The Planck Factor

by Debbi Mack

  The doorman ducked behind a marble-topped counter and picked up the receiver of a blinding white phone so shiny, Alexis wondered if the man spent his idle time polishing it. He punched in a number and dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “Go on, now. I’m just announcing you.”

  Alexis nodded again and turned toward the elevators. She could barely make out the doorman’s voice as he muttered into the receiver. This didn’t feel right. Alexis shrugged off the wave of anxiety. Daniel’s note must be putting my nerves on edge.

  An elevator opened, and a man and a woman were inside. Apparently, they’d come up from the parking garage below, but they didn’t seem to be together. Alexis entered the elevator and hit the button for the fifteenth floor. She pulled out her phone and called Katie. When Katie answered, Alexis breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Did the doorman just call you?” Alexis asked.

  “Uh, yes. What’s wrong?” Katie’s voice. It didn’t sound quite right.

  “I might ask you the same question.” Alexis glanced about her. The other passengers seemed to be listening to her. Ridiculous. It was just idle curiosity. After all, she was the only one doing any talking.

  The elevator stopped on the ninth floor. The doors opened and the woman left. The man stayed on, averting his eyes from Alexis.

  “I’m . . . fine,” Katie said.

  “Well, you don’t sound like it.”

  A long pause ensued. The man kept looking everywhere except at Alexis. His hand moved into his coat pocket.

  “Is there something you want to tell me?” Alexis asked. “Should I stay somewhere else tonight?”

  Alexis kept the man in her peripheral vision. He fumbled in his coat pocket for a bit and pulled out a key. Alexis felt overcome with gratitude and embarrassment at assuming it was going to be a gun or knife or a drug-soaked rag.

  Katie laughed, but not with any sort of glee. “Of course you can stay here. But that’s entirely up to you.”

  This was completely wrong. Katie would never have said that. It was after midnight. She would have insisted Alexis spend the night with her. Somebody was with Katie, so she couldn’t speak freely. And the doorman. He should’ve known her name. And he wouldn’t have shooed Alexis away like that, unless he had something to hide.

  The elevator reached the fifteenth floor, emitting a bell-like chime as it did. Alexis and the man emerged and, as she headed toward the stairs, she heard him say, “Stop right there, miss.”

  She stopped and turned with almost glacial slowness toward him. He held up the key. “Come with me.”

  Alexis stood paralyzed, rooted in place for a moment. Then, she turned and bolted for the exit stairs. She glanced back at the man as she threw open the door and just before she ran into the stairwell, she saw him pounding toward her, pulling a small walkie-talkie from his coat pocket.

  Alexis may have spent a lot of time in the library, but she kept fit. Oregon had lots of places to hike, a passion for both Daniel and herself. She bounded down the steps, taking them two at a time. The man pursuing her seemed to have substantial difficulty keeping up. The distance between them was growing greater with each flight, but Alexis knew that the test would be whether she could lose the man after she left the stairwell.

  She reached the lobby and tried to open the door. Locked. Frantic, Alexis raced down to the next level and tried the door. It wouldn’t budge. She’d reached the bottom. No way out, at least none that she could see. She could hear the man from the elevator getting closer.

  Alexis pounded on the door. “Open up!” she yelled.

  The man’s footsteps were getting louder, and she pounded harder.

  “Help! Anyone there?”

  The door flew open and, in it, stood Mel.

  “C’mon, kid.” He grabbed her arm, pulled her into the garage and slammed the door. Mel hustled Alexis toward the car, pushed her into the passenger’s side. She flopped onto the seat like a ragdoll. Mel shut the door, hurried round to the driver’s side, started up the car and left the garage with a squeal of tires.

  Jessica

  I stopped scanning pages to take a break. When I’d first written these words, they’d poured onto the page in such a rush, I was sure they’d prove upon later inspection to be a bunch of crap. But they felt right somehow, possibly because Alexis’ situation (even though it was fictional) seemed worse than my own.

  Mel had surprised me. A minor character had suddenly grabbed the spotlight. Don’t ask me why. He just did. Somehow it seemed to fit.

  I felt chilly and a bit light-headed, as if re-reading and reliving these words in my head had been like vomiting. Or maybe it was just having been drugged and being up after midnight.

  And, if I’d been looking for solutions in my writing, they were still eluding me.

  I turned on the TV again, hoping to find a good movie to help lull me to sleep so my body could regain the proper circadian rhythm.

  As I flipped through the channels, I once again hit CNN and stopped briefly to see if I were being featured. Instead, I saw a photo of the Golden Gate Bridge and heard the news anchor say they were closing it as a precaution against a purported threat.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Kevin

  He rubbed his hands with glee. Jessica had no idea what she was up against. And neither did the authorities.

  Selby’s death had been unfortunate but unavoidable. Nonetheless, the group had the benefit of his knowledge, so his death didn’t really matter. A huge disaster was in the works. The group’s operatives were doing a masterful job of misdirecting everyone, sending the FBI and CIA chasing their own tails, like cats on cocaine. And Homeland Security was equally clueless.

  Wait ’til they find out what’s really up, he thought. And little did they know, the clock was ticking. Just as it was for Kevin.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Jessica

  My first thought was of Mom and Dad. They lived in the bedroom community of San Rafael and often ventured into San Francisco. The Golden Gate Bridge would be the most logical way in for them.

  It must have been a serious threat for the authorities to shut down the bridge. There were other bridges one could take, but the route was substantially longer. And the traffic would be a commuter nightmare. The ferries would make out well.

  Fortunately, my Dad could telecommute and Mom worked as a librarian at the College of Marin in Kentfield, so she didn’t have to cross the bridge. I was grateful for that, plus the fact that San Rafael is 30 miles north of the city.

  I changed the channel quickly, trying to put the matter out of mind. I already had enough to worry about. I didn’t need to dwell on disasters that might befall my parents.

  After a time, I finally landed on a channel with a movie. An old one, from the looks of it. I turned the sound low enough to hear it, but soft enough so it wouldn’t keep me from drifting off. Eventually, I did just that.

  I woke to hear the phone ringing. It felt like I’d been asleep for only ten minutes, but the light shining through the crack in the curtains told me otherwise.

  I picked up. “Hullo,” I croaked.

  “Jessica? It’s me.”

  It took a moment to register who “me” was. “Hi Cyn. I guess it’s breakfast time, huh?”

  “Jessica, what have you done?”

  Those words jolted me awake. “Huh?” I said. “I explained about finding Fred, right?”

  “This isn’t about Fred. I’m talking about that man yesterday. Who was he?”

  “Uh.” I was stumped momentarily, then did a mental head smack. Selby. Shit.

  “The man at Navy Memorial. It’s all over the local news.”

  Good God. How many more people were going to see me fleeing murder scenes? According to my research, eye witness testimony is so unreliable. Yet, here I was being identified all over the country.

  The TV was still on, so I grabbed the remote and flipped through channels until I found a local station. They had a morning show going, so I’d
have to wait until they switched to local news or just check the morning paper and see if I’d ended up being featured on page one above the fold. That seemed unlikely given that this was the Nation’s Capital, which was also homicide central. Yet a murder in a crowd at the Navy Memorial in broad daylight might get a bit more attention than usual. Needless to say, I wasn’t thrilled.

  “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

  I’d forgotten about Cynthia. “It’s not the way it looks, okay?” I paused to collect myself, before launching into an explanation of the strange phone calls, the two men in the van and my decision to come to D.C. Then the call from the stranger, the meeting, the poisoning and—worst of all—seeing my sister with Flattop and Red.

  “Okay, so you lied to your adviser,” Cyn said. “There’s no family emergency. How am I supposed to believe what you’ve told me about Fred?”

  “Why would I kill Fred?”

  A protracted silence followed. “Fair enough, but it really looks suspicious. And now this latest murder. I mean, what the hell is going on?”

  “If you only knew how many times I’ve asked myself that same question.”

  “Look, you stay there and I’ll bring you something to eat.”

  I sighed. “That’s probably a good idea. I don’t need yet another person recognizing me. Apparently, my face is more memorable than most.”

  “It was probably that silly hat.”

  “Could be.” I had to admit, in retrospect, it did seem ridiculous. My stomach growled and I realized I was famished. I’d had only a bagel and the granola bar yesterday. I’d left the room service food untouched. “Well, whatever. I’m starving.”

  “All right, then. I’ll pick up coffee and some cinnamon rolls.”

  “That’ll be fine. Thanks.”

  I hung up and kept my eye on the TV, watching for any news about me or yesterday’s murder. I flipped around to more local stations. Nothing. Maybe it was already old news.

  Then, on one channel, I saw the photo they’d shown of me on CNN. I turned up the sound.

  “ . . . witness noticed Evans talking to the man moments before he was found dead. At that time, Evans wore jeans, a blue T-shirt, and a hat. Police are asking that you call them if you see Evans, the woman in this photo.”

  Super. I muted the sound and pondered the strange ways of fate.

  Then, I wondered about the description the anchorwoman had given. Apparently, no one had taken a photo of me at the Navy Memorial, or you’d think they would’ve used it instead of the one from CNN. The anchorwoman had also mentioned what I wore but never described the hat and it was pretty distinctive.

  I’d left the hat back at Liz’s condo before I took the cab to my hotel. Cynthia had told me she saw me leave Liz’s place, but never mentioned seeing me arrive. So how would she know about the hat?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Jessica

  The knock at the door had to be Cyn. I grabbed the serrated knife and opened the door with the chain in place.

  “I bring breakfast.” Cyn’s cheery greeting could be heard on the next floor.

  I unlocked the chain and opened the door. Cyn entered with a paper bag. “These cinnamon rolls look absolutely sinful,” she said. “Better be hungry or I’ll gain a ton eating them.” She moved to the small desk and pulled coffee cups and pastry from the bag.

  “Cyn?” Her false bonhomie was wearisome. “How did you know about my hat?”

  Cyn hesitated a fraction of a second. “It was on the news.”

  “Which channel?”

  “I’m not sure. CNN, maybe.”

  “And why did you follow me here again?”

  Cyn turned toward me, looking put out. “Why all the questions?”

  “They’re easy ones. Or should be.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not allowed to be concerned about you?”

  I sighed and turned away. What did I just ask? Why aren’t you answering?

  That’s when I noticed the door was ajar.

  I grabbed Cyn from behind, jamming the serrated edge of the knife against her throat. She emitted an audible gasp and swept a coffee cup to the floor. Coffee seeped out, its dark stain spreading out across the carpet.

  “The door’s unlocked. Why?” I snarled.

  “Please!” Her voice came out in ragged gasps. “I didn’t mean to do it.”

  “Really?” My voice took on a mock saccharine tone. “You’re so concerned for me, you follow me across the country, but you leave my hotel room unlocked. That does not compute.”

  “Okay, okay,” Cyn said. “I can explain.”

  “Then start explaining.” I pressed the knife harder. “Now!”

  Cyn caught her breath. “Can you take that knife away from my throat first?”

  “Sorry. Given the past few days events, my faith in human nature is wavering a bit.”

  Cyn seemed to consider this. “All right, then. It’s like this.”

  In an instant, she grabbed my wrist, pulled it from her throat and twisted my arm behind my back.

  As I struggled, two men came in and grabbed me. Once they had me in their grasp, Cyn stood before me. She hauled back and slapped my face.

  “Bitch!” I said, spit flying with my words. “Did you kill Fred?”

  “I don’t think you’re in a position to ask questions, dear.” Cyn’s voice fairly dripped with sarcasm. Gone was the whole bubble-headed blonde act. Her expression had turned glacial. There was clearly much more to her than met the eye.

  I kicked out at her, but she stepped out of reach. My captors clamped onto my arms like pit bulls.

  “Keep hold of her,” Cyn said. “And watch her fucking feet.” She turned and left the room.

  For a moment, no one said anything. The two men still dug their fingers into my arms.

  “Now what?” I asked. I tried to sound tough, but my voice was shaking. I wasn’t sure if it was because of fear or anger.

  “Now, we make you talk.” One of the men smiled at me the way a shark might smile at a minnow.

  “That’s nice. What shall we talk about?”

  The man’s smile morphed into a scowl. He leaned in so his face was an inch from mine. I could smell the mints he used in a lame attempt to cover his coffee-and-cigarette breath.

  “What . . . did . . . he . . . tell . . . you?” He enunciated the words slowly, as if I were a child or an idiot. Or someone who’d just learned English. Each word brought another mint-laced blast of stink breath.

  My first thought was, “Who? Fred or Selby?” But since neither had told me anything, I said, “Nobody has told me anything!”

  The man smiled again. He looked me up and down. His eyes brightened and his nostrils flared.

  “We’ll see how much you know, baby.” He leaned in as his buddy grabbed my other arm and held both behind my back. Then, he jammed his stinky-breathed mouth against mine. He forced his tongue inside my mouth and down to my tonsils. It took everything I had to keep from gagging, not only from his breath but also from his ridiculously long tongue.

  He started moaning and grinding his pelvis against me. There was no mistaking his intentions now.

  At this point, my knowledge of self-defense kicked into high gear. He stopped a moment and stepped back just far enough for me to jab my knee up into his groin. He fell back and doubled over in pain.

  The man behind me dug his fingers in harder. I brought my foot up and smashed it down on his instep. He screamed and his fingers loosened. An elbow jab to the gut moved him back enough to let me karate chop his groin. As he bent over, I used his momentum to throw him to the floor. At which point, I stomped on his head.

  I started for the door, then sprinted to the table, snatched my flash drive, and ran. But not before breaking both men’s noses with a swift kick to each of their faces.

  Did I just kick two men in the face? Did I really just break their noses? For a moment, as I fled toward the stairwell—checking the door before entering to make sure I would
n’t end up trapped like Alexis—I actually felt a pang of guilt. I’m not a violent person. But that man was going to rape me. And I don’t think the other guy intended to stop him. So, what the hell do I have to feel guilty about?

  I bounded down the stairs as fast as I could go, wondering where the hell I was going.

  It seemed to take forever to reach each landing. My room was on the eighth floor and I counted down each floor every two flights. Seven . . . six . . . five . . . .

  I reached floor two and paused. Maybe I should get out here. Just in case. I tried the knob. It turned. I pushed through the door. It opened into a hall. The elevators were located to my left in an alcove midway down the hall. As I ran toward the alcove, a man rounded the corner. Another man followed. It was Flattop and Red—the men from the van. I skidded to a halt and scrambled to switch directions.

  “Wait!” Flattop caught up with me in short order and grabbed my arm, then eased off with surprising gentleness. “We work for your sister. And we’re here to protect you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Jessica

  My mouth must have resembled that of a landed grouper. My lips kept flapping, but I couldn’t find the words.

  “What?” Sadly, it was the most intelligent thing I could think of to say.

  Flattop smiled and reached into his back pocket. I tensed, then relaxed, feeling stupid as he pulled out a wallet and opened it.

  He handed me a card. It read Joseph Cotter, A-Team Security.

  I gaped at the card, until I finally found my voice again, hiding somewhere beneath my liver. “Wait. Are you telling me my sister hired you as my bodyguard?”

  Flattop (or Cotter, if that was his name) nodded. “Your sister gave us the okay to tell you. She knew you were caught in something bigger than you could imagine.”