Gina Cresse - Devonie Lace 01 - A Deadly Change of Course--Plan B (12 page)

Chapter Fourteen

C
raig didn’t answer immediately.  He was too busy trying to drive in unfamiliar territory as he watched in his rear view mirror for my two pursuers.  When it seemed we were safely out of the city limits and no one was following us, I initiated a conversation again.

“Okay.  Now you can tell me what in the world you’re doing here,” I demanded.

“First things first,” he said.  “Are you okay?”

“I think so, but I don’t know for how long.  These guys are really persistent.  I’m afraid that it’s just a matter of time before my luck runs out.”

“I
f they can’t find you, they can’t catch you.  I’m going to do my best to make sure they can’t find you.”

“Speaking of finding me, how did you know where I was?” I asked.

“It wasn’t too
hard
.  I just followed you to your gate at the airport.  After you boarded, I found a young college student who was on your flight and gave him a hundred dollars to follow you after you landed in
Geneva.  I told him there would be another hundred for him when he called me with the name of your hotel.”

“Ah, that would be Steve,” I said.

“Yes.  I believe Steve was his name.  Nice kid.”

“Okay. 
Next question.
  What possessed you to follow me here?  Didn’t I tell you that I didn’t want you involved in this?”

“I can’t help it.  I have this uncontrollable need to rescue poor helpless damsels in distress,” he said.

“I’m not helpless,” I stated emphatically, with a bit of ire in my voice.  If there was one thing I was most proud of, it was my independence.

“I know.  I know,” he said in self-defense.  “I was just kidding.  Please don’t sentence me to the dungeon for my poor attempt at chivalry.”

“I’ll grant you a pardon this time, but be aware that you’re on probation, so you just better watch your step,” I teased.  We both laughed, then the seriousness of my situation came hurling back at me and the smile left my face.

“Seriously, what possible reason could you have for being here?  You hardly even know me, and you know nothing about my situation.”

“That’s not entirely true.  After I ran into you at the airport, I canceled my trip to the medical conference and went directly to your uncle.  I told him about our encounter at the airport and demanded to know what was going on.  I told him I intended to follow you here, and the more I knew about your situation, the better able
I’d be to help you.  Arlene convinced him to tell me what he knew.  I think she has a soft spot for me.”

“Oh.  I’m sure of that,” I said.

“Anyhow, he filled me in on the little bit of information he had.  He also told me you hadn’t really had a chance to give him all the details, since it seems you’ve been on the run from someone ever since you arrived in Del Mar.  He did give me some information for you, and he wants you to call him just as soon as you can.”

“What sort of information?” I asked.

“Before you left, you gave him a CD containing some E-mail documents?”

“That’s right,” I answered, anxiously awaiting the rest of the message.

“He took it directly to his friend at the
Los Angeles Times
.  The guy just about fell out of his chair when he read whatever was on that CD.  Apparently, about a year ago, nearly every major newspaper in the country received a copy of an FAA report containing the page that was on your CD.  The anonymous informant appealed to anyone receiving the document to investigate the official record.  He stated in a letter included with the report that the final version of the report contained nothing about the questionable device found in the wreckage, and that the device had disappeared from the collection of evidence found at the crash site.”

“You’re kidding,” I replied in amazement.  “Did they investigate it?”

“I don’t know about the other newspapers, but your uncle’s friend did.  He said he went directly to the FAA and showed them the report he received.  When questioned, the FAA officials insisted it was a hoax, initiated by some radical group trying to discredit the Administration.  The FAA actually produced hundreds of similar documents sent in by other, as they put it, ‘extremists’, who supposedly unveiled the true cause of that crash.  Some of them stated that aliens from another planet shot down the plane with lasers.  Others claimed Russian satellites were responsible.  One guy even accused his mother-in-law of putting a bomb on the plane because he was supposed to be on the flight.  Anyhow, the report was labeled as a hoax and tossed in a pile with all the other discredited accounts of the accident.”

“So now that this missing page has turned up again, are they reconsidering the validity of the informant’s claims?” I said.

“Your uncle’s friend says it sure looks a lot more promising than it did a year ago, but he won’t do anything with it unless he meets with the anonymous informant to establish some sort of credibility.”

“Great.  Except that I haven’t a clue
who
the informant is.  It had to be someone involved in the investigation, or someone close to one of the investigators.  Whoever it is must be afraid for his life if he can’t come forward with the evidence required to reopen the investigation.  Somehow, I think our own
government is involved.  Why else would the FBI want me out of the picture?”

“FBI?
  What have they got to do with this?” Craig asked.

“Those two guys who were chasing me in Geneva were FBI agents.  No one knew where I was staying in Del Mar, and no one knew about Jason’s involvement in this whole thing until I went to talk to them.  That very night, my boat was destroyed and Jason was almost killed.  Oh, poor Jason.  How is he?  Were you able to get some protection for him?”

“You don’t need to worry about Jason.  The director over at the Med Center in Los Angeles is a good friend of mine.  I had him transferred up there and arranged for his records to be ‘adjusted’,
per my instructions.  As of today, Jason’s identity is that of a Mr. Juan Fernandez.  Anyone looking for Jason Walters in any hospital in Southern California will be sadly disappointed.”

“What about his family?  Aren’t they going to wonder what this is all about?” I asked.

“I met with his family and explained that they were better equipped up in Los Angeles for taking care of Jason.  They didn’t seem to mind, especially since they live in Glendale and the commute to the hospital is much shorter.”

“That’s good.  How is he doing otherwise?  Is he out of the coma yet?”

“I checked on him before they transported him.  He was awake and asking for you.  I explained to him that you were okay, and that he needed to stay under wraps
until this whole thing blows over.  He seemed to get the drift.  Medically, he’s going to be okay.”

“That’s somewhat of a relief, but I’m not sure how this is ever going to ‘blow over’, as you put it.”

“One thing’s for sure.  We need to get you in a safe hiding place.  Then we should concentrate on finding out who this mysterious informant is, and what this FAA report is all about.  If there’s government involvement in some sort of conspiracy, your only hope is going to be to expose it big time
—
blow the whole thing out of the water.”

“Like they did to my boat?”

“Exactly.”

“I know you’re not going to like what I’m about to tell you.  You have to take me back to the hotel,” I told him.

“What?  Why in the world would you want to go back there?  Those two agents will be watching your room around the clock.”

“I know, but I have to get the computer.  I think there’s something very important on it.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know.  I haven’t found it yet, but I will,” I said.

“You can’t go back there.  Tell me where it is and I’ll figure out a way to get it,” he said.

After dark, we returned to Geneva and parked a short distance from the hotel.

“You stay here.  I’ll just slip in, grab the computer, and slip back out,” Craig said with confidence.

“How do you intend to do that?  Aren’t you the one who said they’d be watching my room?”

“Don’t worry.  I’ll find some supply closet and disguise myself as a bellboy.  They do it in the movies all the time.”

“Why would a bellboy go to an empty room?” I asked.

He thought for a moment.  “Okay.  I’ll disguise myself as a maid.  They’re always going into empty rooms.”

“Yeah, right.
  A six-foot-two maid with hairy arms and legs and a five o-clock shadow.  They’d never catch on to that,” I said.

“Well, they might not.  They are government workers, you know.”

“Very funny.
  We need a plan.  I have an idea.  I’m going to try to lure them away from the hotel.  Can you camp out in the lobby and watch for them to leave?”

“What’s your plan?”

“They must have someone monitoring all airline ticket purchases.  How else would they have known to follow me here?  I’ll just go out to the airport, buy a ticket on the next flight back to the states, and they’ll rush out there to try and catch me.  After you see that they’ve left, you can use my key to sneak in and grab the computer.  I stuffed it behind the headboard of the bed.”

“Okay.  Then you meet me right here as soon as you can.”

“Right.
  Oh… and Craig… while you’re in there, could you grab the little teal blue sweater hanging in the
closet?  It cost me sixty bucks, and I haven’t even worn it yet.”

“Yes, Dear.
 
Anything else?”

“No.  That should do it.  Here’s the key.  I’ll see you back here as soon as I can.  Good luck.”

I collected the newly purchased airline ticket, along with my passport, and stuffed them into my purse, then walked briskly away from the ticket counter toward the long corridors leading to the exits.  I’d left the car parked in the unloading zone with the driver-side door open.  I just needed to hurry back out of the terminal and meet up with Craig. 

I rounded a corner and passed two men wearing blue suits and skinny black ties.  They looked like the computer geeks I used to deal with back in college
—
when IBM had such a large market-share in the industry.  One talked on a cell phone while the other flipped through a stack of photographs.  Then I heard the one on the phone say, “She just bought it?”

I stopped and turned.  So did
they
.  We stared each other down for a brief moment,
then
the one with the photos pointed an accusing finger at me. “That’s her!”

I broke into a full run, darting around and through the masses of people crowding the corridors.  They were right on my tail.  I was on
the track team in high school—
the hundred-yard dash was my event.  My legs reminded me that eighteen years was a long time ago.  Those two FBI agents behind me may have looked like geeks in their bland suits, but they ran as if they had just graduated
from the academy.  I rounded a corner and spotted my only hope of losing them
—
a group of about seventy-five Japanese tourists.  I quickly squeezed my way into the middle of the crowd and waited for my pursuers to pass.  When they realized t
hey had lost me, they split up—
each going down a separate corridor.  I slipped back out of the crowd and headed in the opposite direction. 

I pushed my way through an emergency exit, setting off the alarms.  I couldn’t tell which way the terminal parking was.  I seemed to be on the runway side of the building.  Jogging along the dimly lit wall, I rounded the corner and there, on the other side of an eight-foot chain-link fence topped with barbed wire, was the roadway to the short- and long-term parking areas.  I only needed to climb over, then determine if I should go left or right to get to the car. 

I started to climb.  Gingerly, I maneuvered one leg over the barbed wire. 
So far, so good.
  Then I tried swinging the other leg over, but my pant leg caught a barb.  I found myself performing the splits on top of the fence.  Finally, I managed to get some slack in the fabric and released my leg from the grip of the nasty barb.  As soon as I freed my leg, I slipped and fell eight feet to the concrete below.

I lay motionless for about a minute, performing a mental examination of my body’s state.  Nothing felt broken.  I dragged myself to my feet.  My legs seemed to be working.  I glanced left, then right, then spotted the
United Airlines terminal sign—
where I
had
parked the car.  I hurried along the rows of cars and pushed my way
through crowds of people.  A couple of airport security officials were standing next to my car, discussing the possibility of towing it, I assumed.

“I’ll move it,” I assured them.

“Is this your car?” one of them asked.