Plank Factor

by Debbi Mack

  Jessica

  I glanced about, wondering about hidden cameras or microphones, then positioned the flash drive at the USB port and paused to consider before I shoved it into place.

  I accessed the flash drive and found several folders. I opened one that said “Invoices.” This displayed an array of files. Word and PDF documents.

  At random, I double-clicked a file. It was an invoice for drilling equipment. I shook my head and tried opening another. Geologic surveys.

  “What the . . . .?” I shut my mouth. If the room was bugged, I didn’t want to clue anyone in on my thoughts. Were these people drilling around fault lines? Planting explosives? Mining uranium? Is that what Selby’s part in all this was?

  I shook my head at that last thought. Not uranium. They could probably pick up the materials to make a bomb on the black market much more easily than they could dig for it themselves.

  I went back to the folders and found one that read “Maps.” I opened it to see even more files—all PDFs.

  I clicked on one and saw a topographical map. Could it be of the San Andreas Fault? It didn’t look like it. I saw a river, but that was all. I was still straining to find a fault line when Lucius came inside.

  Before I could act, Lucius strode over. “What are you doing?” Cyn stood to my other side, saying nothing.

  He stood beside me, glaring at the computer screen.

  Lucius’ face turned red, then purple with rage. He started to speak, but all I heard was an odd popping sound. Open-mouthed, Lucius stumbled and grabbed the desk. He’d sprung a leak in his upper chest and blood spurted out.

  I heard the noise again and Lucius collapsed. I looked at Cyn, who held a silenced pistol, still smoldering from the shots. I started to say something, but she lifted a finger to her lips and moved toward me. With shaky hands, I switched back to the document I’d been working on and typed, “WTF?”

  “It looks like you’re making progress,” she said aloud, setting the gun on the desk and placing her hands on the keyboard.

  She typed, “Room is bugged. Copied files from their computer this AM. Haven’t seen yet.”

  I considered how to proceed. How do I word this? Is this a trap? Finally, I typed, “Why?”

  Cyn read my response and typed, “I’m undercover with Feds. Do files make sense?”

  I blinked and stared. All this time. Who would’ve known Cynthia was the operative?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Jessica

  I realized I should respond to Cynthia’s remark. “I’m remembering a few things. Not much,” I stated for the record. I typed, “Need to talk,” and hammered my finger down on the period key.

  Cyn nodded. “Do the best you can. That’s all we can ask,” she said for the benefit of unseen listeners.

  She took over at the keyboard and typed, “Hard to arrange. Shooting Lucius wasn’t part of the plan, but I’ll come up with an excuse. You understand I needed to make it look like I hated you?” Cyn continued to type, but I knew where she was going. That explained her behavior at the hotel. Why she slapped me so hard. She had to regain whatever trust she’d built with this group of wackos. She’d only just managed to get hold of the data, but hadn’t seen it yet. And she wasn’t sure how to get it into the right hands without implicating herself.

  Cyn was still typing, when I grabbed the pencil. “Why didn’t the Feds just TELL me about you?” I scribbled.

  Cyn looked abashed. She typed, “Probably didn’t want you to accidentally give me away. You might have betrayed me with a tell.”

  I gave her a thumbs up. Damn that George, anyway. Did he think I was an idiot? I had to admit, though, it was a smart move on his part.

  “I’m writing everything I can remember,” I said, to keep the dialogue going. I took over at the keyboard. “Selby was a geologist who studied tectonics,” I typed. “Does that help?”

  “Good,” Cyn said, adopting a tough tone. “Get it all down in detail.” As she spoke, Cyn brought up the map on the screen and squinted at it. She frowned. Her jaw dropped and her eyebrows shot up. She switched back to the word processing program and typed, “Did he study geophysics?”

  I looked at the sentence. I had no idea. I couldn’t tell you the difference between the two. I shrugged, feeling helpless.

  Cyn continued typing. This was putting on a good show for the hidden microphone, anyway. She stopped and I read, “Have you heard the news about the earthquake activity in Yellowstone?”

  Yellowstone? I shook my head. What about the Golden Gate Bridge?

  Cyn typed at length. When she stopped, I read what was on the screen.

  She’d written, “This could be worse than we imagined, if Selby’s job is what I think. Our theory was that the group might blow up a major landmark. But these maps are cause for even greater concern. We’re talking about a catastrophe that could wipe out the entire continent, maybe half the planet.”

  There it was again. The threat of near annihilation. I looked at Cyn, no doubt conveying disbelief. “How???” I mouthed.

  Cyn paused, exhaled, and typed another note. It read, “By causing the supervolcano in Yellowstone to erupt.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Jessica

  I stared at Cyn’s statement, unable to form a coherent response. Finally, I typed: What are you talking about???

  “Can you work any faster?” Cyn said, aloud.

  “I’m trying, okay?”

  Cyn took over the keyboard and pounded out a reply, as I tried to make sense of the situation. I’d never been to Yellowstone, but I knew it was the site of Old Faithful, the geyser that shot off with amazing regularity. Along with being an awesome and popular nature preserve, the park was the site of many hot water springs and geysers. So, what causes hot water springs? Clearly, there must be a heat source within the earth. That heat source would have to be intense. Hot enough to create molten lava. Then I said to myself, Consider Yellowstone’s location. Not far from the Pacific Rim and the volcanic mountains in the Cascades. Mountains like Mt. Hood, Mt. Adams, Mt. Rainier and, of course, the infamous Mount St. Helen’s. But I had no idea that Yellowstone itself was part of a volcano.

  I read along as Cyn typed her missive:

  Homeland Sec’s been watching Yellowstone Park a while. Park is located within basin—crater of one of earth’s biggest volcanoes. Thought to be extinct. But it’s active and geologists watching with concern. Recently, ground’s been swelling and there’s been more earthquakes. According to scientists, this could mean Yellowstone coming close to eruption.

  I read this with alarm and typed: So the drilling could be to plant explosives to push it past the brink?

  Cyn nodded.

  “Jesus,” I whispered. The word slipped through my lips, like an exhalation.

  I typed: What are the chances this will work? Wouldn’t they need massive explosives?

  Cyn’s response: We think they’ve been stockpiling nuclear weaponry. Easy to do these days. Terrorists network on the Internet. It’s beyond frightening what they can get. Bombs in the right places could cause the biggest explosion in centuries. Since the last time Yellowstone erupted.

  I cringed at her response. What happened last time? I typed.

  Cyn wrote: Ash spread for thousands of miles. Boulders blew halfway across the continent. Explosion spewed enough debris to fill Grand Canyon. Destroyed almost the entire western half of North America. But winds carried ash around the world, disrupting our eco-systems. This could kill millions, even billions, and affect everyone. Global economy would collapse. And imagine the hospitals and emergency service systems. People would die or panic.

  I digested this information. If their plan works, of course, I wrote.

  Cyn typed: That’s a big ‘if.’ Do you want to take a chance that it won’t?

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Jessica

  Cynthia mouthed the words, “Keep typing.” She seemed to be pondering as I did. “What happens now?” I wrote.

&
nbsp; Cyn snapped to attention. “Finished?” She nodded to show I should answer in the affirmative.

  “Yeah. I’m done,” I announced.

  “Good,” she said. “Let’s take a look.”

  I wondered why the public hadn’t been warned but had a feeling I already knew. Such information would likely cause folks to panic. Homeland Security would want to nip this in the bud before the group had a chance to make it happen. They’d want to keep the matter quiet for any number of reasons. All the businesses and local economies would be affected by a rash announcement of an impending supervolcano explosion. Besides, it was preventable, if we could just get the information to the right people in time.

  “This will do,” Cyn said. “You can pack up now.” She hooked the laptop to the device on the shelf, printed our typed Q and A, saved it to a thumb drive, and then deleted it from my laptop. I removed Cynthia’s flash drive, stowed it with the thumb drive in my purse, and shut the laptop down. After I packed the computer and printout, she handed me her gun. I stared at it, unwilling to move or handle it. What am I supposed to do with this?

  Cyn pulled out a notepad and pencil: Hit me on the head with the gun. Hard as you can. When I fall, run. Turn right, go down the hall, look for door. Notify Feds. They’ll pick you up.

  I shook my head. She mouthed, “Do it.”

  I gawked at the gun. Then at her face. I couldn’t.

  “Do it,” she mouthed again. Cyn looked impatient.

  I realized this was supposed to be my escape. I knew what I had to do.

  “I’m sorry,” I mouthed as I hauled back and swung the gun at her.

  Cyn winced, but she took the hit like a pro. I felt sick.

  I looped the strap of my laptop case across the opposite shoulder, my purse across the other.

  Still wincing, Cyn stared at me with raised eyebrows that asked, “Ready?”

  I wasn’t but I didn’t have a choice.

  Cyn upended the chair. She let herself slump to the floor. I ran.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Jessica

  I made a break for the front door, expecting to see the crazy-eyed man or one of his cohorts, but apparently they’d left me in Cynthia’s and Lucius’ capable hands. This seemed almost too easy.

  As I reached for the doorknob, a large pair of men’s hands grabbed my arms from behind. I kicked and thrashed until I got an arm free and went for his eyes. But he caught my hand and pulled me close until I couldn’t move at all.

  I remembered the listening device and screamed.

  The man’s grip didn’t loosen. “Jesus, lady. You trying to make me deaf?”

  I stood there, stupidly, waiting for the rescue team.

  Someone knocked at the door. We eyed each other. Who’d be knocking? Jehovah’s Witnesses?

  My captor moved around me, careful to keep a tight grip with one arm around my waist. A bald edifice of flesh, he checked the peephole. “No one’s there,” he said.

  He turned toward me and was about to speak when the front window shattered. We both hit the floor.

  “What the . . . ? The man rolled off me, displayed a holstered gun, and muttered, “Don’t move.” He peered into the living room, got up, and retrieved a brick from the floor.

  He glared at me. I shook my head. Clearly, it wasn’t from the rescue team.

  “Hmmph.” The bald man rose, unholstered the handgun and strode to the door, opening it. He surveyed the yard. I followed suit and peered out from behind him.

  “I dunno.” He shrugged and started to close the door. A pistol appeared at his temple.

  My gaze moved up the arm with the pistol to find Billy.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Jessica

  Billy was smiling, although he didn’t look quite like himself. His eyes had an odd glow. As if he were relishing the moment.

  The bald man tried turning his head toward the gun. Billy yelled, “Don’t move, motherfucker! I’ll blow your brains out.”

  All I could think to say was, “Thank God you’re here. What took so long? Where’s your partner?”

  “He got delayed. Never mind him.” Billy seemed lit with an internal fire.

  The bald man, who stood frozen to the spot, ventured a thought. “Look, son. Put the weapon down. Let’s talk about this.”

  Billy only jammed the gun harder against the man’s temple.

  “Are you really ready to shoot a man in cold blood?” the bald man asked.

  Billy smile widened. A shot roared and echoed through the room.

  Bloody grayish brain matter splattered all over me, the doorframe, and the wall. The debris speckled Billy’s clothing, too. The bald man had crumpled to the floor, his skull half blown away.

  I did a dry heave, then another.

  Billy lowered his weapon. “I was born ready.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Jessica

  “Why?” I sputtered, struggling not to lose the croissant and coffee I’d had earlier.

  “Because I could.” The words seemed to come from another being. Not Billy. Was he possessed? Brainwashed?

  I was still trying to make sense of the situation, when he grabbed my arm. “Let’s get out of here.”

  I didn’t resist.

  He ran, me stumbling beside him, to where he’d parked a mid-sized car behind a hedge. I tried to think. How could I delay our departure?

  “Wait,” he said. “Take off the belt.”

  “What?”

  He pointed the gun at me. “You heard me. Take it off.”

  Oh, shit. Where was the goddamned rescue team?

  Billy glared at me. “Do it. Now.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Joe

  When Cotter woke up, his first view was of a brick wall. He tried to move and invisible blades stabbed his skull and lower back.

  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 th
e 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.”