The Planck Factor

“Why would I lie?” As I said it, I thought of several reasons.

He leaned toward me. “You tell me,” he said, as if he’d read my mind.

I merely shook my head. “I’m not lying. I swear it.” I felt like I was vying for an Academy Award against Meryl Streep.

The man straightened and turned to Cynthia, who leaned against the desk.

“Let’s give her some time to think about it,” he said. He turned to me and added, “I want you to write down anything Fred or Selby told you. Anything. It’s important.” He turned on his heel and stalked out.

Cynthia looked at me and rapped her knuckles softly on the desk. She walked over to the lamp and shut it off.

“You can use your laptop at the desk or write it by hand.” Cynthia jerked her head a couple of times toward the desk. She stared at me intently, as if trying to send a telepathic message.

I realized she wasn’t pointing a gun at me anymore. I rose.

“Careful,” she said. “Don’t be stupid.”

“No. No, I’ll cooperate.” My tongue felt like it was coated with glue. “Could I have some water? I think I’m entitled, as a . . . what? . . . prisoner?”

She nodded. “No problem. I’ll take care of that. Meanwhile, you need to get to work.”

For a moment, I relaxed and drew a deep breath. Cyn moved to the desk, picked up a pad and pen, and turned to me. “They’re listening,” she mouthed, as she handed me the writing implements and then left the room.

I pondered Cyn’s behavior. What now? Gathering my wits, I trudged over to the desk, placed my laptop on it and sat down. What could I tell them that wouldn’t get me in trouble? All I had were suppositions based on what little I knew.

I pulled out the laptop and set it up. Turning it on, I tried to think of anything Fred or Selby had actually said about the group and came up empty. Well, that wouldn’t take long to write.

All I knew was that Fred had joined the group to help me research my novel about terrorists who were exploring the darker repercussions of a new physics theory that challenged Einstein’s relativity model.

I knew Selby studied geology, including plate tectonics.

I had no idea what one had to do with the other, if anything. All I had were assumptions about fault lines and earthquakes.

I was typing out these pitiful bits of information, when Cyn walked in with bottled water.

“Please excuse the informality,” she said, handing me the bottle. I twisted the cap and lifted it to my lips, knocking back almost half the contents.

After pausing for breath, I swiped my hand over my mouth. “Thanks. I was parched.”

“Take all the time you need.” Cyn pulled a drawer open and, without a word, pointed inside. It held a small black rectangle. I picked it up and examined it. It had a USB port at one end. A flash drive.

This can’t be an accident. I thought of Cynthia, cocking her head toward the desk.

My eyes narrowed. What was Cyn up to?

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Jessica

I glanced about, wondering about hidden cameras or microphones, then positioned the flash drive at the USB port and paused to consider before I shoved it into place.

I accessed the flash drive and found several folders. I opened one that said “Invoices.” This displayed an array of files. Word and PDF documents.

At random, I double-clicked a file. It was an invoice for drilling equipment. I shook my head and tried opening another. Geologic surveys.

“What the . . . .?” I shut my mouth. If the room was bugged, I didn’t want to clue anyone in on my thoughts. Were these people drilling around fault lines? Planting explosives? Mining uranium? Is that what Selby’s part in all this was?

I shook my head at that last thought. Not uranium. They could probably pick up the materials to make a bomb on the black market much more easily than they could dig for it themselves.