Plank Factor Read online

  I lumbered out the door and onto the escalator, lugging my bag up the moving steps. “C’mon, c’mon.” I muttered my new mantra.

  Once I reached the top, I hit the ground running. Caught sight of a clock—eight minutes! Could I make it?

  Checking the gate numbers, I realized they were going up instead of down. Damn! Wrong direction, stupid.

  Pulling a hasty U-turn, I pounded the other way, puffing like an asthmatic steam engine.

  As I neared the gate, I veered right, negotiating a series of sharp turns through the rows of seating, toward a bottle-blonde flight attendant, who looked to be closing up her station and making ready to shut the door.

  “Wait!” I cried in what must have sounded like intense pain.

  The blonde stared at me, wide-eyed and blinking. Upon closer inspection, I could see her face had frequent flyer miles etched into it, but it couldn’t have looked more beautiful to me than at that moment.

  “Oh, goodness.” She smiled. “Almost left withoutcha, dear.”

  Her Midwestern twang was music to my ears.

  I strapped myself into seat 15D and tucked my laptop and shoulder bag securely under the seat in front of me. I wanted to try Liz again, but they were already telling us to shut off our cell phones and portable devices. So I tuned out as the flight attendant droned through the usual safety preamble. I shut my eyes and didn’t open them until we’d reached an altitude of 35,000 feet.

  Feeling more (if not completely) relaxed, I pulled out my laptop with intent to focus on Alexis’ story. So where was I? Oh, yes—the van had shown up at the motel and Swede and Alexis snuck out the window. And then? Well, they can’t just go to their car, can they? So I reviewed what I’d had them do instead. See if it still worked for me.

  Alexis

  Swede peeked out the motel’s bathroom window. “Nothing here,” he muttered to Alexis and opened it.

  After they shimmied through it, Swede scanned the surroundings again.

  “First thing we need to do is get some distance between us and this motel,” Swede said. Alexis nodded, then followed Swede across the dark, weedy courtyard, toward the woods behind the building. The rain had stopped, but their feet squished on damp, grassy earth. The clammy air held the sharp tang of evergreens.

  “Got everything, right?” he asked, hefting his backpack and patting his pocket to check for his wallet.

  Alexis went through a quick mental checklist--purse, laptop, and paper bag luggage. All present and accounted for.

  “Yeah,” she said. “Let’s move out.”

  Swede nodded, and together they plunged into the woods.

  They wandered for a bit through the dank forest, brushing against tree limbs and getting spattered by droplets. The ground was slippery in spots and Alexis felt damp and feathery ferns tickle her calves. She pulled her hood over her head, but the chill penetrated her jacket.

  Together, they circled (or, at least, Alexis hoped they were circling) back toward the highway, far enough from the motel so the van’s occupants wouldn’t notice.

  It seemed like they wandered through the woods for a half hour, although it could have been only 10 minutes. Alexis couldn’t see her watch in the dark. They tromped in silence until she finally asked, “Are we heading toward the road or what?”

  Swede stopped and turned a full circle, as if getting his bearings. “The road should be that way,” he said, gesturing left. “We’ve been walking parallel to it.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Even in the dim moonlight, Alexis could sense Swede’s irritation at the question. But it had to be asked. She didn’t feel like spending all night cold, wet, and wandering in circles.

  “Why don’t we head toward the road,” she said, trying to make it sound like a polite suggestion instead of an exasperated demand. “We’re probably far enough from the motel by now.”

  Swede looked like he might argue the point for a moment, then shrugged. “Fine.” They started walking again.

  Alexis remembered now why she and Swede split up.

  “So this research you were talking about,” she said, as much to break the uncomfortable silence as anything. “I assume your findings are in a safe place?”

  “Yes,” Swede said. Something in his voice suggested he had more to say on the subject, but he’d stopped himself. He pointed. “See, there’s the road.” He picked up his pace and strode toward it.

  Alexis ignored his I-told-you-so tone, stumbling blindly over roots and undergrowth trying to keep up. One twisted shrub snagged her foot and nearly sent her sprawling face forward, but she caught herself in time. Swede was getting too far ahead, his silhouette starting to melt into the darkness around them.

  “Wait! Hold up!” she called.

  Swede turned and came back. “I’m sorry.”

  Alexis resisted the urge to ask him which part of this dreadful night he was sorry about.

  Together, they resumed their trek toward the road.

  “So,” Alexis continued. “These so-called government agents--or whatever they are--want to find us so they can get their hands on your research documentation. They don’t really need either of us, if they find it without our help, right?”

  “I don’t think that’ll happen. It’s not all in one place, but I know where most of it is.”

  “Most of it?”

  As they emerged from the woods onto the side of the road, Alexis glanced toward the motel. She was surprised to see it still in sight, just barely. It felt like they’d been hiking for miles.

  JESSICA

  “Something to drink?”

  “Huh?” I was pulled from my reverie.

  A grinning flight attendant loomed over me. “Would you like a drink?”

  “Just water. Thanks.”

  She handed me a cup of water and a Lilliputian packet of peanuts. I sipped and munched, thinking about what Alexis and Swede would do.

  I’d had Swede suggest they call a cab. So how do they get the number? Through information, stupid. Okay. Whatever. But should I have them hitchhike? On a desolate road at night? I reviewed my draft and mulled the options.

  ALEXIS

  “Let’s walk a little farther, then I’ll call a cab,” Swede said, heading away from the motel.

  “Did you just say you knew where most of the research was?”

  Swede nodded.

  “What about the rest?”

  Swede heaved another sigh. “As a safeguard, Daniel and I decided we should divide the documentation and each of us would hold it in separate places. That way, neither of us knew everything. And we could only work on the project together.”

  Alexis was too stunned to speak for a moment. “Brilliant.”

  “At the time, it seemed like a good idea. That way, neither of us could be forced to give all the information to anyone.”

  And neither of you could sell it to someone else on your own, either, Alexis thought but said nothing.

  “Well, this is quite a situation, isn’t it?” she said. “Not only are these people chasing me for information I don’t have, but they’re chasing you for incomplete information.” Alexis started laughing. Her laughter increased to almost hysterical proportions. When she finally stopped, she was breathing hard and wiping her eyes.

  “Are you all right?” Swede said.

  “Sure, sure. This will make a great entry in my memoirs. I’ll look back on it and be able to laugh for real--some day.”

  “Good,” Swede said. “Because I need you to be strong for me, Alexis.”

  “Do tell.” Alexis’ mouth twisted into a wry grimace.

  “We not only need to keep away from those guys, we need to make sure they don’t find where Daniel hid his part of the research.” He paused. “That’s where you come in.”

  Alexis felt her heart sink. “Because even if I don’t know what his research was, they’ll figure I might know where the documents are.”

  “Right.”

  Alexis glanced over her shoulder at the receding
lights of the motel winking in the distance. This night just got better and better.

  From a roadside diner, they took a cab to the nearest bus station and bought two tickets back to Eugene. Once they arrived, Swede suggested they take a quick look through Alexis’ place, saying he might have jumped the gun in overlooking it as Daniel’s hiding place. While they were there, Alexis decided to pack a bag before leaving for wherever they were headed. While she tossed randomly selected clothes into a duffle, Swede searched. Then he paced, throwing glances out the window at intervals.

  “Do you think he would’ve kept it here?” he asked, out of the blue.

  Alexis stopped and thought. “I have no idea. He never told me anything.”

  “No,” Swede said, more to himself than Alexis. “Too dangerous. But where would he keep it?”

  “The only thing I can think . . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “I think his family said something about a safe deposit box.” Alexis zipped her bag shut. “When I was in Portland for the memorial service, I seem to recall someone mentioning it.”

  Swede had stopped pacing and looked intent. “I assume the box was here in Eugene?”

  Alexis shook her head. “That I couldn’t tell you. I was his fiancé, not his wife. I assumed his family was taking care of . . . all that.”

  “Could you call them and ask?” Swede looked even more anxious.

  Alexis paused. She hadn’t spoken to her almost-in-laws since the memorial service. “Gosh, I don’t know . . . .”

  “Please!” Swede blurted. “There’s a lot at stake here. A threat to national security even.”

  “You’re right, of course.” Alexis might have an awkward phone call in store, but national security trumped her discomfort.

  JESSICA

  I saved the file and shut down my laptop as the plane descended into Dallas, where I would make my connecting flight to D.C. I’d already scoped out the passengers during a trip to the restroom. No redheads or buzz cuts in evidence. I shook my head, feeling slightly ridiculous.

  I was looking forward to seeing Liz, but I wondered what I’d tell her. She’d never believe the truth. I could scarcely believe it myself.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Joe

  Cotter and Billy surveyed the living room of Jessica’s empty condo. “Looks like she blew outta here, huh?” Billy said. “I think we freaked her out.”

  “Your sheer brilliance is surpassed only by your ability to state the completely obvious,” Cotter observed.

  Billy frowned. “Huh?”

  “Exactly.”

  The freckled redhead muttered, shook his head. “So we blew it.”

  Cotter’s eyes flashed. “Did we? Or did we do her a favor?”

  Billy nodded. “Yeah. I see what you mean.”

  Cotter retrieved his cell phone and made a call. “She’s gone,” he said into the phone. A moment passed, then he added, “Is that so?” Cotter nodded and said, “Okay, thanks.” He ended the call.

  “Here’s the latest. She’s flown the coop. Literally.”

  He sighed and shrugged. “Like I said, maybe it’s for the best.”

  “But the others—”

  “I know.” Cotter cut him off. “We still have a job to do.”

  “Couldn’t we just . . . talk to her?”

  Cotter looked at him. “That would be nice, but I’m following orders here.”

  “So what’s next?”

  Cotter pulled out his cell phone and punched in a number. As the phone at the other end rang, he said, “We need to hop the next plane to D.C.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Jessica

  I waited, laptop case leaning against my bag, and scanned the throng of traffic moving through National Airport (I refuse to add Reagan to the name). I’d reached my sister while waiting for my connecting flight in Dallas. Liz seemed happy to hear from me, even eager to see me. Truly odd. I’d expected at least a bit of resistance, if not indignation, given the last-minute nature of my appearance.

  I spotted Liz’s cherry red Porsche, not exactly the least conspicuous of cars, as it cruised around the curve toward the pickup area. I waved and grabbed my bags as she eased up to the curb.

  She slid out, tapped around the car in high heels, and embraced me in a cloud of expensive, spicy fragrance. “It’s so good to see you.”

  “It’s good to see you, too,” I said. “I really appreciate this.”

  Liz studied my face, then smiled. She had obviously come from work, despite the late hour. She wore a gray linen suit, the skirt’s accordion wrinkles suggesting time spent at her desk at the Justice Department. She tucked a wayward strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

  “Let me help you with your bags,” she said. “You must be starving. I know just the place to eat . . . .”

  After subsisting for the past few hours on Starbucks coffee, a prepackaged sandwich grabbed on the run in Dallas, plus a thimbleful of airplane peanuts, I couldn’t have agreed more. As we placed my bags in the trunk, I took one last glance around the crowd and saw nothing of concern.

  Everything’s fine. You’re safe here.

  If only I could believe that.

  It was nearly midnight when we arrived at a restaurant on Capitol Hill, a historic-looking place, all done up in mahogany and brass. We slid into a velvet-cushioned booth and scanned the menu.

  “I didn’t know anything was open this late in D.C.,” I said. “I thought they rolled up the streets around eight.”

  Liz ignored my little slam at D.C.’s nightlife and kept reading. She still hadn’t asked me why I was here.

  “Everything looks good,” I said.

  “Everything is good.” Her tone turned surprisingly sharp. Setting the menu aside, she added, “The food that is.” She peered at me across the table. “Jess, what’s going on?”

  Here it was. I’d been wrestling with how much to tell Liz and how much to leave out. Given Liz’s high-level attorney job, did I really want to tell her about Fred’s murder? Or the fact that I’d found him dead and told no one? I had absolutely no idea what obligations, if any, she’d have if I told her.

  I launched into the little speech I’d prepared, only to be interrupted by our waiter. After we’d placed our orders, I told her everything—everything except the part about Fred. Instead I said I’d tried to talk to him but couldn’t, which, strictly speaking, was true.

  Liz mostly listened, her expression patient, her eyes serious, but with a hint of sympathy in them. Now and then, she’d ask for clarification of some point or my thoughts on why this was happening. I could picture her wearing that same face and asking similar questions while meeting with someone from a client agency.

  By the time I’d finished my story, our food had arrived and I tucked into my cheeseburger with gusto. Its smoky flavor was intoxicating. Liz poked about at her salad.

  “I know you must think I’m crazy,” I said, between mouthfuls. “But I just felt like I had to leave. Go somewhere that felt safe, you know?”

  “Sure.” Liz sounded uncertain, distracted for a moment. She stopped torturing her salad. “You did the right thing.”

  She returned to her food, then added, “And, no, I don’t think you’re crazy. Although it does sound rather strange.”

  You have no idea, I thought.

  After we ate, we drove directly to Liz’s Capitol Hill condo. Parking was a bitch. Liz just managed to squeeze the Porsche into a spot four blocks away. She couldn’t abide the thought of paying for a space. After securing a bar lock on the steering wheel, she locked the car and set the alarm.

  “Does it worry you to park such a nice car on the street?”

  Liz shrugged. “If they want to steal it, they will. That’s what insurance is for.”

  As we trooped the four blocks past genteel brick row houses, I thought, Who’d want to live in this berg? Liz saw it differently, of course. She liked being a Washingtonian. She actually thought it was exciting to have a senator livin
g in her neighborhood. Whoopee.

  Liz had a first-floor unit in a rowhouse of whitewashed brick—a tiny, but no doubt expensive, piece of real estate. The one small bedroom barely elevated it above the level of an efficiency. She placed her purse and keys on a small table near the door.

  “Let me take the futon,” she said. “You can have the bed.” She unfolded the futon so it could serve its function as a cot.

  “No, I’ll take the futon. I don’t want to put you out. You’ve done enough for me already.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I nudged her aside. “I’ll be fine, Liz. I’m so tired, I could sleep on the floor.”

  Liz hesitated, then relented. “Well, okay, if you insist.” She smiled. “I’ll let you get some rest, then. Got an early morning myself tomorrow. There’s cereal in the cupboard, eggs in the fridge, bagels in the freezer . . . .” Her voice trailed off and it hit me how drained she looked. “Just help yourself to anything you like.”

  “Thanks, sis. Now get some sleep.”

  “You, too. We can talk more about this tomorrow, if you like.”

  “I appreciate that. G’night.”

  “Night.”

  I watched her shuffle off to bed. I was exhausted, but wired. Probably all that Starbucks coffee on top of eating late. By the time I changed into my PJs, brushed my teeth, and stretched out on the futon, I hoped I’d be sleepy. But the events of the last couple of days kept reeling through my mind like a never-ending movie montage.

  Finally, after half an hour of lying still with my eyes shut, I gave up and turned on the TV, keeping the sound low. I flipped through the channels halfheartedly, stopping abruptly on CNN when I saw the words “Murder in Boulder” emblazoned across the bottom of the screen.

  If I wasn’t wide awake before, I was now. I sat up and tapped the volume up.

  “. . . victim of the execution-style killing has been identified as Fred Berwin, a graduate student at the University of Colorado.”