Run into Trouble (2 page)

Fred nodded. “The red tape would hold up the
race.”

A thought tugged at Drake’s brain. Something
about the collision. Just before he had ducked his head, he had
noticed something about the truck. Or heard something. That was it.
The noise of the engine had lessened. The driver had backed off the
gas pedal—perhaps even put on his brakes. He hadn’t hit the taxi as
hard as he could have.

What did that mean? Drake decided not to
mention it to Fred.

“Isn’t the race supposed to start in…” Drake
looked at his watch “…about an hour?” By some miracle, his watch
was still working. It was coming up on noon. As he recalled, the
race was scheduled to start at one.

“The start has been postponed until tomorrow
morning. Casey is with the other runners now, explaining it to
them.”

The race was already being delayed because
of him. “I’m sorry I screwed it up. Are you going to be able to
replace me?”

“Replace you? Of course not. You’re going to
be in it.”

“Fred, perhaps you haven’t noticed, but I’m
in no condition to run a race. Especially a race of six hundred
miles.”

Fred sounded enthusiastic. “You’ll be fine.
I just talked to the doctor. The glass cuts will heal quickly. The
bruise on your chest is temporary. He’ll put a splint on your nose
to hold it in place and protect it.”

“What about my back pain?”

“The x-rays show nothing but a little
scoliosis.”

Curvature of the spine. “I’ve had that all
my life.”

“That’s what the doctor suspected.”

“But what about the pain? I can hardly
walk.”

“We’ll bring in physical therapists, massage
therapists, whatever you need.”

“I couldn’t stand for anyone to touch me
right now.”

“The doctor’s going to give you a
prescription for morphine.”

“How come you know all this before I
do?”

“Here comes the doctor now to tell you.”

CHAPTER 2

As Peaches, or whatever his name was, drove
Drake and Fred to the Hotel del Coronado where the runners were
going to spend the night, Drake reflected that he looked like a
classic hood instead of a businessman. His conservative suit didn’t
hide his bulging shoulders, and Drake was certain he had a gun
concealed beneath his jacket. His only expression was a perpetual
scowl. Drake decided that he needed to be as wary of Peaches as
Fred, but for a different reason.

The most impressive thing about the Hotel
del Coronado wasn’t the gleaming white expanse of the building
located on the beach, or the contrasting red roofs, but that it had
been in business since the nineteenth century and had played host
to “presidents and princes,” as the brochure Drake read stated. If
this was typical of how the runners were going to live during the
race, he wouldn’t fight it.

His room didn’t have an ocean view. That was
a concession to economy. It cost more to see the sea. The room was
in the Victorian Building, the oldest part of the hotel, and was
labeled quaint, meaning that it wasn’t large and the furniture was
old. It had the odor of quaint.

Drake still wasn’t convinced he wanted to be
in the race, especially if it were going to get him killed. He
hadn’t figured out why anybody wanted to kill him for running the
California coast, but somebody must not like him.

He had an out. The person who had recruited
him by phone, whose name he had forgotten, had told him that his
teammate had already been picked. The recruiter couldn’t tell him
who his teammate was, for reasons Drake didn’t understand. Both
members of a team had to cross the finish line before both members
of each of the other teams, in order to claim the million dollar
first prize. He had reserved the right not to participate if he
didn’t like his teammate.

Fred wouldn’t tell him who it was on the way
to the hotel. “You’ll find out when you get there.”

Why the mystery? Well, he was at the hotel,
and he still didn’t know. He was being given a few minutes alone to
“freshen up.” He didn’t have any luggage—that had been burned in
the taxi—so freshening up consisted of washing his hands to get rid
of the hospital smell. And noticing in the bathroom mirror how ugly
he looked with two black eyes and the tape that covered his nose
and much of his face.

He did have a new shirt and pants. Peaches
had purchased them for him while he was at the hospital, because
the clothes he had been wearing were covered with blood. Fred had
promised that underwear and more clothes, and even a toothbrush and
razor, would show up at the hotel. He had yet to see them.

He did one other thing. He opened the bottle
of morphine tablets that the doctor had given him, swallowed one,
and flushed the rest down the toilet. He knew from his training
that morphine was one of the most addictive drugs in existence, and
he wasn’t having any part of it, even if it cost him a lot of pain.
He wouldn’t be controlled by anything or anybody.

There was a knock on the door. Drake opened
it and saw a pleasant-looking man wearing a colorful sport shirt,
glasses, and a concerned expression on his face. Youngish, but with
a touch of gray in his otherwise dark hair that was neatly in place
and cut with precision.

He extended his hand. “Casey Messinger. I’m
very sorry to hear about your accident. Terrible thing. I’m looking
into it.”

“Nice to meet you.” Drake was surprised at
the strength of his grip. His name sounded familiar. “Are you by
any chance the CEO of Giganticorp, Mr. Messinger?”

“Call me Casey. And yes, Oliver, I am.”

“Call me Drake.”

They both laughed. Drake immediately liked
him. Not just his manner, but he was the first Giganticorp employee
Drake had met who might actually be a runner.

“I understand you postponed the start of the
race just for me.”

“Yes, but it’s not a problem. We’ll start
tomorrow morning at Border Field State Park and still be here in
time to cross the Coronado Bridge in conjunction with its grand
opening tomorrow afternoon.”

“I take it there’ll be publicity.”

“Lots of press and brouhaha. Yup.”

Drake had to phrase this carefully. “I have
a concern. The accident…may not have been an accident.”

“I get your drift. You’re under my
protection. As long as you’re part of Running California, you have
nothing to fear.”

Big words. Confident words, but, somehow,
Drake almost believed them.

“I’m not really going to be in shape to run
tomorrow.”

“That’s all right. The first day is
ceremonial. Everybody will run together in a group and be given the
same time. It doesn’t matter how fast you go.”

Drake hadn’t gathered that from the
information about the race. He guessed that the Golden Rule came
into play here—he who owns the gold makes the rules.

“May I ask you one more question?”

“Anything.”

“Why are you doing this? Not just the race,
itself, but the million dollar prize. I’m sure you could have
offered much less—”

“We think big at Giganticorp. This will be
great publicity for the company and for the state of California.
And for the runners. I know that in the past you’ve avoided the
spotlight, but you might get to like it.”

Drake wondered. “I almost forgot. Who’s my
partner?”

“Wait here.”

Casey gave Drake an enigmatic smile and left
the room.

***

“You look terrible.”

Drake stumbled backward from the doorway.
His headache suddenly doubled in intensity. He would recognize that
face and musical English accent anywhere, even though the words
were far from musical. It was Melody. Or her ghost.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“Come…come in.”

She was approximately the last person in the
world he had expected to see, this apparition that walked lightly
into the room, almost without leaving footprints, and closed the
door behind her.

“If it’s any consolation, I’m glad you
weren’t killed today.”

She still looked the same, her slim body
hidden inside a warm-up suit, belying not only her curves but the
strength within, both physical and mental. The sandy hair caught in
a ponytail, ready for a run; the pert nose framed by a sprinkling
of freckles on the small face.

“Do I have to carry this conversation all by
myself?”

“Sorry.” Drake sat down hard on the bed. His
legs would no longer support him. “I…I didn’t expect to see you
here.”

“Don’t feel like the Lone Ranger, as you
yanks would say. They didn’t tell me about you, either, until they
were forced to by the accident. All the other runners had partners,
except me. When they finally divulged the secret, I almost walked
out, just the way you did six years ago. For some reason that I
can’t attribute, I waited around to see whether you were alive or
dead. I must say, you look more dead than alive.”

“I’ll recover.” At least from the collision.
“I guess I owe you an apology.”

“You owe me a lifetime of apologies. Let’s
see. You leave me with no message and no explanation. I’m frantic,
thinking that you’re dead, or at the very least a prisoner in a
Soviet Gulag camp. Finally, after months of searching and talking
to everybody I can think of, a sympathetic bloke at your embassy
does some checking and lets me know that you’re all right but
doesn’t know where you are. I wait for word—and wait. For six years
I’ve waited. In vain.”

“I had no choice.” Drake felt miserable. “I
was ordered to secrecy.”

“Yeah, I remember bloody government secrets.
Your government and mine. Don’t let the right hand know what the
left hand is doing. But I take it you’ve been out for several
years. Why did you quit?”

“It got to the point where I had a hard time
telling the good guys from the bad guys.”

“I know the feeling. Would it have hurt you
to drop me a line?”

“I didn’t think you wanted to hear from me.
And I didn’t know where you were.”

“Poor excuses for excuses. You could have
written my mum in Rotherfield.”

“How long have you been in the U.S.?”

Melody sat on the edge of the bed beside
Drake and appeared to deflate, like a balloon.

“Two years. Our little island became too
small for me. I knew where too many bodies were buried, literally
and figuratively. So I came to the land of the free and the home of
the brave. I may even become a citizen someday.”

“Where are you living?”

“Denver. Running at high altitude is great
conditioning for running at sea level. I’m working at a Jack
LaLanne health club as a fitness instructor and running the
occasional marathon, when I can find one that accepts women. What
about you? Tell me your recent history in two sentences or
less.”

Nonstop physical activity. That sounded like
the Melody he knew. If anybody were in shape for this race, she
was.

“I resigned four years ago. I’ve been living
with my sister and brother-in-law in Idyllwild, which is about a
hundred miles from here. It’s also in the mountains, a mile high,
same as Denver. I’ve been selling real estate and working out. I
ran Boston last spring.”

“Fancy that. We’re both running marathons.
I’m planning to run Boston next year. We might have run into each
other, sometime, if you’ll excuse the little joke. Except for your
face, you look fit. Well, I guess the first thing we have to decide
is whether we’re going to quit while we’re behind or have a go at
this.”

“What did they tell you about the
collision?”

“That it was an accident. Your taxi was
rear-ended, I believe.”

“It was no accident. The truck driver hit us
deliberately.”

Melody caught her breath. “What else do you
have to tell me?”

“Actually, that’s it. I haven’t had any
contact with the agency for four years. I don’t know why anybody
would want to eliminate me. I doubt that any of our Russian friends
care about me any longer. I don’t want to expose you to any more
danger. The one thing I was happy about when I left you was that
you would be safe. You were, weren’t you?”

“I didn’t suffer any physical repercussions,
if that’s what you mean. Only emotional. I was reassigned. But we
were in it together, Drake. We were both professionals. I knew what
I was doing.”

“Okay, but this is different. You’re a
civilian now.”

Melody turned and looked into his bloodshot
eyes with her green ones. When she did that, Drake was sure she
could penetrate his brain and his very soul. Slowly her expression
changed, and a smile lit up her face.

“To tell you the truth, life has been a bit
boring since you left. The year I spent with you was a lot of
things, but it was never dull. I don’t know what chance we have of
winning the million, but it might be a lovely adventure.”

“Then the first thing we have to do is get
me in shape to run.”

Melody’s manner became brisk. “Tell me about
your injuries. I assume your nose won’t be a problem, except that
it may spoil your pretty-boy looks if it ends up misshapen. That
may be a good thing. I won’t be tempted to shag you.”

“I have a few minor cuts, as you can see.
Other than that, I have a bruise on my chest…”

Melody began unbuttoning his shirt. When
Drake protested, she said, “I’m a certified fitness instructor.
Hold still. I’m not going to rape you.”

She pronounced his chest satisfactory. He
told her about his back.

“Take off your belt and lie on the bed on
your stomach.”

That was easier said than done because the
act of lying down was painful to Drake. When he finally got
comfortable, she pulled his shirt up and examined his back. She
also pulled his pants down a little. His back hurt when she touched
it.

“I prescribe an ice pack. You can put ice
cubes in a towel. I’ll get you some. Have you got any aspirin?”

“The doctor gave me morphine, but I flushed
it down the toilet.”