The Planck Factor

“I believe it may be something . . . involving an old friend, but I’m not sure,” Alexis said. She felt like she was playing chess.

“Well . . . okay,” Katie said. “But, c’mon. It must be pretty big to bring you all the way out to New York.”

“I’ll tell you what I know when I get there, okay?”

“Alexis Sullivan, you are impossible. But if you insist.” Katie sounded philosophical but disappointed. Alexis thought about just telling her and being done with it, but something held her back. Daniel’s note. Clearly, Daniel hadn’t told Katie much of anything, since she was so curious.

“Great. Thanks. Oh, by the way, could you do me a favor?”

“Sure. What?”

“Can you arrange a flight from Portland to New York for me. Like today. As soon as possible.”

Katie must have detected my anxiety. “What’s going on, Allie?”

“I’m in a difficult situation, and I need to get out of here. Now.”

Katie paused a moment. “Okay,” she said, sounding stunned. “I’ll need some information, so I can set it up.”

“I can’t thank you enough.” Alexis glanced out the window and at the clock. Time to call a cab and get the hell out of there.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Jessica

The sun was setting. I realized that my morning bagel and granola bar lunch weren’t cutting it. I needed food now.

I saved my story, backed up my files, and shut down the laptop. I’d spotted a few restaurants, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to go out. Room service would be more expensive but possibly safer.

Thinking of the extra cost as a form of insurance, I phoned down for a hamburger and side salad. The salad inflated the tab, but I really needed to eat something healthy. I didn’t know how long I could afford to stay here or how many chances at a healthy meal I’d get in the days to come.

I turned the TV back on and paced, tossing glances out the window. The sun had slipped low enough to cast the street in blue-gray shadow. Commuters scrambled past each other on the sidewalks and intersections. Lighted windows scattered across the facade of a nearby office building. Cabs and cars and buses and trucks crawled through the street several stories below me like blood through clogged arteries.

I kept my ear tuned for news about me or Fred, but they were still going on about terrorist threats and Homeland Security. I muted the sound and turned on the radio, continuing to pace as I watched the anchor speak to the sound of the Beatles singing “Help!” I couldn’t have said it better myself.

A knock on the door brought me to a halt before I went to answer.

“Yes?”

“Room service,” an accented voice said.

I opened the door with the chain still in place. A Hispanic-looking man with black uniform pants and a white jacket and shirt smiled at me from behind a rolling cart with a covered tray on it.

I closed the door to unlock the chain and reopened it. The man rolled the cart in and placed the tray on a desk. I lifted the lid, saw the burger and salad, and my stomach audibly rumbled.

I blushed, and the man smiled again. He handed me the bill, in a faux leather holder. But there was no pen.

“Got a pen?”

The man’s grin widened. I noticed a gold incisor winking in the corner of his mouth. He spread his hands and looked confused.

“Sorry?”

“A pen. There must be one around here.” I checked the desk. No pen. The side table had no pen, either. I dug through my purse, seeking anything to write with.

Something pressed against my mouth and nose and pulled my head back. A hand jammed something soft against my face. An acrid, medicinal smell burned my nostrils. I struggled to get free, and then everything went dark.

I awoke sprawled across the bed, with a mild headache. I blinked, propped myself on one arm and looked around the room. My food was still on the table. I sucked in a quick breath and let it out when I saw my pu