The Planck Factor

“I’m okay. Honest.” I even managed a smile. Hopefully, a convincing one.

“Well, girl, you turned pale as a ghost. I thought you were going to pass out.”

Well, that’s only because I know that a bunch of extremists are going to kill millions and millions of people. And I need to figure out how to stop them before they do it. No biggie, right?

The look of concern returned to the woman’s face. I realized I’d been staring again.

“I’m okay now,” I blurted. “I . . . I didn’t get much sleep last night. I’m really tired.” This last sentence was spoken with the conviction of one who’s weary to the bone of everything, as I certainly was.

The woman looked a bit more—if not completely—reassured by these words. “All right, honey. You shouldn’t push yourself too hard. Bad for your health.”

This seemed to open the door to any number of rejoinders. But I simply said, “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks.”

I tried to push the horrible thought aside. I had no proof of the group’s plans, but what other part would a geologist play? I reviewed more of the story—a scene about the morning after, Mel briefing Alexis about what she needed to do (having just been through the drill, it was almost like writing in a diary). Not a thing here about geology, but how Swede and Daniel had debunked Magueijo’s footnote about the benign nature of his theory and had research to support the nightmare scenario that a weapon even more destructive than the atom bomb could be created.

“Jeez!” I said, exhausted from lack of sleep and agonizing over the story (not to mention my impending “kidnapping”). “Enough.” I saved my files again and shut down the laptop.

As I packed my equipment into my carrier, I noticed a car slow as it moved past the store. I thought it might be looking for a parking spot, but it passed a perfectly good one.

The car was bland and indistinguishable. A late model compact, grayish-blue.

I watched it turn the corner, out of sight.

Hmm. I wonder if that’s my ride.

I slung my purse over my shoulder, grabbed the carrying case, and tossed my trash on the way out.

I headed back to Liz’s place. It was mid-afternoon, almost 2:00 according to my cell phone. Even so, the streets were full of people. Purposeful men and women in suits, talking up a storm into their phones. Many of them with Bluetooth phones plugged into their ears seemed to be babbling to the air.

“Man,” I muttered. “I used to be able to tell who was crazy.” I smiled and shook my head at how this sentence so aptly summed up my life now.

My stroll back to Liz’s took me past a narrow alley. As I stepped onto the corner and prepared to cross, I saw the grayish-blue compact parked beside the building. I heard the door open but kept walking. I felt her presence before she pressed a gun into my back.

“Hi. Great to see you,” Cynthia said. She hooked her arm through mine and steered me toward the car.

I breathed a sigh. Well, it was better than getting bashed over the head.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Joe

Billy returned with coffee and sandwiches for the two of them. Cotter took his cup and sipped the hot brew.

“They’ve moved to the alley,” he told Billy. He’d first spotted the bluish-gray compact because of its severely dented rear fender. He could have sworn he’d seen a similar vehicle with that distinguishing mark at the Navy Memorial. The car had been parked down the street from the coffee shop for hours. It pulled out and rolled past the shop, then hung a right. From where they sat half a block away from the alley’s entrance, Cotter could make out at least three people in the car.

Jessica left the coffee shop and proceeded toward them. Cotter jolted to alert.

He saw Jessica stop and look to her right. Then she moved into the alley, out of view.

“It’s on,” he said, starting the car.

Billy grinned. “All right!”

Cotter shot him an exasperated look. Could this kid possibly be as naïve as he seemed? Cotter shook his head, then checked traffic before pulling away from the curb and moving toward the alley. He edged into the intersection, looked for the car, and caught the sight of the compact’s taillights glowing in the shadows.

Cotter swung a hard left to follow—at a distance.

Billy’s phone rang. He checked the caller ID. “It’s just my Mom.”