by Glen Robins
Collin slept until he heard the engines slow down, signaling the plane’s descent into Toronto Pearson International Airport. He pretended to sleep all the way through landing and taxiing. When the plane came to a stop at the gate, he sat and waited for the other passengers to clear out. He did not want to see any of those people from business class again. When it was empty, he went upstairs. The stewardess with the French accent had his coat ready for him. She gently touched his arm and told him she hoped all would be well at home when he got there.
Thanking her for her kindness, he collected his book from the seatback pocket, his backpack from the overhead bin, and his computer bag from under his seat. As he made his way off the plane, a line of flight attendants thanked him for flying Air Canada and wished him a good day.
The most difficult part of his journey was now upon him, and he felt less prepared than ever. His game plan, though memorized, began to feel inadequate. His confidence and swagger were gone, thanks to his meltdown. He scrambled mentally to pull himself together as he walked through a set of doors that slid open automatically. Beyond those doors were long rows of people waiting to be processed and admitted into Canada.
Collin gulped and stared at the crowded space. Behind him, the automatic doors closed. There was no turning back. There was only one way out. His stomach knotted and his mouth went dry, but he adjusted his bags and plodded toward the line for foreigners.
Collin had to remind himself of his routine, the one he had used so many times in almost every major airport in Europe. He just had to stay in character, act like this happened every day.
Anonymity was his friend and conformity his disguise. Unlike his past life where he was always trying to stand out and be noticed, he now wanted to blend into the scenery. Being nameless, faceless, and indistinguishable aligned perfectly with his current set of ambitions. There were no promotions to get, no raises to vie for, no competitors to outperform, and no bosses to suck up to. Money was no longer an object and reputation a casualty of the game he was unwittingly pulled into. He was out of that rat race and happy to be, except for the fact that he was alone. All alone. Not a soul in the world to share his burden, no home to return to each night. Collin would gladly go back to his past life and live the work-a-day routine he once dreaded if it meant he could get back what he lost.
But that was impossible, so he had to convince himself he was glad to be free from the corporate world that so many of the men and women moving through this airport were in. They were like he was back then: hard-working, opportunistic, motivated to keep his job and make a buck or two.
Collin had exited that adrenalin-fueled fast lane the moment he heard that horrific sound over the phone—the screeching tires, the thunderous impact, followed by instant and eternal silence. Collin changed in that split second, never to be the same person. Never to live a normal life again.
His pursuers expected him to crack and fold, but he was determined to hold it together and win this battle. Isolation was a terrible thing to endure at such a precarious time in his life, but he knew he had to hold on. Lukas would figure out a strategy, and they would take these guys down.
In this pack of weary travelers, he was just another prisoner waiting to be freed. He inched forward, checked his watch frequently, and wondered how things might have been. His mind was caught up in analyzing his predicament, struggling to make sense of the senseless, when an impatient voice called out, “Next, please.”
Perched in his little booth a foot above those he was admitting into his country, the hawk-like customs agent scanned Collin as he approached. He seemed more like a magistrate handing down rulings than a customs agent. In that moment, Collin felt unprepared for the impending appearance and subsequent judgment but managed to keep his astonishment to himself, trying to recall how he had gotten to the front of the line already.
The pale-skinned, dark-haired judge in the booth began to wave him forward more impatiently as Collin hesitated. Collin lurched forward and handed his fake passport to the man behind the bulletproof, plexiglass cage. “I’m sorry, sir, just a bit out of it today.”
“Yes, I see.” The customs officer seemed mildly annoyed but efficient. He raised his eyebrows and did a double take at Collin’s passport. “Martin Smithers?”
After a long pause to collect his thoughts and run through the plan he had rehearsed so many times, Collin blurted out, “Yes, sir, that’s me.”
“I see,” the man said again, his French Canadian accent on full display. “And what is the nature of your business?”
Gaining confidence as his memory kicked in, Collin replied, “I’m a computer systems consultant.”
“I see,” he said for the third time. These two words and the high-minded tone with which they were uttered were enough to make Collin uncomfortable. “You’re American, yes?”
“Yes, sir, I am.”
“Arriving from Argentina, yes?”
“Yes, sir, I am.”
“And what brings you to Toronto at this time?”
“Business, sir. I have a meeting with the Information Technology manager of the Chrysler plant in Brampton. I am presenting my proposal to overhaul their data backup and restore system.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, sir. It’s a big meeting for me. Huge potential . . .” Collin said as he glanced over his shoulder.
“I see,” he said yet again. Collin determined that the aristocratic French accent intimidated him more than anything about the way the man used this phrase.
The agent punched some keys on his computer, spent a few moments studying his screen, then considered Collin one more time. He picked up the phone and spoke in hushed tones. Collin could neither hear nor understand a word. His pulse quickened, and his stomach churned. He looked away to avoid eye contact with the man while he took a deep breath. The phone conversation continued and the man behind the glass pointed to his computer screen. When Collin turned back toward him, after composing himself, the man cupped his hand over his mouth.
Collin checked his watch, then scanned the crowd for any sign of approaching policemen. The man in the booth was watching him closely. Collin pasted a condescending look on his face, as he checked his watch again.
The consultation ended. The agent placed the phone back in its cradle and proceeded to stamp the passport in front of him with much ceremony. His eyes narrowed as he slid Collin’s passport through the metal box. A look of disdain briefly crossed the man’s countenance before he called, “Next,” and looked beyond Collin.
Breathing a hidden sigh of relief, Collin proceeded to the next line where a machine would inspect his bags. The laptop and the contents of his pockets were put into a plastic tray in tight formation with his computer bag and backpack. He was quizzed about the contents of his bag and whether it contained any fruit, vegetables, plants, or seeds from outside Canada. When he answered no, he was dismissed and instructed to proceed.
Although he slept on the plane, Collin was jet lagged and ready to lie down in a warm, clean bed. Using his phone, he booked a room at the Radisson Hotel in Brampton. He rented a car at the airport and made the short drive to his hotel using the GPS provided in the car. No one followed him.
His arms and legs felt as though they had been filled with wet sand. Every movement came with great effort. He mustered his remaining energy to hoist himself out of the car, gather his bags, and propel himself through the automatic doors and across the lobby to the registration desk. The clerk smiled as she welcomed him.
It was a struggle to get to his room at the end of the hall. Every step seemed a chore, but he plodded on. He felt like a marathoner at mile twenty-two, his arduous journey nearly complete.
He needed to prepare for another important day of travel. In the morning, Collin would enter the United States for the first time since he started running from Pho Nam Penh and his henchmen.
He was home, sort of.
Chapter Nineteen
London, England
&nbs
p; June 1
The suspicious and ambitious mind of Nic Lancaster could not rest. Only a handful of cubicles in the immense, third floor cube farm had lights burning on a Saturday morning. Of course, Nic’s was one of them. He paced in his cubicle as he clicked a pen and tried to unlock the secret of the disappearance of Collin Cook. Twice in two weeks he had him trapped, and twice the little bugger had managed to get away. Cook could be anywhere but was most likely hunkered down somewhere in South America, afraid to show his face. If the Peruvian police hadn’t gone in so heavy handed, Nic was sure they could have apprehended him in Puno. Video footage showed a man meeting Cook’s description exiting a bus in Puno the day before the police raid. But that was almost a week ago now. No other reports had come in since.
Nic grudgingly had to admit this guy was good. He knew all the tricks and knew how to disappear. Collin Cook was smart, cunningly smart.
Nic had posted Collin’s name, photo, and background on Interpol’s online priority bulletin board. He didn’t know when or where Cook would show up or when he would make a mistake, but Nic knew he would eventually. Nic would be ready.
Getting Collin Cook was Nic’s top priority, despite the other assignments that had been placed on his desk. He would not allow an amateur like Cook to embarrass him again. Nic worked longer and longer hours. The cyber crime team needed a win within Interpol, and the agency especially needed a win with the British press. Personally, Nic needed the publicity, the promotion, the raise. And, of course, the recognition of his hard work and dedication.
Right now, however, he just needed a break in the case.
* * * *
Chicago, Illinois
June 2
Emily fidgeted in her seat, waiting patiently for the plane to start moving. The sooner they could be in the air, the sooner she could open her laptop and review her presentation again. Not that she hadn’t already reviewed it a hundred times, but she felt that there was no substitute for stellar preparation, which would settle her nerves. It was her first ever conference presentation and, if it went well, it might lead to others. And if it were to lead to others, it would mean that she was accomplishing what she set out to do: make a difference in the world through medical science.
She had four hours on the plane, another couple of hours tonight in the hotel, and perhaps another hour or two in the morning before the convention started. Would it be enough? Her colleagues had all assured her she was ready. Her boss, Mike Zimmerman, had reviewed it with her and sat in an empty conference room while she rehearsed. His comments, surprisingly, included a suggestion to start off with some humor, something funny that would make her presentation stick out in the minds of the attendees. Mike, of all people.
Emily was focused, making her unaware of things happening around her. She didn’t realize someone was watching her when she checked into her hotel in Chicago. She blithely went about her business, replaying her slideshow in her mind as she strolled through the lobby to the elevators.
She ate dinner with Mike, and they talked about their respective preparations. He suggested breakfast together to do a final run-through. He seemed more nervous about her presentation than she did. After dinner she hit the hotel gym for a three-mile run on the treadmill and a few laps in the pool to help burn off her anxious energy. She paid no mind to the observers. Not even the man from the lobby, who watched her from behind the cover of a thick book. Her mind was elsewhere, and she had no reason to suspect a thing.
* * * *
Brampton, Ontario, Canada
June 2
“Are you out of your mind? What are you doing in Canada?” Lukas asked as soon as Collin picked up the phone.
It was 3:38 a.m. Collin had no idea where Lukas was or what time zone he was in, and he didn’t ask. He sat up in bed, cleared his throat, and tried to think of the most succinct way to explain things to his most trusted friend and security advisor. His mind was instantly activated, alarmed by the harshness in Lukas’s tone. When he finally spoke, his voice was gravelly. “They found me in Peru, twice. I had to get out of there.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? We should have discussed this first, especially with the recent changes.”
“I called. I texted. You didn’t respond. I figured you were too busy working on more important things, so I came up with my own plan.”
“I am busy, I admit, but there is nothing more important than keeping you safe. Now I’m afraid you’ve put more than just yourself in danger.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about Emily. That’s the change I needed to tell you about. Why didn’t you respond to my texts?”
“What texts? I got nothing back from you, Lukas. I called; you didn’t answer. I sent you texts; you didn’t respond. What do you want me to do? Just sit here like a slow-moving target?”
“No, of course not. Just respond to my texts.”
“I turned my phone off for the flight and just now turned it back on.”
“I sent you texts yesterday. Are you telling me you haven’t turned on your phone since then?”
“I didn’t see your texts until I got to my hotel here in Toronto.”
“Still, you could have responded.”
“Do you know how much work it is to travel through South America by bus? I just wanted to sleep.”
“Terrific. You’re tired, so you ignore your own safety?”
“Back to Emily—what did you mean?”
“Someone has hacked both your mom’s and Emily’s Facebook accounts. I don’t think it’s the FBI or Interpol. They still seemed vexed as to what you’re up to.”
“They should be. Even if they’ve been snooping around and reading our Facebook conversations, they wouldn’t have learned anything. I’ve given away nothing in terms of my location or my intentions.”
“I fear, nonetheless, that you have put the two of them in danger, as well as yourself, by coming back here.”
“I’m nowhere near home—”
“I know that, but I also think I know what you’re up to.”
“I swear this will work, and when it does, I’ll be back on a plane heading to Osaka as soon as I can. I’m thinking train ride to Vancouver, then Vancouver to Osaka early next week. Think I can lie low in Japan for awhile?”
“I don’t know, Collin. Everything seems a bit shaky right now. There’s a lot of activity. More than I can tell you, but I doubt you’ll be able to get on a plane again anytime soon.”
“Why not? I just flew from Argentina to Toronto without a problem.”
“You got lucky this time. I doubt you would be that lucky again. Not with this Interpol bulldog on the case. It would be wise for you to stay underground for a while. You’ve had two near misses recently, and the guys at Interpol are pissed. They’re stepping things up.”
“What do you suggest then?”
“Stay away from Chicago, first of all. Find yourself an out of the way place there in Toronto, and stay inside until things die down.”
“I doubt I can do that, Lukas. You know I hate staying inside.”
“Yes, I know, and it keeps getting you in trouble.”
Collin thought back to his escape from Germany and the incident in Lima, both places where he was supposed to stay out of sight. Before that, he had refused to stay indoors in London. Someone had been on his tail ever since. “I hear you, but I’ve just got to see Emily. That’s all. I need to see someone I know. Just one quick visit with a friend, then I’m gone, underground, for as long as it takes.”
Lukas blew out a breath. “I get it. You want to see her, but I’m sure you don’t want to put her in danger. You don’t want to get her messed up in all of this, do you?”
“If they’re hacking her Facebook, it sounds like they’ve already made her part of it. Now I have to warn her and, without Facebook or, I assume, e-mail, I have no way to communicate with her other than direct contact.”
“It’s too risky, Collin. Think about it.”
&n
bsp; “I am thinking about it. If they’re watching her already, I have to warn her. I have to tell her what’s going on. I can only do that by talking to her. I have to see her.”
“Don’t do it, Collin. You’ll put both of you in danger, and I won’t be able to protect you.”
“I’ve done all right on my own lately, no thanks to you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you go silent for weeks, and I figure out how to stay safe on my own all that time, then you pop up and tell me what to do again. Do you have a better way to keep Emily safe? Are you going to call her? Or visit her? You think that will work better?”
Lukas sighed into the phone. “It’s not like I forgot about you. I knew where you were. I expected you to stay out of sight. But this? You got lucky. For her sake, stay away from Emily.”
“Not gonna happen.”
“Collin, don’t get all stubborn on me. This is serious.”
“Don’t tell me it’s serious. I know it is, and if I don’t tell her what’s going on, she’ll be in even more danger. They’ll follow her, corner her, who knows what they’ll do.”
“I don’t like this. I don’t like this one bit,” said Lukas.
“You don’t have to like it, but this is what has to be done. I don’t see a better choice here, do you?” He waited for a response. When there was none, he continued. “That’s what I thought.”
Before he hung up, Collin was developing a plan. He got dressed in a hurry, putting his disguise back together, and was on the road by four o’clock in the morning, speeding west by southwest toward the border crossing at Port Huron, Michigan, hoping for less traffic and an easier time getting through there than at Detroit. By nine o’clock he was back on US soil for the first time in seven months.