Off Kilter

by Glen Robins

  * * * *

  La Paz, Bolivia

  May 28

  In downtown La Paz, Bolivia, Collin Cook, under the name of Jorge Silva, checked into the Columbus Palace Hotel, one frequented by tourists and business travelers alike. The hotel had wireless Internet and good food, according to the online reviews. It was midmorning when he arrived, but, for an extra twenty dollars, the clerk allowed him to check in early.

  He hurried to his room and dropped his bags, grateful to have gotten across the border using a fake passport, without landing in a Bolivian prison, awaiting a thorough investigation.

  The stress of the past twelve hours had his mind spinning. He felt the need to talk to Lukas and to Emily and, strangely, his mother. Time and distance had disconnected him from the important people in his life. He hated being isolated, hunted, and stuck in a strange land. Loneliness and longing set in like an anchor tied to his heart. He paced the floor, trying to ignore the tugging inside. He texted Lukas. No reply. Twenty-five minutes of additional pacing and still no reply. Hunger and fatigue begged him for food and rest. He relented. After a pizza and salad from the restaurant downstairs, he fell sound asleep, fully clothed, on top of the covers.

  * * * *

  San Diego, CA

  May 28

  Emily arrived home late again, expecting to settle into another night of typing a conversation with Collin while the Oxygen channel ran in the background. When she logged on, there were no messages from him on Facebook. Nothing in e-mail. No texts. Nothing from Sarah, either. Sleepless in Seattle was on again. One of her favorites. She halfway paid attention to it as she cleaned and straightened. Her ultra modern, stylishly appointed condo never looked messy. The one advantage to living alone. She liked things to be tidy and organized. As she scooted about, dusting this and rearranging that, her thoughts turned once again to the happiest times in her life: high school. After reliving a few good memories, her mind went to that night, after graduation, when the good times ended.

  It pained her to think how badly she had hurt Collin, when he was young and sweet and just living in the moment. It seemed so long ago now.

  That night Collin had planned a celebration. He prepared a special meal that was fabulous, but the conversation grew awkward. Collin had put together a magnificent spread in the pool house behind his parents’ home, complete with his mother’s fine china, candles, flowers, music and decorations.

  Collin had obviously spent hours on the food and presentation. He’d thought of every detail to make the evening perfect. It had taken Emily only minutes to ruin the whole thing.

  She recalled how everything came crashing down when she opened her untrained, teenaged mouth—the mood, the relationship, and the hopes of a tender, teenage boy.

  “What’s the matter?” Collin had asked in his innocent, naïve manner, seeing as how she was quiet, pensive, and distracted. The hopeless romantic was ambushed with little warning.

  “I have something I need to tell you,” she started, her voice tight with emotion. Her speech, practically memorized, sounded more like a book report than a break-up. “This is not going to work,” she began to explain to an increasingly bewildered boy.

  “What are you talking about?” he sputtered.

  “You and me. It’s not going to work,” she continued. At this point, the stunned, teenaged Collin put down his utensils and sat back in his chair. He was wide-eyed and quiet. “We’re two different people who want totally different things out of life. We have different approaches and different ambitions. It will never work out.”

  When he looked away, she finished her prepared remarks. “I think it will be better for us both if we just end it now and not pretend this relationship is going to last. I mean, it’s obvious, isn’t it? You like surfing and sports and movies. I like math and science and music. I would rather go to the opera or a play. You would rather go to an Angels game. I want to be something and somebody. Make a difference. Stand out. Contribute to the advancement of mankind through science. You don’t even have the foggiest idea what you want to do or become. All you know is you’re going to live at home and go to Sac State. That’s the level of your ambition? That’s the sum of your career planning? That’s pathetic. We’re just not right for each other. It’s time we face the facts and move on.”

  She spun out of her chair, ran out of the pool house, and exited through the side gate.

  Try as she might, Emily could never erase those words or take back that moment in time.

  Thinking of that evening now, standing in her La Jolla condo, overlooking the Pacific Ocean, she wondered how, when she was only eighteen, she managed to sound so much like her mother. Her mother, who she had always considered mean. Despite her many accomplishments and her satisfying career, Emily felt empty. Even as she surveyed the trappings of her success, there was so much missing from her life.

  Her parents had insisted that Collin was not good enough for her. He lacked ambition. Collin, they said, would hold her back. Better to end it before it causes either of you more pain down the road.

  Now thirty years old and feeling unfulfilled and lonely, she reflected on the judgment they passed on the boy who stole her heart. Why was she so susceptible to their persuasions?

  And for what?

  They were gone now. Killed six years ago in a car crash on the way home from one of their high society parties with the elites they were so eager to impress. Her father was drunk but so good at hiding it. He failed to negotiate the steep and windy road that led down the hill upon which the host’s ostentatious mansion was perched, high above Los Angeles. Their new Mercedes ended up in a crumpled heap at the bottom of a steep ravine, having skidded off the road less than half a mile from the party. No one knew about it until morning, when someone noticed tire marks on the curb and a flattened bush.

  Why couldn’t she see then how wrong her parents were about Collin?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Buenos Aires, Argentina

  May 31

  After fifty-four hours of bus rides, Collin arrived in Buenos Aires, Argentina. He chose to take the first class express buses this time for speed and comfort. It required several bus changes and stops every four to six hours to eat and stretch, but it was much faster and more comfortable than the economy bus lines. During the long trip, Collin kept his mind occupied by reading a spy novel, reviewing and enhancing his written plans and preparations, and listening to music. He tried everything to prevent another meltdown.

  He scripted every foreseeable encounter during his journey from Bolivia to Chicago, anticipating various scenarios. Every detail of his assumed identity, he knew, must be firmly lodged in his mind in order to be convincing and believable.

  A heightened terror threat worldwide meant travelers were scrutinized. But Collin was ready for it. Traveling under an identity Lukas had created and uploaded to the federal database, Collin planned to re-enter the United States via Toronto, Canada. Lukas had guaranteed him safe passage through any airport with this particular passport. He was instructed to use it sparingly. Despite this and his thorough preparations, the prospect of returning home, where he was wanted as an international criminal, sent a chill up his spine.

  Before leaving his hotel in La Paz, Collin changed his hair color back to brown, scrubbed off the fake tan, and inserted blue contact lenses. In addition, he wore round, wire rimmed glasses and a new suit he purchased at an upscale men’s clothing store. His persona was that of a high-priced computer network consultant. His fake passport contained stamps from several South American countries, including Peru, Brazil, and Argentina, with date stamps showing he had traveled into and out of these countries several times over the previous two years. Collin felt confident in his carefully constructed identity. Now he just had to keep himself together and not allow the stress to cause a mental collapse.

  The money was concealed in special pockets in his computer bag lined with a thin, high tech, magnetic membrane that would project a false image of the contents
to the scanners. The technology was experimental and used predominately by clandestine agencies, but Lukas was in a privileged position which enabled him to acquire several of these devices for Collin. Without them, carrying $70,000 in cash across international borders would be impossible.

  In his hotel room in the Buenos Aires Airport Marriott, Collin donned his new charcoal gray wool suit, tossed his hair with some styling gel, and inserted a set of prosthetic teeth which changed the shape of his jaw line, thus completing the disguise. He inspected his new look in the mirror, then blew out a long breath. It was time to begin the scariest journey of his life.

  The next two hours were critical to his survival. The magnitude of the risk he was taking began to weigh on his mind, causing him to wonder more than once why he was doing it. The scene in front of Qelqatani Hotel in Puno flashed across his mind, followed by the guard on the bus at the Bolivian border. South America was no longer a safe haven for him. It was time to move on, anyhow. He might as well test his ability to enter the States.

  Acting like every other frequent flyer was imperative. He had to put on the almost bored countenance of one who spends much of his life in airports and on airplanes while remaining keenly aware of all that was happening around him. During the shuttle ride to the airport, Collin’s heart palpitated and his breathing grew erratic. His hands trembled and his palms wouldn’t stay dry. He pinched his eyes shut and exerted calm upon his nerves by recalling the tranquility he felt in his surfing days as he bobbed in the swells, waiting for the perfect wave.

  By the time the bus stopped at the curb, Collin felt markedly better. With forced assurance and poise, he made his way through security and onto the plane problem free. No unusual searches. No probing questions. No issues with his carryon bags, his shoes, his belt, or his laptop. And no one following him, looking at him, or chasing him. This was all good. Everything was going according to plan.

  Because he was posing as a hot-shot, high tech consultant, Collin treated himself to business class. He enjoyed the wide, reclining seats, the generous leg room, foot rests, and the over-the-top service. Outside, he was calm and poised. Inside, the butterflies fluttered and spun.

  Collin occupied himself for the first four hours of the flight by reading the local paper and USA Today and reviewing the outlines of Plan A, Plan B, and Plan C on his laptop—all done up on a beautiful spreadsheet, a throw back to his previous life. When his attention began to wane, he put the computer away and pulled out the spy novel, hoping to learn something that would either validate or enhance his game plan. Thirteen pages in and the labors of the past few days caught him. During that time, he had pushed his mind and body to the limit with his planning and preparation, with bus rides and identity changes, with plans A through C, and a script to memorize. Through the flurry of activity, he had pushed aside the memories that lurked in the background, waiting to come out. Eyelids grew heavy and drooped. He tried to shake it off and continue, but after three more pages, he was fast asleep.

  Ten minutes later, the flight attendant bent over his seat and inserted a pillow between his head and the wall, closed the window shade, and covered him with a blanket. He didn’t notice any of it. He was in dreamland, being carried away—possibly in a canoe, maybe a rickshaw—to a peaceful place where he felt warm and safe. The anxiety melted like frost in the morning sun; his cares gave way to a surreal sense of home. Of belonging. A feeling he had not had in a long time. In his dream, he walked in warm sand for what seemed to be a very long time. The walk was pleasant; the surroundings both unfamiliar and unremarkable. Amy appeared from nowhere, off in the distance ahead of him, holding Eliza in her arms. Sweet baby Eliza, all of two years old, had her arms wrapped around her mother’s neck, her head resting comfortably on her mother’s shoulder. She looked happy and peaceful. When her mother whispered in her ear, she looked up and saw her daddy. With the pure joy of an innocent child, she smiled her wide, toothy smile and stretched out her arms toward him. Amy put her down, and she began to run toward him, giggling and bouncing all the way. He tried to run to her, but his legs wouldn’t move. They were stuck. Try as he might, he couldn’t walk, let alone run. Eliza didn’t notice and didn’t care. She continued to bound toward him, laughing and calling, “Daddy, Daddy,” until she stopped abruptly. She came to a ledge. A deep, dark canyon opened up between them. Her happy face turned to a frown, then she burst into tears. Collin was on his knees in the sand on the other side, now desperately trying to reach across to her as the gulf between them opened wider and wider, calling her name and crying out, “Don’t worry, baby girl. Don’t be scared. Daddy’s coming.”

  With a terrible jolt and a blood-curdling scream of anguish, Collin shot upright in his seat, thrashing about wildly. He found he could move his legs but couldn’t get anywhere because of something low and tight across his hips. He yanked open the buckle, then stopped cold. He felt the gaze of dozens of eyes on him. He was panting, barely able to catch his breath. His heart was galloping, its beat ringing in his ears, drowning out other sounds. As the dream faded, he surveyed the upstairs business class cabin, trying to figure out where he was and why he was there. Looking around at the bewildered and concerned faces of the other passengers and the flight attendant, he remembered boarding the plane and taking his seat. A half second later, he recalled his plan, and the fact that he was heading to Canada.

  “What happened?” he asked the middle-aged woman in uniform hovering over him.

  She was trying to comfort him, saying, “You’re OK, sir. It’s all going to be all right. Just relax. Breathe. It’s going to be OK.” Her French accent was soothing, and Collin was able to slow his breathing, regain his bearings, and realize, much to his embarrassment, he had had another outburst. Try as he might to contain it, the dam that held back his sorrow was breaking. His grief wanted out and clamored for expression.

  “You were screaming in your sleep, sir. A nightmare, perhaps?”

  “Oh, man,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry. What was I saying?”

  “You were very agitated, very worried, I would say. Yes, you seemed very concerned.”

  “But what did I say?”

  “I think you said, ‘Daddy’s coming.’ Yes, monsieur. I think that’s right.”

  “Oh, great. Thank you. I’m so sorry for all the trouble. It looks like I frightened the others.” He half stood and, gesturing with a hand, said loud enough for the other passengers to hear, “I’m so sorry.”

  “It is all right, sir,” said the flight attendant. “They, we, are startled; that’s all. The question is: Are you OK, sir? You’ve experienced something terrible, yes?”

  “No. No, I’m fine, I think,” he muttered in her general direction as he looked around his seat. Luckily, the seat next to him was empty. His mind cleared enough to put together a plausible explanation on the fly that would satisfy her and the others and diffuse the situation. “Just a bad dream about my daughter. That’s all. She’s been ill while I was away. I guess I’m more worried about her than I thought.” This he said loud enough for the people in his immediate vicinity to hear.

  “Is there anything I can get for you?” the attendant asked with a gentle smile.

  “Maybe you could tell me how much longer until we land?”

  “Yes, of course, sir. I believe we have almost seven hours until we land in Toronto,” she said, checking her watch. “Let me bring you something to drink. Would that be nice, yes? Maybe some nice wine?”

  “No, no. Not wine. No alcohol. Just water, please. That would be very nice. Thank you. I think I’m going to use the restroom first, if that’s all right.”

  “Of course, sir. It’s located up front.” She gestured with her hand. He nodded politely as he passed all the people he had just frightened.

  Locked away in the bathroom, Collin splashed cold water on his face. The images of Eliza were so clear, so beautiful, so real. Oh, he wanted to hold her tight and kiss those perfect little cheeks and caress her soft, silky hair and tell he
r how much he loved her. The image of that gulf opening up, moving his precious Eliza farther and farther away, haunted him. That helpless, powerless feeling lingered. That sense of failure was connected to every thought and memory he had of his past life. Helpless to change anything. Helpless to save the people he loved most, the ones that depended on him. Powerless to bring them back. These emotions haunted him, chased him, and today had cornered him on a plane full of people who had no idea what he had lost.

  Feeling unsteady, he sat down on the toilet, the lid closed, and put his head in his hands. Like a tsunami overrunning a small island, he realized the surge of memories couldn’t be controlled. Many minutes passed. Collin lost track of the time. He washed his face again with cold water, trying to reduce the puffiness in his eyes. It was minimally effective. Nonetheless, it was time to get out of this cramped space.

  Mortified, Collin hoped many of his fellow business class travelers would be sleeping again or too involved in the movie to pay him any attention. For the most part, his wish came true. Only a few wary glances as he emerged from the restroom and tiptoed back to his seat.

  A tall glass with ice water awaited him on the tray at his seat. He took the glass and continued to the back of the business class section, where there was a magazine rack. The nice flight attendant who had helped him was busy preparing meals in the galley area beyond the reading material, chatting with the other attendant in French. Collin only picked up a few words as he approached. “Pity” and “trauma” were two of the words he could make out from that far away. He tried to smile at them, then headed down the stairs. They smiled back. Neither of the ladies tried to stop him.

  The economy cabin was about two-thirds full—a mix of Latin Americans, Asians, and Canadians, he surmised as he looked around at the faces of the passengers, who were occupied with either sleep, the movie, reading material, or their computers. Collin made his way to the last row, which had several empty seats. He settled in and tried to watch the movie. It was no use. His body was left with little energy and his mind was much the same. Within minutes, Collin dozed off, but this time there was no dream, no panic, and no screaming.