The Planck Factor

by Debbi Mack

  Cotter groaned with the effort of trying to stretch his arms. His head throbbed in time with his heartbeat. Lying still in an attempt to ease the pain, his nostrils flared at the stench of urine and body odor.

  What the hell . . . ?

  He and Billy had been following the car that had taken Jessica. They had stopped at the end of an alley, where he was now sprawled like a drunk. People didn’t notice bums lying in alleys in D.C. If anything, they went out of their way to avoid them.

  “Billy?” he croaked. Damn you.

  After a time, Cotter fumbled for his cell phone. Missing. Of course. He eased to his feet and staggered from the alley, seeking a pay phone. There had to be one left somewhere on the planet.

  The street was mixed residential and retail. A few restaurants, a used bookstore, a vintage clothing store. He spotted a phone booth and stumbled toward it, only to find the receiver torn from the apparatus.

  “Shit, who uses pay phones?” He saw a passing man in a suit. “Excuse me, sir. Could I use your phone?”

  The man looked at him askance a moment and quickened his pace, staring straight ahead.

  “Excuse me!” He tried again with a couple. They shook their heads in unison. “I’m sorry,” the man said, though he didn’t sound sorry. They hurried away.

  Cotter stopped to consider how he must look. He realized his shirt was wrinkled and dirty, his pants crusted with filth. He’d been lying in an alley for . . . God knows how long. He checked for his watch. Thank God, I still have that. Almost two hours had passed.

  He tested his cheek, which was tender, along with the knot at the back of his skull. He glanced at his reflection in the window of a parked car. His face was bruised and dirty. His shirt was disheveled. He looked like he had just gone a few rounds with Mike Tyson.

  “Thanks, Billy.”

  Cotter managed to sweet talk the owner of the used bookstore into letting him use the phone. He called the agent from Homeland Security, drumming his fingers on the counter as the phone rang. Voice mail? What the hell?

  “Listen, this is Joe Cotter, A-Team Security. My partner, Billy . . . well . . . .”

  After leaving the message, Cotter limped through the bookstore, skimming the titles while waiting for a return call. The bookstore owner was tolerant but watchful.

  Cotter halted his pacing. He had a duty to his client, still unfulfilled. And she had a car.

  Turning to the bookstore owner, he said, “I’m sorry. Could I use your phone again?”

  The storeowner set his mouth in a grim line. “If it’ll get you out of here, sure.”

  After making the call, Cotter bought a book—a well-worn copy of a John le Carre novel—and stationed himself near the nonfunctional phone booth. He must have checked for Liz’s car fifty or sixty times before her red Porsche jolted to a halt at the curb.

  “What are you waiting for? Get in.” Her voice was harsh with anger and hysteria.

  The minute Cotter eased into the car, Liz took off like an Indy driver leaving the pits.

  “So,” she said. “Your man Billy didn’t turn out to be the neophyte you thought. What the hell kind of security firm do you work for, anyway?”

  Liz continued to rant and Cotter endured the verbal abuse, knowing she was right. A-Team Security wasn’t living up to its name when it came to checking out its own employees. Billy was a relatively new hire. He’d only just been assigned to Cotter.

  But Billy had fooled them all.

  Liz finally stopped her rant long enough to take a breath. Cotter fiddled with his watch and muttered, “Hell, his name probably isn’t even Billy.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Jessica

  I unbuckled the belt, slid it out slowly and held it at arm’s length, between finger and thumb.

  “Drop it!” Billy said.

  I released the belt. It coiled to a heap on the ground.

  Where the hell are they? Anyone?

  He grabbed my arm and pushed me toward the car.

  The last thing I intended to do was get in that car. “Billy, why are you doing this?” I asked, stalling for time.

  His face loomed close, his eyes ablaze. “Because some people will pay more for secrets.”

  My whole body trembled. “Billy, I don’t have any secrets.”

  He lowered his gaze, his lips curled down with disappointment, then raised his eyes to me, fiery with renewed anger.

  He aimed the gun and I grabbed his arm, out of instinct, throwing my weight into it and fighting to keep it pointed away.

  We kept up a crazy dance for a while, me moving in to try kneeing him in the balls and him stepping back. My laptop and shoulder bag dangled from crisscrossed straps, making it awkward to move.

  Finally, I slammed my foot down on his instep. He stopped, wincing. Like a field goal kicker, I swung my foot straight into his groin. As he gasped and doubled over, I thrust my knee up under his chin, snapping his head back. The gun fell from his grasp.

  I scrambled for the weapon, as Billy cringed and gulped for air, sprawled on the ground.

  Aiming at Billy with quivering hands, I yelled, “I don’t know anything! I’m just a student who writes fiction. Do . . . you . . . understand?”

  Billy nodded and collapsed onto his back, his arms spread wide in a gesture of surrender. He groaned. “The way you fight, lady, you should work for the CIA.”

  Done in by stress, I blinked back tears. Just what I need. A job where I’d do this on a regular basis.

  Within a minute, several unmarked cars barreled into view, shuddering to a halt near the house. George exited his car and rushed toward me. “Are you okay?”

  “I will be. Someday.” I’d dried my eyes and recovered my composure but felt stingy with my words and feelings. I wanted to be left the hell alone.

  “In case you hadn’t guessed, we lost your signal.” George shook his head. “Government issue crap. You’d think after 9/11 . . . .” His voice trailed off.

  “How did you find me?”

  Cotter appeared, looking a bit worse for wear. “I snuck a tracking device on the car while Billy was running an errand. Never did tell Billy about it. I figured the less he knew, the better. Little did I know. Fortunately, Billy only knocked me out instead of killing me. Guess he didn’t want to deal with my corpse in downtown D.C.

  “After I came to, I tried to reach the Feds. No dice, but I was able to reach your sister. Billy took my cell phone, but he didn’t take this.” Cotter pointed to his watch. He hit a button. “Check it out.” The watch face converted into the screen of a mini-GPS tracking device.

  “I want one of those.” George actually sounded jealous.

  I watched men and women in Kevlar vests make their way into the house, guns drawn. “Cynthia. She’s hurt,” I said.

  I tried to explain, but George put a hand on my arm. “They’ll see to her. How are you? Did you learn anything?”

  “Oh, my God. Yes.” I dug the typed Q and A out of the laptop case side pocket and handed it over. George read it with eyes expanding to saucers.

  George’s female twin appeared at his elbow. George thrust the notes at her. “It’s Yellowstone. Alert the federal, state, and local authorities now. We have to stop them before they blow it up.”

  “You might want this,” I said.

  They turned to look at the flash drives in my hand.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Jessica

  A flurry of activity followed. Billy was taken into custody. Cops descended on the house, a typical brick rancher. A medic unit arrived at the scene, its two occupants hustling a stretcher and drug box inside. George and his twin took the drives and plugged them into a laptop. From the front seat of their car, the agents were able to connect securely to the Internet with a wireless hotspot device and email the files to their counterparts out West.

  George breathed a heavy sigh. “Thank God for wi-fi. It’s in their hands now,” he said, eyes downcast. He looked up again at me. “We need to debrief you
.”

  Great. Without a word, I opened the car’s back door and slid inside. The way I slammed it shut conveyed how I felt.

  George’s liquid brown eyes gazed at me, warming my insides. “Don’t worry. We only have a few questions about what happened.”

  I nodded. “Can we just be done with this?”

  “Soon,” he assured me. George gazed toward the house. The EMTs were taking Cynthia out on a stretcher. She wasn’t moving.

  “What’s wrong with her? She was conscious when I left her.” I started to scramble from the car, but George placed a hand on my arm.

  I ignored the gesture, but he tightened his grip until I thought he’d cut off my circulation.

  “Someone gave her a nasty crack on the head,” he said. “She may have a serious concussion.”

  “Could I have hit her that hard?”

  George squinted my way. “You hit Cynthia?”

  “She asked me to. It was part of my escape plan.” I mulled the possibilities. “There was this other man. Never got his name, but he had a deep tan and black eyes. Was he in there?”

  George’s twin spoke. “Along with our operative, we’ve found two men dead—one at the door and one in a room. So far.”

  I really felt like shit. A serious concussion? I slumped back onto the car seat. Could Billy have gotten to her before he appeared at the door? Or the mystery man?

  A Kevlar-vested agent emerged from the front door and called, “All clear!”

  George lifted a hand in acknowledgment. I wondered what happened to the nameless man with the onyx eyes and weathered brown face.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Kevin

  So it had come to this. The group’s plans had been revealed and the secrets were unfolding. Kevin smiled. It felt good to know he was in control. He held a power no one could thwart.

  But the question remained—would the Feds be able to pin anything on the group?

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Jessica

  “We’ve been over and over this,” I said. “I don’t know his name.”

  Homeland Security, the FBI, and God-only-knows who else had debriefed me for hours at the FBI headquarters office in D.C. So much for asking only a few questions.

  I’d been through two books of photos and recognized Lucius, but I didn’t see the nameless man with the black holes for eyes.

  “Can you describe him?” a ferret-faced man asked.

  “Again,” I said, pausing for emphasis. “He was reed thin, tall—maybe close to six feet—with tanned skin, wrinkled like he worked outdoors. His eyes were pitch black—beady, ugly.”

  “The hair. Dark brown? Light?” George asked in a softer voice.

  I tried to remember. “I . . . medium brown, maybe? It’s hard to recall. The light blinded me. And mainly, I remember those dead black eyes.”

  “How old would you say he was?” The ferret-faced man continued undaunted.

  I shrugged and shook my head. “He could have been an old-looking forty or a young-looking sixty. I don’t know. Middle-aged?” Middle-aged men all looked the same to me.

  George and Ferret Face seemed to ponder this.

  “Whoever he is, we need to find him. How’s that sketch coming?” Ferret Face directed the remark to a younger man, who’d worked up a pencil sketch and was clicking modifications into a computer-generated face. Answering questions had distracted me from the fact that he was there.

  The artist stopped and showed me the monitor. The rendering wasn’t perfect, but it was close.

  “His face was thinner around the mouth.” I said. “Chin more pointed.”

  The artist made the changes and showed me again.

  “Yes . . . .” I said, the memory blossoming into a clearer image. “I’m starting to remember now.”

  As the artist put the finishing touches on his rendition, George and Ferret Face conferred with a gray-suited man who exuded the air of a superior. George nodded and murmured in response to what the man said. What were they discussing?

  The gray-suited man dismissed the two with a curt nod, before striding from the room.

  George came over and asked, “How’s that sketch coming?”

  “I think we may be finished here,” the artist said. “What do you think?” He held it up for my inspection.

  I looked it over. “That’s amazing. It looks almost exactly the way I remember him.”

  “Good. We need to get that sketch to our people out West.” George seemed fidgety, his eyes lit with apparent desire to act.

  “So, can I go?” I silently prayed he’d say yes.

  “That depends.”

  What the hell kind of answer is that? I wanted to scream. Instead, I said, “What do you mean?”

  “This man?” George pointed to the sketch. “We think he may have returned to Colorado, to try to salvage his operation. Or, at least, destroy evidence of the group’s plan.”

  “Okay,” I said. I hadn’t a single notion what more I could do to help.

  “We need to find this man,” George continued. He went on for a bit about the group’s operation and the evidence. I was starting to tune out, until he mentioned Fred.

  “What about Fred?” I asked.

  “The police picked up someone at the airport that the Boulder police suspect in Fred’s murder. It’s possible that he may be the one who killed Fred. Probably following orders from the unidentified man in charge.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “The Boulder police also found a gun. Ballistics show it’s the one that killed your friend. Now, if we can link the gun to that suspect or this man.” He held up the sketch. “Or get a witness, to place him at the scene.”

  “I can’t help you.” I thought about the old lady who lived across from Fred. “There is someone who might be able to, though.”

  “If we can connect one of these men to the gun, that’ll connect them with the murder. And your identification would connect the murder to the plan, which takes the crime to a federal level.”

  Great. I’d gone from spy-in-training to possible witness for the prosecution.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Jessica

  On the plane back home, I buckled into my seat and prepared for takeoff. Saying farewell to Liz had been bittersweet.

  “Don’t be such a stranger,” she’d chided me. “You should visit more often.”

  “You mean, sometime when I’m not being stalked by wacko extremists?” I’d smiled to show my friendly intentions. “I think I can manage that.”

  Liz had enveloped me in a hug. Her spicy perfume tickled my nostrils again.

  “I love you, you know.”

  My eyes had filled. “I . . . I love you, too, Liz.”

  Once we were airborne and settled into cruising altitude, I opened my laptop. I had a big finish in mind for Alexis and Daniel. Not to mention Swede, who’d make another appearance.

  I had several hours to kill, so I used the time to bring Alexis back to her sister Katie’s condo—with a plan.

  Alexis

  The following day, Daniel confronted Mel. “How could you place my fiancé in such a dangerous position? This is my battle to fight.”

  “I told you this might be necessary,” Mel shot back. “As far as the opposition knows, you’re dead. We need you to stay that way a little longer.”

  Alexis spoke up. “He’s right, Daniel. If these people get hold of you, they might torture you for the information, whether they get the papers you left for me or not.”

  Daniel looked into Alexis’ eyes. “I wish I’d never done the research. God knows what use it will be put to.”

  “I won’t let the enemy get their hands on your work.” Alexis spoke with much more confidence than she felt.

  Mel placed a hand on Daniel’s shoulder. “Try not to worry. This will be over soon.”

  Daniel tore his gaze from Alexis and glared at Mel. “Just make sure this lady comes back alive and well.”

  After a bre
akfast of buttered toast and strong, black coffee, Mel escorted Alexis to his car and drove her to the front of her sister Katie’s condo building.

  As Alexis exited the car, Mel called, “Good luck.” She closed the door and the car took off.

  Katie let Alexis inside the condo, then grabbed her in a bear hug.

  “It’s okay,” Alexis whispered. “We’re covered.”

  Katie nodded. “It’s great to see you, sis.” The words came out sounding real enough, but forced just the same.

  “Well, I guess you know why I’m here.”

  Katie nodded again and moved stiffly toward a desk in the corner of the room. Pulling a set of keys from her purse, she used one to open the middle drawer and produced another key.

  “This opens a safe deposit box at Chemical Bank on Broadway. You’ll find what you need there.”

  “And we’re coming with you,” a deep voice intoned from the hall.

  Alexis glanced toward the sound and a man emerged. She recognized him from the elevator the night she’d arrived. Except for the gun he pointed her way.

  “I’ll cooperate.” Alexis tried to sound genuine. “Just don’t shoot me, okay?”

  Alexis turned toward the door, with the armed man following close behind. As she opened it, she realized, He said “we.” Who else could he be referring to?

  A strangled cry and sounds of scuffling came from behind her.

  Alexis spun around and saw the man with the gun being strangled with a wiry garrote. She blinked, unable to believe her eyes once again.

  The man slumped and dropped the gun. Swede let his body fall and picked up the weapon.

  Swede glared at Alexis, his lucid green eyes hard as marbles.

  On the elevator, Alexis asked Swede, “How did you know I was here?”

  “Would you believe a lucky guess?” Swede smiled, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes. “Good thing I was there. That guy was up to no good.”