“Do either of you have a cell phone? Have you used a credit card? Made any phone calls at all? Done anything that can be traced?” They were northbound on the interstate toward New York. Emily drove, Alex was in the front seat next to her. Richard was in the back seat, sitting with his eyes closed.
“I have a cell phone, but it’s turned off,” said Alex. “Last used a credit card in Georgetown. No calls or anything else that would identify us.” Alex grinned. “I do watch movies.” He paused for a moment in thought. “Except the plane. I guess that can be found easily enough.” He felt the blood drain from his head and his stomach twist with nausea. “Christ, I just might lose the plane...”
“We’ll have to assume they’ll know you were at the airport. If I found you, so can they. With a little luck, it’ll take them awhile. Best case, a day or two. Worst case, they’re at the airport now. Either way, we’re not there and I don’t think we left a trail.” Emily looked in the rearview mirror. “Is he awake?” she asked. “Can he hear me?”
Alex turned toward the back seat. “He’s meditating. I don’t know squat about meditation, but I’d bet he’s fully aware of what’s going on around him. He’s just not paying attention to it.” He looked at Emily. “So, where are we going?” He was still more than a bit on edge over having a gun pointed at him. Again.
“Meditating, huh.” Emily seemed to chew on that a bit. “I’m not sure where to go. Right now, I’m heading in the direction of New York because that’s where Doug said he was going – Doug Brown is the name of the agent I told you about. I plan on calling him when we get close. He’ll tell us where to meet. So, why don’t you tell me what you know?”
Alex hesitated and then answered, “Let’s start by going over what you know. What’s this guy Doug told you?”
Emily paused, apparently a little irritated. “Alright. Doug called me in Newark. It’s been a long time, years, since I last talked to him. He tells me he’s been onto something for the past six months and he needs my help. He says there’re a couple of guys who are being hunted down by law enforcement, you two, who are innocent, in grave danger and need help. He thinks there’s some kind of conspiracy going on that involves people in very high places. I’m supposed to find you and do what I need to do to keep you alive. Doug is hoping you have information that will help him figure out whatever it is he’s working on. He says you have an aerobatic airplane, he gives me the tail number, and suggests you might be at the Flying W because there’s a contest there this weekend. He gives me a prepaid cell phone, which can’t be traced, and a phone number to use to contact him if I find you. I’m supposed to call only on even hours on the hour. He tells me your names and I recognize them as being the ones that belong to two guys who are supposed to have killed a cop. That’s all I know.”
Alex frowned. “Tell me again why you’re helping us? You’re a cop, the cops are chasing us, and they think we killed a cop. Why in the world would you want to help us? Why should we trust you?”
Emily sighed. “When I was a rookie, I was chosen to liaison with the FBI on a case we were working on. It was supposed to be a safe assignment with an experienced law enforcement officer, but things went sour. I made some bad choices and almost got myself killed. Doug saved my ass. We worked together on a couple of other cases, then he retired. Even though I haven't seen him in years, I would still do whatever he asked. He’s one of the few people in this world I would trust without question. Why should you trust me? I don’t see you have much choice.”
“Is there any reason why anyone would be looking for you?”
Emily swung the car onto an off ramp. “Not yet. Let’s grab some breakfast at Denny’s. I’m hungry.” She nodded toward a restaurant sign that could be seen from the freeway.
They pulled into the parking lot, roused Richard from his reverie, and went into the restaurant. The tantalizing aroma of coffee, bacon and eggs filled the air as they were seated at a booth near the front window.
“This should be good,” said Emily. “We can keep an eye on what’s going on outside from here. Okay, it’s your turn to tell what you know.”
They spent the next thirty minutes, while they ate, going over what happened to Richard and Alex. They discussed the various theories they explored earlier.
“I still think it has something to do with drugs,” said Alex. “What else is going to generate this kind of interest?”
“I don’t think so,” said Emily. “Apparently, there’re some very important people involved, including some in the FBI, if I understand Doug right. It would take a hell of a lot of drugs to gain that kind of support.” She paused for a few seconds. “But, I agree with you that Richard’s past doesn’t seem relevant. Whatever’s going on seems to have started on Richard’s arrival to Boston, or shortly before. Alex, you got a pen and a piece of paper? Let’s write down what we know and see if we can draw any connections.”
Alex felt his shirt pocket and found a pen there. He usually had one. He pulled an unused paper placemat toward him, turned it over and started to write. “Okay, let’s start with Richard’s arrival to Boston.” He made some scratches with the pen. No marks were left behind. “Damn. Pen’s out of ink.” He glanced at the pen. “Hey, Richard, your pen seems to be kaput.” He held it out for Richard to take.
Richard glanced at the pen and said, “That’s not my pen. I’ve never seen it before.”
“Yes, it is. It's the pen I borrowed from you in the ER. I put it in my pocket to give back to you and forgot. I took it from… your …bag…” Richard and Alex looked at each other, the pen, at each other and then at the pen again as awareness began to dawn on them.
“What?” asked Emily. “What’s going on?”
Alex turned the pen over in his hand, scrutinizing it closely. It was big and fat, but otherwise looked like an ordinary pen. “Remember how we told you the cop who almost shot us in the house was searching for something in Richard’s bag? This was in the bag and I took it out before the cop searched it. Could this be what he was looking for?”
“A pen?” asked Emily. She sounded doubtful. “Richard, do you have any idea how it got into your bag?”
“No, none. I had personal belongings in the bag – things like prayer books and beads, stuff like that. Some money, tickets. It didn’t leave my side after I left the monastery in India. Except when I had it locked up in a locker in the Darjeeling train station.”
Alex twisted the barrel of the pen to take it apart and see if there was anything unusual about it. He slid the barrel away from the tip and a small metal cylinder fell onto the table. The three of them stared at it closely.
“What is that?” asked Emily.
“I don’t know. It sure as hell isn’t a cartridge.” Alex picked it up and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. It had a groove around its middle. He twisted the two ends of the cylinder and it came apart. The inside was lined with something that looked like thin felt and contained a transparent vial, about the size of a short piece of pencil. The fit was snug and secure, but Alex was able to remove the vial easily. It appeared to contain a clear liquid.
“Seems to be glass, but what’s the liquid? Could it be drugs?” asked Emily.
“There’s not very much of it, whatever it is,” said Richard.
“Not enough to explain the amount of interest in it,” said Emily. “At least for any kind of drug I know about.”
“Good point.” Alex turned it over and over in his hands. “I don’t see an obvious way to open it. There’s no writing on it I can see. It looks like some kind of lab vessel, hermetically sealed.”
“Uh, Alex, maybe we shouldn’t open it before we know more about what we’re dealing with,” said Richard. “It’s probably protected in that metal case for a reason, don’t you think?”
“Mmmm…” said Alex as he continued to roll it in his fingers. “Let’s keep it protected in the pen and see if we can contact this guy Doug.” Even if Doug wasn’t someone he could trust, it seemed he knew something of what was going on. And Emily was right, they didn’t have much choice. Alex put the pen back together and stuck it in his shirt pocket. “What time is it?”
“Nine-fifteen,” said Emily as she looked at her watch. “Don’t you think we should keep that somewhere safe?”
“Like where?”
“Well, just be careful with the damn thing. That’s the only solid clue we’ve found.”
“We have forty-five minutes before you can make your call to Doug,” said Alex. “Call even hour on the hour, isn’t that what you said?”
Emily nodded.
“So, let’s pay up and go somewhere private to make that call.” It was about time they got some answers.
. . .
Back on the freeway, they headed north toward Newark. Richard had been doing a lot of traveling in the past few days and it was starting to get old. It was, what? three days ago? four? he was calmly, peacefully meditating on his cushion. What happened? It was supposed to be a boring, uneventful, run-of-the-mill, tiring trip back to New England and a new start at life. Get an apartment, a job, get settled and learn how to apply what he learned and trained for at the monastery to the lifestyle he had been born to. Seemed simple enough. But he couldn’t even get that right. Now lead was flying, people were dying and his mere presence was endangering everyone around him. How had he screwed up?
He sat in the back seat and looked out the side window. His mind wandered. The flat New Jersey countryside flowed past at seventy miles an hour; other travelers surrounded and passed them on the road. Most of the cars and trucks carried just one person. He thought about the contrast with India. Unlike many places in the world, people in America had so much stuff. And each particle of this stuff had linked to it emotional baggage that jerked our psyches this way and that. It all caused so much frenzy. Much more here than in India. He knew about and expected that. He was confident he could deal with it and still be a good Buddhist. But he wasn’t prepared for the turmoil the three of them were dealing with now.
Beneath it all was a growing worry of how he would respond if push were to come to shove. He felt himself being drawn into circumstances that could force him to take action he would regret. He didn’t want to stumble like he had with Gary all those years ago. He was pretty clear about what things he shouldn’t do. He shouldn’t kill, lie, steal - do harm to anyone in any way. But what should he do?
He thought back to a talk given by his lama years ago, before he went to India.
. . .
“The three poisons,” began the gentle old soul, translated by an English-speaking monk. “Attachment, aversion and ignorance.”
Richard went to hear his lama give a talk in Boston. It was arranged by a Tibetan Buddhist group who converted a small business building into a temple some years before. There was an audience of about fifteen seated on meditation cushions in the shrine room. They faced the lama who sat cross-legged on a cushion raised on a low platform. Incense and candles were burning to one side on a small table. The shrine was against one wall, not used during the talks. The building’s windows let in sunlight which made the polished hardwood floor glow like gold.
“All emotions can be classified as belonging to one of these. When you have something you want, that is attachment. When there’s something you don’t want, that is aversion. Ignorance is having no reaction at all – ignoring what’s there. You have an emotional reaction to all objects in your life - you either want them, don’t want them, or don’t even notice them. This is a fact of life. There is nothing wrong with this. It’s just the way it is. Problems arise when we choose to give importance to them, to take action based on these three poisons.”
“But, Rinpoche, on what else should one base his actions?” a listener asked. “Shouldn’t one act according to how one feels?”
“The bodhisattva bases his actions on compassion. If his action brings more loving kindness into the world, it should be taken. If not, the action is not worth the energy it consumes. Proper motivation is directed to reduce the amount of suffering of all beings.”
“Rinpoche, I have taken the bodhisattva vow,” said Richard. “I vowed to help all beings. But how?”
“You must reduce the suffering of all beings,” answered the lama.
“But most ways you try to help change the circumstances, but not the suffering. An alcoholic comes into a hospital, withdrawing from alcohol. You treat him, he feels better, and leaves. The first thing he does after leaving the hospital: he gets drunk. Or maybe he stays off the sauce, but then turns to drugs instead. Or he stays sober and straight and gets a job, but has to worry about keeping the job, the things his paycheck buys, and paying taxes. Suffering hasn’t been removed, only changed. Every life is full of suffering - except maybe someone who is truly enlightened. Just how can you help anyone? You can’t make them enlightened.”
“It truly is hard to help. One must simply try, and learn from their mistakes. It is said the best way to help is to become enlightened yourself. Then you will know how to help.”
Maybe Richard was just thick. Or maybe he was so far from being enlightened, he just couldn’t get it. Anyhow, he hadn’t found the conversation very illuminating.
. . .
Now he was with Alex and Emily, and he had no idea how he could help them. Some of the responsibility for Alex being involved, and probably Emily too, was his. He sat back in the seat and closed his eyes.
Relaxing, he allowed his mind to fall into a meditative state. This was easier than it had been at first – years of practice had its benefits. He made no effort to label, define, or find meaning in what he experienced - he didn’t focus on anything. Impressions ran through his mind and then left. He simply watched it happen. None of it had sharp edges, one sensation blended continuously into another. His mind was free of thought.
He heard Emily and Alex talking in the front seat. Listening to the conversation as if it were meaningless noise, he still reacted to it emotionally. Noting his feelings too, he judged none of it. After a few minutes, he opened his eyes and reflected on what he felt. He liked and trusted them both.
Richard decided it was his duty to try to help these two people pass through what was going on with a minimum of trauma. He just had to figure out how. In the process, maybe he could find a way to get his own buns out of the fire, without leaving a trail of ash and smoldering embers.
. . .
At ten o’clock, they were parked at a rest stop. The three of them sat in the car as Emily dialed the FBI agent. She set the phone on “speaker” so they could all hear.
After three rings, a male voice answered in a mild southern drawl, “Hello?”
“Hi, honey. I picked up the kids. We’re on our way home.”
Richard and Alex exchanged confused looks.
“Okay, sweetie. I’m going to be a bit delayed tonight, I’m afraid. How about we go out to dinner? I can meet you and the kids at Chop Sticks – you know how they love Chinese food.”
“Maybe one day, they’ll learn how to use chop sticks.”
“Okay, I gotta go. I’ll see you… let’s say at seven?”
“Seven o’clock at Chop Sticks. We’ll see you there. Be careful.”
“You too. Bye.”
Emily took a deep breath and looked at Alex and Richard.
“What was that all about?” asked Alex.
“We have a code. You never know who’s listening. I told him I found you guys and you’re with me. I also told him that you didn’t know much. We agreed to meet at a prearranged place in Hoboken at seven tonight.” She stared off in the distance, then added, “There’s something else, too. He’s in some kind of trouble. We’re going to need to be careful.”
“How do you know he’s in trouble?”
“He called me ‘sweetie’. That’s code for danger.”
“I’ve had that premonition about being called sweetie, too,” mumbled Alex. “So, where’re we gonna meet in Hoboken?”
“Hoboken Hospital ER.”
“Of all places, why there?”
“We need to avoid surveillance cameras. Facial recognition software, while not perfect, is getting good. That means we need to stay away from public places - particularly in large cities. Hospitals are good, though not perfect, because of laws protecting the privacy of patients. We chose Hoboken because of the Mob. The hope is the powers-that-be will be concentrating on them and we can sneak under the radar.”
“You’ve put a lot of thought into this,” said Alex. “Have you tried to avoid the police before?”
“Only my boss. Criminals taught us a lot.” Emily smiled at Alex. “I’m not sure what to expect, and I'm more than a little worried. Come here, I have something for you.” She opened the car door and went around to the trunk. Alex followed; Richard stayed in the car.
Emily opened the trunk and rummaged around for a moment. She produced a pistol and held it out to Alex. “Here. This is yours.”
Alex looked at the gun, puzzled. “What do you mean, mine?”
“I took it out of your plane before you showed up. It was in the back.”
Alex was confused for a moment. “Oh yeah, now I remember. I picked it up when the cop dropped it at my house. I’d forgotten about it.” Alex took the pistol and hefted it.
“The fact you didn’t reach for it when we were in the hangar was one of the things that reassured me you’re genuine. So does the fact you’re not pointing it at me now.” She held out her other hand. In it were several bullets. “You’ll need these.”
“What for? You’re not going to ask me to shoot at people, are you? I’m a doctor sworn to take care of people. This thing hurts people.” He stared doubtfully at the weapon.
“I don’t know what’s in front of us.” She looked directly into Alex’s eyes. “I may need your help.”
Alex’s shoulders slumped and he sighed heavily. “Okay, show me how to load and use this thing. Just don’t call me sweetie.”