Off Kilter (25 page)

Georgia-Florida Border

June 5

A firm tap on the glass startled Collin, causing him to drop his phone in his lap. A State Trooper stooped, flashlight in hand, waiting for Collin to roll down the window. The window didn’t move at first, so Collin jiggled the controller and gave it a nudge to get it to descend. Collin didn’t try to hide his embarrassment or nervousness. Maybe being flustered would earn him some much needed sympathy.

“Where ya’ll headed tonight?” asked the large patrolman. His high-pitched voice did not match his brawny frame.

From somewhere in the passenger’s side foot well, Collin heard the secret phone ringing. The sound was muffled by the contents of the bag. Collin cleared his throat and put on a subtle southern accent. “Winter Haven.”

“Winter Haven? What’re ya’ll fixing to do there?”

“Visit my grandma for her birthday,” said Collin.

“Fine, fine. Let’s see some identification, please.”

In the few minutes he had waited in line at the checkpoint, Collin had managed to put in his colored contact lenses and prosthetic teeth. He wore glasses and a faded baseball cap. He had also conjured up a believable story. Nevertheless, it was hard not to be anxious with this imposing patrolman watching his every move.

He let his hands tremble as he opened his wallet and pulled out the same driver’s license he’d used to purchase the vehicle.

The patrolman studied it briefly. “And the registration?” He looked it over and handed both items back to Collin. “Mr. Waters, where are you coming from?”

“Knoxville.”

“What do you do in Knoxville, may I ask?”

“I work at a Sonic Drive-In.”

“Ah, yes. And how old are you?”

“I’m thirty, sir,” Collin replied, wondering if these were common questions at roadblocks. It was his first one, after all. Collin was doing his best to play the part of a not-so-bright high school dropout. He talked slowly with a mild drawl.

“It looks like you just purchased this vehicle yesterday. Is that right?”

“Yes, sir, it is,” Collin said with some pride in his voice. “First time to buy my own car.”

“How long have you lived in Knoxville?”

“About a year, I guess.”

“I see. And why did you say you’re coming to Florida?”

“I’m visiting my grandmother for her birthday. Plus, I wanna show her my new car.”

“I’m sure she’ll be proud of you, son. You haven’t been drinking now, have you?”

“No, sir. Gave that up. 712 days sober, sir.”

“Good for you, son. Another thing for your grandma to be proud of.”

“I hope so, sir.”

“Just one more question before I let you get on with your business: Where does your grandmother live in Winter Haven?”

*              *              *              *

Huntington Beach, CA

June 5

Sarah tottered into the downstairs office, where Henry was sitting at the computer. She was in her pajamas, hair matted to the side of her head, clutching the door frame for support. Her first chemotherapy treatment had wiped her out. “Listen to this, Henry,” she said, holding out her cell phone.

“What is it, dear?” Henry stood to greet her.

“It’s Emily. I didn’t answer because the number is from Chicago; I thought it was a marketing call. Listen and tell me what you think.”

Sarah played the message with the speaker on so both could hear. Emily’s gravelly voice was barely above a whisper. Her words tumbled out at great speed. “Sarah, it’s me, Emily. I just saw Collin and need to share with you what I learned because I think he’s in trouble, and I don’t know how to help him. Please call me back at this number, not on my regular cell phone.”

“It’s almost eight o’clock here, ten in Chicago. It’s not too late. Let’s call her right now,” said Henry.

When she answered, Emily sounded relieved and let out a burst that could have been either a laugh or a sob. “I have so much to tell you. I almost don’t know where to start.” She recounted her experiences with Collin and all that transpired in Chicago, including the security team Collin had hired and the fact that she was being sheltered in a safe house in San Diego. “I’m talking to you from inside a closet, hoping no one can hear me,” she said. “I don’t know what to do.”

Henry responded first. “I think it would be wise to go to the FBI like Collin suggested, for your own safety.”

“That does seem the best thing to do, Emily,” added Sarah. “We want you to be safe. We know two agents who are working on the case. Maybe if we share this new information with them, they will believe he’s not a criminal.”

Emily remained quiet for a moment. “I guess that makes sense. I just don’t want to make things worse for Collin.”

“Do you know where Collin is?” asked Henry.

“No, he wouldn’t tell me where he is or where he’s going. He said it would be better that way,” she replied. “I’m afraid I won’t have any useful information for the FBI.”

“That’s OK,” said Henry. “We need to worry about your safety at the moment.”

But we can’t tell them about this phone. I promised Collin.”

*              *              *              *

Georgia-Florida Border

June 5

Collin’s heart skipped, and his breathing stopped. He fumbled for his iPhone on the floor and leaned down to get it, but the patrolman quickly barked, “What are you doing there?” as he shined his light at Collin’s hands.

Collin threw both hands in the air as his body flew against the back of the seat. “I dropped my phone. Can I get it?”

The officer was in a defensive position, weight on his back leg, one hand holding the flashlight. His other hand was on the handle of his service revolver at his hip. “OK. Please keep your right hand on the steering wheel where I can see it. Move slowly and show me the phone.”

Collin, stiff with fear, obeyed the patrolman’s command. When he produced the phone, he held it in his left hand as it shook. “I don’t remember the address, but I have it in the map on my phone. Can I show it to you?”

“That’s fine, son. Go on and show me.”

Collin’s thumbs came back to life, moving over the phone’s screen. Within seconds he had the map open, with the name and address of a retirement community in Winter Haven that he had searched while waiting in line. He held up the phone, and the officer inspected it.

“That works for me.” The officer leaned in and studied Collin’s face. The officer’s brow furrowed, the stern expression hardened. “Ya’ll know there’s a hurricane coming in, don’t you?” Before Collin could answer, the patrolman’s radio squawked. He straightened himself and stepped back as he responded, engrossed in the exchange.

Collin strained to hear what was being said, terrified that it could be about him, but he couldn’t make out the words. The officer was looking down the line of cars, paying no attention to Collin. Seizing the opportunity, Collin eased his foot off the brake pedal. The Blazer inched forward. As the distance between him and the patrolman grew, Collin watched in his side mirror. There was no reaction. The patrolman continued to speak into the radio at his shoulder. Collin pressed the gas and brought the Blazer up to speed, his heart pounding, his eyes darting between the road and the mirror. Still no reaction from the trooper.

Collin wiped the sweat from his forehead and checked his watch. It was 10:53. He had thirteen hours to drive five hundred ninety miles. Enough time to get there, with stops for food and gas, but not enough time for sleep. The tropical storm the Captain had mentioned was now a hurricane? Great. This would only compound his problems.

The twirling blue lights from the patrol cars at the checkpoint were still visible in his rearview mirror, his heart still trying to punch through his ribs, when the secret phone began to ring again. Collin scrambled to find it. His voice was tight and his breathing ragged when he answered.

“Collin? Is something wrong?” asked Emily.

“Yeah . . . I mean, no. Things are good here. How are you?” His voice was far away, the words spaced as if strung together haphazardly. His attention was fixed on the line of police cars in his mirrors, watching for movement.

“Tell me the truth, Collin. What’s going on?”

Collin cleared his throat and took a deep breath to calm himself. “The less you know, Emily, the better.” He had no desire to share information with her that could present a hazard for either one of them.

“I don’t think I like that answer. You’re avoiding telling me something.”

As he put more distance between himself and the roadblock, Collin’s comfort level increased, as did his focus on the conversation. “Yes, I am, but it’s out of necessity. Trust me. Tell me, though, are you back home in San Diego, safe and sound?”

“I am back in San Diego but not in my home. I’m safe. Although the bodyguard you hired is lovely, Collin, I don’t enjoy being held like a prisoner.”

“Like a prisoner? Are they mistreating you?”

“No, nothing like that. It’s just that they brought me to a safe house and told me I can’t go home until they
sanitize
my condo, as if it’s some sort of health hazard. I can’t believe this is happening to me.”

“I told you, the guys coming after me will use any means to find me, including spying on my family and friends. I’m sorry they’ve done this, but it won’t last forever. I promise.”

“What am I supposed to do, Collin? I don’t have my car. I only have the clothes I took to Chicago. How am I supposed to go to work and live my life?”

“You could take a few days off and relax.”

“Not really. I have a lot to do.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to take a vacation, you know.”

“This isn’t my idea of a vacation, Collin.”

“I know. Just saying . . .”

“Truth is I have an urgent project I need to work on. It’s important.”

“So is your safety. Right now, it’s best to make sure your condo is not bugged and that you’re not being followed, OK?”

“I can’t just stay here and hide. I have a life. There are people depending on me.”

“Aren’t there other competent scientists who can handle things while you’re out?”

“The project involves that friend I mentioned. She needs my help before it’s too late.”

“What kind of help?”

“Another group at the lab is in clinical trials on a new therapy, and this friend is a perfect candidate. I have to pull some strings to get her into the case study group.”

“Can’t it wait a few days?”

“No, these groups fill up fast. A few days and the window could be closed.”

“Can’t you just make a few calls to make it happen?”

“No, it’s more complicated than that. I really have to be there to present her data and be a sponsor for her.”

“Is it that important?” Collin said. “You’re willing to risk your own safety for this friend?”

“I am,” she said. Emily knew she should just leave it at that, but her emotions got the best of her. The conversation with Sarah and Henry was fresh in her mind. Sarah’s voice sounded much weaker than it had last time they spoke. And now Collin was pressing her to stay in hiding. She couldn’t help but blurt out, “And you should be, too.”

London, England

June 6

Nic was on the phone with Reggie Crabtree at four o’clock in the morning London time, eight p.m. in California. He had just reviewed another video clip that had been analyzed by Peter’s algorithm, which showed a 93 percent match for Collin at one of the roadblocks. He had stayed at the office all night and was wired on caffeine.

Reggie said, “Give me a few minutes to watch the video. It should give us a new picture of our suspect, a description of the car, and a license plate number to share with the Highway Patrol and local news stations. I’ll call you back.”

Nic paced his cubicle, rubbing his hands together, waiting for Reggie’s return call. He checked his watch. Time was ticking away, and so was his patience. Once Reggie sent out the updated photos and information, it would be only a matter of time before Cook was in custody and providing intel on Pho Nam Penh and his syndicate. Nic, the department, and the agency would be redeemed.

It was a long ten minutes before Crabtree called back. “OK, Nic. We’ve posted new pictures of Cook, his vehicle, and license plate. Local law enforcement and news agencies have the information. Television stations all over Florida will run it as a breaking story during their eleven o’clock news broadcasts.”

“Fantastic,” said Nic. “Should be quick work to find him.”

“I’ve been around long enough to know you can’t count your chickens before they hatch. But, I think our chances have improved greatly.”

“The chances should be nearly 100 percent, given the fact that we just gave them completely accurate, up-to-the-minute information. Unless they’re totally incompetent, the Highway Patrol ought to nail this guy in ten minutes.” Nic’s voice was an octave above normal, rising with his intensity.

“It doesn’t always work like that, Agent Lancaster. I’m sure you know that by now. There are too many things that can go wrong. But I’ll tell you what. My partner and I will be on the next flight to Miami to track him down ourselves.”

“That’s fantastic. But why Miami?”

“We’ll connect out of Miami to Key West. My gut tells me he’s heading down there. He’ll make his escape by boat into the Caribbean and get himself lost amongst the boats and islands. It’d take us years and resources we can’t spare to track him down again,” Crabtree said.

“What about this storm? He’s not stupid enough to head into a hurricane, is he?”

“He knows what he’s doing. Law enforcement resources are stretched thin with this storm approaching, giving him the perfect opportunity to slip through. None of the local departments will have staff to aid in a search at a time like this, so McCoy and I will be there. We’ll find him.”

“I’m beginning to like our odds,” said Nic, his voice pitching higher. “It just seems so easy. We know he can’t be too far from that checkpoint. All they have to do is send a patrol car south on I-75, and they’ll run him down in no time.”

“Hopefully it works out that easily.” Reggie’s voice conveyed more skepticism than hope. “Either way, we’ll be there first thing in the morning.”

*              *              *              *

South of Gainesville, Florida

June 6

The conversation with Emily rattled around in his head and fueled a nervous energy that kept him awake and focused. Guilt, longing, and fear stirred deep inside him as her words echoed in his head.

“That friend is your mother,” Emily had told him. “Traditional treatments haven’t worked well on her type of cancer in the past, so I’m trying to get her nominated for participation in a promising, experimental therapy being run in another lab group.”

Too stunned to speak, Collin drove in a protracted silence. The words didn’t sink in, yet he felt more unmoored than ever. “But why didn’t anyone tell me?” he muttered.

“She doesn’t want you to worry about her or come home just because she’s sick. She wants you home because you
want
to be there,” said Emily. “At the same time, she knows you’re in some sort of trouble and is concerned.”

Collin started to add up things. His brother and sister had started e-mailing him more regularly, urging him to come home and be with the family. Emily had suddenly reappeared. His mother’s notes were more pressing, more pleading, in recent weeks. He should have suspected something was wrong. The clues were there. But his life didn’t allow him to dwell on the needs of anyone else, and he loathed that fact. Another reason to hate his circumstances. He suddenly felt enslaved by them, much like he had by his job and his financial distress before the accident.

“Collin, what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking this sucks,” he said. “This whole thing sucks. What am I supposed to do? If I go home, I’ll be either arrested or dead before I reach Huntington Beach. If I stop running, same result. I have no choice but to stay away from everyone I care about until this is over.”

Emily paused. “Don’t worry about your mother, Collin. My colleagues and I will take care of her. She is an excellent candidate for this treatment. There’s nothing you could do by being here, so don’t worry. You do what you have to do, and I’ll attend to your mom.”

“You said it was experimental?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know it will work?”

“We don’t, but it looks promising based on lab results.”

A long pause. “Emily? Will you do me another favor?”

“Of course.”

“Tell my mom that I’m sorry I was rude to her and my dad the last time I saw them. Tell her I love her, miss her, and will be praying for her. I want to be there, but it will make things worse for everyone else if I try to see her.” Collin fought through his tangled emotions and got the words out. “I don’t want anything to happen to her, Emily. Promise me you’ll do everything you can.”

“I promise, Collin.”

“I’m really glad I have a friend like you. Thanks for using your brilliance to help my mom.”

*              *              *              *

London, England

June 6

“What do you mean the resources are being reallocated? That’s absurd. There’s an international criminal on the loose in your state, and that’s all you have to say?” Nic was incensed as he spoke with the chief of the Florida State Highway Patrol. His voice ran high with his emotions. “It only takes one patrol car driving down the highway looking for a faded brown 1988 Chevy Blazer. How hard can it be?”

“We’re in the middle of an evacuation order. All available units are trying to protect our citizens from an incoming hurricane. We will do our best to look for your fugitive, but that’s got to be our second priority behind the safety of our citizens.”

“You’ve had hours to find him on roads that can’t be that crowded, not in the wee hours of the morning.”

“Look, Agent Lancaster, with all due respect,” started the Chief. Then he thought better of instigating a shouting match. “We have patrol cars on alert. If he’s out there on our highways, we’ll find him.”

*              *              *              *

Back Roads, South of Gainesville, Florida

June 6

“Did you do what I told you to do?” asked Lukas.

“Yeah, before I stopped for gas and food in Gainesville, I took out the teeth and contacts, took off the hat, and changed my shirt. Then, like you said, I found a mud puddle—not hard to find here in Florida, you know—and drove through it a few times. I almost got stuck, but that was a good thing. The tires spun and coated the sides of this car with mud.”

“Good. No trouble, then?”

“No trouble? Ha. I wouldn’t say
that
. At the convenience store where I stopped, some redneck told me how I look like a guy on the news. He was pointing at a TV in the corner. It scared the crap out of me, Lukas. My face and my car were right there on the screen.”

“What happened?”

“I almost wet myself; are you kidding? Do you know how scary it is to see your own face on TV with the words ‘Suspected Terrorist’ underneath? You’d freak, too.”

“What did the redneck do?”

“He said, ‘That guy could be your brother.’ So I lied and said, ‘I don’t have a brother.’ He was squinting and staring at me, really studying my face. It was creepy. Then he said, ‘Sure that ain’t you?’ I just said, ‘Pretty sure,’ and got out of there as fast as I could.”

“He didn’t call the cops did he?” asked Lucas.

“I don’t know, but he did follow me outside, still jawing at me. When he saw me get in my car, he got a funny look on his face. I’ve been staying off the interstate ever since, sticking to back roads.”

“I don’t know if you have time for that, Collin.”

“I know, it’s really slowing me down, but I don’t know what else to do.”

“Did you change out the license plates yet?”

“No.”

“The sooner, the better. You’ve got to get back on the interstate and make time. Dishonesty can save your life sometimes, my friend.”

“If you say so.”

Not long thereafter, Collin spotted his victim: a lonely pickup truck parked in a field next to a dilapidated shed just off the highway. He squeezed through a barbed wire fence, tools in hand, and swapped the plates as quickly as he could, using the light from his iPhone for illumination. The pickup’s plates were dirty, though not caked with mud like his plates and car, but he hoped no one would notice.

He headed east on the back roads, working his way to Florida’s Turnpike. Soon he was doing seventy-five miles per hour again. Patrol cars passed him; some gave him a second glance, but nothing more.

There was enough on his mind to keep him occupied as the miles spun past. He listened to an AM news station for updates on the weather. The storm was now a Class Two hurricane, aimed right at The Bahamas and projected to sweep across the channel, pick up speed, and hit the Florida Keys twenty-four hours from now. Before he expected, daylight struggled to break through the blackness, bathing the landscape in gray. Collin realized how thick the cloud cover was overhead, ominous and threatening. He also noticed the steady stream of cars moving northward on the opposite side of the turnpike. Very few cars were heading south. People, at least the smart ones, were moving away from the incoming storm.

By the time he reached Fort Lauderdale, it was 6:30 a.m., and he needed gas. Collin pulled off the turnpike in an outlying rural town ten minutes south of the city and found a small gas station with a general store. Since there were other people in the store, he went inside to pay and overheard a conversation that may have saved him. The clerk and a cowboy were talking at the counter as Collin searched for milk and packaged donuts. The cowboy was talking about the storm and how he had to hurry down to Key West to pick up his prized horses and get them far enough inland to be safe. The clerk asked him if he had heard about the roadblock on Highway 1 and told him to expect delays going south.

“Are they trying to keep people away from the storm?” asked the cowboy.

“I heard it’s to catch a terrorist or something,” replied the clerk. “They’ve had his face on the TV and everything.”

When he heard those words, Collin set his items down and snuck out the door. He started the Blazer and moved it to a dirt parking lot behind the store. Grabbing his two bags, he stole to the rear of a long horse trailer attached to a dually pickup parked at one of the pumps. He assumed the truck and trailer belonged to the Key West-bound cowboy inside. He secreted himself between bales of hay and watched the store entrance through the slotted side of the trailer. The cowboy soon appeared and began filling the tank. Collin sat perfectly still and quiet for what seemed to be an eternity, while the pump spewed thick, pungent diesel fumes that wafted into the trailer and hung in the air. Several minutes later, the engine roared to life, and the caravan started to move.

As the truck picked up speed, the wind swirled and kicked up dust and straw that pummeled Collin’s face and body. With some effort, Collin arranged the bales to provide a measure of protection against the wind, then settled in for a long ride. He opened the map on his phone and studied the layout of Key West so he would be familiar with it. After a thorough examination of the town, he fell asleep, but when the truck began to slow, his eyes popped open. He took a furtive look outside. As he suspected, they had arrived at the roadblock.

Collin again moved the hay bales. This time stacking the bales in a crisscross fashion, making a sort of fortress around himself as the truck inched forward. When finished, he slid underneath the cross pieces and pulled his feet in as far as he could. The space was cramped. The air was hot, dusty, and reeked of dry hay. He pinched his nose to thwart any allergic reaction and covered his mouth with his shirt in a feeble attempt to filter the air. With his eyes closed, he shut out thoughts of being confined and focused on listening. Outside there were muffled voices, but he couldn’t make out the words. He huddled in his makeshift fort, sweat streaming down his face, neck, and along his ribs, tickling as it rolled. The stop was brief and soon the truck lurched forward again, dragging the trailer and Collin with it.