Pop Travel Read online

  “Thanks for the ticket and the room. How’s it going?”

  “No problem. The Ritz is nice, eh?”

  “I would’ve been happy at the Quality Inn. It was closer to the mall. Where are you?” I’m fine! I’m worried about you!

  “You’re welcome. And the Ritz is across the street from the pop station, plus I get a good rate. I’m on the road.”

  “Where on the road?”

  Dawson didn’t sound like he was in trouble. That was a good sign.

  “We’re stuck in Rapid City, South Dakota of all places. Got an urgent call from the mayor about a problem with his Econ Car order so we popped into town only to find it was a mistake. And now the travelport is down. Technical difficulties. Wouldn’t you know it? Right in the middle of nowhere. Who’d’ve thought you could still get stranded in this day and age?”

  Unless someone was sending Cooper a message of what they could do to Dawson. There was no mistake.

  Cooper desperately wanted to warn Dawson, but he might trigger whoever was listening to do something stupid. And if Dawson knew, he’d call in the Marines and nothing would be resolved. Cooper’s best chance at stopping this was the cloak and dagger route. The less Dawson knew, the better.

  “Yeah, that’s weird. I bet it will be up and running in no time.”

  “We could always rent a car, but I would miss the rest of my tour. Epsen is pulling out what little hair he has left.”

  “You need to take it easy on the popping. Have you had any more headaches?” The hit man had been a trivial annoyance. He didn’t care about his own well-being anymore. Worrying about Dawson kept him going.

  “No, I feel fine. Coop, it’s a necessity. You’ll see it’s not so bad when you pop to the party. Do you have a plan?”

  “I’ll figure it out when I get there.”

  “Seat of the pants, eh? Sounds good. Just watch your butt and stay out of trouble. Better yet, get a linkage,” he joked with a wink.

  Cooper had no need for the complication of a new relationship. If he made it through this mess alive, maybe he’d consider calling Geri.

  “Don’t worry about me, D. I’m the older brother, remember?” Cooper picked up the napkin and read it again. They couldn’t touch Dawson or they’d blow their own cover, right?

  “You sure look older. And be sure to go over the pop ticket info. If you don’t cross your t’s and dot your i’s, you don’t go.”

  “Great. I will. Call and let me know how you get out of Dodge.”

  “Sure thing. Good luck.”

  They disconnected. You, too.

  Threatening Dawson only fueled Cooper’s drive to take down the pompous assholes responsible. Who do they think they are? It also gave him more courage to go through with a dreaded pop.

  As he picked at his sandwich, Cooper opened the pop travel ticket on his QV and read it over. It had a micro-destination code, his name and ID#, plus instructions and warnings. It read,

  One use pop travel. Friday, July 26, 2080

  Departure station: Peachtree Street, Downtown Atlanta, GA

  Departure time: 3:20 p.m.

  Destination: Beasley Hills Plantation, Albany, GA

  Arrive 45 minutes early to check in. You will undergo a brief pre-pop medical examination by a certified physician.

  Go to PopTravel.com to fill out and submit the medical exam questionnaire.

  It is strongly recommended you DO NOT POP if you are: pregnant, epileptic or have been experiencing frequent migraines or seizures.

  Any belongings larger than the indicated measurements will require a separate ticket.

  Using pop travel is done at the risk of the traveler.

  For any other questions or concerns go to PopTravel.com.

  “That’s encouraging,” Cooper said aloud. I can’t believe I’m doing this. He shut the screen with a quick poke, as if a laser would reach out and zap him through the ticket. Thinking about the pop made him nauseous and he pushed away his sandwich. Dawson said it was nothing. He seemed fine. I wonder how that guy in the video felt before he disintegrated.

  Cooper stopped sneering at his QV and turned to the imager. Better get this over with.

  He shrank the news feed but left it running in the background. Time to start the unavoidable pop travel preliminaries.

  “Open Qnet. Pop travel dot com.” The website came up. It dripped with happiness, so inviting and pleasant with puffy white clouds, blue skies, and smiling faces. He gaped at the magnitude of its irony and muted the mellow music streaming with the slideshow of excited travelers being greeted by attractive travelport staff at locations around the world.

  “Welcome to Pop Travel International. The Future is Now,” it advertised.

  “More like, ‘The future ENDS now’,” Cooper chided the image.

  His fingers rebelliously pounded around on the touchpad to find the pre-pop questionnaire form. He spoke the answers to the prompts in a soft tone, hoping not to be heard. But when his response failed, the prompt would just patiently and politely ask again. Resistance was futile.

  As he divulged his medical history, he felt the pop anxiety build. His stomach tightened, and his breath came in short bursts. He fought to keep it under control with deep intakes and managed to complete the form.

  Next, he had to read more instructions and advice requiring his thumbprint. This means we aren’t responsible if you don’t make it. His angst started again. He wasn’t worried about dying, so much as feeling it. If he survived the pop, maybe his pieces would be mismatched, leaving him to live his life deformed or a conscious pile of goo. Sitting on the edge of his seat, he started to hyperventilate. The video of the exploding traveler replayed in his head. That could be me!

  Grasping for control, Cooper tightly gripped the arms of his chair and squeezed his eyes shut. He used the calming technique he had mastered in law school, taking himself back to his early days of dealing with jitters before a tough case against a mega-corp, like PTI. He concentrated on clearing his mind. Focus on the goal. Think of all the innocent people. And Dawson. They need you. He relaxed his body, one muscle at a time.

  When he opened his eyes, he glared at the image. You can’t beat me. He gave his thumbprint in the last box and pressed send. Not realizing he had been holding his breath, he exhaled, relieved to have that out of the way.

  To take his mind off the looming pop, he focused on his plans. Now that he knew a little more about the plantation, he could examine pictures on the Qnet to get a better gist of the layout and buildings he saw. In the backgrounds of party photos, Cooper identified pieces of the manor house and grounds. In one photo, he thought he caught a flash of red glinting in the distance, maybe a laser fence. Guards decorated the surroundings as well, blending into the background. They wore black suits and sunglasses, similar to secret service. No doubt the same men in black who had interviewed the missing persons’ loved ones.

  After finishing his sandwich, he wanted to go to sleep. Still shaky from the pop anxiety, he searched “Beasley Hills Plantation history.” In 1835, good old Graham Beasley and his wife, Hannah, built their dream home and grew cotton on a large plot of land she brought as her dowry, along with a family of slaves. Poor Hannah had ten children in twelve years and died as the youngest, Mary, was born…

  Cooper was out.

  FBI Outpost

  10:30 p.m., Thursday, July 25

  Miki paced the length of the too-bright room, staring at her feet, ignoring the round, porthole, two-way mirrors as she scuffed along the gray linoleum floor. Why are we still here? What do they want? If they wanted to kill us, we’d already be dead. She stopped short. What am I saying! Since being caught, her mood had evolved from anger to sadness to desperation. She swam around in circles, a goldfish stuck in a baggie. How long would she last?

  She paused to check on Jared, huddled in a ball on the floor, leaning against one of the white, white walls and trying to get some sleep in the glaring, furnitureless room. Maybe these guys were tryin
g to break them so they would talk. But she didn’t have anything to tell them. She had already spilled her guts.

  After a light knock, the door opened. Miki rushed the guy.

  “Do we get to go home now?”

  The younger counterpart of the first guy they met at the office said nothing. He just looked at her with sympathetic eyes and let in a couple of guys to set up cots with blankets.

  Miki frowned.

  “I’m guessing that’s a no.”

  When they left, Miki yelled at the center two-way mirror, shaking her fist. “Why won’t you tell us what you want from us?!”

  Jared stirred, saw the cot, and went over to settle in. Miki watched him and shook her head. She refused to use one. She banged on the mirror and shouted again. “Hey, in there! I need to get out of here! My sister’s wedding is Saturday! I have obligations! Can’t someone please tell us what is going on?”

  “My mom is gonna kill me for staying out all night.” Jared pulled the blanket over his head.

  No, she wouldn’t. Jared’s mom let him do whatever he wanted. Miki’s mom remained calm and quiet. She would punish Miki with silent guilt and snide comments for years if she missed her sister’s wedding. Maybe even sell her on the black market as a mail order bride for the irony. She’d be better off living in this cell.

  The lights blinked out.

  Geri’s apartment

  11:00 p.m., Thursday, July 25

  With a little shiver, Geri slipped under the covers. She turned down the volume on Teddy Carson’s late night talk show program and checked her electrogun to be sure it was charging. All settled in, she could put off reading Cooper’s extended bio no longer. She picked up her plate and opened his file with a sigh. He looked younger in his picture. And happier. Too bad she didn’t meet that guy.

  The beginning of the file recapped what she already knew. Jameson Layton Cooper, a recovering alcoholic and ex-lawyer turned private investigator, lived in a small town outside Atlanta. These small bits of information had helped her form two assumptions: unlucky loser. We all have problems to deal with and don’t have to get sloshed to do it.

  His big mistake had been stumbling upon some high level secret she needed to relieve him of, and, apparently, he posed a threat to Hasan Rakhi, the Creator. After spending a couple of hours with Cooper, her original suspicions matched the file, so far. He was a reclusive, gullible, ill-fated bumpkin. He had been nice enough, and Geri had been pleasantly surprised at his trim physique and soothing blue eyes, though he was very rough around the edges. If she had to get a little intimate while coercing what she needed from him, it wouldn’t be so bad.

  As she kept reading, she skimmed over the fundamentals, birthplace, schooling, etc., but paused at some good parts. Arrested for a prank in college; that made her smile. And he had been a respected partner at his law firm. So he isn’t completely dull, or wasn’t. His current attitude seemed too serious to break the rules.

  And he had been married, but his wife died tragically. What a shame. That explained his difficulty with her flirtations. Knowing this could give her the upper hand, if she needed it. The file went on about his lapse into alcoholism, losing his job—he basically let everything go to hell until he got help from his brother and went through rehab. He must be a passionate guy to take the loss of his wife so hard. I wonder what motivates him now.

  She sat back and thought about how she would handle him. Cooper had it all, then lost it all. Geri linked his loss with his move out of the city. He wanted to get away from the world. And after rehab, he didn’t want to rebuild his lawyer life with all those painful memories.

  Cooper wasn’t slow-witted; he chose his words carefully, deceptively intelligent. She easily could have bought his architectural hobby crap and he had resisted her charms, not asking to see her again. Her reassessment showed him as a brooding, cautious, incisive snoop. This was more like it. She was glad he had good reasons for his humble pretense. Unlucky, but not necessarily a loser.

  When she read Blake’s detailed report about the ATC incident, she got the impression Cooper had handled himself professionally in that situation. Blake had followed Cooper after the cleanup crew arrived. His notes said Cooper kept his cool and could think on his feet, to get into the locker room. I bet he did find something in that Audrey person’s locker. Geri got a chill of excitement. Cooper wouldn’t part with his treasure easily. Geri would have to gain his trust. She rubbed her hands together, looking forward to the challenge.

  She went to sleep optimistic, anxious to continue the game. Bring it on, J.L.!

  FBI Outpost

  10:00 a.m., Friday, July 26

  iki and Jared jerked their heads when they heard the door open. They had been playing Meet Your Maker with some cards their captors had given them to pass the time. Two agents came in and set up some Danishes and coffee on a card table. When they left, the old man who had brought them came in with a stoic expression. Miki gave him the evil eye.

  “My name is Agent Lipton. Sorry for the inconvenience, Miss Mabley, Mr. Nertz. It was for your protection.”

  Miki slowly stood up, keeping her eyes on him.

  “Inconvenience! You’ve got to be joking! You kidnapped us!” she shouted and pointed a finger up into his face.

  Agent Lipton stared at her without expression, ignoring the outburst, and continued.

  “We have information that leads us to believe Mr. Cooper is involved in matters of national security.” His tone fell flat, as if he’d explained this situation a million times before. He was giving them a standard, lame excuse.

  Miki took a deep breath, ready to go off again when what he said sank in.

  “Wait. Cooper is what?” She squinted as her thoughts leapt from dagger-slinging anger to dumbfounded bewilderment.

  “Cooper’s a spy? Awesome!” Jared said with a big grin, working on his second pastry.

  “Not awesome. We are looking for him so we can ask him some questions. We are going to need your help,” Lipton said. It was not a request.

  “Are you serious?” Miki asked with her eyes growing wider. “You want us to help you now?”

  “Would we get cool spy gadgets?” Jared asked, eager to play.

  Miki swatted his arm. Would he ever grow up? Turning back to the agent, Miki caught him in a half-smirk before it vanished.

  “No. No spying. All you have to do is call us if he contacts you.” He handed them their QVs.

  Jared wiped his hands on his pants before taking his. Then he turned it over in his hands, inspecting it.

  “You put a bugging device in it, didn’t you?” he asked and looked up at the agent like a puppy waiting for a treat after doing his duty outside.

  Jared’s behavior disgusted her, but she examined her QV as well.

  “Did you?” she asked, with a furrowed brow aimed at Lipton.

  “Yes. We want to know where you are when you call about Mr. Cooper.”

  “You mean you want to keep track of us.” Miki frowned. She hated this. Her hunger and weariness added to the pounding in her head. And her emotions still jumped around, from confusion to fear to anger and back.

  “You don’t think Cooper killed that guy, do you?” Miki’s face scrunched up in concern. She couldn’t believe it, but braced herself for bad news.

  “That’s classified,” Lipton said.

  “Gotcha.” Jared winked and pointed at him, then noticed some glaze and licked his fingers.

  “Stop that!” Miki shouted at her immature boyfriend and gave him a sharp glare. Then she asked Lipton, “What happens if we call?”

  “We will come and pick him up. We just want to talk to him. That’s all.”

  She scowled at his answer. Just like us.

  “I don’t think I believe you.”

  “That’s beside the point. If you want to get back for your sister’s wedding, you need to agree to help us.”

  Miki raised her eyebrows and pouted at his threat. She couldn’t believe this was happening. St
aring at Jared, her jaw dropped as he nodded his acceptance. He was totally on board.

  “And it would be better if you didn’t advertise where you’ve been or what we’ve asked you to do,” Lipton advised.

  “No one would believe me anyway. What do you suggest I tell them?” She crossed her arms and gave him some attitude, tilting her head.

  “Let’s say we eloped!” Jared exclaimed. He put his arm around her and gave her a squeeze.

  Miki opened her mouth and squinted at him. Her boyfriend was an idiot. She dropped her shoulders and sulked in defeat.

  “Well, that would be up to you.” Lipton grinned at Jared. “We will drop you off wherever you want.”

  “What time is it?” Miki asked.

  “10:45 a.m.”

  “Well, I am missing the brunch as we speak. Mom won’t be happy about that. I wonder if she called the police yet,” she said, talking to herself.

  “She hasn’t,” Lipton said.

  Miki opened her mouth, shocked again. She shut it and shook her head. Spying on my mother, too? None of this is right!

  She looked down and thought a minute, then addressed Lipton.

  “Better not take us home. We need time to work on our story. My car is still at work. You can drop us off there.”

  Ritz-Carlton Hotel, Atlanta

  10:00 a.m., Friday, July 26

  Cooper used to run all the time. It cleared his head. This morning, he needed it. But first, he had to alleviate some stress and deal with the gun. He couldn’t bring it with him, and he couldn’t leave it in the room, or he’d have the local police after him as well. With cameras recording his every move, he had to be cautious handling its disposal.

  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.