The Planck Factor

Her voice faded as she walked away. I looked at George before we entered the room.

“Well, here goes nothing,” I said.

George nodded and opened the door. The room was dark and I could see several men standing in a line through the one-way mirror.

The officer who’d escorted the neighbor returned.

“It’s him,” I said. “Number Five.”

George and the officer looked at each other. I thought George might kick up his heels with joy.

The man identified as Number Five was definitely the beady-eyed Man with No Name.

“All right.” George clapped his hands and rubbed them. Even though the Boulder police were handling the murder investigation, George would be able to look over their shoulders since it pertained to national security.

I tried to smile but felt less than enthusiastic.

We sat in a conference room, drinking coffee the color and consistency of burned diesel oil. If I hadn’t disliked soda and craved the caffeine, I would’ve taken a pass. Eight packs of sugar helped a little. Even so, I grimaced with each sip.

A plainclothes detective stuck his head in the door. “We’ve got a lead on where he may have bought the weapon.”

“Assuming he bought it,” I said. The two men stared at me.

“Good going,” George said. “I’ll need a chance to question the suspect. Can you keep me posted?”

“Absolutely. We’ll have him ready for you in ten minutes.” The detective ducked back out.

“This should be fun,” George said. “With a murder charge and other possible federal charges we can bring against this man, we should be able to cut a deal. We’re going to nip this group’s plans in the bud.” He turned to me and added, “You helped make this possible, Jess. I can’t thank you enough. Your country owes you a debt.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

Six months later

Jessica

Boulder was ablaze with the golden leaves of aspen trees. The air was crisp and cool, but the sun was shining.

Shelley saw me in her office. I took a seat and awaited her verdict.

“I’m still not comfortable with the end,” she said.

I can’t say I was surprised. Even so, I asked, “Why?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Don’t you think it’s a bit corny? Derivative?”

“Maybe. But I can’t picture it ending any other way.”

Shelley shook her head and set her tortoise-rimmed glasses aside. “Can you take one more crack at it? Try for a more definite ending. More positive, maybe?”

I realized what she was getting at. “You think I sound like a crack-pot, right?”

She smiled and waved a dismissive hand, though her eyes didn’t reflect her casual air.

“You’ve been through quite the wringer,” she said. “You have every right to end this as you see fit. Just be forewarned, others may not like it.”

“I know. I’m just writing it as I see it. Anything else would be dishonest.”

She handed me her comments. “Good luck. I look forward to seeing it later.”