Pop Travel (5 page)

Severe headaches, check.
“And what did the doctor say?”

“That he needed to reduce his stress. And he should cut down on his travel. And the doctor gave him some medicine.”

“Did he cut back?”

“Of course not. He had to keep working to pay that deviant ex-wife of his!” she exclaimed. Her eyes pooled and threatened to overflow. She grabbed some tissues.

“Now, Jean. I really don’t think he is with her. He—”

“I know he isn’t. She’s dead.” She sniffed.

“Really?” he asked, surprised. “What happened?”

“She came in looking for him right after he disappeared, demanding to know where he was. She needed her damn money! Then, a week later, she turned up floating in Lake Okeechobee. The police blamed Moe for it. There’s a warrant out for his arrest, but I know it had to be someone else who took care of her. I can’t believe he had anything to do with it.” She paused to lean in and whispered, “I left some messages for him. I said I would help him, but he won’t contact me. He’d rather hide out alone than risk getting me in trouble. He’s so valiant, not wanting to get me involved.”

She sighed and honked her nose.

Dead?
Fabricating rumors to mislead snooping relatives and average investigators was one thing, but murdering innocent people took the case to a whole other level. Surely, this was not true. The more he thought about it, the more he would love to prove a glitch in pop travel existed and show everyone he was right about not trusting it. But then again, maybe he shouldn’t get involved. He didn’t want to have an accident happen to him. Or worse, to Dawson.

“I apologize for bringing back painful memories, Jean. You’ve been a great help. I do have one last question. Did anyone else interview you besides the police?”

She tapped her chin and looked off to the side before she answered.

“Yes. A pair of detectives in black suits. They reminded me of those old movies,
Men in Black
. But I guess they didn’t erase my memory because I remember them.” Sniff.

Cooper remembered
Men in Black
as one of the few old movies he had been able to sit through with Kristen. She had been a 2D film buff.

“Did they say who they worked for?”

“They flashed badges at me, but I can’t recall who they worked for. One of the guys was tall and Caucasian and I think the other was a few inches shorter and Indian. You know, from India.”

“Sure. Thank you, Jean, for your time.”

“Of course. I hope you find him. Please call me if you do. You seem intelligent. No one wanted to hear much about him. They were more interested in what I knew and were in a hurry to leave.” Putting on a smile, she sighed and let her shoulders sag. At least Cooper helped her get some of that off her chest.

“Sure thing.” He gave her a warm smile back.

After calling a few more offices and confirming his findings, Cooper groaned. He didn’t believe in coincidence.
What happened to all these people?

Obviously, Pop Travel International would have the most to lose if there was a problem. When he had researched the company, most of the articles praised PTI and its breakthrough technology. The Creator, young genius Hasan Rakhi, started out as an ordinary kid at Georgia Tech, a bioelectrical engineering major. Lucrative, recently laid-off, manufacturing executives approached him with enticing offers of fame and fortune. Together, they formed Pop Travel International.

Other articles explained how to use pop travel, giving recommendations on preparing for a pop and making elaborate claims of its ease and safety. Cooper even came across a couple of advertisements encouraging the public to install convenient, personal platforms in their own homes. And it cost only about half the price of their house. What a deal.

Other than Rakhi’s association with the company, Cooper had no luck finding useful information about the Creator. No mention of his history, friends, or relatives. Fan comments and party pictures covered his public Meme site. Not that this surprised him. PTI kept the Creator’s appearances light and told the public as little as possible, to protect its investment.

Cooper checked the gossip ezine articles. They fawned over the Creator’s sprawling plantation compound somewhere near Albany, Georgia, and all said the same thing. A brilliant young man, Hasan struck it rich with his fabulous invention, living in luxury on his grandiose plantation with his mother. He threw amazing parties, with invitations going to the rich and famous only. The most recent event was coming up this Friday for the Creator’s birthday. He was going to be a ripe old twenty-six.

With so much useless information and no more legal resources to use from his old job, Cooper didn’t have much faith he could do anything worthwhile. Not to mention the questionable circumstances surrounding all the investigations. It might a worthy cause, but he might not be the guy for the job. He was ready to call the time of death on this case. He wished he could talk to Kristen about it.

Rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands, he thought of Kristen’s understanding face, with that pretty pout and the way she could talk him into anything just by saying, “Whatever you think is best.”

Feeling the same guilt her statement delivered when she was alive, he knew he could try harder. He had never been one to turn away from a challenge, representing many an underdog. He couldn’t give up on Phisner yet. There had to be something he could do.

FBI – Atlanta Division

*** SEARCH ALERT!!! *** *** SEARCH ALERT!!! *** *** SEARCH ALERT!!! ***

he warning scrolled across the giant, suspended imager in bold, red letters. But the neutral computer voice repeating the message sounded far too calm for an emergency. Snapping to attention, Nate Kobel straightened himself. He had been leaning back in his chair with his feet propped up, enjoying his girlfriend’s workout on his QV while she breathlessly told him about her day. He said a quick bye and closed her image, then flipped back his dark, shaggy hair to study the display above his touchpad desk to see what was so important.

As an FBI Tech Specialist, Nate monitored Qnet searches flagging certain keyword combinations. He considered the job treadmill boring as everything ran smoothly and the scenery repeated itself.

“Nate’s got a live one!” one of the other watcher geeks in the dungeon called out. Nate tilted his head and gave them a smirk when they glanced over, barely visible silhouettes, outlined by the dim light of their flickering imagers. A few chuckled before returning to monitor their own various assignments.

Reading the report, Nate saw a combination of searches had triggered the alert, including pop travel, the Creator, and missing persons cases. A map frame popped up with a blip, showing where the search initiated. Cracking his knuckles, Nate went into a flurry of typing on his embedded desktop keypad with one hand and moved frames around on the imager above with the other, to get more specifics.

The IP address originated in Walnut Grove, Georgia, a small town about an hour outside Atlanta, to a CC registered to Jameson Layton Cooper.
Let’s see what Mr. Cooper looks like
. Accessing Mr. Cooper’s web cam, Nate saw a middle-aged, average looking white guy with gray sprouts in his short brown hair and deep grooves at the corners of dim, blue eyes. Nate pulled up the guy’s bio in another frame. As he skimmed it over, he gave a mock pout.
Aw. He’s a lonely, alcoholic, private investigator
. He looked a lot older than thirty-four. Typical loser.

To view Mr. Cooper’s imager, Nate opened yet another frame. He rewound the guy’s previous searches until he caught up to his current page. Everywhere Mr. Cooper surfed, Nate tagged along. With a sip of his NutriCoke, he sat back to see what else Mr. Cooper would look up. No reason to be alarmed, yet.

When Mr. Cooper opened his QV to copy some info, it took only a moment for Nate to link to it and view it. Details about a traveler destined for Atlanta who had gone missing. Mr. Cooper also made a couple of calls to get the person’s travel info. Not everyone he bothered wanted to talk, but Mr. Cooper handled them all smoothly. So drinking didn’t dull all of his brain cells.

After getting enough background on the traveler, Mr. Cooper looked up the Atlanta Transport Center and found the complicated route he would have to take using public transit. So he must not have a car. Nate confirmed that with a quick check into the DMV.

Of course. Just like all the other snoops, he’s probably going to try to see the transport center surveillance footage. He won’t get far there
. Nate still held back from bothering his boss with this guy. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Mr. Cooper sent the MARTA schedule to his QV and shut down his CC, but Nate’s webcam feed stayed alive. The older man stretched. He looked ready to crash right there in his chair.
Boring.

Nate groaned.
This guy is lame. Another sap looking to make a buck from a missing person’s family
. Nate squirmed in his chair, ready to go home himself. What a waste of time. Nate had seen many amateurs try to connect the dots. Most failed without Nate having to lift a finger.

When Mr. Cooper left his office, Nate sighed with relief. He could finally clock out, too.

Just as he stood to pass off his duty to the night shift, another alert beeped and flashed across the top of his imager.

*** HIGH RISK ALERT *** JONATHAN ANTHONY PHISNER is HIGH RISK! *** Notify immediately any info re: JONATHAN ANTHONY PHISNER! ***

A new frame popped open with a photo of a thin, skittish man in an overcoat, peeking over a raised collar at a bus camera, a subframe showed a map of his last known location. It happened to be suspiciously close to Walnut Grove.

What have we here?
Nate raised an eyebrow. He sat back down with a heavy sigh. Checking Mr. Cooper’s contact records, Nate found a voice call originating from a hotel where Mr. Phisner had gotten off his bus. Yesterday.
Figures.

Now he would have to call his supervisor, Ed Spurlock.

A full, clean-shaven face appeared on Nate’s imager. Annoyance glared from the cold, gray eyes.

“What,” Ed barked, looking down his nose at Nate.

“Sir, we have a red flag.” Nate tried to keep his voice firm and not doubt himself for calling the boss.

“Oh? In regards to what?” Ed skimmed over a document on the plate in front of him, with a coffee cup in his hand.

Nate gave his defense, convincing Ed the alert was worth the interruption.

“A small-time private detective has been researching PTI, the Creator, and the disappearances. I had it under control until the high-risk alert came out for a wanted fugitive, Jonathan Phisner. The fugitive and this detective are in the same vicinity and have been in contact. According to the detective’s searches, I have reason to believe he will be nosing around the Atlanta Transport Center inquiring about missing travelers in the morning.”

“Really. What’s his name?” Ed lifted his chin.

Nate shot Ed the bio. He watched Ed glance at Mr. Cooper’s picture and info. Nate summed it up for his boss.

“Jameson Layton Cooper. Used to be a lawyer. He’s the older brother of Michigan Representative Dawson Cooper and a recovering alcoholic.”

“That Dawson Cooper is a popular guy. Has lots of friends in high places. We don’t want to get on his bad side. A shame his brother is the black sheep, eh? Keep an eye on him. He’s too remote for any good video surveillance, so track his QV. I’ll let you decide if a satellite focus is necessary. Go ahead and call Blake and Geri and send them to my office. I will have Blake tail our junior detective at the Transport Center in the morning, just in case he decides to cause trouble over there.”

“Yes, sir.” Nate grinned and got to work.
Finally, a hot case.