Off Kilter

by Glen Robins

  “Yes, it is. I guess the reason is simple. I’m paranoid. There are too many reports that the security and anonymity of accounts like mine have been compromised in recent days,” said Collin. His voice was steady, though his stomach was not.

  “I resent the implication of your statement. You cast doubt upon our security measures.”

  “Not necessarily. But ever since RBS was hacked and millions of dollars went missing, I am rightfully protective and worried. I know you serve your clients well. I chose your bank because of its fine reputation, and once this blows over, if there are no untoward reports concerning this fine institution, I shall redeposit this money and, perhaps, more.”

  The president’s eyebrows arched in response, but he said nothing. His eyes burrowed through Collin’s, but Collin held his gaze and continued his hastily contrived story. “You see, I must be more cautious than others. This sum represents more than my life savings. I keep it here because I must hide it to avoid detection by my government, who wants to steal it from me. I cannot afford to lose any portion of this money. Unlike some of your other clients, I don’t have the ability to make back this kind of money, even if I work two lifetimes.”

  “This is a very large cash withdrawal. You realize how dangerous this is, don’t you?”

  “I do. But I have made arrangements to keep it secure until, like I said, this whole thing blows over.”

  “Why not transfer it out electronically?” asked the banker.

  “They have computers that look for those kinds of large transfers.”

  “If it’s done right, you avoid the risk of carrying cash.”

  “Maybe, but I’m more comfortable doing it this way,” Collin said, checking his watch. It was 4:52.

  “I see you checking the time. This is an urgent matter for you?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “You can see that I am in a rather difficult spot, Mr. Stevens. I am asked to trust you despite the fact that I cannot verify your identity. Your money was transferred in electronically. We have no signature. We have no fingerprints. We have no retina scan. Those would be our normal security protocols when amounts this large are withdrawn. How do I know you are who you say you are—just a paranoid accountholder?”

  “I understand your security concerns, but who else might I be?”

  “You could be a criminal, a very clever thief. With all of the hacking lately and all the government scrutiny, it pays for someone in my position to be extremely careful, does it not?”

  “If I was that clever, I would have moved my money and more a long time ago.”

  “Or you could be a government regulator coming to monitor the handling of unusual transactions.”

  “I could be. But I would not be in such a hurry if that were true.”

  The bank president leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other, studying Collin. His eyes darted to his computer screen and back to Collin. “I believe you. You have an honest face, and I do not want to scare away a good client. Your withdrawal is ready. Please keep our bank in mind for your future needs, Mr. Stevens.”

  “You have made a very nervous man feel much better. I will indeed bring my money back when the time is right,” said Collin as he stood and held out a hand. The two men shook hands, and Collin exited the office. He was promptly greeted by a shapely young lady holding the handle of a roller bag, which she offered to him.

  Collin’s watch said 4:56 as he rolled the small fortune out the door. On the sidewalk, he picked up the pace until he was running, the wheels of the suitcase clacking on the sidewalk behind him. A sense of sweet relief bubbled up as he rounded the corner and made his way toward InterCon Bank. After he concluded the last transaction, Collin made sure to provide the kind and diligent VP a special reward for going the extra mile.

  When Collin returned to The Executive Hotel, the head bellhop approached him with a look of concern on his face. “Señor Spencer, what happened to you? You look distressed and your pack, it is now empty. I believe it was full when you left, was it not? Is everything all right?”

  Collin shook his head and said, “No . . . I mean, yes, I’m all right. Thank you.”

  “What happened to your things? Were you robbed?”

  “Nothing like that. I had to take some supplies to a colleague, that’s all.” Under pressure, he somehow was able to pull out a credible story.

  “But you look very stressed, if you don’t mind my saying.”

  “I’m fine, I assure you. Just tired.” Collin was aware that his accent was not holding up. He wiped the perspiration from his forehead and smiled thinly. “It’s been a long day for me. I’ve had much to do in preparation for my expedition,” Collin said as he continued awkwardly past the bellhop toward the elevator. He turned just in time to see the bellhop give a gesture across the lobby to a fellow worker who shrugged, then pushed through the large glass doors to the outside. A dinging sound chimed as the elevator door opened. Collin stood frozen in place watching this exchange. A man in a gray suit entered the elevator ahead of Collin and impatiently punched the buttons, prompting Collin to step forward just before the doors closed. For a moment, he could not even remember what floor his room was on, feeling the glare from Mr. Gray Suit as he hesitated to speak.

  Even after returning to his room, Collin struggled to control his breathing and to stop sweating. His nerves felt like they were on fire. There was something troubling about the interaction with the hotel staff. First, the manager and the mysterious bottle of champagne. Now the bellhops. It left him feeling anxious. Maybe Lukas would know something.

  He checked the bathroom to see if the cart was still there. Yep, no one had moved it. Maybe it was bugged; maybe it wasn’t. Taking chances was not a good option at this point, however. He draped a bath towel over the cart as a precaution, then closed the door again, unsure what else to do.

  Lukas did not answer his phone, so Collin sent him a text: Something’s not right here. Not sure what to do. Pls advise.

  Hunger was stabbing at his stomach. He had been so preoccupied with the business at hand that he had forgotten about lunch. A quiet meal in his room sounded nice, but with all the weirdness in this hotel, the idea of room service was disquieting. But so was going out to eat because he’d have to cross the lobby and risk interactions with the bellhop, twice.

  Then a thought came to mind. He set up his computer because with all the security protocols Lukas had installed, he felt more comfortable using it to browse the Internet. Within a few minutes, he found a place that would deliver sandwiches and soda. He placed an order over the phone to avoid having to give his e-mail address. But that got him to thinking about e-mail, so after ordering, he opened his e-mail for the first time since leaving Germany. As expected, there were several e-mails from his mother, a few from friends, and plenty of special offers on products he had no use for. But there was a surprise—a Facebook notification informing him that Emily Burns had sent him a friend request. Emily Burns. His beautiful ex-girlfriend. A wave of pain and confusion swept through him, stealing a breath and causing him to blink hard several times until it passed. He sat back and stared at the screen for a long minute, trying to figure out what to do. Finally, curiosity led him to the Facebook login screen. After three attempts, he was able to remember his password and get to his notifications page, where he clicked on the one with her name.

  There she was. A picture of her stared through the screen at him. Still gorgeous and sultry, somehow looking both stunning and smart. She was reaching out to him, and it made him feel good but panicky. And curious at the same time. How had she stayed single and disentangled? The recollection of that last kiss, the forbidden kiss, haunted him anew. Fresh waves of guilt and the familiar ball of nerves wound tightly in the pit of his stomach as the memory twisted its way through his mind. He was sick and excited simultaneously. Jittery, elated, and nervous.

  He stalked her page for a few minutes, noticing that there were very few photos and even fewer details a
bout her life. The photos revealed her passion for her work, wine tasting, and eating at fancy restaurants. Also, somewhat ironically, the outdoors. Trim, athletic, and gorgeous as ever, Emily still made him swoon.

  He opened a new browser tab and went to the bank site to check on his electronic transfers in an attempt to get his mind off Emily Burns. But the hook was set. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Nor could he stop going back to stare at the photos. She was really something else. Even after so many years and so many twists in the road, she had a hold on him.

  As he traced his most recent transactions on the bank website and recorded them in his spreadsheet, a Facebook message alert popped up on his screen. He went to it and read the innocuous message from Emily: Hey stranger, long time, no see. How are things? We should catch up sometime soon.

  He pondered his response, not wanting to seem too eager, but not wanting to blow her off, either. Just then, the distraction he needed arrived in the form of a knock on the door. It was his dinner being delivered. As he ate, he continued to stare at her picture, trying to figure out what to say to her. He was consumed with these thoughts when a text came in from Lukas. Can’t talk now. Too much going on. Will call in an hour.

  Collin never fully understood what Lukas did and didn’t care to know. It was far too technical and top secret. But he trusted him implicitly. Part of that trust was born of their long time friendship and the numerous times Lukas had bailed him out of a jam with homework since middle school and through all three semesters at college. It’s not that Collin wasn’t bright enough or capable enough. It was, perhaps, because the beach was so close that he could practically hear the waves calling to him from the open window of his upstairs bedroom two and a half blocks away. A bad day of surfing was so much better than a good day at school or grinding away at homework.

  But there was something more about Lukas that created such deep and abiding trust. He was supremely intelligent, which made it easy to believe in what he said. In typical Austrian fashion, he was thorough, careful, and precise. He didn’t make statements unless he was certain of the facts. These traits were coupled with an innate kindness and a puppy-like loyalty. Yes, he was loyal like no one else Collin had ever known.

  Sure, Rob Howell was a loyal friend, but he was more like part of the family and had been since his father suddenly left when Rob was only seven. From that time forward, Rob spent more time at the Cooks’ house than at his own, which forged an unbreakable bond between him and Collin. Lukas, however, earned trust because of who he was. Only a very few people really knew who he was deep down. Collin was one of them. Rob was another.

  Lukas’s loyalty ran deep because Collin was the first person to befriend the awkward thirteen-year-old when he arrived in Huntington Beach, California, fresh from the quaint Austrian town of Villach, halfway through their seventh grade year. Lukas looked so out of place, out of style, and painfully out of sorts, as the teacher introduced him to the class. While other kids snickered and pointed fingers, Collin stood up and shook his hand and introduced himself. Following Collin’s lead, Rob Howell, one of the most popular boys in the school, did the same. The laughing stopped and Lukas became a near-instant celebrity at Isaac Sowers Middle School.

  To Collin it was a simple act, something he hoped someone would do for him if in the same situation. That simple act altered Lukas’s trajectory, changing his outlook on America and Americans and the world in general. It was the beginning of a relationship full of positives, built on the basis of profound respect and mutual appreciation.

  As he ruminated about his friends, Collin’s heart began to ache in a new way. He missed them. For the first time since the accident, he realized just how much as he sat at the desk in this five-star hotel room in Panama, his life completely unrecognizable from what it was a year ago. He himself was nothing more than a hollowed out shell, looking for a place to hide from people who meant him harm just because he had the gall to sue them for taking away everything precious to him. Their negligence, or that of their client, ripped his family away from him. Now they hunted him for the money that was rightfully his. He would happily trade in the exotic travel, the excitement, and adventure—along with all the money—and resume his former struggle for survival if he could be with Amy, his children, and his friends again.

  Life continued to be unfair.

  As daylight waned and darkness waxed, an urgency to remove himself from the watchful eyes of the hotel staff grew stronger, but he couldn’t figure out why. With each minute that passed, the restlessness increased. The need gnawed at him, compelling him to move.

  He was pacing the floor when his phone finally rang.

  “Look, Collin. I don’t have time to explain it all, but the manager of the hotel—the guy I usually deal with—was replaced two days ago. The whole banking community in Panama is on high alert. So is the government. The Panamanians are making every effort to soothe frazzled nerves at home and abroad. I fear some of the hotel staff may even be undercover agents,” Lukas said. His voice carried a hint of exasperation and apology.

  “Who planted them? Our government or Interpol or who?”

  “Not sure yet. Doesn’t matter. The important thing right now is that you follow my instructions.”

  “As long as it involves getting out of here, I will. This place just doesn’t feel right.”

  “My driver, the same one that met you at the airport, will pick you up in front of the coffee shop down the street from the hotel—on the corner of Avenida Ricardo Arango and Avenida Federico Boyd—at one o’clock a.m. Got that? That’s about four hours from now.”

  “Yeah, I know right where it is.”

  “Good. One o’clock sharp. Just lay low; stay out of sight until then.”

  “What do I do if they come to my room again?”

  “Play it as cool as possible, and try not to get flustered.”

  “Okay. I’ll do my best.”

  “You’ll be fine. The driver will take you to a remote airstrip where one of our bush pilots will fly you into Cali, Colombia.”

  “Colombia? Are you serious?”

  “It’s the best I can do on short notice. We do a lot of this, so it’s more or less routine.”

  “Sounds crazy, but I’m in. It beats staying here. One question: how are you able to do all of this?”

  “I’m dead. Remember?”

  “Yeah, but that doesn’t explain much.”

  “It’s better that way,” said Lukas. “Simply put, it’s a perk of the job. I help a lot of people stay alive and out of trouble, and I get some favors in return. Let’s keep it at that.”

  “Got it. Thanks, pal. You’re the best.”

  “One problem, though,” said Lukas.

  “What’s that?”

  “Once he drops you off in Cali, that’s it. That’s as far as he can go. You’ll be on your own from there. I’m going to have to lay low for a while, and so will you.”

  “On my own? What does that mean?”

  “That means I have to go on radio silence for a while,” said Lukas.

  “How long is a while?” asked Collin. His stomach dropped to his toes, and he suddenly felt very weak and vulnerable again.

  “I’m not sure. Could be a few days. Could be a few weeks. There’s too much activity surrounding the growing threats from a mounting number of hostile groups. I’ll be on the go round the clock dealing with crises, so stay small and inconspicuous, like I taught you.”

  “Yeah, I know. Blend in with the tourists.”

  “Want my advice?” asked Lukas.

  “Of course, I do.”

  “Make your way to Peru. Lots of tourist attractions, therefore lots of tourists—most of them rich, white Americans. Plus, the Peruvian people are very nice.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  San Diego, California

  May 14

  In typical fashion, Emily showed up to work before seven thirty a.m., ready to review the data collected overnight on her current experiment. Sh
e donned her lab coat and pulled her hair back in a ponytail. Her three-mile, morning run along the coast had invigorated her brain cells, helping to bring a new perspective to her research. She had scarcely logged in when her boss leaned into her office, coffee in hand, and asked her to meet with him for a few minutes. As this was not unusual, she thought nothing of it and followed him silently into his glass-walled office, still pondering an enzyme manipulation that came to her during the run.

  Mike Zimmerman was a reserved introvert in his early fifties with high marks for science, but low marks for sociality. Pleasant and easy to work for, he nonetheless didn’t know how to make small talk or show interest in another person. His primary concern was in advancing humankind’s ability to use gene therapy as a way to cure the world’s deadliest disease. Without preamble, he launched into his remarks as if he were giving a small but meaningful press conference. Only, his voice lacked the volume and confidence usually associated with such events. “Our recent article about enhanced cell implantation into pancreatic tumors has created a lot of buzz out there, Dr. Burns. I’ve been asked to present your team’s findings at the upcoming BioMed Conference in Chicago next month. But I prefer that you do the presentation.”

  These words pulled Emily out of her cloud. She shook her head quickly as if she didn’t understand what she heard. “But Mike, you’re the one they invited,” she said.

  “You know and I know that I’m not good at public speaking. I’d be so nervous I would botch the whole thing. Plus, it’s your team’s findings that we used in the article. I contributed relatively little.”

  “Yeah, but you’re the one with the credentials, the experience. You’re the one everyone wants to hear, not me.”

  He looked directly at her, albeit briefly, for the first time since the conversation began. His eyes were kind, if not confident. They darted to and fro as he continued. “I already have an assignment to speak on the patterning of irregularities within cancerous lesions on the liver. I don’t think it would be wise of me to attempt a second presentation on such short notice. Besides, it’s your turn to receive the credit you deserve, Emily. You’ve been working on this for eighteen months. You put in the time. You applied the science. You did the calculations and analysis. You should be the one at that podium, not me.”