Pop Travel (19 page)

After cleaning it of fingerprints and DNA traces, he wrapped it well, and shoved it into the front pouch pocket of his sweatshirt. In the mirror, he noticed the bulge, but it had to do. Hating the whole mess, he frowned at his reflection and left.

He couldn’t shake feeling like a criminal. Focusing on his feet, he avoided eye contact, knowing anyone who looked at him would be able to see the guilty strain in his face muscles. As he maneuvered on the busy sidewalk, Cooper kept his hands in the pouch pocket with a firm grasp on the incriminating package. It would be just his luck for it to fall out.

As he scanned the street for a good drop spot, he felt a million eyes on him. Like everyone knew his intentions. He even sensed the cameras tuning in on him, but that wasn’t just his guilty paranoia. Sweat dripped from his temples and above his lip. He had to get rid of the thing somewhere out of view of the scrutinizing onlookers, in person and above.

When he glimpsed the golden arches, he made his choice. He crossed the street and slipped into the busy McDonald’s, shoving his package into a compactor receptacle near the entrance. The perfect opportunity, with plenty of consumers walking in and out to cover him, and he completed the performance by picking up a bottle of water. As he exited, he breathed a sigh of relief and went to the park.

The run loosened Cooper up. The fresh air and full trees, with the high-rises in the background, reminded him of when he had first moved to Atlanta. Starting his new job with high hopes. There had been so many possibilities and no responsibilities. That was a long time ago and so far away. He never knew how good he had it back then.

After his energizing run, he was ready for breakfast. When he reached the elevator, he pressed his floor number and felt a prick on his neck. As the doors closed, he saw a flash of almond eyes and fell to the floor, out cold.

11:30 a.m., Friday, July 26

Cooper woke up on his bed. His fingers felt the spot on his neck where he’d been pricked, as he remembered what happened. Looking around his room, his things were not quite as he left them. Seeing his QV on the nightstand, he reached into his pocket for the loose stick drive. It was gone.
Well, maybe they won’t bother me anymore, now that they have what they were looking for. And I’m still alive, so they must think I’m not worth killing.

Double-checking his jacket over the webcam, he inspected his QV. The stick drive remained in its hidden link. Cooper smiled.
Gotcha.

Waiting for room service to bring his breakfast order, he considered the coincidence of meeting Geri and their discussion at the library café. After dealing with a hit man and being knocked out, doubts about her innocence crept into his thoughts. Why would a beautiful woman like her take such an interest in him? A firm disbeliever in chance, he opened a frame to search for info on her.

“People search Geri Harper, Atlanta, Georgia, college student, age: early thirties,” Cooper said. The frame brought up several photos to choose from. He selected her pretty face and an array of articles popped up.

“Geraldine Louise Harper,” he said out loud. First, he chose an interview of Geri’s father, Dr. Joseph Lee Harper, a philanthropist and retired pediatrician who worked with inner city children and served as a board member of the Historical Preservation Society of Georgia. Apparently, the only family he had left was his Southern Belle daughter whose mother, Celia, died when Geri was young. Cooper felt a pang for her. He understood loss.

Cooper opened another article, about Geri. She briefly attended Emory University and participated in a couple of protests against the Econ Car Revolution.
Interesting. A real rebel. Dawson wouldn’t like that.

The article described Geri as a modern-day debutante, whatever that was. She belonged to a long list of women’s groups and children’s organizations, softhearted like her father. He finished reading and smiled.
Impressive resume
. So maybe she wasn’t out to get him. Maybe meeting her was a sign he should start dating again. Either way, Geri Harper would be hard to forget. He hoped he would have the nerve to look her up when he resolved this mess. If he was still around.

Cooper logged off the Qnet and turned on the news feed. He moved on to his next order of business, to plan out his strategy for the party. He retrieved the page he had gotten at the library from under the ice bucket, and unfolded it. Apparently, paper wasn’t part of the search and seizure mission.

His head jerked at the light knock on his door. When he realized it was probably the breakfast he pre-ordered, he dropped the paper on the dresser and nodded. He was starving!

“Who is it?”

“Room service.”

Cooper opened the peephole on the imager. An older gentleman stood holding a tray of food high up on his shoulder. Preparing himself for a surprise attack from the unassuming man, Cooper opened the door.

The waiter took his tray to the table and set it down. Surveying the spread of covered dishes, Cooper inhaled the savory scents. Less suspicious, since he and his room had just been searched, he confirmed the tip with his thumbprint and led the waiter out.

“Sir, Blake is reporting,” Nate said.

“Good. Let’s see what he has.”

Nate opened the vid phone connection.

“Hey, chief.” Blake pulled off his false nose, camera glasses, and messy gray hair.

Nate loved Blake’s disguises.

“Blake. Good to see you. What did you find?”

“After knocking him out and scanning the place for stick drives, I found one in his pocket. There were no pertinent downloads on his QV and no sign of any other drives. When I returned with room service to check his status and do another quick sweep, I saw a piece of paper that wasn’t there before. It looked like a hand-drawn map. I sent you video recorded from my glasses. I didn’t get a great shot of the paper, as it was partially folded.”

“Interesting. Anything else?”

“No.”

“Okay, then. Check out. Your next assignment is on its way,” Ed said.

“Roger.” Blake nodded and disconnected.

Nate pulled up the picture. The folds in the paper distorted the image, making it hard to decipher.

“Do you think the map is of Beasley Hills?” Nate asked. “Should I search for it online?”

“I don’t doubt it is Beasley Hills. You can search it, but I’m sure it’s nothing. Cooper has no bait now. And even if he continues, that compound is overprotected. There’s no way Cooper will get anywhere without their Security handling him. I’ve seen it for myself. It’s impenetrable.”

Nothing is impenetrable.
Nate shook his head. He should know. He used to be a professional decoder and hacker. He had broken into several
impenetrable
bank holdings before being forced to work for the FBI and spy on people.

“Is Geri all set for the party?” Ed asked.

“She will be outfitted here at 1300 hours, sir,” Nate said.

“Good. Fine. And they did a nice job on her bio, didn’t they? Let me know if Cooper changes his course. Carry on.”

“Yes, sir.” When Ed left, Nate took a closer look at the picture of the map. How tasty would it be for Cooper to have found something Ed missed!

Cooper studied the map while he ate. The book claimed the ancient artifact to be a two-hundred-year-old drawing by a slave of the Beasley Hills plantation. It sketched the main house, the detached kitchen, the slave quarters, the infirmary, the stables, and the kennels. The focus of the map was a jagged, dark line from the outer kitchen to the stables on the remote southeast border of the plantation grounds. According to the book, the line represented a tunnel used to smuggle slaves out to the stables, then they could cross the river just past the property line and connect with the Underground Railroad.

This was the only map Cooper had seen in all his searching. He blamed PTI for that. They probably had erased all information about the plantation for security reasons. Cooper wanted to know the ins and outs of the place. He wished he had a more recent layout of the grounds. Searching Spy Sat and any other satellite world-viewing programs had been a waste of time, with so many restricted zones.

Geri said PTI had worked with the historical society to preserve the original layout. Assuming they had included a kitchen in the main house, among the refurbishments, he wondered if it reached over to the old outer kitchen where the tunnel started. That would be quite a stretch.

He considered his plan. To get any real answers from the Creator, he would have to corner the guy without any PTI people or security guards around. Once he arrived and surveyed the grounds, he would be able to assess the situation and figure out exactly what he could do.

He hoped he wouldn’t have to look for the tunnel. If it even existed, he had many other concerns, like what condition it would be in, if it would reach all the way to the house, and would he have enough air? The best-case scenario would be to confront the Creator at the party, outside, away from the crowds and cameras. He tucked away the map with its secret tunnel as more of a backup plan. But Cooper would do whatever he needed to, even if it meant hiding out all night under the guy’s bed.

FBI – Atlanta Division
1:00 p.m., Friday, July 26

eri strutted into headquarters wearing a silky, amethyst, haltered evening gown that flowed to the floor, with a high side slit, and sparkly, purple pumps. Fulfilling her duty to look smokin’ hot, the whistles and comments, like “Where you gonna hide your gun?” told her,
mission accomplished
. Her Muskel classes were paying off. She played along, giving them an exaggerated catwalk swagger, pleased with her new outfit. The perfect disguise, alluring yet comfortably functional. One of the perks of the job she loved.