Off Kilter (13 page)

Then a thought came to mind. He set up his computer because with all the security protocols Lukas had installed, he felt more comfortable using it to browse the Internet. Within a few minutes, he found a place that would deliver sandwiches and soda. He placed an order over the phone to avoid having to give his e-mail address. But that got him to thinking about e-mail, so after ordering, he opened his e-mail for the first time since leaving Germany. As expected, there were several e-mails from his mother, a few from friends, and plenty of special offers on products he had no use for. But there was a surprise—a Facebook notification informing him that Emily Burns had sent him a friend request. Emily Burns. His beautiful ex-girlfriend. A wave of pain and confusion swept through him, stealing a breath and causing him to blink hard several times until it passed. He sat back and stared at the screen for a long minute, trying to figure out what to do. Finally, curiosity led him to the Facebook login screen. After three attempts, he was able to remember his password and get to his notifications page, where he clicked on the one with her name.

There she was. A picture of her stared through the screen at him. Still gorgeous and sultry, somehow looking both stunning and smart. She was reaching out to him, and it made him feel good but panicky. And curious at the same time. How had she stayed single and disentangled? The recollection of that last kiss, the forbidden kiss, haunted him anew. Fresh waves of guilt and the familiar ball of nerves wound tightly in the pit of his stomach as the memory twisted its way through his mind. He was sick and excited simultaneously. Jittery, elated, and nervous.

He stalked her page for a few minutes, noticing that there were very few photos and even fewer details about her life. The photos revealed her passion for her work, wine tasting, and eating at fancy restaurants. Also, somewhat ironically, the outdoors. Trim, athletic, and gorgeous as ever, Emily still made him swoon.

He opened a new browser tab and went to the bank site to check on his electronic transfers in an attempt to get his mind off Emily Burns. But the hook was set. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Nor could he stop going back to stare at the photos. She was really something else. Even after so many years and so many twists in the road, she had a hold on him.

As he traced his most recent transactions on the bank website and recorded them in his spreadsheet, a Facebook message alert popped up on his screen. He went to it and read the innocuous message from Emily:
Hey stranger, long time, no see. How are things? We should catch up sometime soon.

He pondered his response, not wanting to seem too eager, but not wanting to blow her off, either. Just then, the distraction he needed arrived in the form of a knock on the door. It was his dinner being delivered. As he ate, he continued to stare at her picture, trying to figure out what to say to her. He was consumed with these thoughts when a text came in from Lukas.
Can’t talk now. Too much going on. Will call in an hour.

Collin never fully understood what Lukas did and didn’t care to know. It was far too technical and top secret. But he trusted him implicitly. Part of that trust was born of their long time friendship and the numerous times Lukas had bailed him out of a jam with homework since middle school and through all three semesters at college. It’s not that Collin wasn’t bright enough or capable enough. It was, perhaps, because the beach was so close that he could practically hear the waves calling to him from the open window of his upstairs bedroom two and a half blocks away. A bad day of surfing was so much better than a good day at school or grinding away at homework.

But there was something more about Lukas that created such deep and abiding trust. He was supremely intelligent, which made it easy to believe in what he said. In typical Austrian fashion, he was thorough, careful, and precise. He didn’t make statements unless he was certain of the facts. These traits were coupled with an innate kindness and a puppy-like loyalty. Yes, he was loyal like no one else Collin had ever known.

Sure, Rob Howell was a loyal friend, but he was more like part of the family and had been since his father suddenly left when Rob was only seven. From that time forward, Rob spent more time at the Cooks’ house than at his own, which forged an unbreakable bond between him and Collin. Lukas, however, earned trust because of who he was. Only a very few people really knew who he was deep down. Collin was one of them. Rob was another.

Lukas’s loyalty ran deep because Collin was the first person to befriend the awkward thirteen-year-old when he arrived in Huntington Beach, California, fresh from the quaint Austrian town of Villach, halfway through their seventh grade year. Lukas looked so out of place, out of style, and painfully out of sorts, as the teacher introduced him to the class. While other kids snickered and pointed fingers, Collin stood up and shook his hand and introduced himself. Following Collin’s lead, Rob Howell, one of the most popular boys in the school, did the same. The laughing stopped and Lukas became a near-instant celebrity at Isaac Sowers Middle School.

To Collin it was a simple act, something he hoped someone would do for him if in the same situation. That simple act altered Lukas’s trajectory, changing his outlook on America and Americans and the world in general. It was the beginning of a relationship full of positives, built on the basis of profound respect and mutual appreciation.

As he ruminated about his friends, Collin’s heart began to ache in a new way. He missed them. For the first time since the accident, he realized just how much as he sat at the desk in this five-star hotel room in Panama, his life completely unrecognizable from what it was a year ago. He himself was nothing more than a hollowed out shell, looking for a place to hide from people who meant him harm just because he had the gall to sue them for taking away everything precious to him. Their negligence, or that of their client, ripped his family away from him. Now they hunted him for the money that was rightfully his. He would happily trade in the exotic travel, the excitement, and adventure—along with all the money—and resume his former struggle for survival if he could be with Amy, his children, and his friends again.

Life continued to be unfair.

As daylight waned and darkness waxed, an urgency to remove himself from the watchful eyes of the hotel staff grew stronger, but he couldn’t figure out why. With each minute that passed, the restlessness increased. The need gnawed at him, compelling him to move.

He was pacing the floor when his phone finally rang.

“Look, Collin. I don’t have time to explain it all, but the manager of the hotel—the guy I usually deal with—was replaced two days ago. The whole banking community in Panama is on high alert. So is the government. The Panamanians are making every effort to soothe frazzled nerves at home and abroad. I fear some of the hotel staff may even be undercover agents,” Lukas said. His voice carried a hint of exasperation and apology.

“Who planted them? Our government or Interpol or who?”

“Not sure yet. Doesn’t matter. The important thing right now is that you follow my instructions.”

“As long as it involves getting out of here, I will. This place just doesn’t feel right.”

“My driver, the same one that met you at the airport, will pick you up in front of the coffee shop down the street from the hotel—on  the  corner of Avenida Ricardo Arango and Avenida Federico Boyd—at  one o’clock a.m. Got that? That’s about four hours from now.”

“Yeah, I know right where it is.”

“Good. One o’clock sharp. Just lay low; stay out of sight until then.”

“What do I do if they come to my room again?”

“Play it as cool as possible, and try not to get flustered.”

“Okay. I’ll do my best.”

“You’ll be fine. The driver will take you to a remote airstrip where one of our bush pilots will fly you into Cali, Colombia.”

“Colombia? Are you serious?”

“It’s the best I can do on short notice. We do a lot of this, so it’s more or less routine.”

“Sounds crazy, but I’m in. It beats staying here. One question: how are you able to do all of this?”

“I’m dead. Remember?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t explain much.”

“It’s better that way,” said Lukas. “Simply put, it’s a perk of the job. I help a lot of people stay alive and out of trouble, and I get some favors in return. Let’s keep it at that.”

“Got it. Thanks, pal. You’re the best.”

“One problem, though,” said Lukas.

“What’s that?”

“Once he drops you off in Cali, that’s it. That’s as far as he can go. You’ll be on your own from there. I’m going to have to lay low for a while, and so will you.”

“On my own? What does that mean?”

“That means I have to go on radio silence for a while,” said Lukas.

“How long is a while?” asked Collin. His stomach dropped to his toes, and he suddenly felt very weak and vulnerable again.

“I’m not sure. Could be a few days. Could be a few weeks. There’s too much activity surrounding the growing threats from a mounting number of hostile groups. I’ll be on the go round the clock dealing with crises, so stay small and inconspicuous, like I taught you.”

“Yeah, I know. Blend in with the tourists.”

“Want my advice?” asked Lukas.

“Of course, I do.”

“Make your way to Peru. Lots of tourist attractions, therefore lots of tourists—most of them rich, white Americans. Plus, the Peruvian people are very nice.”

San Diego, California

May 14

In typical fashion, Emily showed up to work before seven thirty a.m., ready to review the data collected overnight on her current experiment. She donned her lab coat and pulled her hair back in a ponytail. Her three-mile, morning run along the coast had invigorated her brain cells, helping to bring a new perspective to her research. She had scarcely logged in when her boss leaned into her office, coffee in hand, and asked her to meet with him for a few minutes. As this was not unusual, she thought nothing of it and followed him silently into his glass-walled office, still pondering an enzyme manipulation that came to her during the run.

Mike Zimmerman was a reserved introvert in his early fifties with high marks for science, but low marks for sociality. Pleasant and easy to work for, he nonetheless didn’t know how to make small talk or show interest in another person. His primary concern was in advancing humankind’s ability to use gene therapy as a way to cure the world’s deadliest disease. Without preamble, he launched into his remarks as if he were giving a small but meaningful press conference. Only, his voice lacked the volume and confidence usually associated with such events. “Our recent article about enhanced cell implantation into pancreatic tumors has created a lot of buzz out there, Dr. Burns. I’ve been asked to present your team’s findings at the upcoming BioMed Conference in Chicago next month. But I prefer that you do the presentation.”

These words pulled Emily out of her cloud. She shook her head quickly as if she didn’t understand what she heard. “But Mike, you’re the one they invited,” she said.

“You know and I know that I’m not good at public speaking. I’d be so nervous I would botch the whole thing. Plus, it’s your team’s findings that we used in the article. I contributed relatively little.”

“Yeah, but you’re the one with the credentials, the experience. You’re the one everyone wants to hear, not me.”

He looked directly at her, albeit briefly, for the first time since the conversation began. His eyes were kind, if not confident. They darted to and fro as he continued. “I already have an assignment to speak on the patterning of irregularities within cancerous lesions on the liver. I don’t think it would be wise of me to attempt a second presentation on such short notice. Besides, it’s your turn to receive the credit you deserve, Emily. You’ve been working on this for eighteen months. You put in the time. You applied the science. You did the calculations and analysis. You should be the one at that podium, not me.”

Emily rested her arms on the armrests of the padded chair and stared back at her boss. “You want me to present at one of the biggest conferences in our business? Next month?”

“Yes. Actually, it starts three weeks from yesterday.”

“Three weeks from yesterday?” she said as she exhaled. “That’s not much time.”

“I know, and I apologize. I’ve been considering my options. You are the clear choice. I should have asked you sooner, I know. Forgive me.”

“What makes you think
I
won’t botch it up?” she said, a tremor in her voice signaling her growing angst.

“I know you well enough to know that won’t happen.” His eyes met hers for another split second before darting back to his computer screen.

“But I feel so unprepared. And just three weeks to put it together?”

“Well, actually, they have requested a copy of your slide show a week in advance so the technical guys can work out any bugs before the conference begins. So make that thirteen days.”

“But how can I do that?” Her fingers were now wrapped in a death grip around the end of the armrests.

“Easy. Just review your notes and findings from the trial stage, the ones you used for the article, and put that information into a slide show.”

“Still, that’s going to take some time, Mike.”

He looked at her blankly and said, “No one on the planet knows this stuff better than you, Dr. Burns. No one. I know you can do it.”

Emily sat back in the seat, realizing her boss had no empathy. Not that he was mean, but because he was 100 percent committed to his job and expected that she would feel the same. “Mike, I don’t know what to say.”

“Just say you’ll do it and you’ll do the best you can. I’ll help out if you need, but I doubt you will. This is your baby, and you know your stuff better than anyone else.”

*              *              *              *

Cali, Colombia

May 14

Collin awoke when the engine of the small, twin prop Piper began to slow just before starting its descent toward the tiny mountainside landing strip. Exhaustion had gotten the best of him and pushed aside all anxiety, at least for a couple of hours. A dark, thick, uneven, green blanket of trees spread out just below them. To the east, the first grayish streaks of sunlight began to show themselves above the mountains. The pilot, seated on Collin’s left, was focused on his instrument panel, but as Collin began to stir, he spoke for the first time since takeoff.

“Not many people know about this place. See it there? It’s that patch of grass in the trees down there. Those who do know about it are probably nowhere to be found. They’re operatives like you.” He returned to his work, his eyes focused ahead, his tongue poking out between pursed lips. Collin’s heart skipped as the tail of the aircraft bumped something and the plane momentarily went sideways. The hyper-focused pilot made a series of corrections, then barked, “Damn trees grow taller and make this harder every time I come here.”

Collin gulped hard. He searched the area where the pilot’s finger had pointed. In the pale morning light, he began to make out the thin strip of grass they would use as a runway and asked, “When was the last time you landed here?”

“About three months ago, but everything grows fast in this part of the world.”

“Glad you know what you’re doing.”

“That doesn’t always help down here. Part of it depends on some luck, too. Especially these near-dark approaches,” said the pilot. Collin could feel his blood turn icy and his heart rate increase. He peered through the front window, watching for hazards. The small aircraft glided just above the trees tops as the pilot reduced the airspeed and adjusted the trim.

Before he knew it, the plane hit the ground and bounced, causing Collin to grab a handle with one hand and the bottom of his seat with the other, his whole body tense. Now they were rushing toward a copse of trees at high speed. The pilot, tongue out again, made a calculated turn to the left, just missing the trees, before turning again to the right where another hundred yards of grass continued with a gentle upslope. They stopped with a jerk just a few feet from the edge of the jungle foliage, and the pilot calmly continued his narrative, pointing with a pen he had pulled out to jot down notes on a pad. “There’s a small village about five miles to the south. You should be able to get a ride from there to Cali and from there a bus to wherever you’re going. Here, you’ll need this.” The pilot retrieved a worn passport from the pocket of his camouflage jacket and handed it to Collin. “It’s got an entry stamp into Colombia already.”

Collin thumbed through the pages, noting more stamps into and out of several countries. However, there was no photo on the front page. His mouth turned down as he contemplated this dilemma. “I see it’s a generic version,” he said.

“Yeah, you’ll need to put your own photo in it, of course. Standard procedure. I assume you know the drill,” said the pilot as he climbed out to check the fuel level. “Hey, before you go,” he called over his shoulder, “I’m going to need your help turning this thing around.”

After collecting his wits as well as his belongings, Collin helped the pilot lift the tail of the plane and, with some exertion, the two men were able to pivot its nose one hundred eighty degrees so that it was heading back the way they came. He then handed the pilot an envelope with $5000 cash, as Lukas instructed, and thanked the man for his service. Slinging his two bags over his shoulders, Collin disappeared into the overgrowth, following the nearly imperceptible trail the pilot pointed out. A hundred yards into the bush, he stopped to consult the map and compass he had been given. Using the flashlight from his phone to see, Collin double checked to be sure he was heading the right way.

Through the foliage, he heard the plane’s engine rev up as the pilot gunned it for takeoff.

The last remnants of the day’s sunshine were fading when Collin stepped off the rickety, old bus in a dodgy part of Cali, Colombia. His clothes were smudged and sweaty, his face grimy and grim. His hair clung in long strands against his forehead, temples, and cheeks. Rivulets of perspiration dripped from them. It had been an adventurous day to say the least. His head was pounding and his stomach roiling from the bouncing and swaying of the ancient, multi-colored bus that had just carried him along winding mountain roads from the village, stopping at five other collections of huts along the way. It felt like a thousand miles worth of sickening curves, but the map indicated the distance was roughly sixty. A short walk from the bus terminal, he spotted a taxi stand. Many of his fellow passengers were making their way toward it, so he followed, practically staggering. Not knowing what was available, and feeling rather ill, he asked the taxi driver to take him to the nearest hotel. That was a mistake. It took only a few minutes to get there, which was good, but nothing else about it was. As soon as he walked in, his skin began to crawl. Bolting for the door did not seem to be a good option, based on the fast-approaching darkness and what he had seen of the surrounding neighborhood on the way to the hotel. It appeared there was nothing else remotely close by, so he decided to go with it. Large bugs scurried under the flimsy furniture as he walked through the dimly lit lobby. The fat lady behind the counter watched him the whole way, curiosity painted all over her face.

In heavily dialectical Spanish, she asked, “Where’s your woman?”

Now Collin was equally as curious. “What do you mean?” he asked in a much purer form of her native language.

“Are you alone?” she asked incredulously.

“Yes, I am,” he said. “If it’s a problem, I can go somewhere else.”

She laughed out loud at him. “Where are you going to go? There’s not another hotel within ten kilometers of here, and no taxi is going to come to this part of town at night. So, if you want to walk, go ahead,” she said with a shrug.

“No, thanks. This will be fine.”

“One hour minimum. How many hours would you like?”

“Hours?” he asked. “I don’t know. Until morning, I guess.”

“Do you want me to send in a woman for you?”

“No, no,” said Collin, trying not to look or sound disgusted. “I just need to get some sleep. I’ve had a long day.”

“Are you sure? You’ll sleep better.” Her smile was devilish and her laughter boisterous as she cackled at him.

“Yes, I’m sure. I just want to sleep. Alone. Thank you.”

“I’ll charge you for eight,” she said, informing him of the amount due.

He paid with some of the Colombian currency the limo driver had provided back in Panama City, and then made his way up the creaky stairs to his room. The hallway was dark, the carpet threadbare and stained, and the doors and walls paper thin. Muffled grunts and moans and shrieks of exaggerated pleasure escaped from several of the rooms as he made his way down the long corridor. The smells of stale beer, cigarettes, and an assortment of other unpleasant odors combined to create a repulsive thickness to the air that Collin hardly dared to breathe.

His room wasn’t much better. The carpet was not as dirty, but insects scattered when he turned on the light. The room was more like a closet with a cheap, twin bed shoved in it. The only place to set his bags was a wobbly desk barely big enough for his computer and a painted wooden chair, both squeezed into a corner at the foot of the bed. There was just enough room to walk around the bed. No night stand, no clock, no TV. The only saving graces to this palace of roaches were the private bathroom and free Wi-Fi. Although he hadn’t eaten all day, he had no appetite. Besides, he dared not venture outside. Nor was he in the mood to take any chances on delivery food.

He wore two pairs of socks in the shower to avoid unseen fungi and enjoyed nearly three minutes of lukewarm water before it turned icy. Checking his watch after he got dressed, he realized he had to endure seven and a half more hours pent up in this grungy cage before the sun came up. Despite the fact that he wasn’t especially squeamish, lying down in that bed was beyond him. He knew he couldn’t possibly close his eyes with the number of creepy crawlies inhabiting his space. It would be difficult to keep himself occupied and awake in his current condition, but he knew he didn’t have a choice.

His first order of business was to affix his photo into the new, fake passport the pilot gave him. He rummaged through his backpack for the supplies he needed, then went to work meticulously cutting, pasting, and laminating his picture into place. Lukas had shown him how, giving him the opportunity to doctor six of his own counterfeit passports before his journey began, and suggested he always keep the items he would need on hand.

Another hour burned. Six to go.

It was time to catch up with the rest of the world.