Like Mind (4 page)

Since there was no help for it, and since I still wanted to get some air, I stood out on the little deck outside the room. It was barely wide enough to stand normally, but it gave me the view to see the rocky beach below and more of the dirty underbelly of the bridge above. The sound of traffic, the river and the occasional airplane approaching PDX over the river, all combined to create a white noise that actually soothed me. The stress of being shot at and chased started to fade a bit.

“We’re to stay here tonight and then we’ll catch a train up to Seattle at oh-six-hundred tomorrow.”

“You mean six in the morning?”

“That’s typically what oh-six-hundred means.” I could sense her about to sigh again.

“Well, if we’re staying here tonight, you’d better help me get this door back on its tracks.”

She looked from me to the door and back. For a moment I thought my responsible suggestion had averted a point-stealing sigh, but it just amplified and delayed the inevitable. She closed her eyes tightly as if she were squeezing a zit on the bridge of her nose with her eyebrows. After a deep breath, she silently walked over to assess the door situation.

We struggled with the door for fifteen minutes before Anka decided that we needed to call the front desk. I mentally shuddered at the loss of yet another point. I was doing poorly at this. The hotel maintenance man was gone to the store for a while, so they offered to move us to another room. We accepted, that is to say Anka decided for us, and hastily gathered our things, that is to say Anka’s things, and moved across the hall. I supposed they gave us a room not facing the river to thwart my door opening prowess.

“Well,” Anka looked at me, trying to avoid another sigh, “we’d better settle in for the night.”

“What? It’s noon!”

“There’s not much to be done about it. They have train tickets for us at oh-six-hundred. We’re to remain here until then. No side trips, no excursions. We follow orders.”

“Whose orders?”

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

“Yeah. You were going to tell me about Burlicus Rex and the Burl-ceratops though.”

“How do you come up with…never mind, I don’t want to know. You’re right. I was telling you about them. They work for Antonio Gutierrez, the leader of the Cuban secret police force. Known as ‘
El Tigre
’ to the intelligence community, Gutierrez is known to take side jobs for extra cash. At this time we don’t know if he’s working on the books or off them. He may be under the direction of the Chinese to secure this technology, since the Cubans don’t have the resources to implement it effectively. Gutierrez is—”

“Wait, wait,” I interrupted, “you mean to say that I’m running from Tony the Tiger?”

For a long time she just stared at me with that ball-withering gaze, but just before she started talking again, I thought I saw a flicker of a smile. I’ll assume that was a draw.

“Mr. Gutierrez is dangerous and motivated, but his supply chain is limited, especially this far from Cuba. That’s one of the reasons that Grosskopf selected OHSU for his secret lab. It’s likely that the,” she cleared her throat and, maybe, smiled again, “Burly Twins, as you like to call them, are his only operatives in the area.”

“So, we’re safe?”

“It certainly looks—”

Then the hallway exploded.

The first blast took the hotel door off its hinges. Before I could think I dove toward Anka, tackled her and fell between the beds. I huddled myself across her body and covered the back of my head with my hands. I was just starting to feel silly when the second explosion hit. The force felt like someone kicked me in the back. We stayed down for maybe two minutes waiting for a third explosion that never came. Anka told me to move, I guess, I didn’t hear much but ringing at that point. She pushed at me, but I didn’t want to risk another blast. The next thing I knew, she’d flipped me onto my back and was straddling me. After the shock and pain of her wrestling move I became aware of her strong thighs gripping my waist, her tight sweater over her heaving chest, and the rapid fluttering of her pulse in the hollow of her neck as she stared into the burning hallway.

“Aw, really?” Anka suddenly jumped off of me.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. It just—”

“Never mind. We need to move.”

“What happened? Do you think it was a gas leak?”

“No, it was a hit. Someone tried to kill us.”

“Who?”

“Well, the only person who knew we were here was my boss.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh.’”

“Well, they should think we’re dead, right? That’s a good thing.”

“You’re right, they need to think we’re dead. Give me your phone.”

“Wait, what?” I climbed up off the floor, adjusting my pants in the process.

“If the GPS on our phones moves from this spot, they’ll know we’re alive. We need to ditch our phones. Now.”

“But—”

“NOW, dammit!”

I handed her my phone. She pulled her own out and then threw both of them into the room across the hall.

“Where will we go?”

“We can’t take the car; it belongs to my boss.”

“Well, it’ll be a walk, but we can take the bridge back to Portland and then take the MAX back to my place.”

“You really come up to Vancouver all that often?”

“I biked up here the other day to get some pizza. There’s a great place downtown, plus there was this really cute waitress.”

“Ah.”

“Don’t worry, it didn’t work out.”

“Well, there’s no time like the present, I guess. Let’s head out.”

“Wait, won’t they wonder about there not being any bodies in here?”

“You’re right,” she said it almost like an accusation, “c’mon, we can make it look like we jumped into the river. That’ll keep them busy for a while.”

She led me to the sink where we soaked towels in water and wrapped them around our heads and faces. Then we took the mattresses off of the beds in our new room and ran them across the hall into the burning room. We shoved the mattresses out the door and over the balcony into the river below. Even with the moist turbans the smoke still made it difficult to see and breathe. We hurried out of the inferno and collapsed, gasping for air.

After I could get a breath, I said, “We should get out of here. Do you need any of your stuff?”

“It’s probably best to not risk it, if they come searching, they’ll think it’s suspicious if my bags are all gone.” She bent and grabbed a few small items from various pockets and pouches. They all disappeared before I had the chance to identify anything.

“Let’s go then.”

I led us out of the Red Lion, through the back doors. We got into the parking lot just in time to see the fire truck pull up. Crowds of people were already outside staring at the smoke rising from the building, a cruel reflection of the old hotel across the river that burned to the ground not long before. Anka pulled at my shoulder and we stopped in the crowd, facing the flames and gawking with the others. Slowly she guided us toward the street, while we pretended to wonder what was happening.

When we got out of the crowd, I took over and led us to the path for the I-5 bridge. We walked around the curve and saw the crowds were already lining up on the railing of the bridge to watch the fire from the higher vantage point. We continued our charade of being curious onlookers and crossed to the midpoint of the bridge. At that point Anka gave a little squeal, grabbed me and pulled me against one of the support I-beams. We tucked away inside the metal as tightly as possible, pressing our bodies together.

“What is it?” I whispered.

“Quad-Drone, over on the Oregon side. Just above the water by the old navy boat.”

“What’s a quadrone?”

“No, Quad, as in four, drone, as in flying-death-robot.”

“There’s four of them?”

Sigh, another man-point, “No, it’s a quad-copter. Do you see it?”

“No…wait there it is.”

“Tell me if it moves.”

“Okay. So, if you know all about this quad-drone, does that mean your boss tried to kill us?”

She swallowed and looked up at me. Her eyes were filled with doubt and fear.

“I don’t know. But I also don’t know who else has access to that technology.”

“The Cubans?”

“No, not a chance.”

“So we have at least two groups of people trying to kill us?”

“No, the Cubans want you alive. I don’t know why my boss—or whoever it is—wants you dead.”

“That’s reassuring, at least. I think the drone is moving away. Yeah, it’s climbing and heading south. It just dropped behind the trees. It’s gone.”

Anka pushed me away, “Do you think we could go for a while without you getting excited?”

I blushed and hunched over pretending to tie my shoes. When I got up I thought I saw a smile just leaving her face.

“Sorry. Can we cross over now?”

“Let’s stick with the crowd. When they lose interest, we’ll follow them back across the bridge and, hopefully, that’ll give time for the drone pilot to take off.”

It took a long time for the bridge-dwellers to stop looking at the smoking fire. Finally after the fire truck left, they started wandering away. We waited for the first couple to pass and then joined in the migration south.

Once we got to the other side, we kept following the signs to get to the Delta Park MAX station. We got on the train and headed toward my house.

“So, secret agent Bowler, what’s the plan?”

“Oh, I see what you did there, my last name is the name of a hat so you said the name of another hat. Has anyone ever told you that you’re quite clever?”

“Wow, it’s not like
I’m
the one who tried to blow you up with a flying robot. I’m sorry for trying to lighten the mood.”

“Why do you have to turn everything into a joke?”

“Why do you have to take everything so seriously?”

After that we just glared at the floor for a long time. I read, and re-read the lame attempt at poetry mixed in with the advertisements and the Tri-Met map. This was not how I had hoped things would go with Anka. Maybe the lack of beer had something to do with it.

“This is our stop,” I said, getting up and stepping to the door.

“Finally! I could use a shower and some food.”

“Well I have one of those things at my house. Two if you count microwave burritos as food.”

“So, after I shower, we can go out somewhere, is what you’re saying.”

“I guess it is.”

We walked from the MAX station through my neighborhood. North Portland is a strange mix of gentrifying condominiums and run-down houses competing for space. Down one street you’ll see graffiti and overgrown lawns, but just a few blocks over you get upscale dining and controlled-entry apartments. I don’t live in the nice apartments.

I have the basement of a three-story house that’s been converted into apartments. It works for me, but as I led Anka to my door, I started seeing it through her eyes. The welcome mat had, at some point in the past, become indistinguishable from the rotting leaves that collected in front of my door. Inside, the sink full of dishes smelled slightly of rotting food and mildew while the rest of the place was dim and strewn with the detritus of computers, case parts, clothes and empty beer bottles.

“Uh, it’s been a while since I had a chance to clean up.”

“Sure. Where’s the bathroom?”

I pointed Anka in the right direction and remembered just before she closed the door to give her a towel. At least I had a clean one to offer.

I shouted through the door, “Do you want me to make anything?”

“You mean microwaving a burrito? No.”

“Yeah, right. What are you in the mood for?”

“Right now, I’m in the mood for you shutting up so I can shower in peace.”

“Okay, okay. Sorry.”

I wandered around my apartment for a while, pretending to clean up, but mostly just rearranging the piles of junk. Eventually I settled down with my computer and started to check the news stories about a fire at the Red Lion in Vancouver. I was surprised to find no mention of explosions or deaths, just a quiet line about a fire that was quickly contained and backed up traffic down in to Portland. Of course Portlanders only care about how events in Vancouver affect their traffic, but I thought a drone strike on US soil might have created a bit of a stir.

I guess we’re the only ones who care since we’re the ones who were shot at.

Mystery Machine

Anka finished up in the shower and walked out wearing her towel. I tried to be polite, but all of her exposed skin kept drawing my eyes away from her face. My heart drummed and threatened to drown out the world. She was, by far, the most beautiful woman to ever be in my house. Her wet hair was gathered over one shoulder and the deep, rich color shone under my hall light. Brown at a glance, but with warm undertones of red. I do have a thing for redheads. Her hazel eyes stared at me steadily, if not warmly, as I composed myself. Everything from her neck down was glistening perfection. She was clearly fit, but without that desiccated look of women who are addicted to exercise. Her curves—