“Once you have completed the task we ask of you, you will be returned home safely.”
Did this have something to with his job a UTC Aerospace? “Who has hired me?” he asked.
“While you are with us, we will treat you with the highest respect and take care of your needs,” she said, hands folded in her lap. “At the end of your stay with us, Mr. Dawkins, we will wire-transfer a million U.S. dollars into your Chase account.”
The mention of the million dollars stopped him. “No, there’s been a mistake. I never agreed to this. I want to go home.”
She leaned closer and slightly parted her lips expectantly. For a second he wasn’t sure if she was going to bite him or kiss him. Instead, she stretched her mouth into the same mechanical smile. “I am here to answer your questions.”
“Okay…First…Who do you work for?”
“There is no reason to be afraid.”
“Please answer my question.” An acute sense of alarm buzzed at the base of his spine.
“While you are away, Mr. Dawkins, your family will be taken care of. We have already wired one hundred thousand dollars to your joint checking account for that purpose. We have people who will attend to the needs of wife and daughter.”
She seemed to be reciting from a memorized script.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Miss Alice Wa.”
“Okay, Alice. It seems that you’ve taken me against my will. I never signed up for this. So how do I know that anything you say is true?”
She frowned and looked confused. “There is no reason to be afraid, Mr. Dawkins.”
He was dressed in the same shirt and pants as before. He unbuttoned his collar to make it easier to breathe. “You said that before, but I don’t believe you. Who do you work for?”
With the mechanical smile still in place, she turned and muttered something to the man with the sunglasses, who picked up a laptop from the seat beside him and leaned across to hand it to her. Dawkins noted that it was a white Toshiba Satellite with a fifteen-and-a-half-inch screen.
She lowered a table out of the wall, set the laptop on it, and opened it. Turning to Dawkins and smiling, she said, “Log in to your checking account and see for yourself.”
It took him a few seconds to remember his Chase password, but when he did, he saw that $100,000 had been deposited in his account on March fifth. His speaking engagement at the Swissotel Metropole had taken place the evening of the third.
“Okay,” he said, sitting up again. Maybe what he had seen was real, and Nan and Karen would be taken care of. But maybe it wasn’t. These people had a jet and were sophisticated. They had set up the whole charade in Geneva. If they wanted to set up a web page that looked real, they probably could.
Trying to sound as calm as he could under the circumstances, he said, “Just tell me where you’re taking me, and why.”
Miss Wa quickly replaced her frown with a smile. The man across from them continued to stare ahead with no expression. “I cannot tell you that, Mr. Dawkins. The mission is top secret.”
The jet jolted sharply right. “What mission?” he asked as he held on to the armrests.
“I cannot tell you specific details. I can tell you that it will involve the application of your scientific and engineering skills toward solving a specific problem.”
“What problem?”
“That is all I can say. I can tell you that you will be treated with the highest respect. All your accommodations and meals will be first class. All your needs will be taken care of. Anything you want.”
She smiled into his eyes. For a moment he had the impression that she was including herself in the offer. In another time and place the proposal would have intrigued him, though he probably wouldn’t have acted on it. Now it only added to his alarm.
He was a man of science who tried to see things as they were, without illusions. These were people with resources. He was a means to an end, not unlike what he had been at UTC. But he had chosen the UTC job and believed he was doing important work for his country.
Who were the people who had taken him? Enemies of some sort, who couldn’t be trusted? What did they need from him?
“Maybe you would like food or wine now?” Miss Wa asked.
He had to think clearly. “A glass of water would be nice.”
“Red, white, or rosé?”
“No wine. Just water.”
“Yes. And maybe a massage afterward?”
He wouldn’t allow himself to be distracted. “What about my job back home?”
She nodded as though she was trying to remember something in the script. “Yes. Your job will be waiting. This has been arranged.”
“How?”
She stood and bowed. “It’s an honor, Mr. Dawkins, to serve you and welcome you as our guest. I’ll get your drinks now and will return to show you the movies we have downloaded for your viewing pleasure.”
Chapter Eight
No one is so brave that he is not disturbed by something unexpected.
– Julius Caesar
Crocker?”
“Yeah?”
“Crocker, you awake?”
He blinked into the stark fluorescent light. A man wearing a white polo shirt with CAESARS PALACE stitched across the pocket leaned over him. He had short sandy hair and a scar across one eyebrow.
“Sorry to wake you, sir. Ms. Blackwell sent me to see how you’re doing and to take you to her if you feel well enough.” He spoke in a flat midwestern accent.
“Jeri?” Crocker sat up in the bed and tried to get his bearings. “Who are you?”
“Special Agent Mike Edberg. I work with Ms. Blackwell.”
He was in a light-blue hospital room with off-white curtains pulled closed. Besides a sore back, tightness in his legs, and a small bandage on his left arm, he felt okay and rested.
“She says it’s important that she see you right away.”
“Where am I, Mike?”
“Centennial Hills Hospital, Las Vegas.”
He remembered the helicopter, the shootout, Mancini’s injuries. Having seen the inside of way too many hospitals recently, he wanted to leave as soon as possible.
“The nurse I spoke to said you aren’t a patient,” Agent Edberg added.
“Good news. Thanks.”
“You were exhausted and a little banged-up, so they gave you an empty bed to sleep in.”
He checked under the blanket and saw that his shoes, pants, and shirt had been removed, but he still had on the undershirt he’d worn to dinner with Cyndi. He’d left her waiting. Not a great way to start a relationship.
The clock by the bed read 8:42.
“I need to wash up, then check on my colleague,” Crocker said. “You know where I can find him?”
“Asleep in the room across the hall.”
“Thanks. Give me ten minutes.”
“I’ll wait for you in the lobby.”
Showered and dressed in the same clothes he had worn the previous night, he found the doctor who’d been treating Mancini. According to Dr. Gupta, his teammate had suffered a concussion, cuts to his arms and face, and a contusion near his right eye. “His condition is stable,” Dr. Gupta said, “but we plan to keep him here another twenty-four hours for observation.”
“Good luck with that.”
Crocker entered Mancini’s room, if only to prove to himself that his teammate was still alive and the episode last night hadn’t been a dream. He found him sitting up in bed eating breakfast and watching a documentary about General George Patton on the History Channel.
“Enjoying yourself?” Crocker asked.
“Always. You have fun last night?”
“You bet,” Crocker answered, remembering the Pelican case and wondering what had happened to it. He’d never had a chance to open it and see what was inside.
“Excellent show, boss. Pull up a chair. General Patton was outstanding. You know what he said when he was asked what he loved most in life?” Mancini asked, shoveling a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.