Pop Travel (11 page)

Removing the drive, he tilted his head and frowned at it, watching the one-inch long, silver stick of doom roll around in his hand, innocently reflecting the sunlight. Angry at the drive, he clasped it and shoved it back in his pocket. He was helpless, in way over his head. He sat down and leaned over, searching the dirt at his feet for answers.
Why me? I don’t want this responsibility! This is huge! What am I supposed to do? I’m just a hack private eye.

Trying to make sense of the situation, he ran his hands over his head. It just didn’t seem possible. Travelers had become barcodes and dollar signs, not important enough to cause a shutdown.
Who could be so callous and cold? And connected enough to pull it off! Surely, whoever is covering it up knows I know something. If they weren’t after me before, they surely will be now. I wonder why they haven’t killed me yet. Maybe they don’t know how much I know.

The logical culprit would be someone at Pop Travel International. Plenty of scumballs to be found at his old corporate nemesis, PTI. But it had to be someone high up, with connections big enough to manipulate the Feds. Cooper searched the shady sidewalk behind him again, expecting someone to burst out of the trees and electrocute him. His head popped up as he heard squealing tires.
Was that a siren? Should I worry about the police?

Letting his shoulders sag, he pouted, drowning in self-pity.
Why did I have to go meet that crazy Phisner? I knew pop travel was bad news. Oh, Kristen. What should I do?

Turning his face up to the sky again, the sides of his mouth drooped and he closed his eyes, sending a little prayer.

A buzz made him jump.

One hand grabbed the bench and the other grabbed his heart. Realizing it was just his QV, he steadied himself. Shaking, he checked the ID and answered it.

“Hey, Dawson.”
Perfect timing.

“Hey, bro!” Dawson looked so happy and innocent. Now, Cooper’s powerful little brother needed his protection.

He wanted to warn him not to pop, without sounding like a lunatic.

“I was just thinking about you.”

“That doesn’t sound good. I called the office and Miki said you were out of town. Where are you? Do I hear birds?” Dawson asked.

“Yeah. I’m in Atlanta. Had to follow a cheating husband downtown. I’m in the park, taking a breather.” Cooper’s impromptu lying skills had increased significantly in the last three days.

“Oh. Did you hear about that accident at the travelport? You weren’t down there, were you?”

Cooper avoided answering his question. Dawson didn’t need to know about Cooper’s involvement; his brother had a campaign to worry about. Yet Cooper still wanted to give Dawson some hints not to pop. “I don’t think it was an accident.”

“Of course you don’t. Such the cynic.” Dawson grinned. “So whatever happened to that paranoid character you told me about? Phineas? Did you find out anything about his fiancée?”

“Phisner. Not yet, but I have a few leads.” He frowned as he remembered poor Phisner’s accident pictures.
More leads than I want.

“Well, I got a little information, per your request. Very little, I’m afraid. I doubt it will help. The missing persons investigations are sealed tight. They’re federal investigations, not just local police, so you need high clearance and I don’t have it. And I had more trouble finding anything for you on the Creator, nothing more than his address and bio.”

“I got all that online.”
Useless Qnet.

“What can I tell you? You know, I really don’t think the disappearances have anything to do with pop travel or the Creator. I suggest you try more conventional avenues.”

Oh, little bro, I wish you were right.
Yet, conventional avenues were exactly what Cooper needed his observers to think he was taking. If he wanted to keep anyone listening from killing him or Dawson, he should make some of his plan public and lead them down the wrong path. Then maybe they would leave him alone.

“Tell me what I have to do to meet the Creator.” As he spoke to Dawson, a plan formed. Putting the video on the Qnet wouldn’t be enough. Though it would cause shock and doubt and scandal, too many f/x specialists could produce the same thing. And the government censors wouldn’t let it run, anyway. He would have to convince the celebrity Creator to admit a problem with pop travel, publicly. Then the world would believe and the case would be closed. No more covering up and no more accidents.

“Ha-ha! That’s a good one. There’s no way! He’s protected better than the President! What good do you think that would do, anyway?”

Time for some more creative lying.

“The Creator is the source. I think there
is
a problem with pop travel. Maybe the missing people are getting lost. Being sent to the wrong location and having memory loss or something. I can’t just walk up to the front desk at PTI and file a complaint. They’d say I’m crazy and send me away. Or worse. They’re probably the ones covering it up.”
With help from above,
he added to himself, aiming another sneer at the sky. “I need to speak directly to the Creator. If there is a glitch, he is the only person who would be trying to fix it. It’s his technology.”

“There you go again with your conspiracy theories.” Dawson shook his head.

“So be it. It’s worth a try.”
Come on, Dawson. Help a brother out. Your life could be at stake.

“Okay. Well, I have heard some stories floating around here. All speculation and rumor, mind you. But apparently he works out of a secret lab in his house.”

“Hunh. Sounds like he never gets a break.”

“No. He’s treated like a prince. Apparently, he just works on improvements and his own experiments. A real scientific guru, so they say.”

“Does anyone ever see him? Does he go anywhere?”

“He’s a celebrity! He hosts parties and private concerts all the time. He even had the Braves play an invitation only pre-season game at his very own baseball stadium. All guests and workers are background checked, and there is a whole security company with guards and equipment covering every inch of his property.”

“Sounds like a spoiled prisoner, to me.”

“That’s what happens when you get famous. Lots of crazy fans and stalkers. He’d be mobbed if he went out in public. He avoids the spotlight and paparazzi. He has no need to go anywhere when everything he wants can be brought to him. But my favorite rumor is the laser fences. Supposedly they surround the entire compound.”

“Doesn’t he have any real friends?”

Dawson shrugged.

“He probably has friends over, I don’t know. His mother is his only family in the States, and she lives there with him. It’s a kid’s paradise.”

“That doesn’t sound like paradise to me.”

“Always the pessimist.”

“That’s me. Has there ever been any trouble? Party crashers?”

“No. Just drunk, rowdy guests asked to leave early, once in a while. And you can’t crash a party. The only way in or out is to pop.”

Cooper made a sour face, like he’d been punched in the gut.

“What’s wrong, Cooper? Still afraid to pop? I’m telling you, it’s not that bad.”

If you only knew.

“I was hoping to make it through life without having to pop. I guess I do have a touch of pop anxiety,” he tried to joke, remembering the Security guards at the transport center. “Maybe I will pop into his birthday party Friday.”

“You can’t without a ticket. And snooping around could get you in some deep trouble. Let me see if I can scrounge you up an invitation. I don’t want you to get picked up for breaking and entering.” His smile turned to a wince.

“Thanks. Hey. Are you all right?”

“Sure, just a stress headache.”

“How long have you had it?” Cooper’s heart beat a little faster. Headaches were a warning sign.

“Just this week. It’s nothing. After I tour a few cities this weekend, I’m taking a break. Don’t worry.”

“Sure I will. You’re my little brother.”

“I’ll be fine. You just watch yourself.”

“I always do.”

“I’ll be in touch.”

“Thanks again, D.” Cooper disconnected.

If Dawson was getting headaches, Cooper needed to get the truth and fast.

FBI – Atlanta Division
10:30 a.m., Thursday, July 25

“So Dawson is going to play Cooper’s Fairy Godmother and get him into the ball,” Ed said as he watched the imager. “He may or may not know anything, according to their conversation, but I want you to set up a meeting to inform Mrs. Jones and Mr. Saffioti of these new developments. Have them make arrangements to be here in thirty minutes. Dispatch Agent Geri to intercept Cooper and stick with him. She needs to get close to him and find out what he knows and what his intentions are. Then get your gizmos set up on the imager in my office,” he barked at Nate.

“Yes, sir.” Nate watched Ed waddle away.

Nate had a difficult time tracking down Vivienne Jones, the Deputy Secretary of Commerce. Besides being Ed’s unofficial boss, she blatantly promoted pop travel. A well-known, unconfirmed rumor said Mrs. Jones had caught Ed in a compromising position and threatened to tell his wife, so he had become her lapdog. Nate wouldn’t be surprised if it had been Mrs. Jones herself. Ed despised working for her and always mumbled under his breath about “the Witch said this,” and, “what does the Witch want now?” Nate wondered how long the Wicked Witch of the South would reign.

When Nate finally got Mrs. Jones’ aide to listen, he explained the potential severity of the situation. Nate would meet the aide and Mrs. Jones when they popped from her office in Washington to FBI headquarters in Atlanta in fifteen minutes.

Next, Nate called Ray Saffioti, Chief Technology Officer of PTI. When Nate told him Ed had called a meeting with Mrs. Jones because of a recent development, Ray’s pompous smile quickly faded. He told Nate he would drop everything and use the personal platform in his office to pop to the FBI receiving platform. Mr. Saffioti reminded Nate of a weasel, conniving and paranoid, with a long snout and beady black eyes. Luck had to be the secret to Ray Saffioti’s success. That was the only way Nate could justify how that guy rose to such a high position; right place, right time, right contacts. Someday, his luck would run out, and the world would be better off. Politics and upper management turned Nate’s stomach.

After making all the arrangements, Nate went upstairs to reconfigure Ed’s office. Nate hoped this business would be over soon. He didn’t know all the details, but he knew enough to be uncomfortable with it. And with all Ed’s complaining, Nate believed Ed wanted to be done with it, too, but Mrs. Jones controlled him. Every time a new missing persons case surfaced, Ed would scowl and spout a few choice words for weaselly Ray or say, “I hope the Witch doesn’t make someone disappear.” Those two had to know the situation couldn’t go on much longer without a resolution or someone slipping up.

With his chores done, Nate headed to the transport room and waited for their guests to be received. Mr. Saffioti arrived first, then Mrs. Jones and her aide. They all declined post-pop medical exams. Nate thought that was brave, considering.

The tall, slender, forty-ish brunette and the short, stocky, sixty-ish Italian made an odd pair, as they walked down the hall side by side. When they arrived, Ed welcomed his guests and offered them seats and refreshments. Declining the meager snacks, they sat down in the uncomfortable swivel chairs, meant to make suspects squirm.

When Ed nodded, Nate took his place behind the desk to control the imager, as well as all electronics in the room. He dimmed the lights and the visitors spun their chairs to view the frames in the large imager opposite Ed’s desk. It took up the top half of the wall and displayed what Nate had been watching for the past couple of days on his slightly smaller version, downstairs.

The atmosphere chilled several degrees. Nate sensed the visitors’ dread. These meetings were never pleasant. The big shots thought they knew why they were called in, without having to ask. Nate smiled, anticipating their response to this new development.

Taking a spot next to the imager, Ed addressed the group.

“Welcome. I appreciate you coming on such short notice. We have called you here to make you aware of a red flag. We believe a private investigator has come across a video concerning the disappearances.”

“What?” Mr. Saffioti’s comment burst out of him like a too-tightly wound spring. He grabbed the sides of his chair and jerked forward. If he leaned out any farther, he would tumble to the floor. “How is that possible?”

His exaggerated reaction betrayed the confident impression his gray tailored suit induced.

“Isn’t there protocol for taking care of all that?” Mrs. Jones asked. Remaining composed in her chair, she delicately raised a hand to rest under her chin in thought, giving Ed a look of irritated expectance, like a nun holding a ruler, waiting for a child’s confession.

“Of course, Mrs. Jones.” Ed ignored Mr. Saffioti, and continued. “It appears a Security supervisor at the ATC withheld additional copies of the videos in question. Nate will show you what we know about our tenacious investigator.”

He gestured for Nate to begin. Nate opened a frame with a picture of Cooper and a brief bio, including information about his brother, Representative Dawson Cooper. Ed gave them a minute to read it.