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I had no idea what so say. Of course I could say yes and see where it goes. Maybe fake them out somewhere along the way. Give me time to figure a way out of this. Or I could just go immediately to Patton, tell him the whole story. Protect Cassie if they truly didn’t have her now. And hope for the best. Let the two groups of crooks, apparently from different sides of the tracks, fight it out for themselves. Lots of alternatives. Which one?

“What if I were to say yes. What then?”

“Then we fly you to New York City tomorrow and get started.”

“What about my classes? I have a job, you know.”

“You do. We’ve offered a replacement for you for your last three classes before the winter break. The university has agreed. All you have to do the rest of today is send your current syllabus and grades so far to the link I’ll send you shortly. Everything else is taken care of.”

“Who’ll take my classes?”

“Someone not of your high caliber, but equal to the task of teaching undergrad students.”

“And my lab?”

“Your lab can run without you, Professor Francis. You know that as well as I do. You have no reason to stay in town now. Everything is arranged already.”

“You seem pretty sure of yourself.”

“I am. We are. After all, we know your Achilles Heel.”

“Better stop with the threats, or I’ll change my mind and find you and break every bone in your body.”

“I think it’s you, Professor Francis, who should stop with the threats. Not very professorial of you.”

And he hung up on me.

Damn I hate that.
5.
I called Cassie again. Let it ring for a while, mad that she didn’t have an answering machine. Something head librarians should have, I thought. Would be something my three visitors would expect me to do if they had a tracer on my phone.

Next I phoned my department chair. At home, because it was Saturday. He answered and I apologized. I then checked to make sure the story about my classes being covered was correct. It was.

What next? Any other call I could make would be interpreted as me breaking a promise.

I had no idea what was going on. First the attack. Then my visitors. That followed by an offer I couldn’t refuse. And now I was going to be leaving my supposedly safe little apartment to visit the Big Apple. No itinerary. No details of any kind.

And where was Cassie? Had she been kidnapped already, or just out shopping or visiting with friends? I thought then of calling Jackson. Telling him of my plight and asking him to rattle his psychologically addled brain to come up with some kind of operational plan. Tell me at least what I should be thinking about, if not what to do. Of course, all he’d do is ask me questions and expect me to come up with the answer myself. Or just smile all knowingly, like the answer was obvious and what a schmuck I was for not figuring it out myself.

Instead I began packing the essentials in as small a suitcase as I possibly could. A duffle bag more like it. Something I could take with me almost anywhere I went and not have it slow me down. Since I figured it was winter in New York just like it was in North Dakota and that I’d be wearing the clothes to keep warm, it didn’t take long. A few toiletries, my laptop, and several pocketbooks to keep me busy during flights and long waits in airports. I added a few bags of peanuts as snacks just in case and I was as ready as I was ever going to be.

Around four in the afternoon the phone rang. My still-aching body almost did a somersault to get to it before it rang again.

“Francis, what are you doing right now?” Cassie.

“Where have you been,” I asked her, more aggressively than I should have.

“Out,” she said, as if that answered my question.

“Out where?”

“Shopping. You getting jealous, Francis?” Like most people, she called me by my last name. Will seemed too complicated apparently.

“No. Just curious, that’s all.”

“I need you,” she said.

There were just too many places to take that one, so I let it be.

“Happy to help,” I said, even cautious about that response.

“I’ll bet your are.” Good reason to be cautious. I let that hang for a second to see if she’d follow up. She did.

“I bought a chair for my living room. Could you come by and help me move it from the trunk of my car into the house?”

The way my body felt at that moment, I thought of saying no. Then I figured that wouldn’t really work, so I said yes, hoping that would. It did.

“See you in five, then. I’ll pick you up out front. Love you.” And she hung up on me.

As I replaced the receiver in its cradle, someone knocked on my front door. A quiet but insistent knock. Now what? I thought.

I opened the door to a courier of sorts. A man dressed all in brown. The UPS service delivering a large envelop. I signed for it and closed the door. No return address or any other indication of who it might be from. I had a good idea it held plane, train, and bus tickets that would eventually get me halfway across the country. I was right.

It held everything I would need to get to the city. Including several hundred dollars in cash for meals and anything else I might need along the way. Like chewing gum or the Wall Street Journal to see what my newfound friends names might be. Before I could get the door closed, Cassie arrived. And my stomach flip-flopped a couple of times like it always did when I saw her. Like I’d never seen her before, even though it felt like I’d known her all my life.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Tickets.” I said.

“Tickets? Where are you going?”

“New York City.”

“When?”

“You guess. Don’t you know?”

“I do now.”

“Alright, Francis. Get to it. What’s this all about? I didn’t know you were planning a trip.”

“Wasn’t. But some guys showed up last night and made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

“What kind of offer?”

“Funding for my research. Lots of it. All I have to do is convince some people my work is worth the support.”

“That’s great,” she said, as if that covered it.

“I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone. Or how often I’ll be able to call you,” I added. And then I filled her in on the basic details of my classes being covered, and so on. Nothing about her being a possible victim if I didn’t go. I actually considered telling her, but what purpose would it serve? Make her worry about something that probably would never occur. Maybe even cause it to occur if she spilled the beans to her brother. Patton.

“Get your coat, then. I need all the muscle you can muster, mister.” One of our cute little banters we pulled on one another. Alliteration. One of her favorite word games.

I took one quick look at my early morning departure time as I pulled on my coat, and off we went. The chair that she wanted moved into her living room was not small. Some kind of a lazy something or other, with several different positions obtained by pushing buttons. From sitting square up, to sleeping mode. Lots of plush cushions that didn’t do my back any good.

We ate dinner together that night at her place. Cassie wasn’t much of a cook, but between the two of us we made something edible. We cleaned up after and then spent our evening exercising. At least that’s what she called it. I didn’t care what she called it.

Snow had begun to fall leisurely from the clouds above, a sign of another nice day. Storms either caused blizzards or high winds. Casually passing fronts made the flakes come few and far between like now. Probably going to be a nice day for long walks, shopping, or driving someplace. What I was about to do. Take the bus south to Bismark. Then a short flight from there to Fargo’s larger airport. From there I’d fly to Midway in Chicago, catch a cab across town to O’Hare, and then on to the big city. Not that Chicago wasn’t a big city. It was. But nothing quite aims to please in quite the way the Big Apple does. Then a cab to my actual destination. A building. The whole trip taking about ten hours. Minus the hour difference in time zones and I’d arrive just about rush hour. Wonderful.

The eyes followed me all the way to the bus station. Apparently keeping tabs on me rather than going to cause a problem. I arrive alive and still in good shape. And, besides the driver and the woman taking tickets, the only one in the place. Ten minutes before departing time so I found a seat on the bus up front so if the weather turned and it took us longer than expected to get there I’d be the first one off. I could’ve sat in the back row for the difference it made. Just me and the driver. All the way to Bismark. Winter with lightly falling snow. Oh what fun.

I’d lost the eyes sometime just before I’d entered the bus station so that ceased to be a problem. The driver may have been a talker, but over the noise the diesel engine made, I wouldn’t have been able to hear him. So I sat back and rested my eyes. Hoping, I guess, to sleep my way there. No such luck. The roaring sound of the motor and the occasional burp of the exhaust out the rear of the bus made sure of that. Instead, I caught up on some reading. About computer viruses. I knew all of the basics, but hackers were upping the odds of their success every day. Finding out the newest tricks of the trade wouldn’t hurt me, no matter how things turned out where I was going. The articles I read didn’t mention me or cite my work in their bibliographies. Wasn’t sure whether that made me happy or sad.

Occasionally I looked out the window at the barren meadows, pastures, and fields that passed by. Covered in deep snow, much of which would remain throughout the winter. Probably could sink and pipe into it, pull out a full sample, remove it from the pipe and see something akin to the cliffs of the Grand Canyon or tree rings. But time scales measured in weeks and months instead of centuries. An on-coming car whizzed by us once every fifteen minutes or so. Not lonely. Just alone. A big difference. I loved this place.
Bismark is on the Missouri River but we never crossed it since the municipal airport lies out of town to the east. The snow had stopped falling, and patches of sunlight appeared here and there over the flat landscape. About ten in the morning. Maybe they had lookouts waiting for me here as well. For the moment I stepped out the bus’s door I could feel the eyes again. Not the same ones I suspected, but eyes nonetheless. Interested in me.

I still had a half hour to wait for my plane. This time a crowd had formed. All aboard for Fargo, I thought. I had begun a slow crawl back into civilization. Men and women dressed for white-collar business. A few farmers here and there. A couple of pilots, flying as passengers to pick up another flight they’d be piloting no doubt. The eyes staring at the back of my neck had vanished again. Maybe they were taking the flight with me. I’d never know.

I tried to read more about the latest viral gizmos, but my eyes wouldn’t stay open. Too many nights without sleep. This time, however, the guy sitting to my right kept talking about how this was the year of all years. The end of the world. Something about the Mayans he said. I knew what he meant. It’s just that he didn’t know what he meant. He talked non-stop so I didn’t even have to pretend to be listening, but his verbal rhythm kept me awake nonetheless. Plus closing my eyes would have been too much of a tipoff that I wasn’t listening to him.

We landed softly on the tarmac at Midway and then it was my turn to run for the cabs and try to make my departure time at O’Hare. When we arrived through early-afternoon traffic, I tipped the driver well. Unlike my seatmate on the place, he’d kept completely quiet during the trip. I made my connection at O’Hare just in time and got a nice quiet window seat for the last leg of the trip. No time for any paranoia.

We landed at Kennedy in the dark of early evening. I could see the stars above. A clear moonless night. At least I guess it so, since I could only see three or four stars given the lights the city made. I found a cab, gave him the address, and off we went. My journey nearly over. What a day.

As the cab drove through the city I wondered about what I would do about the situation I’d found myself in. The devious plan my captors had rigged for themselves actually had merit. Their approach to me also seemed logical, with my Achilles Heel perfectly laid bare. But could or would I go through with it? Not a chance. But how could I avoid it? Of course, they really had no idea what I really did in the lab and I could pull all manner of punches there to mystify and confuse them. After all, they’d all but told me they had no one of merit to compete with my knowledge on the subject. I still thought a twelve-year old could, but what did I know?

7.
Our destination apparently was a tall building with a red light atop, blinking in the night sky like a beacon. I paid the driver and gave him a big tip. Why not? Wasn’t my money. And there I stood. Waiting. For what?

I looked up at the large glass doors and at the lighted relief name above them. Christopher Masters, Inc. it said. As if that explained something. Like what they did here. Lawyers, bankers, candlestick makers?

The dim light showing through the glass panes hinted the building was closed for the night. Great. All this way and I’m standing in front of a vacant building on the outskirts of New York City with nothing to do, no where to go, and no cell phone to make anything like those kinds of things happen.

Then I noticed a figure moving around in the shadows at the rear of the large entranceway behind the doors. Night watchman probably. No harm in trying.

I rapped softly on the glass hoping to catch his attention. No reaction. So I tapped again. Harder this time.

This time it worked. The figure walked slowly across the room toward me. Deliberately, as if suspicious I might be a criminal type ready to storm the Bastille for all the goodies inside.

When he arrived behind the doors I heard a voice come from my left. Either he had a high-pitched voice or I’d been mistaken as to his gender.

“Identify yourself, please,” she said.

I did. And she then checked a clipboard that hung from a chain around her belt. Took her time doing it. As if many visitors were expected that night. Finally, she found my name there and nodded toward me. Like verifying my expected presence made everything just fine. She could now go back to the rear of the room and wait until someone else showed up.

I pointed toward the fancy brass door handle indicating that I’d like to enter please. She nodded again. Before I could react, she spoke once again through the speakerphone to my left.

“Would you be so kind as to tell me your social security number?”

Good grief. Security’s one thing, but this was ridiculous. But I ran off the number for her. I’d memorized it for just such an opportunity.

Once again she nodded. Were we going to keep this up all night?

“Do you happen to know your car’s license plate number?”

I stared at her. Not that I could really see her clearly enough to tell if she were smiling or not, but to catch her reaction when I told her I didn’t own a car. Then I remembered. This was New York City. Nobody owned cars here.

Then I heard the lock snap in the door handle machinery. Apparently I’d passed the test. A local. I reached down and opened the first of the two doors, entered the snow-free zone between, and then I was through the next set and into the large entry room where she stood.

“I didn’t know ink was so valuable these days,” I said.

Even with her standing so close to me I couldn’t see her face well enough to detect her reaction.

Then, “Huh?” I’d have to let her think that one over before getting the reaction it deserved.

“I’m expected,” I said.

“Oh, I get it.”

“What?” Now I didn’t get it.

“The Inc. on the building’s name. I-N-C you made into I-N-K. Valuable because I put you through all those hoops.”

My joke hadn’t been worth all that, I thought. Delayed reactions like this can sometimes tell me something about the person I’ve spoken to. Not this time though.

“I’m expected,” I repeated.

“You are,” she said. “Thirteenth floor.”

“Thirteenth floor?”

“Yes,” she said. Now I wasn’t sure she wasn’t pulling my leg.

“I thought most buildings don’t have thirteenth floors.”

“Most don’t,” she said. “This one does.”

I was beginning to like her. Not that it mattered much. After all, I’d probably never see her again. Not that I could really see her now.

“And how would I get there?” I asked.

“Right this way,” she said, and sashayed away from me toward the back of the room. I thought of mocking her sashay, but no one would have seen it so I fell in line behind her.

She dropped me off at the elevators, leaving me with my choice of six. All going up.

“Thank you,” I called after her. No reaction. Back to work.

“Professor Francis, I assume,” a bodiless voice called out from my right.

“Yes,” I said.

“This way, please. Just follow the sound of my voice.”

And I did. And there, after a couple of quick turns around corners, stood the man I’d last seen in my living room. Had it only been two nights ago?

“How was your trip?” he asked.

“Long and persistent,” I said.

“I can imagine,” he said, as if he really did.

He led me toward darkness. No doubt in more ways than one. We finally made it to a door, this one made of fine-grained maple, and he welcomed me inside with his left arm. There, sitting around a large highly polished fine-grained wood table, stood at least a dozen people, all men I noticed, obviously waiting for my heralded arrival.

“Gentlemen, meet Professor Will Francis. From North Dakota.” And they all smiled. Some nodded as well. It seems I was indeed expected and I was delighting the home crowd.

8.
My host seated me at the one empty chair at the table and began introductions. He needn’t have. At best I was terrible at remembering names. With over a dozen mentioned in short order I was hopeless lost. But the little charade kept moving and I smiled at each in turn as they smiled back. A beard here, a baldhead there, and a partridge in a pear tree. After a minute or so, we all sat down as if that made sitting acceptable.

I did learn something though. The only person in the room I recognized was the host who’d brought me. And the only one whose name had not been mentioned was his. I also realized that no last names had been added to those sitting at the table. Maybe he’d just gone around counterclockwise and invented names as he went. It didn’t matter one iota whether I remembered or not.

“We’re very pleased you could join us this evening,” my host said.

Jesus. As if I had a choice. And ‘we’re?’ The ubiquitous ‘we?’

I nodded like I was pleased as well. And thus we were all pleased.

“As you know, Gentlemen, Professor Francis is the key to our plans. His credentials are impeccable. And he’s seen fit to join our little venture.”

Impeccable credentials? Who was this guy kidding? I was a college professor. Involved in speculative research that even my colleagues thought suspicious. And ‘little venture?’ Not by his own account.

“Would you like to say anything, Professor Francis?”

Before I could stop myself, I said, “I’d a lot rather be in Mandalay.” When I get tired, my brain stops function at certain levels and my mouth begins working on its own.

The heads at the table stopped smiling then, and they began looking at one another for assurance that I’d said what I’d said. And then, no doubt, to convince themselves it was a humorous joke and not something I meant. They nodded to one another and re-pasted their smiles on mouths.

“Wouldn’t we all,” our host said, “but we’re here instead and time to get down to business. Don’t you think?”

His last sentence had an edge to it that made everyone drop their smiles and turn their heads downward to the blank sheets of paper before them. As if they were following orders. A little army of mannequins marching to their sergeant’s commands.

“Now, Professor Francis, you were going to give us a general picture of how we’re going to proceed. Especially how long it will take for you to create the, ah, desired product.”

I was? I’d not been prepped for any of this. What to say. I’d have to make it up as I went along.

“The time it’ll take will depend on what kind of computational resources you have and if I will have help from a competent hacker.” As before, these words leapt from my mouth on their own, but as I thought through them, they seemed perfect. Catch them off guard. They couldn’t have prepared well for this.

“I can assure you, professor, that we have the best on both counts.” There went my element of surprise. “We have a dedicated supercomputer on the premises, and the best hacker money can buy.”

Great, I thought. There goes my first diversionary tactic.

“And you can begin right away.”

What? Just off the plane and right into the soup?

“Thank you gentlemen,” he said, and with that the room cleared of everyone but he and me.

“Good work, Francis,” he said when we were alone. “Though that remark about Mandalay was certainly not necessary.”

I had had nowhere to take that one.

“Follow me,” he said, and he grabbed me gently by the arm and led me out of the room. Down a long hallway, and into a brightly lit laboratory like affair with what I presumed was the supercomputer he’d mentioned. It certainly hummed like one. Several sets of monitors lined the walls like little soldiers. I’d been in the building for maybe twenty minutes and already on the job.

Half-jokingly I asked, “And where do I sleep?”

Not jokingly he pointed to his left to a single door on the wall. “There,” he said, so nonchalantly that I thought he was joking. But the grim face told me otherwise.

“And my hacker?” I asked.

“She’s on her way up now.”

She? My biased reaction was based on statistics not prejudice I thought. Not too many women involved in law breaking just for the fun of deceiving the authorities. And ‘way up?’

“Yes, she’s the one who let you in.”

Jesus. Not too quick on the draw. But many hackers weren’t. Just too involved with their obsession.

That’s when she entered the room and I could see my problems beginning to mount. Not only was she attractive, but she bore a faint resemblance to Cassie of all things. That brought back a number of unpleasant memories from my first meeting with Cassie. Lookalikes. But now was not the time for those memories to resurface.