“Are you sure? Don’t you have a cell phone number for her? You must know where she is right now if you’re her personal assistant.”
“I’m afraid I really can’t provide you with her cell phone number. I have a strict non-disclosure agreement in my employment contract that prevents me from giving out those details to anyone. I have to respect her privacy and she has to be able to trust me implicitly. Surely the FBI can find a phone number?”
“Of course but it would be a lot easier if you just gave me her number, or better yet, tell me where she is, and I’ll be on my way.”
“Sorry but I can’t.”
“Let me explain how this works. This is one of those cases where the FBI will open our arms wide and drag everybody in. Then we sift through everyone to see who’s guilty and who’s innocent. Believe me when I tell you, Albert, it’s no fun being accused by us.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“I don’t make threats.”
Albert glared at him before saying, “Like I said, I’ve never heard of Sarah Burns. I’ll talk to Ms. Haywood as soon as I can, but until then I’m not going to let you stand here and try to intimidate me or extract personal information about my employer from me. I’m happy to put you in touch with her attorney.”
The words Sarah Burns rolled off his tongue as if he said them all the time. Chris had only mentioned her name quickly in passing, and he not only remembered but repeated it with ease. Albert James Winslow was hiding something.
“Do you really want to go that route?” Chris asked.
“Fine. Is there someplace I can reach you this evening?” Albert asked. “I’ll call as soon as I talk to her.”
“I’ll call you. What’s your mobile number?” Chris entered the number into a new contact on his mobile. He repeated it to Albert to confirm and then said, “And what’s the address you are heading to in Beverley Hills?”
Albert gave Chris the address and he entered that as well.
“I’ll call you around 8.” Chris walked over to his car and was about to get in when he turned to Albert and said, “Do you have any kids, Albert?”
Deep lines appeared on Albert’s previously smooth forehead and his face flushed as he said in a trembling voice. “I had a daughter but she died a long time ago. When she was three. Why?”
Chris had just wanted to see Albert’s expression when he lobbed out that question but now he felt like a jerk. “I’m sorry.”
Albert pursed his lips, shook his head softly, then turned and walked to the mansion. His previously erect stature now slightly compressed.
Chris climbed into his car and drove away. At the end of the street he pulled into the parking lot of a convenience store and stopped to gather himself. What was he going to do now? Should he head over to this Beverley Hills address? Getting a room for some rest would be a good start; he could certainly use some food and sleep. He also needed a plan. His previously mundane, quite predictable life was slipping completely out of his control.
He bought a Gatorade and a couple granola bars. As he sat in his car eating, he saw Albert drive to the end of the street and stop at the red light. Once it turned green, Albert took a right, driving north up the coastal route. Beverley Hills was in the opposite direction.
Chris started the car and accelerated out of the parking lot across the busy street. Several cars’ horns blared as he cut them off. He focused on Albert, who was about a hundred yards in front of him. The Suburban’s size made it easy to follow in the moderate traffic. After half an hour of tailing him, Chris relaxed. Albert obviously had lied about his destination.
Heading north with the ocean on his left seemed inherently wrong and threw off his normally excellent sense of direction but the scenery more than made up for it. The highway wound between towering hills on his right, covered with magnificent stilt legged houses, and swaths of white sand beaches speckled with early sun worshippers to his left. He’d hate to live in one of those houses when the big one hits. He envisioned them tumbling down the hillside, spewing debris before shattering into a million pieces. How could people live with that constant threat hanging over them? As a born and bred Yankee, he couldn’t do it. Throw a few feet of snow his way in a blizzard, or one hundred ten percent humidity in the middle of a scorching summer heat wave, no problem. But earthquakes? No thanks.
Seeing and following Albert was the biggest break he’d gotten all day and as he tailed him, his mind wandered back to Karen. They had always talked about flying out to LA for a vacation, renting a sports car, and driving up coastal Route 1 to Seattle.
“That one’s never going to happen,” he said to the wind. His arm rested on the door, and the warm air flowed over it, soothing him. But each time his thoughts turned to Karen his blood pressure skyrocketed. Would he ever be able to give someone that much of himself again? He’d always coveted his trust – not giving it out freely. If you don’t earn it, you don’t get it – it was that simple.
9:23 am Boston, Massachusetts
“He was just babbling,” Carl said to the doctor and his intern. “He doesn’t know what’s going on.”
“Do we have to put any containment protocols in place?” The doctor asked.
“No, definitely not,” Carl replied. The doctor glared silently back at Carl.
“I need to notify our administrator. I’m not comfortable with this.”
“There’s nothing to be uncomfortable about,” Carl said. “He’s just an agent that went bad and shot a cop. That’s it.”
“But what about what he said? He was definitely talking about a virus.”
“He’s wounded, almost died, drugged, you can’t take what he said as fact.”
“In my experience, patients in his state never lie. They may lose their inhibitions but they don’t lie. I’m bringing in my management now,” the doctor said. “I know what I heard and we have specific protocols that we have to follow in situations like this. It’s simple. We—”
Carl’s face reddened with every word from the doctor’s mouth. “I don’t care what you heard. I’m telling you your protocols don’t apply here.”
“I’m afraid that’s not your call.”
Carl exchanged a quick glance with Irving then said, “Fine, if I tell you what’s really happening will you work with us to bring him out of it so we can interrogate him.”
Pell’s heart pounded as he rounded the last turn. He was in the lead, but someone was closing fast. His lungs burned as he tried to suck in enough air to keep him going. An unusually large crowd lined the track for the meet at Braintree High School. He was running the 800 meter – his specialty – and he could see the finish line up ahead. He wanted to peek behind him but to save precious milliseconds, didn’t. The quickening drumbeat of footsteps of the runner closing the gap behind him were getting louder with each second.
The crowd cheered. Pell, Pell, Pell. He leaned forward and pushed himself to the limit. The finish line neared. The runner behind him no longer gained. He was going to win. He could feel it. These Regionals would be his biggest victory ever – next stop, the state championship.
Twenty yards to go. Fifteen. Ten. Nothing could stop him now. As he closed in on the finish line he glanced at the crowd on the side of the track. His friends and family cheered him on, screaming, jumping up and down, and chanting his name over and over. Out of nowhere, two men in blue overcoats and suits stood quietly in the middle of the frenzied crowd. They were motionless and emotionless as they glared at him.
He knew them and didn’t know them at the same time. They weren’t from here – this time at least. His focus was gone, but fortunately his momentum wasn’t as he sailed across the finish line, still looking at the out-of-place men.