Off Kilter

by Glen Robins

  The man with the program jolted forward in surprise, his mouth and eyes wide open. He watched Collin intently but didn’t move. There was movement in the crowd, coming from beyond the man. A face concealed behind the heads and shoulders of other moving bodies in the crowded walkway was aggressively moving toward him. Time to get out.

  Collin grabbed Emily’s hand and pulled her through the aisles of chairs and tables until they reached the more open space of the main corridor. Most of the people in the corridor were oblivious to the commotion Collin had created. Emily resisted, but he didn’t let go. He weaved through the crowd with Emily in tow until they reached the nearest exit to the street. She was asking questions that he didn’t have time to answer.

  As he pushed through the doors, he angled his body to look behind them, searching for signs of his pursuers.

  “Where are we going, Collin?” she asked for the tenth time when they reached the sidewalk outside, pulling her hand away.

  Collin turned to face her. “We’ve got company. They somehow found me here. I’m so sorry, Emily. I didn’t mean for this to happen. We have to go.”

  He snatched her hand again and started to run, searching for a taxi. There were none in sight, so he headed down Michigan Avenue toward Navy Pier. This was not going to work with her in a skirt and heels.

  “I don’t understand, Collin. Who found you?”

  “Not sure who they are, exactly. I just know they’re after me. They want my money. And they’ll kill me to get it.”

  He kept looking over his shoulder at the doors they had just come through. They burst open just as Collin and Emily reached the corner. He looked back and saw a tall, bald man looking up and down the sidewalk. He spotted Collin and came running while talking into his sleeve.

  Emily gasped as she noticed the big man racing toward them. “You weren’t kidding, were you?”

  “No, not this time. Get away from me. Act like you’re mad. Get in that taxi and go to Bloomfeld’s. Meet me in the men’s department,” he said.

  The taxi took off, and Collin saw the look of terror on Emily’s face. He looked over his shoulder. The man was ten yards from him. He turned and sprinted across the street, dodging traffic. On the other side, he checked over his shoulder to make sure the big guy was still in pursuit. Using his speed, he darted around the corner and raced down the block, his computer bag bouncing against his hip. He turned another corner and spotted a taxi that was dropping an old woman off in front of an apartment building. He arrived just as the cab began to pull out. No sign of the large, bald man.

  A few minutes later, he reunited with Emily in the men’s department of Bloomfeld’s. He knew he had to explain things quickly yet thoroughly. He had to make her understand the situation but not panic. He had to answer her questions but not give away too much, or it could completely paralyze her with fear. Collin told her about her Facebook and e-mail accounts being monitored and how she had to be careful, but he would not leave her on her own. He presented a plan to keep them both safe, overcoming her skepticism, though just barely.

  Fifteen minutes later, another taxi dropped him off a block from the front entrance of the convention center. He ran to a spot across the street, not far from where he last saw the bald guy, and waited. The taxi with Emily stopped, and she got out. He spotted the bald guy keeping watch. As she approached the building, Collin emerged from his hiding place and ran, crossing between cars, to catch her just as she opened a large, glass door. He tried to grab her arm, but she pulled away, yelling loudly at him to leave her alone and that she didn’t ever want to see him again. Collin persisted until a couple of observers approached as if they were Emily’s sworn protectors.

  “Fine,” Collin yelled back. “We’re done.”

  “Good,” she said and walked away, leaving Collin standing just inside the entrance of the building. The bald guy spoke into his sleeve again. Collin waited until he was near the entrance, approaching from the outside. As the man opened one of the large doors, Collin moved to the farthest set of doors and bolted outside, sprinting at full speed back the way he came. As he turned down the sidewalk, he checked to make sure the bald man was following him and not Emily. He was. Collin led the chase a few blocks, keeping the man in his sights, but once he noticed a car in pursuit with at least two more men in it, he cranked up the speed and, with some evasive maneuvers, picked his way through buildings and parking lots that the car could not enter. Sweating and out of breath, Collin found a taxi stand, jumped in the first available cab, and sped away.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chicago, Illinois

  June 4

  Emily tried to restore her confidence as she strode away. She smoothed her hair, then her skirt, and put on a look of indignation as she marched across the large, open corridor, her heels clicking in a steady rhythm as she picked up speed. A stranger approached from her left and excused himself for butting in. He wore a dark blue blazer with a nametag that identified him as a conference attendee from the Harvard School of Medicine. His name was Alec Parchman.

  “Aren’t you Dr. Burns? From the Scripps Institute?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said. Because of the conversation with Collin, she was instantly wary and guarded, never slowing down.

  The young stranger matched her pace and continued. “Again, I’m sorry to intrude, but I couldn’t help noticing the trouble just now. Is everything OK?”

  “Yes, everything’s fine. Thank you,” she said without breaking stride. She had already forgotten his name.

  “I attended your lecture today and was very impressed.”

  “Thank you. That’s very kind of you to say.”

  “I wanted to ask you a few questions afterward about your conclusions, but I noticed you left the lecture with that same man. I didn’t want to interrupt you,” he said, jabbing a thumb toward the door she had come through.

  “That’s very thoughtful of you. I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m trying to get to another session—one my boss wants me to attend with him.”

  “I understand. Can I buy you a cup of coffee after the session? I’d like more details on the preparation of your specimens.”

  Emily’s mind was racing, more cautious and more alert than it would have been ordinarily. Was this guy one of those people chasing Collin? Or was he stalking her? An admirer? The idea that he could be just a driven scientist wanting to gain insight for scientific purposes registered—only after her initial suspicions. “OK. Meet me in the central food court at five o’clock. Is it all right if my boss joins us? We’re supposed to meet up with his boss at six.”

  “Of course. I’m sure Mike Zimmerman could add much to the conversation.”

  Her back straightened involuntarily at her boss’s name. This guy knew too much to be a casual observer. The thought scared her, but she controlled the gasp that welled up inside her and pushed down her rising anxiety. She swallowed hard, shaking her head slightly. Perhaps he was a very serious scientist. Or maybe he was a skilled spy. Or a pathological creep with a perverse crush on her. Her pulse quickened, and her eyes widened, but she kept moving forward. She fought off the urge to run away, and instead employed her rational, calculating brain to make the decision to keep friends close and enemies closer. She would ascertain which he was later. “Would you care to join me and Mike at Dr. Nicholson’s lecture?”

  His eyes lit up, and a smile spread across his face. “I’d love to, thanks.”

  Maybe he wasn’t the enemy. Even if he was, she would use his presence to her advantage.

  * * * *

  The taxi let him out and sped away. The buildings that lined the street were old and dingy and stacked tightly together. Most had heavy bars across the windows. Some had neon signs advertising services such as pay day loans, tattoos, and cheap car insurance. He ducked into a beauty salon and was greeted with incredulous stares. “Can I get my hair dyed?” he asked with cheerful, exaggerated naiveté.

  All conversation stopped, and all eyes turned
to stare at, perhaps, the only white person within blocks of this place. A heavyset woman stood slowly and lumbered across the stained linoleum floor. “You got something in mind?”

  “Yeah, let’s go blond, just for fun.” If Collin was nervous at all, he hid it from his audience. Three of the four chairs were occupied, hairdressers standing over their clients. One woman, probably in her twenties, was having her hair braided. A forty-something-year-old was trying to hide the gray. The third appeared to be finished but remained seated, watching it all.

  The round woman eyed him warily. “What makes you think I have blond hair color?”

  “Why wouldn’t you? I’m sure you have other clients that want to give it a try.”

  Her eyebrows arched, and she drew her breath in through her teeth. “Let me go check the back.” She shuffled across the floor and disappeared into the back room, returning a few moments later with a box of hair color. Fifty minutes after that, Collin bid his new friends adieu and exited the salon, heading up the block to a used car lot. It was encircled with twelve-foot fences, the tops adorned with razor wire. In another thirty minutes, he was speeding southward on Interstate 90 toward Gary, en route to Indianapolis in his newly purchased wreck, bought with cash under an entirely false, but never verified, identity.

  The 1991 Ford Mustang was not exactly comfortable and had not been well-maintained on the inside or outside. The paint was faded and spotty. The velour seats were riddled with cigarette burns. The dashboard was cracked, exposing the sun-baked foam inside. There were all manner of creaks and groans that accompanied sharp turns, potholes, and heavy braking. However, the engine seemed to run fine. For the $1200 he had spent, he was assured it would easily outlast the sixty-day warranty. Just to be safe, Collin kept his speed below seventy-five miles per hour.

  If it survived, it would be someone else’s problem in just three days.

  With stops for rest, gas, and food, he figured he would be in Key West in about two and a half days. Collin realized that he had never been on this kind of road trip—alone in a car with fifteen hundred miles of open road in front of him. And a deadline. Glancing again at his watch, he recalled his brief conversation with Captain Sewell. “I need a favor,” he had told the Captain. “I need to get out of the country without detection. You and your boat came to mind first.”

  The good Captain chuckled. “That will cost you.”

  “Of course. I’m good for it. Just tell me where to meet you.”

  “You know there’s a hurricane heading our way, don’t you?”

  “No,” said Collin, “I haven’t been paying attention to the weather.”

  “I want to be far away when it comes. But if you can be in Key West no later than noon on Friday, we might have time to outrun it.”

  “Okay, I’ll be there,” said Collin

  “Find Rojas at the marina. Bring burgers and beer,” the Captain said with a laugh.

  The Captain never asked where he was or how long it would take him to get there. Little did he know how far Collin had to drive. Collin checked his iPhone again. The GPS app indicated twenty two hours and thirty seven minutes of driving remained. He blew out a long breath. It was Tuesday evening already. He could make it, but it would be tight.

  Running his fingers through his newly blond, freshly cropped hair as he checked himself in the rearview mirror, Collin wondered if Rojas would recognize him and hoped the cash supply in his two bags, which had dwindled to roughly $48,000, would be enough.

  * * * *

  Halfway through Dr. Nicholson’s presentation, something buzzed and chirped inside Emily’s purse. She didn’t recognize the sound; it was different than any of her phone’s programmed settings. Harvard boy raised an eyebrow and cocked his head as she fumbled through her purse to make it stop. Mike Zimmerman, sitting on the other side of her, glanced over, too, no doubt wondering why she had not shut her phone off before the meeting began. When she finally located the noisemaker, she struggled to find the power button. The phone was completely foreign to her. She had never seen this device and wondered how it got into her purse. It was one of those cheap phones that wireless carriers practically gave away. Not wanting to draw attention, she shoved it into the purse. Emily sat back in her seat and refocused her attention, at least outwardly, on the speaker. Inwardly, she was puzzled and a bit shocked by the knowledge that she had somehow picked up an extra cell phone. She smoothed her hair and crossed her legs, fighting the temptation to explore this new mystery and solve it.

  The remaining twenty-five minutes of the speech dragged on. Emily hardly heard a word that was said. When Dr. Nicholson finally concluded, she excused herself, saying she needed to freshen up. In the ladies room, she ducked into a stall and turned the mystery phone back on. With some effort, she found the call log and saw a Chicago number she did not recognize. That same number had left her a text message that read: This is Collin. Sorry about the hassle earlier. Call me back at this number when you’re alone and can talk. Keep this phone our little secret. It’s better that way.

  She pondered this and the mystery grew. There wasn’t enough time to delve into a conversation now. Mike and Harvard boy were waiting for her. She texted a quick response: I’m busy ‘til after dinner. Call you then. Need to know what’s going on. Very confused right now.

  Harvard boy proved to be a legitimate scientist or, at the very least, a convincing imitator. She continued to have her doubts but needed to use him to diffuse the situation with Collin in case she was still being watched. He and Mike spoke at length and in great detail about Mike’s presentation and the paper she and Mike had published. He was fascinated. After forty-five minutes of talk and mind probing, his motivation was revealed. He asked Mike about possible positions at Scripps. He was a fan of the work they were doing and hoped, after finishing his PhD, to find a mentor and a team environment where he could pursue his passion for research and learn more about the fascinating work with enhanced enzymes.

  Emily was impressed. Mike seemed to be as well. The kid knew how to network. During the conversation, Emily found herself scanning the area, looking, as Collin had instructed, for anyone watching her. She wasn’t trained in this sort of thing, so she felt vulnerable. And scared. It felt like everyone was watching her, like everyone was an enemy. Each huddled group in the area was a potential threat. But the two loners nearby made her breath catch in her throat.

  Emily checked her watch. “Mike, we’d better go. We have that dinner meeting at six.”

  “Yes, that’s right,” said Mike as he stood. Extending a hand to their guest, “It was a pleasure to meet you, Alec. Best of luck in your studies. Contact me. We’ll continue this conversation.” Mike gave him a business card and readied himself to leave.

  Alec thanked him and promised to touch base. Turning to Emily, he said, “Hope you’re all right after that little incident earlier.”

  This took Emily aback and her mouth dropped open slightly before she recovered. “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.” She stole a glance at Mike, who looked puzzled.

  Harvard boy continued blithely. “Wasn’t he the same guy who knocked over the chair in the food court earlier?”

  The thought that Harvard boy had been watching her and Collin was unsettling. It took her a couple of beats to control her reaction. When she answered, she spoke loud enough for the few people seated nearby to hear if they wanted. Collin said it was possible for there to be people planted in the building who would track her every movement and listen to her every word. For them, she tried to be convincing, but Harvard boy became her prime suspect.

  “That was a guy I used to work with, trying to take credit for my—our—research. He’s terribly insecure.” Alec shot her a curious look, and Mike’s face grew more puzzled. She quickly added, “I didn’t realize that he had a thing for me and has never let it go. I wasn’t interested then, nor am I now. I have no time for a relationship, especially one that requires so much energy.” She extended a hand and gave Alec a firm handshake
, signaling their meeting was over.

  As Emily walked with Mike through the convention center concourse and into the adjoining Hilton Hotel, she caught a glimpse of a large black man following them. By the time they found Mike’s boss in the swank restaurant on the second floor, he had vanished. She scanned the area, still feeling watched, but could not locate him again.

  Mike’s boss, Phil, greeted them warmly and invited them to sit, thanking them for the presentations they had each shared. The three scientists enjoyed dinner and conversation that lasted almost two hours. Their exchange was light and chummy. Congratulations and praise were heaped upon Emily by both bosses. Sitting there talking with the two of them, she felt safe and appreciated. She didn’t want it to, but the meeting eventually ended.

  Being June, pale and orange-tinged sunlight still lingered over Chicago at eight o’clock. The days were long and warm. It would be a fine time for a run along Lake Michigan. Under normal circumstances, that’s what she would have done. But, since her encounter with Collin and all she learned from him, nothing felt normal. It had been a long day, full of firsts and surprises. She just wanted to take a long, hot bath and relax in her hotel room.

  As she walked in and dropped her purse on the bed, she remembered Collin’s request to call him when she was alone, so she pulled out the secret phone and hit the call back button.

  “Emily, I’m so glad you called. Are you OK?” Collin asked. His voice was raised above the excessive background noise of the car and the road.

  “I guess. I’m just spooked. You have me so freaked out; I think everyone is out to get me. I don’t like this feeling.”