Chapter Nine

After they collected their bags (Connie’s was so packed, Whit nearly busted a gut lifting it), they headed outside to find the van to their hotel. “It’s the world-famous Excelsior Hotel,” Whit said. “Service is their first priority—or whatever the ads say. They have a shuttle every fifteen minutes. Come on.”

Outside, they met with a cacophony of car exhaust, honking horns, slammed car doors and trunks, hundreds of people talking and milling about—and more police and security than Whit had ever seen there. “This is really something.”

“What?” asked Connie.

“All the police. Whatever was on that stolen computer must’ve been pretty important.” His gaze rested on a large, brightly colored van with the word “Excelsior” spelled out in classic calligraphy. “There’s our shuttle, Connie! Let’s hurry!” He quickened his pace, and Connie trotted after him.

Whit called, “Hold that van!” But his words were drowned out in the bustle of the loading zone. Whit slowed down as the van started to pull away from the curb. “Aw—we’re going to miss it!”

Suddenly, the shrillest whistle blast he’d ever heard sliced through the street noise, followed by his employee Connie screaming in her piercing tone, “Hey! Wait for us!”

The van screeched to a halt.

Whit smiled at her and shook his finger in his ear. “I knew I brought you along for a good reason!”

The van driver exited the vehicle and raced around it and up to them. “Sorry ’bout that, folks! Didn’t see ya! Now, you both just hop in the van and make yourselves comfortable, and I’ll put all your stuff in the back.” He grabbed their bags and pointed to Whit’s computer bag. “You wanna keep that with ya?”

Whit shook his head. “Not if there’s room back there. Just be careful with it.”

“‘Careful’ is my middle name!”

Whit handed over the computer bag, and he and Connie clambered into the van and took their seats.

After a few moments, the van shook as the driver closed the back doors, and then jolted again as he opened the driver’s side door, hopped in, and shut it again. He started the van, put it in gear, and pulled away from the curb deftly. “All three of ya going straight to the Excelsior?”

Connie frowned. “All three? There are only two of—” She looked behind her as she spoke and saw the third passenger—a short, stocky young man with long, greasy blond hair combed back and chopped off at the neck, and a pimply complexion, scrunched down in the farthest seat back. Connie blinked. “Oh, sorry! I didn’t see you hiding back there!”

The young man glared at her. “Hiding? Who’s hiding?”

Connie chuckled uneasily. “I’m kidding. Did you just come in to Chicago?”

He stayed scrunched down, peering out the van’s window, his eyes darting about. “Uh, yeah, something like that.”

“Guess you missed your flight after all, huh, kid?” the driver chimed in. “You goin’ back to the Excelsior?”

“Yeah. Fine. Anywhere.”

Connie smiled. “This is my first time.”

The young man shot her an irritated glance. “I’m thrilled for ya.” He looked back out the window. “Look, do ya mind? I’m not big on small talk.”

Connie’s smile faded. “Well, excuse me!” She turned back around, sank into her seat, and muttered, “Just tryin’ to be friendly. Nice town . . .”

Whit leaned forward. “Driver, do you know anything about why all the police are at the airport?”

The driver gazed back at Whit through his rearview mirror. “Just heard about it on the news. Turns out a courier for the Department of Defense had his car broken into last night. Whoever did it swiped some money, papers, and one of those laptop computer thingamajigs. Guess it has a bunch of top secrets on it.”

Whit stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Department of Defense, huh?”

The driver nodded. “Yeah. Courier stopped to go to the can, and whaddya know—he gets his car broke into. Anyway, the police are at the airports and stations trying to snag whoever in case they try to get outta town. Sounds like a lost cause to me. Probably some kid looking to steal the car stereo. I’ll bet he’s scared out of his—”

The young man suddenly blurted out, “Does the conversation come with the cost of the shuttle or what?”

The driver blinked and peered at him through the rearview. “The man asked me a question.”

The young man sat up. “Pull over, will ya?”

“What?”

“I changed my mind. I don’t wanna go back to the hotel. Just pull over and get my stuff outta the back!” He started scooting toward the passenger door.

The driver waved his hand. “All right, all right!” He maneuvered the van back toward the curb. Irritated drivers around them responded with honking horns and shouted curses. The van driver slowed to a stop, opened his door, hopped out of his seat, and made his way to the rear of the van.

Meanwhile, the young man stretched for the side passenger door handle but couldn’t quite reach it. Whit, who sat nearest to it, grabbed the handle and slid the door open for him. “Uh, I’m sorry if we were talking too much.”

The young man sidled to the door. “Nuthin’ personal. I just want out, that’s all. ’Scuse me . . .” He clambered out of the van, grabbed the door, and slammed it shut so hard, both Whit and Connie flinched.

“Whoa!” Connie exclaimed. “What’s his problem?”

Whit watched the young man disappear around the back of the van and shook his head. “No telling. He seemed awfully nervous.”

“Yeah . . . y’know, I think he really was hiding back there.”

“Mm . . .” Whit looked thoughtful for a moment and then shrugged. “Well, you meet all types at the airport.”

The driver closed the back doors, rushed to his place at the front, climbed in, put the van in gear, and skillfully merged back into airport traffic. “Sorry ’bout that, folks. Strange kid.”

Whit leaned forward again. “Did you bring him from the hotel?”

“Sort of. He met me out front. But when we got here, he didn’t get out. Kinda slumped in the seat and watched as we drove ’round. Pretty suspicious, if ya ask me.”

“Didn’t he have a flight to catch?”

“I don’t think he knew what he was doing. Like I said: strange kid. Only had the two shoulder bags too. I was half-tempted to get a cop, but hey, I got a schedule to keep. Guess we’ll never know, huh?”

“I guess not.” Whit settled back into his seat, brow furrowed, a frown on his face.

They rode the rest of the way to the hotel in silence, the driver concentrating on traffic, Connie gazing out the window and drinking in the Chicago skyline, and Whit lost in thought.

Once they checked into the hotel and settled into their rooms, Whit called his Universal Press associate to check in and go over the agenda for the next couple of days. He had just hung up the phone when there was a sudden banging on his door, followed by Connie’s muffled voice from the hallway. “Whit! Whit!”

He traversed the room and pulled open the door. “What’s wrong, Connie?”

She rushed in, wild-eyed, face flushed. “Turn on your TV—quick!”

Whit crossed to the coffee table, grabbed the television remote, and clicked the “on” button. “All right, all right, but why? What’s so—?” The TV flickered to life.

Connie pointed at it. “The news! Look! Maybe they’ll show another picture! Turn up the sound!”

Whit pressed the volume button, and the TV news anchor’s voice faded in. “. . . police say their informant has indicated that the break-in of the unmarked Department of Defense car was intended as a petty theft and that the suspect had no idea of what he was stealing.”

A picture appeared on the screen. Connie pointed again. “There he is! See the picture?”

Whit’s eyes narrowed. “I see, I see!”

The news anchor continued. “The suspect, Greg Kelly, has been convicted of petty theft in two prior cases. Authorities are asking him, or anyone who has seen him, to call one of the numbers on the screen immediately. Because of the top-secret nature of the missing laptop computer, authorities fear Kelly’s life may be in danger . . .” Whit muted the volume.

Connie grabbed his arm. “That was him, right? I’m not seeing things?”

Whit shook his head. “Yes, it was—and no, you’re not. The young man in the van with us was Greg Kelly!”