The Planck Factor

I turned away from the window. Sleep was hopeless at this point. I could read a book. I scanned the titles. Moby Dick? The Sound and the Fury? I shook my head. No, thank you, limited edition or not. Desperate to keep my mind busy, I turned to my laptop. I sat at the desk and booted it up. No Internet access—something told me that was no accident.

My thoughts wandered to the story. Mel’s appearance (plus the doorman’s duplicity) had put a new wrinkle in things. I originally hadn’t planned on Mel doing much, but now I decided to write a version in which he stepped to the fore.

This made me ponder the nature of choice. The many choices we’re faced with every day. How do we choose what to do? Can we choose who we are? Or is that choice already made for us? Are our choices shaped by who we are? Or are we defined by our choices?

Here I was sitting in a dark bedroom, in a dark neighborhood, unable to sleep because of my choices. I’d chosen to serve my country rather than run away. Now, all I had to do was make a choice about my story. Or have my characters make their choices, because that’s what it came down to.

The eerie similarities between my life and Alexis’ life made me wonder if I’d subconsciously created my own situation. Perhaps the answers to why I was in my situation were right there in the words of my book. If a terrorist group was after me because my manuscript threatened them, maybe reviewing it would give me a clue as to how to extricate myself.

With that faint hope in mind, I plugged in the flash drive and opened the document again.

Alexis

Alexis was barely able to catch her breath by the time the car squealed out of the garage.

“Who are you?” she gasped.

“A friend.” Mel seemed disinclined to say more, which was completely consistent with their dealings so far, but Alexis was too curious to leave it at that.

“Care to explain? Are you Katie’s friend or what?”

“I’m what you’d call an interested party.”

Alexis noticed his thick New York accent had lightened. It was still there, just not quite as heavy. “Interested in what?” she asked, fearful at what he might answer.

“Alexis, when you called Katie and told her you were coming, we intercepted your call.”

“What?”

Mel paused, as if gathering the strength to go on. “The federal government has been aware of the research done by your fiancé and Alan Sweetser for some time now. We’ve been watching them to see what they did with it.”

Alexis nodded. “So, those guys Swede was talking about. They’re with the Feds?”

“No.” The word landed between them like a ten-ton anvil. “Terrorists groups have been interested in their research, too. The people who first approached them weren’t with us.”

“And who would you be with? FBI? CIA? What?”

“Ever hear of the NSA?”

The National Security Agency. Or, as it was once known, No Such Agency. Kind of a joke at one time, when a person who worked there couldn’t even admit their own employer existed. But now everyone knew about the NSA, even if its employees couldn’t talk about what they did. Even if they answered their phones with extension numbers instead of names. However, Alexis couldn’t help but notice he hadn’t actually answered her question.

“So, you work for the NSA?” she said.

“Didn’t I just say that?”

“No, you didn’t. And you haven’t told me who those people are who have my sister or where the hell we’re going or anything!” Alexis’ voice broke with frustration. “Please, just give me a straight answer.”

“All right.” Alexis heard enough regret in Mel’s stoic tone to suggest he was sorry, even if he wouldn’t say the words. “Yes, I work at the NSA or Fort Meade, our latest euphemism. We intercepted your phone call. But someone must be telling the opposition. Somehow, they knew you’d be coming here and got to your sister before you did.”

Alexis started to ask why he’d almost let her walk into a trap, but Mel held up a hand and continued talking.

“We let you go up to your sister’s to keep from letting on that we knew.”

“I see. So you let me almost walk into the arms of terrorists, just so your cover wouldn’t be blown? Nice.” Alexis hurled the last word out like a smash shot.

“Put yourself in our shoes, Alexis. What purpose would it serve to blow the operation when we’re this close to catching these guys?”

Alexis sighed. They turned onto a bridge and the silence between them was filled with the whine of tires on metal grating.