Off Course (5 page)

“It’s a necessary intrusion, as deemed by the Patriot Act authorized by Congress, being as how it involves the security of the United State of America, Ms. Burns,” said McCoy matter-of-factly. “Now explain to us how you knew about this Genevieve person.”

“I’ve already told you, Collin texted me.”

“We don’t see a record of an incoming text that mentions anything about Genevieve, Ms. Burns.”

“I deleted all his texts.” She knew this wouldn’t stand up to scrutiny, but she had to stick to her story.

Reggie Crabtree gestured to his partner and resumed control of the conversation. “Dr. Burns, don’t make us talk to Mike Zimmerman. We will if we have to, but we realize what an uncomfortable situation that could present for both of you.”

Emily shifted in her seat and squeezed the fingers of her left hand. She spoke quickly, which she often did when she was nervous. She thought about Mike Zimmerman, her boss, and wondered how the socially awkward, mildly autistic genius would perform under the pressure of an interrogation about something completely new and foreign to him. Surely he would then ask her to divulge the entire story. It would most certainly rattle him. Being put in such an uncomfortable situation, Mike would undoubtedly come to her for an explanation. No matter the outcome, she feared the whole thing had the potential to shatter his confidence in her and create an awkward distance between them. It could harm her career, and possibly his. He didn’t need this kind of stress and she couldn’t work out all of the negative ramifications of the FBI interrogating Mike Zimmerman.

Emily decided it was best to protect Mike and her working relationship with him. “Collin slipped a cheap little phone in my purse at some point during the few minutes we had together in Chicago without me knowing. My guess is that he did it while we were walking through the convention center. He texted me later and told me it was so we could communicate. He said it was to be our little secret.”

“What sorts of secrets have you two been sharing, Ms. Burns?” asked Crabtree.

“You want to see these secret texts? Fine. I’ll show them to you. Excuse me one minute while I get the phone out of my purse.” Emily disappeared around the corner and returned with the cheap little flip phone in her hand. “Here. Take a look. You’ll see that he is quite concerned about his parents, especially his mother. Nothing too exciting.”

Spinner McCoy held out a hand and took the secret phone. He opened it and began pushing buttons and reading what was on the screen. Crabtree leaned over as McCoy pointed to something.

“Like I said, he wanted to be able to talk to me. We only sent a few texts,” Emily said as if that would clear things right up.

“Ms. Burns, we’re going to need to clone this phone. You can keep the original, but we’re going to need to use the data from this phone in our investigation,” said Reggie. “We’re also going to need to know more about the conversations you had using this phone.”

“Oh, no. I don’t want it used to incriminate Collin.”

“Our goal is first to find him and bring him back to the United States safely. We’ll figure out from there whether or not he’s guilty of the crimes he’s suspected of committing,” said Crabtree. “Besides, this way we don’t have to arrest you for obstruction of justice and withholding material evidence in a federal terrorism investigation. I would think that could do more damage to your career than our interviewing Mike Zimmerman.”

McCoy added, “Cloning this phone will also allow us to track his movements and yours so we can keep you both safe.”

McCoy pulled a device out of his briefcase and plugged the secret phone into it while Emily watched. He then pulled a laptop out of his shoulder bag and began punching keys and tapping the mouse pad.

The procedure lasted about three minutes in total. McCoy handed the phone back to Agent Crabtree, who handed it across the table to Emily. He asked several follow-up questions and reviewed a list of things she should and should not do. It all passed by her. A thick mental fog enveloped her and she hardly heard a thing being uttered. Her mind was caught up in the revelation that the government was seeking information regarding a man, her friend, whom they had declared dead just a few days prior because maybe he wasn’t as dead as they wanted everyone else to believe. They had also just admitted that they were going to invade her privacy and track her and Collin. They would use the phone she held in her hand to do it. What they would do with Collin once they found him remained a mystery. Their intentions were, and would likely remain, concealed. All these thoughts made the ground upon which her trust had been placed shake and it was unnerving.

“Dr. Burns, are you following me?” Agent Crabtree interrupted her thoughts.

“Yeah, you mean the part about being wary of any and all strangers? I didn’t hear you mention, however, the part about needing to be wary of you? Or the other FBI agents who may be monitoring my every move.”

“We are taking precautions for your safety—” he started to say.

But Emily wasn’t done yet. “I’m sure
my
safety is far more important to you than, say, capturing Collin Cook, if he’s even alive, and extracting any and all useful information out of him before you dump him on the side of the road, so to speak.”

“We’re concerned about his safety, too,” Crabtree said, more defensively than before.

“I’m still unclear about why you’re concerned about his safety when your agency considers him dead. What sort of horrible things will that permit you to do to him?”

“Dr. Burns, you’ve got it all wrong—” Crabtree started.

Emily didn’t miss a beat. “And, if you guys were interested in helping him and keeping him safe, you could’ve done so by now. You could’ve rescued him and given him safe shelter somewhere before he drove a little rubber boat into a hurricane. You could have protected him long before that. Instead, you hunt him like some sort of animal to hang on your wall or a dangerous criminal or a thug and expect him to just fall into your trap.”

“I don’t understand the reason for your mistrust, Dr. Burns,” said Crabtree. “Your friend has proven to be very elusive. We are simply using the resources available to us to locate him so we can first ascertain any useful information from him to protect the citizens of the United States from potential harm.”

“I understand that. It’s the methods you will use to extract that information that I question. May I ask how you will go about getting the answers you seek?”

“I can assure you, Dr. Burns, that there is no need to be concerned.”

“Then I can safely assume that Collin will have legal representation present during such questioning, can I not? I’ve heard about how suspected terrorists are treated.”

“Dr. Burns, your friend Collin is a US citizen and will be afforded every protection granted by the Constitution.”

“That includes, does it not, the right to have a lawyer present during questioning to protect his rights?” said Emily, finally gaining a sense of balance in the conversation.

Crabtree maintained eye contact as he drew in a long breath. “Yes, it does, Dr. Burns. You have my word.”

“None of that matters, though, if Collin is dead. You have no reason to extend Constitutional rights to someone who is not even alive.”

“We have good reason to believe that he is alive and may be contacting you soon, Dr. Burns. We would not be here if that were not the case.”

“Your website says he’s missing and presumed dead, so how is it you know he exists and will be contacting me soon?”

Reggie Crabtree paused for a moment but his gaze never left Emily’s quizzical face. She was smart and quick on her feet and unafraid to speak her mind. When he spoke, he spoke slowly, as one does when he’s choosing his words wisely. “Dr. Burns, we don’t know positively if Collin is alive or if he’s dead. We hope he’s alive. We want him alive. We want him to help us bring down an enigmatic terrorist organization that has disrupted the financial dealings of the US and our allies and threatens to bring international commerce to a grinding halt. That would have a very negative impact on the livelihoods of millions of people in the free world for a very long time, I’m afraid. If we don’t figure out a way to stop this Pho Nam Penh and his group, life in America will not resemble the life we are used to for very long. Some of our cyber crime experts believe this group is poised to launch an all-out assault on the computing systems of all of the major banks in the Western Hemisphere.”

“How do you know this and what makes you think Collin has anything to do with it?”

“We don’t know that he does, but we know he has visited several of those banks in the past several months and has withdrawn large sums of money from them. We also have pictures of him meeting with Penh and a man we suspect is one of his top lieutenants,” explained Crabtree.

“That doesn’t prove he’s involved in these crimes,” said Emily.

“Collin is the only person we know for sure who has spent time with Pho Nam Penh. We have photographic evidence. We have every reason to believe, based on his behavior, that he is mixed up in this thing deeper than you would ever like to suspect.”

Emily didn’t back down. Her face was a mask. Her words were like arrows. “Then why would he risk meeting me in Chicago? Why wouldn’t he just stay hidden? You admitted it yourself: this Pho Nam Penh has been so far below the radar that you guys haven’t been able to track him. Why wouldn’t Collin just join up with him and hide? Why has he been visible enough for you guys to almost catch him so many times, unlike Penh? Your explanation doesn’t add up, Agent Crabtree.”

Agent McCoy, growing agitated in the background, sat forward and cleared his throat as if to speak. Crabtree, the lead investigator and senior partner, held up an arm to both stop and silence his partner. “I understand your skepticism, Dr. Burns,” he said calmly. “I don’t have time to lay out our whole case, but I assure you that we are acting in not only in his best interest, but yours as well. I promised Mr. and Mrs. Cook that I would do everything I could to bring their son home safely. I also took an oath to uphold, protect, and defend my country against all enemies, both foreign and domestic. If Collin can help us defend against an enemy, I’ll have the privilege of keeping two promises at the same time.”

“You seem to believe, Agent Crabtree, that Collin is an enemy, one you are sworn to protect our country against.”

“I never said he was an enemy, only that he has had contact with Penh and his group. We will treat him as an informant. If we’re able to apprehend him, he will be in protective custody until we arrest Pho Nam Penh.”

Her bravado was beginning to crumble as she practically glared at Reggie for a long moment. When she finally spoke, her demeanor was less forceful, more analytical. “Up until now, you and your agency seemed hell-bent on eliminating this threat and disposing of it.” Her voice was cool and her tone even. This was not an emotional accusation. This was a scientific evaluation.

“Like I said, I promised the Cooks that I would bring their son home safely. I am not trying to eliminate him, as you say. I am convinced that he can help us solve a crime―multiple crimes, actually―and eliminate the threat posed by the real enemy, this Pho Nam Penh. I need you to trust me, like the Cooks trust me.”

Emily’s eyes bored into Reggie’s. Her expression didn’t change, but she nodded her head slowly. “Proof is in the doing, not in the saying, Agent Crabtree. You’ve cloned the phone that Collin gave me. Use it to bring him home safely. I will hold you to your promise.”

“I will do just that, Dr. Burns. I just want to get to him before Penh and his men do. Trust me, he will be much safer with us.” Looking at McCoy, who nodded, he added. “A protective detail will be put in place for your safety. They should arrive here shortly and will escort you to work, then remain outside your building.”

“And how long do I have to endure this breach of privacy?”

“As long as it takes to neutralize Penh and the threat he poses to your safety, Dr. Burns.”

Long after this conversation, Emily would replay it in her mind and wonder if she had done the right thing. Collin had told her to talk to the FBI and now she had done that. They knew everything that had happened between her and Collin since they reconnected two years earlier. She knew Collin was smart enough to have a purpose behind the suggestion. Despite having done as he asked, something gnawed at her insides.

Western Caribbean Sea, 77 miles south of Grand Cayman Island

June 14, 10:35 a.m. Caribbean Time

The acrid smell of gun smoke, mixed with blood, stained the air. All other sounds were drowned out by the reverberations from the gun shot. Nobody moved. It was as if the scene was freeze framed. If not for the constant pitching of the boat, Collin would have thought time had stopped. Horror ruled the moment.

Stinky barked a command to the man with the gun, who wore a green island-print button-up shirt with palm trees and hammocks on it. His Nikes were black with fluorescent green trim. These men’s apparel belied their true natures and dark intentions. The man wearing green’s arms had tattoos near the wrists, some sort of insignia that must have meant something. Collin had noticed this before the man pulled the trigger.

Now, he sat stone still, trying to comprehend what had transpired.

Upon hearing Stinky’s command, the scene came unpaused and Mr. Green began to move about as ordered. Blood had splattered on Mr. Green’s face, which he wiped on the shoulder of his shirt as he stepped forward toward Miguel, who had dropped to his knees at the side of Tog’s lifeless body. He, too, was covered in his friend’s blood. Mr. Green pushed the muzzle of the gun against the base of Miguel’s head and looked to Stinky, waiting for him to say something.

All the blood had drained from Collin’s head and a new, heavier kind of sickness gripped him. He could hardly breathe, let alone think. His ears were ringing and his eyes were forever tainted by what they had witnessed. In shock, Collin sat motionless, staring at Tog and the blood pooling around him, hoping somehow he would sit up and shrug it off; hoping somehow to rewind the scene and follow a different script, one with a brighter outcome.

Miguel, paralyzed with a gun at his head, stared wide-eyed at Collin. Collin felt hollow inside and numb outside. He dropped his head until his chin met his chest, unable to withstand the pleading look from his friend. Collin pinched his eyes closed. His mind blank, he couldn’t begin to fathom what Stinky might do next.

Another unintelligible command and more movement to his right grabbed Collin’s attention. Fearing another horrific murder, Collin winced as he stole a glance toward Miguel.

“You will change your mind, Mr. Cook. If you do not wish this friend,” he said, waving his knife toward Miguel, “to experience the same fate, I suggest you deliver the codes.”

Miguel’s jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed as Mr. Green pulled him to his feet and pushed him toward the stairway. His pleading gaze took on new meaning as he shot a glance at Collin.

The smug look of supreme authority and absolute impunity on Stinky’s face brought an irrepressible surge of hatred, contempt, and rage bubbling to the surface. The numbness and hollowness Collin had felt moments before were swept away, replaced by a boiling cauldron of ill wishes. Miguel was safe for the moment as the tattooed gunman shoved him through the cabin door and up the steps, but Collin was left alone with Stinky and a host of conflicting alternatives to ponder.

*              *              *              *

Scripps Cancer Research Clinic, La Jolla, California

June 14, 10:09 a.m.

Emily rushed into the waiting room of the clinic, but it was empty. An attendant slid the frosted glass window open and peered at her. Seeing the white lab coat and ID tag hanging from Emily’s neck, she asked, “Are you looking for a patient, Doctor?”

“Yes, has Mrs. Cook already been taken in for her treatment?”

The young Hispanic gal behind the glass smiled and said, “You must be Emily. She asked about you and seemed anxious to see you. Mr. and Mrs. Cook are in the treatment room, but Dr. Navarro has not yet arrived to begin the procedure. Come on back. I’ll show you where they are.”

Sarah smiled wanly as Emily entered the room. “I’m so glad you came, Emily,” she said softly.

Emily forced a smile of her own as she moved to the bedside and grasped Sarah’s outstretched hand.

Just then the door swung open and a forty-something-year-old Hispanic man with a white smock and a stethoscope rushed in. Two nurses, one in blue scrubs, one in green, flanked him and moved quickly to either side of the bed and began checking things. Dr. Navarro was polite, but reserved. Kind, but quiet. And, apparently, in a hurry. He nodded toward Emily and Henry as he entered and thanked them both for coming, then turned his full focus toward his patient.

“Hello again, Mrs. Cook. How are you feeling today?” After listening to her assessment of her condition, Dr. Navarro looked at Emily and Henry and thanked them again for being there to support Sarah. “Beating cancer, we find, is as much an emotional response to the treatment as it is physical. Having loved ones rally around our patients, we’ve noticed over time, can be as much a determining factor as catching the cancer in its earliest stages. Thank you for coming.” He and the nurses exchanged data and reviewed the procedures.

Dr. Navarro consulted his tablet computer, tapping and swiping at the screen a few times until he came to the page he wanted. “I’m pleased to tell you your blood work looks good. Just what we had hoped for. The T-cell levels are not growing, or at least not like they were. It appears the first two treatments have radically reduced their growth rate, which is exactly what we want.” He issued instructions to the nurses. They began pinching tubes and opening color-coded syringes and laying them on a metal tray next to Sarah’s bed. The doctor checked the labels, then read something on his tablet and made some notes by tapping on the screen with dancing fingers. Satisfied, he set his tablet down and took up a syringe, flicked it twice, squirted a couple of drops out, then pulled back the layers of blankets and asked Sarah if he could untie one of the strings on her gown. Emily turned away. She could inject rats, but couldn’t watch a needle go into a human.

“You’re going to feel a sharp prick here, just under your left breast. There may be a slight burning sensation that accompanies the injection, but it won’t last long.”

Sarah gasped, held her breath a moment, then exhaled unsteadily. The nurses began injecting the other syringes into the tubes below the IV bag that led to a vein in her arm.

“There. That does it. Now, just relax and rest for a while. We’ll let this IV bag and the medicines in it empty. There’s also a sedative and pain killer in the IV lines now. They should help you rest comfortably. We’ll come back and check on you in about two hours.” Dr. Navarro made a few additional notes in his tablet. “Mrs. Cook, this will be much the same as last time. I would expect your reaction, symptoms-wise, to be very similar. There is a good chance, however, that the effects of the treatments will produce a cumulative effect, meaning you may experience an increased amount of lethargy and bloating. This is normal and to be expected. Get plenty of rest and drink lots of clear liquids in the days to come. I’ll bring a prescription for the pain and nausea when I return.” He nodded politely and excused himself from the room. The nurses followed.

Henry moved to the side of the bed and held his wife’s hand. Within minutes, she drifted off to sleep, a peaceful smile on her face. “Have you got a minute to talk, Emily?” he asked softly.

“Of course. What’s on your mind, Mr. Cook.”

“Call me Henry, please.” He stood and moved to the far corner of the room. Emily followed. “I got a very disturbing phone call this morning from Agent Crabtree of the FBI. He and his partner have been our primary contacts at the FBI since Collin disappeared. We’ve met with them twice and had multiple phone conversations. It appears they are still very interested in Collin’s case. Strange, the whole thing. He called at 5:45 this morning, spoke quickly, and sounded like he was in his car.”

“What did he say, exactly?”

“He asked if I had spoken with you since Collin was lost in the storm.”

Emily arched an eyebrow and paused momentarily. “Why would he mention me?”

“My thoughts exactly. Neither Sarah nor I remember telling the FBI anything about you or your involvement. It’s strange. It’s also strange that he didn’t confirm the FBI’s stance on Collin’s status. I have to believe that they think he’s still alive. They must have evidence that they are not sharing with us. Certainly they wouldn’t contact me otherwise,” Henry said, motioning toward his sleeping wife. “Not at a time like this.”

Emily covered her mouth with her hand and cast her eyes to the floor as she mulled over her options. She knew the Cook’s didn’t need any distractions while Sarah fought cancer. On the other hand, Emily knew they were fully engaged in Collin’s saga and no amount of illness or medical treatment would replace the gnawing emptiness created by their son’s prolonged absence. It felt right, so she dived straight in. “Agent Crabtree and his partner showed up at my door shortly after six o’clock this morning and asked me all sorts of questions about Collin’s whereabouts, his plans, his money, our relationship, my involvement in his escape from Chicago. It was mind-numbing. In the end, I told them what little I know and gave them the cell phone Collin gave to me in Chicago.”

“Did you feel coerced into doing that?” Henry asked.

“Not exactly. I felt compelled, yet conflicted. Part of their story made sense. They need to try to find him, if he is alive―something they have not yet admitted out loud to me, either―and want whatever information I can provide since I was the last known friend or family member to have seen him. They said it was for his safety and mine. If Pho Nam Penh were to find him before they did, it could be disastrous for him and for the country. So, I told them what little I know since Collin didn’t tell me anything and handed over the cell phone. They cloned it while we talked. They think it will help them find him. I don’t know how. I had assumed his phone got ruined at sea because I haven’t heard anything from him since that day. I figured I would not be compromising him in any way to give them the phone.”

“They’ll track his movements and determine his last known location using the signal from the phone if it’s still working,” muttered Henry, almost to himself. “What good that will do them, I don’t know, but at least it shows them that you are willing to cooperate. I suppose that should work in your favor. And, who knows, maybe it will help them find Collin and bring him home.”

“That was my thinking, too. It can’t hurt. Oh, and by the way, they sent a pair of agents as protection for me. I guess they fear this Asian mobster will come after me next as leverage against Collin.”

Henry’s brow furrowed and the deep creases in his forehead reemerged. “Leverage,” he mumbled as he gazed at his sleeping wife.

  *              *              *              *

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

June 15, 1:17 a.m. Kuala Lumpur time

“We must call him,” said one of the computer geniuses in the smoke-filled room as he clicked his mouse. He was one of only three men still awake. Two slept on cots in the corners of the room. Two more slept in their seats, heads resting on folded arms on the table. One of them stirred, repositioned, and went back to sleep.

“Are you absolutely certain? 100 percent?” asked the foreman.

“Yes, sir. 100 percent. The description of the car and the license plate matches. The CHP and local traffic cameras show a man and a woman in the car. Both faces match the photos we have. They are both there, inside the building. We need to call right now.”

“Let me see what you have first,” said the foreman, as he shuffled around the table to look over his teammates’ shoulder. After a thorough examination of the evidence, he picked up his phone and punched the number. “Yes, boss, I have some news for you . . . Yes, it’s very important . . . Yes, sir, we have confirmed that the mother and the father are in the San Diego area . . . Yes, sir, the Scripps Clinic . . . No, it’s a different building, but we believe she is there, too . . . Yes, sir, we will monitor the situation and report any changes . . . Yes, they are still in the area . . .Yes, sir, I will, sir. Thank you.”

He ended the call and ordered the other conscious man in the room to call the two operatives in La Jolla.

  *              *              *              *

Scripps Cancer Research Center, La Jolla, California

June 14, 10:38 a.m. Pacific Time

Emily said her good-byes to Henry and Sarah in the darkened and sterile room, although Sarah slept peacefully through it, and made her way out the building to her shining white BMW. The sun overhead was doing its best to maintain Southern California’s image, bouncing its brilliant rays off the bright white paint and windshield, nearly blinding her as she drew near. She averted her eyes to the left to avoid the glare. That’s when she saw it. At first, nothing seemed unusual about a Sprinter van pulling into the parking lot, but as she watched it, she felt something peculiar. The two Asian men inside seemed to pay her close attention, as if they recognized her. Men often stared at her, but she felt greater discomfort than usual as the van moved closer.

As she chirped her car unlocked, Emily glanced around and noticed the van maneuver into a tight parking space next to what she later learned was Henry’s Cadillac. There were dozens of open spots nearby, but she shrugged it off and settled into the driver’s seat, parked a row behind and a dozen parking stalls to the left of the van. She couldn’t help but watch for a moment before she started the engine. She sent a quick text message to a co-worker giving instructions for the next step in the experiment he was working on.