by Glen Robins
Emily rested her arms on the armrests of the padded chair and stared back at her boss. “You want me to present at one of the biggest conferences in our business? Next month?”
“Yes. Actually, it starts three weeks from yesterday.”
“Three weeks from yesterday?” she said as she exhaled. “That’s not much time.”
“I know, and I apologize. I’ve been considering my options. You are the clear choice. I should have asked you sooner, I know. Forgive me.”
“What makes you think I won’t botch it up?” she said, a tremor in her voice signaling her growing angst.
“I know you well enough to know that won’t happen.” His eyes met hers for another split second before darting back to his computer screen.
“But I feel so unprepared. And just three weeks to put it together?”
“Well, actually, they have requested a copy of your slide show a week in advance so the technical guys can work out any bugs before the conference begins. So make that thirteen days.”
“But how can I do that?” Her fingers were now wrapped in a death grip around the end of the armrests.
“Easy. Just review your notes and findings from the trial stage, the ones you used for the article, and put that information into a slide show.”
“Still, that’s going to take some time, Mike.”
He looked at her blankly and said, “No one on the planet knows this stuff better than you, Dr. Burns. No one. I know you can do it.”
Emily sat back in the seat, realizing her boss had no empathy. Not that he was mean, but because he was 100 percent committed to his job and expected that she would feel the same. “Mike, I don’t know what to say.”
“Just say you’ll do it and you’ll do the best you can. I’ll help out if you need, but I doubt you will. This is your baby, and you know your stuff better than anyone else.”
* * * *
Cali, Colombia
May 14
Collin awoke when the engine of the small, twin prop Piper began to slow just before starting its descent toward the tiny mountainside landing strip. Exhaustion had gotten the best of him and pushed aside all anxiety, at least for a couple of hours. A dark, thick, uneven, green blanket of trees spread out just below them. To the east, the first grayish streaks of sunlight began to show themselves above the mountains. The pilot, seated on Collin’s left, was focused on his instrument panel, but as Collin began to stir, he spoke for the first time since takeoff.
“Not many people know about this place. See it there? It’s that patch of grass in the trees down there. Those who do know about it are probably nowhere to be found. They’re operatives like you.” He returned to his work, his eyes focused ahead, his tongue poking out between pursed lips. Collin’s heart skipped as the tail of the aircraft bumped something and the plane momentarily went sideways. The hyper-focused pilot made a series of corrections, then barked, “Damn trees grow taller and make this harder every time I come here.”
Collin gulped hard. He searched the area where the pilot’s finger had pointed. In the pale morning light, he began to make out the thin strip of grass they would use as a runway and asked, “When was the last time you landed here?”
“About three months ago, but everything grows fast in this part of the world.”
“Glad you know what you’re doing.”
“That doesn’t always help down here. Part of it depends on some luck, too. Especially these near-dark approaches,” said the pilot. Collin could feel his blood turn icy and his heart rate increase. He peered through the front window, watching for hazards. The small aircraft glided just above the trees tops as the pilot reduced the airspeed and adjusted the trim.
Before he knew it, the plane hit the ground and bounced, causing Collin to grab a handle with one hand and the bottom of his seat with the other, his whole body tense. Now they were rushing toward a copse of trees at high speed. The pilot, tongue out again, made a calculated turn to the left, just missing the trees, before turning again to the right where another hundred yards of grass continued with a gentle upslope. They stopped with a jerk just a few feet from the edge of the jungle foliage, and the pilot calmly continued his narrative, pointing with a pen he had pulled out to jot down notes on a pad. “There’s a small village about five miles to the south. You should be able to get a ride from there to Cali and from there a bus to wherever you’re going. Here, you’ll need this.” The pilot retrieved a worn passport from the pocket of his camouflage jacket and handed it to Collin. “It’s got an entry stamp into Colombia already.”
Collin thumbed through the pages, noting more stamps into and out of several countries. However, there was no photo on the front page. His mouth turned down as he contemplated this dilemma. “I see it’s a generic version,” he said.
“Yeah, you’ll need to put your own photo in it, of course. Standard procedure. I assume you know the drill,” said the pilot as he climbed out to check the fuel level. “Hey, before you go,” he called over his shoulder, “I’m going to need your help turning this thing around.”
After collecting his wits as well as his belongings, Collin helped the pilot lift the tail of the plane and, with some exertion, the two men were able to pivot its nose one hundred eighty degrees so that it was heading back the way they came. He then handed the pilot an envelope with $5000 cash, as Lukas instructed, and thanked the man for his service. Slinging his two bags over his shoulders, Collin disappeared into the overgrowth, following the nearly imperceptible trail the pilot pointed out. A hundred yards into the bush, he stopped to consult the map and compass he had been given. Using the flashlight from his phone to see, Collin double checked to be sure he was heading the right way.
Through the foliage, he heard the plane’s engine rev up as the pilot gunned it for takeoff.
The last remnants of the day’s sunshine were fading when Collin stepped off the rickety, old bus in a dodgy part of Cali, Colombia. His clothes were smudged and sweaty, his face grimy and grim. His hair clung in long strands against his forehead, temples, and cheeks. Rivulets of perspiration dripped from them. It had been an adventurous day to say the least. His head was pounding and his stomach roiling from the bouncing and swaying of the ancient, multi-colored bus that had just carried him along winding mountain roads from the village, stopping at five other collections of huts along the way. It felt like a thousand miles worth of sickening curves, but the map indicated the distance was roughly sixty. A short walk from the bus terminal, he spotted a taxi stand. Many of his fellow passengers were making their way toward it, so he followed, practically staggering. Not knowing what was available, and feeling rather ill, he asked the taxi driver to take him to the nearest hotel. That was a mistake. It took only a few minutes to get there, which was good, but nothing else about it was. As soon as he walked in, his skin began to crawl. Bolting for the door did not seem to be a good option, based on the fast-approaching darkness and what he had seen of the surrounding neighborhood on the way to the hotel. It appeared there was nothing else remotely close by, so he decided to go with it. Large bugs scurried under the flimsy furniture as he walked through the dimly lit lobby. The fat lady behind the counter watched him the whole way, curiosity painted all over her face.
In heavily dialectical Spanish, she asked, “Where’s your woman?”
Now Collin was equally as curious. “What do you mean?” he asked in a much purer form of her native language.
“Are you alone?” she asked incredulously.
“Yes, I am,” he said. “If it’s a problem, I can go somewhere else.”
She laughed out loud at him. “Where are you going to go? There’s not another hotel within ten kilometers of here, and no taxi is going to come to this part of town at night. So, if you want to walk, go ahead,” she said with a shrug.
“No, thanks. This will be fine.”
“One hour minimum. How many hours would you like?”
“Hours?” he asked. “I don’t know. Until morning, I guess.”
“Do you want me to send in a woman for you?”
“No, no,” said Collin, trying not to look or sound disgusted. “I just need to get some sleep. I’ve had a long day.”
“Are you sure? You’ll sleep better.” Her smile was devilish and her laughter boisterous as she cackled at him.
“Yes, I’m sure. I just want to sleep. Alone. Thank you.”
“I’ll charge you for eight,” she said, informing him of the amount due.
He paid with some of the Colombian currency the limo driver had provided back in Panama City, and then made his way up the creaky stairs to his room. The hallway was dark, the carpet threadbare and stained, and the doors and walls paper thin. Muffled grunts and moans and shrieks of exaggerated pleasure escaped from several of the rooms as he made his way down the long corridor. The smells of stale beer, cigarettes, and an assortment of other unpleasant odors combined to create a repulsive thickness to the air that Collin hardly dared to breathe.
His room wasn’t much better. The carpet was not as dirty, but insects scattered when he turned on the light. The room was more like a closet with a cheap, twin bed shoved in it. The only place to set his bags was a wobbly desk barely big enough for his computer and a painted wooden chair, both squeezed into a corner at the foot of the bed. There was just enough room to walk around the bed. No night stand, no clock, no TV. The only saving graces to this palace of roaches were the private bathroom and free Wi-Fi. Although he hadn’t eaten all day, he had no appetite. Besides, he dared not venture outside. Nor was he in the mood to take any chances on delivery food.
He wore two pairs of socks in the shower to avoid unseen fungi and enjoyed nearly three minutes of lukewarm water before it turned icy. Checking his watch after he got dressed, he realized he had to endure seven and a half more hours pent up in this grungy cage before the sun came up. Despite the fact that he wasn’t especially squeamish, lying down in that bed was beyond him. He knew he couldn’t possibly close his eyes with the number of creepy crawlies inhabiting his space. It would be difficult to keep himself occupied and awake in his current condition, but he knew he didn’t have a choice.
His first order of business was to affix his photo into the new, fake passport the pilot gave him. He rummaged through his backpack for the supplies he needed, then went to work meticulously cutting, pasting, and laminating his picture into place. Lukas had shown him how, giving him the opportunity to doctor six of his own counterfeit passports before his journey began, and suggested he always keep the items he would need on hand.
Another hour burned. Six to go.
It was time to catch up with the rest of the world.
After running the secure login routine, his computer was ready. Collin searched the Internet for stories about the RBS attack and the hunt for the culprits, including himself. Wanting to study it more carefully, he enlarged the photo of him and Pho Nam Penh taken two weeks earlier in a London pub. The chance encounter that had sent his already altered life into a frenetic cascade seemed so long ago now. Penh’s face was partially obscured by shadow, but he recalled the brief exchange. The man was cavalier though quiet. He exuded an unnatural air of confidence and panache as he approached Collin through the crowded bar, asking if he could sit at what appeared to be one of the few available seats in the place.
Collin stared at the face on his computer screen. This was the man who wanted his money and wouldn’t mind killing him to get it. This was the man who engineered the chance encounter that put Collin in the crosshairs of an intense international search for the alleged perpetrators. Regardless of the lack of evidence, Collin’s safety and security had been taken from him, as well as his reputation, and that made him angry.
He seethed as he stared at the shadowy face, filling in the details from memory. The cheekbones, he remembered, stood out more than most Asians. His skin was smooth and youthful. There was a break in his right eyebrow, perhaps a scar of some sort. His eyes were dark and intense; that he remembered vividly in retrospect. And the man was dressed impeccably, wearing a silk suit, dark shirt, and striped tie. Collin assumed at the time he was some sort of business tycoon, a real high roller. The uneasiness he felt back then returned and left him wanting fresh air, same as he had shortly after the man sat down next to him in London. Collin left that pub in a hurry because of that uneasiness.
Turning his attention back to his present situation, he wanted to check in with Lukas, although he knew Lukas was on radio silence. He just didn’t know how long, so he sent him a private message through the secure messaging system on his laptop to see what would happen. Lukas did not respond, but Collin decided to give him an update on his travels anyway.
Despite the fact that he had not taken any pictures, Collin also updated his travel journal with the details of his adventures since leaving Captain Sewell’s boat. His story would make Amy cringe, he knew, but he spared no detail, knowing she loved a good tale.
When he finished his latest and longest journal entry, he checked e-mail and responded to his mother with a vague reference as to his activities, mentioning only that he had tried sailing again and loved it and was enjoying the scenery. He assured her that his health was good, and he was safe. She needed to hear these things he knew.
Next he responded to an e-mail from his buddy Rob, which said, “How’s it going, bro? Enjoying your little getaway?”
Collin’s response: “You know it. Nonstop party. Rocking it hard. Still alive. Still on tour.” He knew Rob would be in touch with his family, and would get the details from Lukas, so he kept it brief but positive, despite the storm of anger that was rising inside. Thanks to his need to run and hide, Collin couldn’t enjoy the company of his best friend, who could surely help him deal with his loss. He wondered what Rob would do in this situation. The thought made him even more homesick. Better think of something else.
It was 1:13 a.m. He had thankfully lost track of time. Four hours left.
He remembered that he had not responded to Emily’s Facebook message in Panama City, so he logged in and found another message from her dated earlier in the day: “Any chance we can meet for coffee and just talk sometime soon? I want to make sure you’re doing OK, especially after the condition you were in last time I saw you. I wish I could have stayed there at the hospital with you, but I felt out of place. Let me know when we can get together.”
His heart sank, sensing her anxiety and concern.
He responded, “Sorry, I’ve been traveling and didn’t have Internet access. Yes, I would enjoy chatting again in person, but I won’t be available for a while.”
He contemplated what to say next when a reply chimed in. “You’re traveling? That’s good, I hope. Tell me more.”
He decided to remain vague. “Mostly in Europe. Saw some really cool stuff.”
Her next message didn’t come in for quite some time, and he wondered what she might be thinking. Finally she responded and said, “What kind of cool stuff did you see over there?”
“I loved London. Saw Westminster Abbey, Tower Bridge, rode the London Eye. You know, all that touristy stuff. But it was cool.” He wanted to keep some distance in both space and time, just in case this communication fell into other hands.
“That’s great. When do you plan to come back to CA?”
“Not for a while. I’ve got a few things I still want to do.” He tried to leave adequate time between each message so she wouldn’t think he was too eager. Plus, he had to consider her reasons for these questions. So far, it seemed to be a normal conversation. She acted interested in what he was doing, so he reciprocated. “Tell me more about your work. I know you love it, but what are you working on?”
Just after he hit send, another message came in: “How long is a while? Are we talking next week, next month, next year?”
Her inquisitive mind, he remembered, always thought up a million questions. He knew he had to answer her, but he also knew he couldn’t be specific. “Not a year. Maybe a month. Hard to say. I’m ta
king care of some personal stuff, so it will probably be a week or two, at least.”
Now the messages were getting disjointed, as she responded to the previous question. “I’m working on a new gene-sequencing experiment to engineer proteins that will hopefully fight cancerous cells within the pancreas and potentially in certain types of other cancers. It’s promising, but we’re taking baby steps at this point.”
“Sounds complex and exciting. You must really be into your work.” He pushed send and got another response immediately after.
“I see. Too busy to have coffee with a friend, eh?”
“No, it’s not like that. I just have some things I’m working on, and I don’t know how long it will take me to finish. That’s all,” Collin said.
The timing continued to present challenges.
“Yeah, it’s just boring science stuff. Us lab rats aren’t very interesting until we score a major breakthrough.”
“I think your work sounds exciting. I mean, how many people get to really help others the way you can.”
“OK. If you don’t want to talk face to face, I get it. It’s just that I want to be there for you. But I don’t want to be a pest.”
Collin paused so they could get on the same topic at the same time.
“You’re a good friend, not a pest at all. Don’t worry about that. I would love to meet up sometime. Let me figure out when and how. Believe it or not, my life is very complicated right now.” There was a long pause. Collin worried that he had put her off or offended her, so he changed the subject. “You do anything outside of work?”
It seemed like an eternity before Emily came back with a response. Had he pushed her away? Her next message felt more sterile, less chummy. “Admittedly, I’m really into my work, but it’s starting to pay off. My colleagues and I are on the brink of a breakthrough, I think. But you might not find biomedical research super exciting like I do.”