The Planck Factor

by Debbi Mack

  “Hold on,” I said. “A couple of people have died.” I waved the card under his nose. “I need more than this to be convinced. Anyone can have business cards made up.”

  Cotter frowned. “I’m sorry. Will this do it?” He opened his wallet again and displayed his driver’s license, then flipped to a card that showed he was state-certified in California as a bodyguard.

  “I . . . I have to call my sister,” I said, my voice faint with disbelief.

  “Go ahead. But I think we need to get you out of here.”

  As Cotter and his redhead assistant led me further down the stairs, I was able to reach Liz on my cell.

  “Jess! Are you okay?” Her voice sounded tight with near panic.

  “I’m okay.” For a moment, I thought I’d burst into tears but I struggled to contain myself. “Well, that’s a lie. I feel like shit. I met my bodyguards, by the way.”

  “Jess, I hired them to make sure no one hurt you.”

  We had clambered down to a basement garage and my bodyguards hustled me toward a car. (Like Alexis. Not again!)

  “Just so I’m sure, tell me their names.”

  “Joe Cotter and Billy Sullivan.”

  Billy Sullivan? Now, how weird was that? My protagonist Alexis’ surname was Sullivan. This had to be a bad dream. They say truth is stranger than fiction, but honestly . . . this was way too much.

  “Okay,” I said, sliding into the back, while Cotter and Billy took their places up front. I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that Liz had actually hired these guys. However, I still had a few questions for her.

  “So, exactly why do I need to be guarded?” I asked, settling back in the seat and wishing I could feel as relaxed as that pose.

  “I’ll explain everything after the guys bring you in.”

  “Bring me in?” I asked. “Where?”

  “The safe house.”

  Although the words “safe house” made me feel anything but, I tried to relax during our ride out of town. As we drove, I asked Cotter, “Well, if you’re my bodyguards, where the hell have you been all this time?”

  “Your sister called a meeting with us yesterday. Shortly after you arrived at the Navy Memorial. I told her we were watching you, but she seemed to feel you’d be safe there. She was anxious to meet with us out of your view and discuss the latest developments with us. She’s the client, so we had our meeting.”

  “What about him? Couldn’t you have left him to watch me?” I gestured toward Billy, who looked back at me with an open expression and slightly goofy grin that seemed to answer my own question.

  Cotter shook his head. “Too green.” Based on appearances, I had to agree.

  “So, you had nothing to do with either Fred or Selby’s death?”

  “Of course not. We went back to the memorial after our meeting. We couldn’t find you there, so we returned to our surveillance post down the street from your sister’s building. You must have slipped out while our backs were turned.”

  “Then how the heck did you find my hotel?”

  Cotter glanced up at me in the rear view. His eyes were cagey, but kindness lurked beneath the steeliness.

  “Your sister came home after work. She flipped out when she saw that you and your things were gone. She’s been worried sick and feeling guilty for calling us off the guard detail.”

  I nearly admitted that I’d freaked out and caused my own problems after seeing the two of them with my sister, but held my tongue.

  “Anyhow, after that, we were authorized to do an all-out search for you. One of our strategies was to call cab companies. It took a lot of phoning and a bit of cash.” Here, Cotter held up a hand and rubbed his fingers together. “But we were able to find out from the right cab company’s records when and where you went. Took us all night, but by God, we did it.” Cotter sounded proud and even a little emotional about this achievement.

  We drove out to a brick rancher on a tree-lined rollercoaster of a street called Dale Drive in the Maryland suburbs. As I emerged from the car, Liz came running out to meet me.

  We hugged so hard, I thought she’d squeeze the tears right out of me.

  “I’m so sorry,” Liz said. “I didn’t want to tell you for fear of worrying you.”

  Tell me what? my mind shrieked. But I was too tired for hysterics.

  “Liz, please tell me what this is about.” I sounded pathetic.

  Liz insisted we go inside to discuss it. Once inside, Liz put some coffee on and produced some deli sandwiches. I nearly pounced on them, since I hadn’t eaten a thing in almost 24 hours.

  I unwrapped and tore into a turkey sandwich. “This is delicious,” I said, around a mouthful of sandwich.

  “Got ’em at Ertter’s, right down the road,” Liz said.

  I chewed and swallowed, holding off on the next bite out of sheer force of will. “It’s been too long since we last saw each other, Liz. But this is one fucked up reunion.”

  Liz’s lips compressed into a wry smile. “You’re telling me.”

  “So, just what is going on?”

  Liz sighed. “Homeland Security contacted me. They knew about the extremist group, because of a mole.”

  “Selby?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. They don’t tell me everything. They’re very good at telling me just enough, without telling it all.”

  She poured two cups of coffee and brought them to the table, along with some milk and sugar, then sat across from me.

  “All I know is that they heard from their source that the group was planning a big incident. Something so catastrophic, it could surpass 9/11.”

  I stopped eating and peered at her. She was dead serious.

  “The mole found out that the fellow who was doing research for you was giving you information,” she continued. “They assumed it was for your book.”

  “Yes,” I said, my voice weighted with guilt. “I think he died trying to help me out. So, is the group really working on a weapon more powerful than an atom bomb?”

  Liz frowned and her eyebrows dueled briefly with one another. “Is that what your book is about?”

  “Well, yes, it’s a thriller about a scientist who’s researching a theory that Einstein was wrong, that the speed of light is variable, and that under his new theory, it’s possible to build a weapon many times stronger than the H-bomb. The scientist dies under suspicious circumstances. It’s supposed to be an accident. Blah, blah, blah. Never mind all that. Is that what the group is doing?”

  Liz raised a finger. “That’s the thing, Jess. We don’t know. Homeland Security only knows this radical group is worried about you. The group must have killed Fred, thinking he was passing you information about their plans.”

  “Well, the cops haven’t gotten that memo, have they? They think I did it.”

  She shook her head. “No, they were told to issue that statement. They wanted to take you into protective custody without revealing their plans to the group.”

  I opened my mouth, but only a guttural sound of disbelief came out, at first. “So all this time, I thought I was a murder suspect and I wasn’t?” Those assholes!

  Liz looked ready to cry. “I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t. Attorney-client privilege. I’m only telling you this now, because the Feds want your cooperation.”

  My jaw dropped and, for a moment, I stared at her. “What?”

  “Jessica, I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t essential. And we’re talking about a huge catastrophe. Who knows how big.”

  I managed to close my mouth and gather my wits. “Does this have anything to do with the situation at the Golden Gate Bridge?”

  “Possibly.”

  “That’s it? That’s all you can say?”

  “It’s all we know, Jess. Really!” Liz stared off, looking almost as dazed as I was. But that wasn’t going to deter me from probing further, because the whole thing smelled fishy to me.

  “If it affects the Bay Area and it’s that catastrophic, how come they aren’t
evacuating San Francisco?”

  Liz reared up and glared at me, as if I’d hurled an insult at her. “I told you it was only a possibility. We can’t go causing a general panic based on a mere possibility. That’s why the Feds need your help.”

  I sighed and asked, “What do they want from me?”

  Liz hesitated and then said, “They want to use you in a sting operation.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Jessica

  I stared at Liz in disbelief. “You must be joking, right? Tell me you’re joking. I mean you can’t possibly be serious. No way, no way. You can’t be serious!” The more I spoke, the faster my words came and the more hysterical I sounded.

  Liz wouldn’t return my look. She propped her elbows on the table and kneaded her temples with both hands. “None of this is my idea, Jess. I don’t like it any more than you do. I haven’t liked any of this.” Her voice dripped with disgust.

  “Oh, yeah. Well, I’ve been enjoying it even less, okay? So you and your goddamned federal government can just kiss my ass!”

  Liz stopped kneading long enough to venture a look my way. Her eyes were tired, pleading with me for understanding. “It’s your government, too, Jessica. And this catastrophe could kill hundreds of millions of innocent people.”

  “Hundreds of millions?”

  Liz leaned toward me. “Would you believe entire countries?”

  I was silent for a beat. “What kind of catastrophe could do that?”

  “One involving a bomb like the one in your book maybe?”

  I nodded. “Okay, but I don’t go into all the scientific details. I don’t even talk about how the bomb could be built. It’s all theory, and it’s not even accepted theory in the real world. Are you sure this catastrophe relates to my novel?”

  “Well, Fred was killed helping you research it. Then Selby was killed and he knew Fred.”

  I tried to think back to my meeting with Selby. Something he’d said. He’d told me Fred was killed because of something related to the novel, but he also said the group was relying on something he knew.

  “What was Selby’s major?” I muttered aloud.

  “Hmm?”

  “I’m trying to remember what Selby studied. I wonder if Fred ever mentioned it.”

  “Was it physics? Or chemistry?”

  “I . . . I don’t know. It had to be a science of some sort, now that I think about it. I remember when we met on campus, Selby mentioned his research. But if it was physics, I would remember that because I was so interested in finding out more about João Magueijo’s theory. I’m sure I would have asked him about it. If I could just remember . . . .”

  A dark-haired man in a dark suit, blinding white shirt, and dark glasses glided into the kitchen, quiet as a church mouse. A woman who could have been his sister in a nearly matching skirted version of his suit stood just behind him, also wearing dark glasses. The Bobbsey Twins of the FBI. Or CIA. Or Homeland Security. Or whatever.

  “Decision time,” the man said, looking at me. At least his face was pointed my way.

  “Who the hell are you guys?” I asked the well-dressed eavesdroppers.

  “Agent Owen.” He whipped out a badge, then waved a hand toward his female counterpart. “My associate and I work for Homeland Security.”

  “How nice for you.” The response seemed ludicrous, but then so did the situation.

  Liz looked defeated. “Jess, they want you to wear a wire and try to confirm our theories about these people. Will you do it?”

  The word “no” was poised on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it. If hundreds of millions (and maybe billions) of lives were at stake, how could I say no to this? How could I just refuse and walk away?

  “You see,” Agent Owen said, as if the matter needed further elucidation. “You’re in a unique position. They think you may have information about their plans. If we let them capture you and you can confirm exactly what they’re up to, it could prevent the worst from happening.”

  He removed his dark glasses and I was surprised to see such friendly brown eyes behind them.

  “If you pretend to help them, we don’t think they’ll hurt you. Pretend to be on their side, even, and try to draw them out. Meanwhile, we’ll be monitoring everything that’s said. And we won’t let them harm you. I can assure you of that.”

  I opened my mouth, but the words seem to stick in my throat. I swallowed and tried again. “Two guys just tried to rape me. Then, I kicked them in the face. How will I convince them that I’m on their side? And how do I know they won’t hurt me?”

  Agent Owen took a deep breath, as if the inhalation could clarify his thought processes. He pursed his lips and nodded. “I think it can be arranged.”

  “Arranged how?”

  “We have our ways.” He made a placating, palms-down gesture with both hands. “The main thing is to try to get any information that could give us a better idea of their true intentions. Anything that will help us prevent a catastrophe and keep our operative safe.”

  “Operative?” My brows drew together. Even Liz looked at the man in alarm. “Wait a second. If you have an operative in the group, what the hell do you need me for?”

  “Our operative has come under scrutiny. This operative could be completely compromised by asking the wrong questions. If that happened, the operative would be killed and months of work would be wasted. We’d be completely screwed.”

  “Who is this operative?” I asked. Liz’s ears seemed to perk up, too.

  Owen shook his head. “Need to know only.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Jessica

  “Oh, really?” I said, rising from my seat. “Well, guess what, buddy? I need to know and I need to know fucking now!”

  Agent Owen looked at me askance and his female counterpart lurched to attention. Liz jumped up and placed herself between me and the man, as if to protect him from a physical attack.

  “Sorry,” the man said from behind Liz. “We aren’t allowed to reveal that information.”

  I placed my hands on the table and leaned on them, taking deep breaths and counting to ten. Then twenty.

  “Call us if you need us,” Owen said to Liz. “We’ll be in the other room.” He started to go, and then stopped. “You need to decide quickly, Ms. Evans. Time is of the essence. And there’s a lot at stake.” With that, he and his twin partner high-tailed it out of there.

  I sat back down and put my face in my hands.

  “Why, Liz? Why did I have to write a thriller?”

  I could hear Liz resume her seat across from me.

  “Why couldn’t I have just written, I don’t know, romantic suspense?” I continued. “You know, one of those silly stories where Colonel Peacock gets killed in the garden with a hoe or a pitchfork and the heroine gets her man? Terrorist groups don’t give a shit about those stories, do they?”

  “Jessica, I’m so sorry. About everything.” Liz sighed before continuing. “You have no idea how I’ve worried since Homeland Security told me all this. That’s why I hired those guards. I wanted to protect you, and I hoped it wouldn’t come to this. But, you do need to decide. And he’s right. This could happen any time. So the sooner you decide, the more likely we are to prevent what may be the worst catastrophe in modern history.”

  “Shit.” I stared into my hands, wishing I would wake up from this horrible dream. I briefly thought of all the films I’d seen in which the needs of one were outweighed by the needs of many. Casablanca, Star Trek: Wrath of Khan. Ugh, why do I watch movies or care about anything? My heart felt like a lead weight in my chest as I finally spoke. “What choice do I have? If they absolutely need me, I’ll do it.”

  Even as I said it, I couldn’t believe those words were coming from me.

  Liz put her hand on my arm. “I . . . ” She couldn’t go on. After a few moments, she steeled herself and rose. “I’ll go tell them.” She turned and left the room. I almost shouted for her to wait, that I’d changed m
y mind, but the words wouldn’t come. So I simply stared at her retreating back.

  I had one night at the safe house, while plans were prepared for me to be kidnapped. Super, I thought. I wondered what delightful method they’d use. Would I be forced into a car at gunpoint or simply bashed over the head?

  Agent Owen (whom I’d mentally dubbed George Clooney, because Owen and Clooney could’ve been brothers) told me not to worry, because the operative would do everything possible to make sure my capture was swift and painless. “Swift and painless”—words that could also apply to someone’s death. Coming from good old George, I wasn’t taking much comfort in them.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Kevin

  Kevin snapped out of his latest drug-induced haze and tried to focus on the problems at hand.

  So the writer had gotten away and grievously wounded two of the group’s men. But he knew it was just a matter of time before they flushed her out again. Then, they could ask her how much Fred had told her.

  Fred’s research for this woman had made him far too curious about other matters. Matters the woman could definitely confirm by talking to Selby.

  While Selby was no longer a threat, the question was how much had he told her at their meeting?

  The group’s plans hinged on Selby’s knowledge of a risk so little known, yet so potentially lethal, it was astonishing.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Jessica

  That night at the safe house, I thrashed around in bed, unable to sleep. Couldn’t imagine why.

  The room was hot and dusty, little-used, and unkempt with only a bed, a desk, a computer, and a bookshelf along one wall. The musty smell of old books made me feel like I was trying to sleep in the back room of a used book warehouse.

  After 1:00 in the morning, I threw off the covers and got up. I peered through the Venetian blinds at the quiet, dark neighborhood. Everyone tucked safely in bed and sound asleep, no doubt. Or curled up in front of a television watching a late night movie and munching on popcorn or drinking cocoa.