As I listened to the story I realized it would make a great screenplay, or maybe a novel. I was wondering what Cliff’s father’s life expectancy might be once all this hit the fan when Cliff nudged me.
“Nikki? May I have the disk?”
I dug the copied CD out of my purse and handed it to him. We had agreed that we weren’t ready to part with the original, even briefly. Cliff inserted it into the laptop’s drive, opened the file, and displayed the schematics for Russell. Cliff told him the process was being checked out by a research group at MIT, but didn’t mention Norris.
Russell asked if he could keep the disk and I suggested he save a copy of the file on the computer’s hard drive. I told him we had mailed him a copy of the disk the day before. He saved the file and returned the disk to Cliff, who handed it back to me.
“What would you like me to do?�
�� Russell finally asked.
That was the question, wasn’t it?
“I think we need to wait until we have a conclusive response from the group at MIT,” Cliff responded. “If they confirm the plausibility of the process, we intend to publish it online and go public as quickly as possible with the whole situation. We’re hoping that if all the information we have is made available to the public, whoever is killing the students from Matzek’s study group will decide we’re no longer worth the effort.”
“I see,” he said. “Would I be allowed to speak directly with your contacts at MIT before we go on the air with your story?”
“I don’t see why not,” I volunteered, not knowing how Norris would react to having his friends interviewed. “We’ll have to get their permission first.”
“Of course,” he said. “So you’ll be in touch within, say, forty-eight hours?”
“Absolutely,” I said. “If you don’t hear from us you can assume we’ve been silenced and do whatever you think is best with the information.” I felt a chill run down my spine when I said the words. Knowing something is a possibility and saying it out loud are totally different experiences.
We all shook hands again, and Cliff and I were escorted outside by the guard.
Karen was waiting for us on the street. There was a slight bulge under her shirt, about the size of my Glock. She pointed to the right, indicating where she’d parked her car, and we all started walking briskly in that direction.
CHAPTER 28
WE MADE IT SAFELY to Karen’s car, but my solar plexus was doing the samba like it always does when danger is present. Under other circumstances, I might have chalked it up to nerves, but not this time. I felt exposed and anxious. Cliff was quiet, and I noticed when he reached for the car door that his hand was shaking.
Karen took the wheel and, without asking, began driving back toward the marina. I was thinking it might be unwise to drive directly back to the marina. Maybe we should drive around a bit first. But I was too nervous and distracted to comment.
We were driving down DeSales Street, doing about thirty-five miles an hour, when we were struck from behind. I turned to look out the rear windshield and spotted a late model, jet-black Impala three feet from our bumper. I’d been so busy looking where we were going that I hadn’t even noticed we were being tailed. When the car hit us again Karen swerved to the left. Cliff grabbed the wheel and pulled it back to the right just in time to avoid a collision.
“Take the next right,” Cliff shouted.
He was taking control and I was letting him. Things really had changed. Karen did as instructed and we found ourselves in an alley between high-rise office buildings. She floored it. I looked out the rear windshield and saw that we were still being pursued. The Impala had tinted windows. I couldn’t make out the driver, and he was so close behind us that I couldn’t even see his license plate. When I turned back I noticed we were almost to the end of the alley and traffic looked heavy on the other side.
I heard the rear windshield explode and actually felt the bullet rush past my ear before the front windshield shattered.
“Jesus! Get down,” I screamed.
Karen’s reflexes took over and she did what anyone might have done under the circumstances. She slammed on the brakes. The Impala rammed us again and we lurched into the brick wall on our left. I braced myself, instantly flashing on the pain from the accident Cliff and I had shared. Luckily, this time we were all belted in.
Cliff was the first to regain his senses. I turned to see what the driver of the Impala was doing, and when I turned back the front passenger seat was empty and I didn’t see him anywhere. I looked at Karen.
“He has your Glock,” she whispered.
I was stunned by this new reality. Now Cliff was Clint Eastwood? He’d taken the Glock from Karen and was apparently hunched down on the side of the car hidden from the driver of the Impala. I spun around and saw that the Impala’s driver’s door was opening. I sat riveted as a purple walking cast landed on the ground. Asian Nicolas Cage with an attitude followed. Un-fucking-believable! The son of a bitch had followed us to D.C.
I wanted to warn Cliff, but there was nothing I could do without alerting the adversary. I kept my eyes glued to the Cage look-alike but reached over the seat and found Karen’s shoulder.
“Give me the Winchester,” I whispered.
She passed the shotgun between the seats as discretely as possible.
Both of the assassin’s hands were bandaged and he was carrying another Ruger equipped with a silencer. I wondered if he had a warehouse full of them or a supplier who delivered them on demand. I also wondered how much the bones and muscles in his hands could have healed from the gunshot wounds I’d inflicted, and hoped his lack of coordination might give us the advantage.
He slowly limped forward. I couldn’t open the door on the right side of the car because Cliff was hiding there, and the left side was jammed up against the brick wall. I trained the muzzle of the Winchester on the killer through the hole in the rear windshield and shouted, “Freeze!” Cop lingo sometimes slows people down before they realize it’s a common citizen they’re dealing with. Not so with this guy. He swung the Ruger directly at my head and pulled the trigger. No hesitation. I ducked just in time to save my skull, but felt the bullet crease my scalp. I put my hand up and it came away bloody.
“Karen,” I whispered. “You okay?”
“I’m fine, honey,” she whispered back.
All of this happened in less than a heartbeat, but it seemed to take a lifetime. We were huddled down behind the car seats when we heard Cliff fire the Glock. It was like a sonic boom, followed by a scream. I popped my head up just far enough to see that the assassin had fallen back against the hood of the Impala and was holding his right arm above the elbow. There was blood. His Ruger was about a foot away, also on the hood of the car and still within reach of his left hand. I felt a rush of gratitude that I’d had the patience to spend hours teaching Cliff how to sight a handgun.
“Cliff, be careful,” I shouted.
I scrambled out of the car, instructing Karen to stay down, and followed Cliff, who was now moving slowly toward Cage, still holding the Glock double handed in front of him. I racked the pump on the Winchester and the sound got Cage’s attention. He looked up and our eyes met. His were squinting from the pain and filled with malice.
“Still in a cast, I see.”
“Compound fracture,” he responded, reaching for the Ruger with his left hand.
“Are you nuts?” I shouted.
He stopped reaching just long enough to look me in the eye one last time. Then he spit on me. He actually spit the distance between us, which was at least twelve feet, and hit me square in the chest. I was momentarily distracted and he reached for the Ruger again. As his fingers connected with the gun I raised the Winchester and stepped to the right, giving Cliff plenty of room for his shot. Cage was raising the Ruger when Cliff and I both fired at the same time.
It was a noisy, bloody mess. There was no need to check his pulse this time. He was gone. After almost a minute I realized Karen was trying to hustle us back into the car. We were frozen in place.
“We need to get out of here,” she said. “If the police detain you two they’ll hold you for hours. You’ll be easy targets.”
In retrospect I realize that Cliff and I were both in shock. At Karen’s urging, we silently climbed back into the car. We were about three blocks away when we heard the first siren.
Karen managed to drive us back to the marina without incident, which was remarkable in itself, because it was a long drive and her front and back windshields were shattered. She parked as close to the docks as she could, then got out and dashed to the boat, returning almost instantly with a car cover she used when she was on long cruises. With the cover secured in place you couldn’t tell the windshields had been shot out.
Once we were onboard Karen’s boat I borrowed her cell and made a quick call to Norris. He conf
irmed that the group at MIT had verified the validity of the process. I thanked him for his help and asked him to put the process out on the Web as soon as possible. I also asked him to cooperate with Russell in getting the story out, explaining that he wanted to interview the MIT crew. Norris seemed to think they would enjoy that. I felt a wave of relief wash over me.
I called Russell and asked if he could use the video surveillance tape of our interview for his show, with my face edited out. I didn’t need to lose half of my clients again because I was too recognizable. I explained to Russell why we weren’t going to be available in person, but left out the dead guy in the alley, simply saying that we’d been followed and our lives were at risk. I suggested he call Norris as soon as possible. He said he had the number.
That was it. We untied Karen’s yacht and took off, leaving the Nonsuch at the guest dock. I had lived in a marina long enough to know that the harbormaster would have a legal right to sell the boat once it was declared abandoned, and the price would more than make up for any inconvenience we had caused her. I hoped the new owner would take good care of the catboat. She had saved our lives and transported us safely halfway across the Pacific. There’s a bond between a sailor and a boat that cannot easily be understood by someone who’s never owned one. A good boat is more than a vessel. She has a spirit all her own.
CHAPTER 29
WE STOPPED ONLY LONG ENOUGH to fuel up the Johnson, and then stayed at sea for two days. I figured that would give Norris and Russell plenty of time to get the word out and, hopefully, ensure our safety. When we were far enough out and alone on the water, we tossed my Glock and Karen’s Winchester overboard.
On the third day we put into port in Philadelphia. I gave Cliff and Karen lengthy goodbye hugs and took a taxi to the airport. I paid cash for my ticket and flew non-stop to San Francisco. When I got there I called Elizabeth from a pay phone. It was a Saturday and I was lucky to catch her at home. I was lucky to be alive. I was just plain lucky.