by Glen Robins
“Welcome to my life,” said Collin. “You’ll get used to it.”
“Get used to it? Is that what I’m supposed to do? Get used to it?” Her voice was elevated, barely under control.
“Look, Emily, things didn’t work out quite the way I had planned. No one was supposed to find me at the conference.”
“But, Collin, why would you take such a chance? If you knew, as you said, that you were a wanted man, why would you come back to the States?”
Collin sucked in a deep breath. “They found me. In Peru, of all places. I did the best I could to hide in obscure places, but they found me anyway. I didn’t feel safe, no matter where I went, no matter what I did to elude them. Coming here felt no riskier than staying where I was.” He paused until the rumbling of a big truck faded. “But I realize now how stupid it was of me. I never wanted to put you in harm’s way.” Another pause. “I just wanted to see you. That’s all. I wanted to see you, and talk to you, and be with a friend for a change. I’m sorry.”
The words and the soft, pathetic tone in his voice melted her inside. She sat down on the bed and heaved a sigh. “Oh, Collin, I hate to see you in this mess, whatever it is. I wish I knew what to do to help you.”
“You’ve done it already.”
“What do you mean?”
“I needed to see a friend, and I saw you.”
“But I didn’t do anything.”
“You were you. That’s all I could ever ask for. And now I know why I need to stay away. I have to protect those I care for by not being near you or them. At least, not for a while longer.”
“But Collin—”
“Listen, Emily.” His voice was stronger now, more in control. “You need to be careful from now on. I’m really not sure who those guys were this afternoon, but there’s this Asian syndicate who can hack anything, like I said. I think the guys today are working for them. In any case, as I told you earlier, there’s a good chance they’ve hacked your Facebook and e-mail accounts and are monitoring our communication.”
“They hacked my Facebook? Oh my—”
“I told you, these guys can and will hack anything to get what they want. Right now, they want me, not you. I think they somehow figured out that I would try to meet you here. I don’t know. That’s my best guess.”
“How can they—”
“They’re clever, very clever. But with them hacking into everything, it means this phone you’re using now will be the only way I can communicate with you. So don’t use it in public, and don’t use your everyday phone to contact me. OK?”
“Speaking of, how did I get this phone, anyway?”
“I slipped it in your purse when I caught up to you outside the convention center this afternoon, just before our little mock breakup. Nice job with that, by the way. I see an Academy Award in your future.”
“Not even. But when did you have time to buy a phone?”
“I bought it on my way into Chicago before I even saw you.”
“That took some forethought.”
“Yeah, I wanted to be able to communicate with you, so I bought two cheap phones with, like, a billion prepaid minutes.”
“A billion?”
“Yeah, I knew you’d have a lot of questions.”
“Very funny. OK, let’s be serious for a minute. This scares me, Collin.”
“I know. It scares me, too. I’ve been thinking about how I could keep you safe, and I think maybe you need to talk to the FBI. Ask for the main guy handling my case. Ask them for protection. They’ll probably try to strike a bargain with you, so give them what they ask for. Just don’t tell them about this phone. This is my lifeline.”
“But what about you? Won’t that make things worse for you?”
“I don’t think so. I’ve still got some tricks up my sleeve. I’m going to disappear until I can clear my name and prove my innocence.”
“Can’t you talk to them and explain things? Wouldn’t they believe you?”
“I wish it were that simple. They have photos and other evidence that points to my involvement with these cyber terrorists. They think I’m to blame for some nasty hack jobs on some of the world’s biggest banks. Can you believe that? They think I’m capable of hacking into and stealing money from multi-billion dollar companies. Unreal. But, until I can unwind that tangled mess, I’m stuck hiding.”
“I wish there was something I could do to help you.”
“There is. Go to the FBI, tell them what you know, and ask them to protect you.”
“No way, Collin. I’m not going to do it. I’m not going to rat you out.”
“I thought you might say that, so I’ve made arrangements to keep you safe.”
“You’ve done what?”
“I know some people that know some people, and they are going to make sure nothing happens to you.”
“Collin—”
“You should expect to see a large black man carrying a sign with your name on it tomorrow after the conference. His name is Benson. He’ll be your limo driver and will make sure you get to the airport safely. At the airport, there will be a lady; her name is Genevieve. She’ll take you from Chicago O’Hare to San Diego Lindbergh, where a black Tahoe will take you to a safe house for a few days. Got all that?”
“Are you joking, Collin?”
“No, I’m not. I just transferred a hefty sum of money to pay these people, so let them do their job.”
“How do I know I can trust them?”
“They were highly recommended by someone I trust, who knows all about security. I trust this guy with my life and my freedom. You can, too.”
“Geez, Collin. This is weird. I don’t know what to think.”
“Think this: My friend Collin is very sorry for the disruption he has caused in my life. This is his way of making it up to me.”
“You’re a nut.”
“I’ve been told that before . . . and I’m starting to believe it.”
“That part of you hasn’t changed. You still manage to crack jokes in tense situations. But can we be serious again for a minute? I really, really want to help you. Something other than trying to pretend that you’re not my friend and that I want no part in your life. I don’t think I can keep that charade up for too long. Isn’t there something else I can do?”
“When I figure out what that might be, I’ll let you know. For now, you’ve done a lot. Believe me. Seeing you today reminded me of how much I miss home, despite all the changes in my life.”
“You really have changed—a lot. One minute I think you’re just the same old Collin. The next minute you’re spouting things that make you sound like some sort of espionage king or something.” Emily paused and an image of Sarah crossed her mind. “You need to come home. I think it would be good for you and for your family if you were able to be with them. They miss you, Collin. They want you home.”
“I know. I miss them, too. And my friends. Like you. But I can’t put you or any of them at risk again. You’re right. I have changed. My whole life has changed. But these changes were not my choice. They were forced upon me because I won’t just lie down and become a victim again. I won’t let these guys win without a fight.”
“I don’t understand who you’re talking about.”
“I’m fighting against some very twisted but brilliant people who want to—who have already done a lot of damage to our country. They’re terrorists. A new breed of economic terrorists. Cyber bullies. Punks who want to bring down Western civilization. If they win and take all that I have away, they’ll use it to hurt more people. There’s no one else who can stop them.”
“What makes you think you can stop them, Collin?”
“That’s a good question. Why? Why do I have to be the one to stop them? I think it’s because I’ve pissed them off. They tried but couldn’t steal their money back from me, so they’re out to get me however they can. Releasing photos of me with their nefarious leader is just the opening act, I’m afraid. And I’m one of a very small number of people who has
seen him up close. To this point, I’ve been lucky enough to stay one step ahead of them. With some help, I’ve out-smarted them. Little ol’ me and my genius helper.” As he spoke, his thoughts crystallized, and he became more determined than ever to stay alive, to stay free, so he could help Lukas find Penh and his lackeys. “Listen, Emily. You have to distance yourself from me as soon as possible. Unfriend me on Facebook. Write me a nasty e-mail about how you don’t ever want to see me again. How you want me to stay out of your life and stop trying to derail your career. Stuff like that.”
“Do you think that will work?”
“I don’t know for sure, but it can’t hurt. If these guys are spying on you like my sources tell me they are, you need to do everything you can to throw them off and make yourself uninteresting to them.”
“That’s going to be hard for me to do, Collin, when I want more than anything to make sure you are OK.”
“That’s why you have the cell phone you’re using. I’ll call you whenever I can. Please relay messages to my parents, let them know I’m all right. I’ll check in later.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
London, England
June 5
In the dungeon, Nic and Peter watched surveillance video from the conference center in Chicago. They observed Collin elude their man and dash away. They listened to the voice message from the field agent explaining how Collin outran them and went through buildings to evade them. He disappeared, but the search continued.
“You know what, Peter? I hate this guy. He keeps slipping through our fingers. Without enough backup, this salesman keeps getting away from trained agents,” Nic said. “This is supposed to be a high priority case, but no one is willing to provide adequate manpower because this guy is supposedly an easy target. Easy? None of them has tried their hand at nabbing this chap, have they? It’s bloody embarrassing, I tell you.” He was slumped down in a chair, staring at the screen in utter disbelief.
What Nic didn’t tell Peter was how he had gotten the FBI involved. Peter had asked. He was sharp and always asked the right questions, but Nic didn’t give him the full answer. The answer he gave was that he had a signed requisition from Alastair. That was true. The part he left out was the part about finding Alastair out of the office at noon just two days ago. Sure, Alastair had told his secretary he was heading out to a meeting. But Nic, suspicious as ever, followed him. What he saw was not a meeting with the Chief of Investigations over at Scotland Yard. No. It was a rendezvous with a young woman, probably half his age, in a two-bit flat on the other side of town. What Nic saw was an opportunity too good to pass up. He waited outside for an hour. When Alastair emerged, Nic shoved some papers in front of him and told him to sign. Too shocked to protest, too embarrassed to cry foul, Alastair signed and slunk into a waiting taxi.
The signed papers got the FBI involved, despite Nic’s two recent embarrassments with other international agencies and Alastair’s refusal to take another bad risk. This time should have been different. The FBI were much more adept than either the Panamanians or the Peruvians. Certainly, with all the intel he and Peter had provided, they should have apprehended this amateur. Once again, Nic came up short. Once again, Collin Cook slipped through Nic’s grasp.
Nic seethed and fumed as he climbed the stairs to call Alastair. Collin Cook would make a mistake, and when he did, Nic would make sure he paid for it.
* * * *
South of Lexington, Kentucky
June 5
Barreling down Interstate 75 in Kentucky, half an hour south of Lexington, Collin struggled to stay awake. The old Mustang was holding up better than he was. It showed no signs of slowing, but Collin’s eyelids grew heavy. His mind wandered. That was dangerous, and he knew it. There was no time for a meltdown. No room for error.
He had stopped for a late dinner in Louisville, and, realizing it was past midnight, he took a nap in the car. His intention was to just rest for an hour. To his horror, he overslept. It was six thirty in the morning when he got back on the road. The tight schedule grew even tighter. With the storm coming, the sooner he could get to Key West, the better. For everyone. Sleep was a luxury he could ill afford and it could cost him dearly.
By ten o’clock, the sun was glaring, and the forest around him was awash in radiant sunlight. He passed the town of Williamsburg, Kentucky, and was winding his way through the gently rolling Cumberland Mountains. Collin’s eyes were dry and sensitive to the light. Despite the long nap, the increased stress level was enervating. Worries about Emily and guilt over dragging her into his darkened reality knocked around in his head. His body and his brain teetered on the verge of collapse, but he pressed on.
The old Mustang rattled and shook with every bump, but the engine purred along heading south at seventy miles per hour. That purring had a hypnotic effect. His body was relaxing, melting into the scarred, velour seat. He blinked hard to moisten his eyes, but they stay closed longer than he intended. There was thumping, followed by a grinding sound. Neither registered with him. The next moment, he became aware that he was spinning, hurling out of control. Something slammed into him. Glass shattered. Tires squealed. Horns blared.
In the span of his extended blink, the car veered to the left, rubbed along the concrete K-rail in the median, hit an obstruction, and spun twice before getting rammed by a passing pickup. The Mustang came to a jarring stop perpendicular to traffic and straddling two lanes. Collin’s eyes, now wide open, frantically scanned his surroundings. His head was throbbing, his heart pounding, nerves pulsing with electricity. But his body wouldn’t move. His surroundings went dark, then came back to light, then went dark again.
Cars behind his screeched to a halt and strangers approached him. Warm rivulets of blood ran down his cold, pale face. He was too stunned to move, his thoughts thick and sluggish. Worried but unknown faces now appeared in his windows, asking questions and expressing concern, wide-eyed and eager to help: Was he all right? Don’t worry; we’ve called 911. An ambulance is on its way. Just stay right there, son, don’t move.
I can’t stay here, he said to himself. They’ll find me.
“I’m okay. I’m not hurt,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. He pushed through the mental fog and began to calibrate his circumstances. “Let me just move this car out of the way.” The concerned faces protested, but the car started. Collin threw it into gear. It moved.
The throng of onlookers gasped in horror as he gunned the engine, squealing the tires, and pulled away. The mangled Mustang picked up speed and disappeared over the hill.
From his rearview mirror, Collin could see the bewildered faces, arms waving, some running in vain toward him. Small piles of glass lay in the roadway where he had come to a stop. A reddish streak of paint and a thick black stripe decorated the concrete K-rail. His side window was broken out where his head had collided with it, and the cool morning air swirled and rushed through the cabin, causing the open wounds on the side of his face to sting all the more. The windshield was cracked but still serviceable. The Mustang had survived amazingly well, despite the ground-down left side and the caved in right rear panel. The steering was now loose, and the car pulled to the left. He knew he had to get out of sight fast, so he kept the accelerator on the floor. The concerned citizens behind him had informed the authorities of the accident. They would arrive on the scene momentarily, sirens screaming. Collin had to put some distance between himself and the accident sight, but he also had to get off this highway as soon as possible. His sense of self-preservation was very much intact.
The damaged car would rule out “blending in.” Time was of the essence. It wouldn’t take long before the state troopers were on his tail. He would be easy to spot.
The sign ahead indicated he was coming to the town of Jellico, the first exit he saw and the first town on the Tennessee side of the border.
After turning off the highway, Collin turned right on Main Street and drove to the nearest gas station. A tanker truck was in the driveway, the driver
just unhooking the hoses. He parked the car behind the small building, out of sight. However, a dozen people witnessed the Mustang pull in as they stared in disbelief.
Mouths agape as their curiosity took over, the spectators watched as Collin slammed his shoulder into the driver’s side door until it opened with a loud bang, followed by a raucous, creaking noise from the damaged hinges. Collin swung his legs out, planted his feet on the ground, and rose slowly, using the door as a crutch. Standing made him light-headed, but he managed to gather his backpack and computer bag out of the backseat before attempting to walk. Stars burst in a pattern of intense, bright colors behind his eyelids as the backpack slammed against his rib cage. Must’ve cracked a rib or two. He held his breath as he limped, ignoring the pain and dizziness. Collin managed to pry open the glass door of the convenience store. The plump, blond cashier watched him warily. She, like the customers in the store and at the pumps, could not take her eyes off the stranger with blood running down his forehead.
“You alright, sir?” she asked with that soft Tennessee drawl. “You don’t look too good.”
Collin shrugged. “I’m fine. Can I borrow your bathroom?”
“Sure can. It’s at the back of the store, on the right.”
“Thanks.”
“You sure you don’t need nothin’?”
“I’ll be fine. Just a little bruised, that’s all.”
He shuffled past the counter to the restroom as best he could, his head feeling like it was stuffed full of cotton. When Collin emerged, his face and hands were washed, his movements a little more fluid, his clothes fresh and clean. The blood was gone but not the throbbing pain. He thanked the cashier, who hushed up when she saw him. Collin, feeling the weight of many stares, limped out the front doors to the tanker truck’s driver, who was preparing to leave. Every eye in the store followed him. Collin hobbled around the truck, spoke to the driver, then climbed into the cab on the passenger’s side, wincing as he did.
The pain from his ribs shot through his torso like daggers. The truck driver stared as Collin maneuvered his bags into the space at his feet and hoisted himself onto the seat. “You ain’t looking too hot, cowboy. You need a doctor?”