Pop Travel (12 page)

“Oh, that isn’t good. He’s connected. And that politician brother of his looks familiar. Isn’t he the Representative who made us all switch to Econ Cars? Why is this detective snooping around? Do they have a tie to someone missing?” Saffioti asked, straightening his tie and smoothing back his dark, thinning hair.

“Yes, he is. No, they don’t. And Cooper used to be a lawyer. He aided the prosecution in the case of the airline unions versus PTI,” Ed said.

Mr. Saffioti grimaced like he’d just eaten some bad sushi.

“We believe a Mr. Jonathan Phisner went to see Cooper earlier this week. When Mr. Phisner’s fiancée went missing two months ago, he did his own investigating. We tracked him and scared him off the scent. Alone, Mr. Phisner wasn’t a real threat, so when he left town, we let him go. That is when he contacted Cooper.” He paused before he finished. “Mr. Phisner has since died.”

“Died? What happened?” asked Mrs. Jones. She sat up straighter, intrigued. Her hazel eyes glowed. “An accident?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ed replied.

She smiled and sat back with her elbows on the sides of the chair, touching her fingertips together.

What a sadist! Remind me never to cross her!

“We’ve dispatched an agent to visit Cooper’s office to confirm the connection and find out if anyone there knows anything pertinent. We also have an agent tailing Cooper, ready to approach him, if needed.” He signaled Nate again, who removed the bio and widened the current video feed. Cooper ambled down a street, eating a bagel. Every few feet the frame would update as he came into range of the next camera.

Mr. Saffioti pointed at Cooper.

“That guy? He looks like a buffoon. What does he know?” he asked and smoothed his hair again.

“In the course of his investigation yesterday, Cooper went to the Atlanta travelport and spoke with Security. He was present when we discovered hidden videos that should have been destroyed. They have since been disposed of. Today, Cooper spoke with his brother, the Congressman. From their conversation, Cooper thinks pop travel has a glitch sending people to a mysterious location and erasing their memory. He gave no indication he knows the truth. His brother did some digging for him but came up empty-handed. The Representative has no level of clearance worth mentioning. Detective Cooper did make it clear he wants to speak to the Creator. Representative Cooper is going to get him a ticket for the Creator’s birthday party on Friday.”

Nate smiled, listening to Ed tell them only what he wanted them to know. A king at the game of secrets.

“Can he do that?” Mr. Saffioti asked with widened eyes. He spooked so easily.

“Probably. Politicians trade tickets all the time.”

Mrs. Jones nodded. So did Nate. He had observed some pop travel ticket trades a time or two.

“Do you think we should cancel the party?” Mr. Saffioti’s face twisted in pain.

“Calm down, Ray. Really. That would be terrible press,” Mrs. Jones told him and patted his hand. “We can handle this.”

“There’s more at stake here than bad publicity.” More hair smoothing.

That guy might be on the verge of a nervous breakdown
, Nate mused and shook his head.

“Everything will be fine. Ed has it all under control. Right, Ed?” Mrs. Jones asked.

“Of course, ma’am.” He stood up straighter, giving a smug smile.

Mr. Saffioti noted a change of scenery on the imager. “What is he doing at the library museum?”

“Let’s see.” Ed motioned for Nate to turn up the volume.

Atlanta Public Library Museum
11:00 a.m., Thursday, July 25

fter climbing the steps, Cooper inserted his bankcard and gave his thumbprint to pay the admission fee, unlocking the door. A waft of moldy air greeted him from all the old books stored there. Other than the private libraries kept by collectors, public library museums displayed and protected the only hard copies of books left.

In the center of library’s immaculate lobby, with its sturdy marble floor, an elderly librarian sat behind a beautifully carved antique desk, just as much a part of the exhibit as the books. To his left, Cooper smelled the comforting aroma of the coffee shop by the gift store. The rest of the library opened up five stories high. Windows at the top illuminated the magnificent towering bookshelves with rays of sunlight, as if the heavens blessed the sanctity of the institution.

Raising a hand to his brow, Cooper appreciated the vast forest of knowledge. Though he hadn’t been to a library in at least a decade, he knew the value of the history surrounding him. Unlike the college students occupying the rows of long tables, studying and highlighting on their dataplates. Maybe they came for the peaceful atmosphere, or maybe they thought being surrounded by such a wealth of knowledge would rub off on them. Reading online couldn’t compare to feeling the pages and seeing how much physical space the information occupied.

Mixing the present with the past, a robotic arm traveled up and down the end of each bookcase, then whizzed across the correct shelf to retrieve a certain book by scanning the codes on the spines. So different from the libraries Cooper went to as a kid, or even as a law student.

Among the long tables, cozy sitting areas with sofas and chairs invited patrons to sit and read. Visitors lounged in nostalgia, curling up with an old hardcover or paperback on a comfortable couch. Must be nice. If he sat on one, he’d forget his troubles and fall asleep.

Shaking his head, Cooper went to work. He took a seat at one of the public compucenter terminals to begin his search. Regardless of who watched him, he had to start online. It was the only way to search for a book. Knowing more about plantations in general would help him understand what he was getting into. To throw off his observers, he searched for books about legendary Southern plantation histories and supernatural sightings, hopeful he might find a layout of the Creator’s plantation compound.

Several of the plantations boasted ghost stories and secret passages, an interesting, though remote, possibility he filed away for further investigation. Finishing up, he localized his search to Georgia and included ancient lore, the Civil War, and slave escapes.

When Cooper logged into the library’s computer, Nate opened a new frame to show the searches to the guest audience in Ed’s office.

“What is he doing?” asked Mr. Saffioti, squinting at the image. Maybe he needed a new pair of eyes.

“He’s reading about plantations and hauntings,” Mrs. Jones said with a sigh.

“What for?”

“Maybe he wants to see a ghost.” She smirked.

Ray pouted at her.

“Look. Now he’s searching for the Creator’s plantation,” Nate said.

Noting books of interest, Cooper next pulled up books with layouts, maps, or floor plans of the old plantations. Finally, he specified books including the Beasley Hills Plantation, the Creator’s residence. Once he had several selected, he sent the list to a librarian aide. Working her magic, she retrieved the books for him.

As she piled the last tome on top of his stack, Cooper grunted. He had forgotten how heavy books could be. He chose a remote table, as far from the observing video cameras as possible. And since most of the books here were too old to be online, having them in hard copy form let him study in depth without peepers reading along with him.

“What is he doing? I can’t see,” Mr. Saffioti complained, standing on his tiptoes.

“Ray, he’s just reading.” Mrs. Jones shook her head. “Relax. He’s not going to find anything.”

Nate nodded in agreement. If Mr. Saffioti wasn’t so underhanded, he wouldn’t have to be so nervous. Mr. Saffioti should be the most confident about the plantation’s infallibility, since he oversaw the reconstruction and fortification of it.

“That’s right. There is really nothing to be concerned about, Mr. Saffioti. The plantation is one hundred percent secure. And Agent Geri Harper is sitting close by. Look past the next table over,” Ed said.

“Oh? Where is he?” Mr. Saffioti asked, squinting at the scene again.

“
She
is right there.” Ed used his laser pointer to circle a striking woman in her early thirties with wavy auburn hair held back by a white scarf. Geri sat on a couch behind Cooper, reading a book about interior design while subtly keeping an eye on him.

“Okay. I see her. Shouldn’t she find out what he’s doing? Talk to him? We don’t need any more lapses of information, right?” Mr. Saffioti glared at Ed.

Ed stared back for a moment, then turned to Mrs. Jones.

She nodded.

“Certainly, Mr. Saffioti. Nate, tell Geri to move in.”

“Yes, sir.” Nate pushed a button on his headset and spoke. “Agent Geri, approach.”

They watched Geri look at the camera and smooth an eyebrow, signaling she understood. Cooper hadn’t moved from flipping his pages, poring over the books. Geri slowly rose and organized her things. She had on a crisp white, short-sleeved, collared shirt, Capri jeans, and tennis shoes. Her cover was a divorced housewife going back to school as an interior design major.