The Twins Paradox

by Sco Thorson

Jamaica.

  TJ Reports

  Wednesday 4:04 p.m.

  Dave fell into the large, armchair in the trading room and smiled at the two women. “Quite an adventure.”

  TJ stood direct in front of him, hands on hips and frowned.

  “It’s about to get really dangerous, for you, unless you tell me what is going on.”

  His phone chirped again. He studied it carefully.

  "First, tell me what you've learned about our mystery man."

  TJ scowled. “There’s something you haven’t told us.”

  “First things first,” he smiled. “We need to send your boss the information so you can return to the lab.”

  TJ glared, then waved him away and walked to the window.

  Monique pulled the file from her handbag, set it on the table, and pointed to the top of the first page.

  "His name is Bloomquist, Max Bloomquist. At least he was telling the truth about being named Max. He's purchased a number of properties through the law firm including on a small island off the Panamanian coast, an office building in Nevus, a warehouse is in Jamaica, and a few freighters. His latest purchase is a small airline, Sunrise Air. He uses a different company for each purchase, but they are all in his file."

  Dave held up his hand to stop her. And then he typed furiously into his phone.

  "What are you doing," TJ asked.

  "Entering this information into my notes," Dave replied. He pressed a button.

  “Why.” TJ asked. “You never took notes in grad school.”

  “It helps me think.”

  His phone chirped again. He studied it carefully.

  "Ok. I need to go to Jamaica right now. TJ, you report to your boss. Then he’ll send you to Jamaica too."

  “And me,” Monique asked.

  “Wait for instructions.”

  TJ frowned. "Shouldn't we leave Max to the authorities?"

  Dave shook his head. "I don't know if they’ll be able to respond fast enough. I want to make sure of this myself."

  TJ crossed the room, spun his chair to face her, and planting her hands in the arm rests, stared him in the face.

  “I know when you’re lying because you’re so annoyingly confident. What do you know that makes you a better choice than the United States government to take this slime ball down?”

  He leaned forward and kissed her.

  “I love it when you’re suspicious.”

  TJ straightened and walked away in disgust.

  “Now we need to get going if we’re going to get you out of this paradise and back to your lab,” he continued. “Monique, it’s great of you to pitch in like this.”

  Monique shrugged. “You pay me well, so I help.”

  He stared at her. “How much am I paying you?”

  She walked behind him, put her arms around his chest, and kissed him on the top of the head.

  “You are a very generous man.”

  TJ opened the elevator. Monique released him, crossed the room, and joined her. He stared after them as the door closed.

  “He knows things before they happen,” Monique stated after the doors closed.

  “What?”

  “He showed up in a restaurant and warned me that Max was going to kill me. I had never seen him before. Max’s gunman came right after.”

  “He must have a good informant.”

  Monique shook her head. “He gets messages with punch lines for jokes that haven’t been told, and I don’t think he knows how much he is paying me.”

  The elevator door slide open. Monique smiled warmly and set off down the hall. TJ walked to her own room.

  Locking the door, she wondered what she should say to get back to the lab. Did she even want to go back to working for such a back stabbing weasel? She dialed.

  "Robert Hudson."

  "Bob, it's TJ. I've learned the identity of the target."

  "You're kidding," Hudson replied unexpectedly. "How did you do that?"

  "Just a little determined digging," she replied, annoyed.

  "Well, that's excellent. What have you learned?"

  "His name is Max Bloomquist. He has a number of holdings in the Caribbean, and a base of operations off the coast of Panama."

  "Sounds suspicious. Send me a summary of the information, and I'll get it into the right hands"

  "I'll have it to you in five minutes."

  "Great, and TJ, you are so good at this clandestine stuff, I think I'll have to take you off the quantum computing project."

  "But you can't do that, I," TJ stammered.

  "I hate to do it to," Hudson lied, "but the interest of the country comes first. Keep up the good work TJ."

  Hudson broke the connection. TJ was furious. TJ lifted a coffee mug, ready to smash against it the table. She thought better of it, drank the coffee, then shattered the mug on the table and dialed Dave’s number.

  Chase

  Wednesday 4:07 p.m.

  "Ah, TJ, you always worry too much. I'm sure you'll be back in the lab when this is finished and you return to Washington. You're a quantum scientist, not a spy,” Dave said soothingly from the taxi headed to the airport.

  He opened the envelope the courier from the bank had given him as he left. He wasn’t too surprised to find cash, bearer bonds, and a Maltese passport with his photo in the name of Sebastian Ortiz.

  "If I'm not put back on the project, I foresee a castration in your future for getting me into this mess."

  He sighed. "TJ, be reasonable. I didn't get you into this mess. I did a patriotic flavor for our country by blowing the whistle on some bad guys."

  “You didn’t have to call me.”

  The back window exploded, showering him with broken glass. He instinctively ducked. Then he realized that the cab had not been in a wreck.

  "Dave, what happened?"

  "The window exploded."

  He unfastened his seat belt and raised his head slightly to check out the front seat. The driver slumped forward against the steering wheel, a chunk missing from the side of his head. The cab was still in motion, and they were close to the airport.

  "TJ, I think someone shot at me."

  You stuffed the phone in a pocket as the car slowed and drifted to the side of the road, crashing into some parked cars, and throwing him to the floor. He quickly recovered, threw open the door and sprinted across the parking lot towards the airport.

  There was a gunshot, and a window just in front of him shattered. He ducked down and ran into between a row of cars. 10 cars in, he stopped, crouched, and looked for his assailant. A white SUV slowly circled the lot, a gun barrel protruding from the rear window. He ran further down the row, and then rolled beneath a large bus. He heard someone running down the row. As they neared, he swept a hand out from under the bus and caught a running leg. The man fell heavily to the ground. Dave rolled out from under the bus, delivered a quick kick to the groin, and ran towards the airport.

  Dodging through the waiting taxis, he headed for the front door. He heard another shot and ducked. A large plate glass window at the front of the airport shattered. He dived through the broken window, and headed for the charter section.

  He sprinted for the charters. The airport was now a crime scene but he still had to get out fast. At the second counter he passed, a striking auburn haired woman in a crisp, white pilot’s short-sleeved uniform with captain’s bars idly flipped through a magazine. Dave had never seen anyone look so sexy in a uniform, and made a left turn to her counter.

  "Hi,” he smiled, “I need a charter.”

  “Where to?” she asked without looking up.

  “Jamaica,” he responded, “or anywhere you’re going.”

  She sighed, lifted her gaze to study him carefully, then walked around the counter and casually brushed some glass shards from his hair.

  "Then I can take you now, and we’ll fill out the paperwork later. I assume you don't have any luggage, just an envelope of cash.
"

  She had pretty, grey, humorless eyes. He nodded.

  "$20,000 in cash, payable now."

  “Will bearer bonds work?”

  She nodded and continued, "And there will be no arguments about anything I tell you to do. Now follow me."

  She walked back around the counter and through a door to a back passage. He followed. In the passage she turned and faced him.

  "Set the envelope on the table and hand me your passport,” she commanded.

  He handed over the passport from the envelope and disappeared into an adjoining room. After a minute she returned.

  “Now face the wall, place your hands against the wall, and spread your legs."

  “Don’t rush,” he admonished with a grim as he followed her instructions.

  Her scent was intoxicating, and where she touched, he tingled.

  “I think you missed a spot. Maybe you should start again.”

  She ignored him and picked up his envelope, scanned the contents, removed two $10,000 bearer bonds, and returned the envelope. He enjoyed watching her fold the bonds and tuck them into her bra.

  "Eyes front and follow me."

  Grabbing a flight bag, she pushed through a door to the tarmac. They walked to a small airplane.

  "Get in, blue headset. I’ll do preflight.”

  Seconds later she climbed in beside him.

  "That was a fast--" he started to say, but she silenced him with a lethal glance.

  She started the engine and taxied toward the runway. His phone chirped with a message from the Twins.

  "Tell her everything - emails, Washington, bomb. For proof, tell her that her first time was Darren Olsen after chess club, and not Marty Acker like she told her friends. When she doesn't believe that, tell her January 23, 2002. Wait till you're approaching Jamaica. Ask for help. Pay her price."

  Pursuit

  Wednesday 5:11 p.m.

  Mitch stared through the field glasses at the blonde sunbathing topless