Dreams Unleashed (8 page)

There were only three other people on the deck and a man swimming some fast laps in the pool. Taking a lounge chair on the far side, I faced the harbor, where shrubs gave me some privacy. As I lay there gazing into the distance, I noticed a seaplane was starting to take off. I had only seen this once before, when my husband and I were sailing near North Pender Island in the San Juans. I'd forgotten how special it was. The seaplane started off slowly across the water, and then as it increased speed, big splashes started forming on the sides of its pontoons. Soon it lifted off the water and was airborne. I continued to watch the activity in the harbor until I decided to swim some laps, since the pool was now empty.

The laps were invigorating. When I was finished, I bent down to grab the towel from my chair. As I turned around, I bumped into a man and started to apologize.

"I knew it was you," he exclaimed.

In reflex I pulled up my towel, looked up, and was shocked to find my basement co-worker.

"Paul. What a coincidence," I spat out, wondering what he was doing here.

"What are the chances of us being here at the same time?" he asked, beaming.

"Highly unlikely. Are you following me?" I cautiously teased, trying to ignore my natural instinct toward suspicion.

"Guess I'm busted," he said, his smile showing off his perfect teeth. He winked before going on. "I came up here to meet with a software developer who's doing some design work for us, and since Bennett's paying, I figured I'd stay the night, instead of rushing back."

"I guess you're not my stalker, then," I teased. "Was that you doing laps earlier?"

"Yeah. I can see you're a swimmer too."

"I love to swim. But your laps were faster than mine. I bet you used to swim competitively," I said, keeping my voice conversational.

"Yeah, in high school and college."

"I only knew you'd been a runner."

"Swimmer, runner, geek. Now you know everything about me."

I laughed. He was funny.

"What do think of this sweltering weather?" I asked.

"I guess seventy degrees is pretty hot for Vancouver."

"Not right after you get out of the heated pool," I said, noticing that he was checking out my backside as I dried off. "Wanna come sit with me? I'm over there," I said, pointing to the far end of the deck.

"Sure. It's really beautiful, isn't it?" he asked, gesturing to the view.

"Yes. Just before my laps, I saw a seaplane take off. I haven't seen that for a long time; it was cool," I said conversationally as we walked to my spot.

"Have you ever flown in one?" Paul asked me.

"No. Have you?"

"Yeah. About a year ago I took an air tour of Vancouver---"

"Wow. What was it like?" I interrupted excitedly.

Paul explained what it was like to fly in the seaplane and see the islands from the air. After we had chatted for twenty minutes, he asked, "Do you wanna grab an early dinner in Gastown?"

I gave it some thought.

"You know, I'd like that. But on one condition."

"What's that?"

"That it's not a date. We work together, so---"

"Oh, you thought I was asking you out on a date?" he teased.

I smiled in response. "I've never walked around Gastown. Do you know it very well?" I asked, deflecting the subject.

"I took a tour here; it's the best way to see the city, especially if you're alone. How about we meet in the lobby in a half-hour? I've got to shower off the saltwater pool and of course blow-dry my hair," Paul said, shaking his blond-covered head.

I smiled at his joke. "Half hour sounds good, because I
do
need to blow dry my hair."

We got up together and made our way over to the elevator.

Later, I was brushing on mascara while the iron heated. I had only brought the clothes that I'd intended to wear to the meeting later that night, so that was the only choice of what to wear now. I ironed my Patagonia black hemp pants and a blue-gray, button-down-the-front cotton top. Putting on my pants, blouse, and watch, I looked at myself in the full-length mirror.

Adding my Keen walking shoes and some lip-gloss, I grabbed my small purse and was off down the hall.

Just in time
, I thought in the elevator, realizing I was five minutes late.

Once I stepped out of the elevator and into the lobby, Paul quickly found me.

Good, he's not late
.

I really did like to be punctual and didn't like it when others were not. I once had a date with a lawyer, and when he showed up twenty-five minutes late picking me up---without an apology---I decided right then that it would be our last date. Thank goodness we had only seen a movie. When he brought me home, I made for my front door like I was bolting from cannon fire.

"You look great," Paul commented, beaming at me.

Cute
.

"So do you," I said, noticing his white cotton shirt and khaki pants with pockets everywhere. "We goin' fishin'?"

"Huh?" he asked, perplexed.

"That's a lot of pockets for dinner in Gastown."

"You never know when you might need extra storage," he offered playfully.

I smiled.

"Ready?" he asked, motioning to the exit.

"Yes."

The doorman opened the door, and we were out of the hotel and onto the cobbled streets.

"So are you gonna be my tour guide of Gastown?" I inquired.

"Nope."

"Aww, come on..." I pleaded as we walked side by side.

He chuckled. "You're not easy to say no to."

"Well that's a good sign, isn't it?" I teased.

Paul smiled, and then began to tell me about everything we were seeing. When we got four blocks down from the hotel, we reached Water Street, and Paul stopped at the Gastown steam clock.

"Oh good, it's five till; that's perfect," he exclaimed.

"This clock is powered by an actual steam engine," he began, with his tour guide voice.

"No way," I responded, feigning surprise.

He played along.

"It is. There are only six operating steam clocks in the world. This is one of them. The others are in Japan, a museum in Indiana, two more are here in British Columbia, and there's one in London, England, at the Chelsea Farmer's Market there..."

Just then the clock woke up, interrupting Paul, as a crowd suddenly appeared---materializing out of nowhere. Fantastic blasts of steam were released as chimes began to play. The crowd's attention was on the clock as it tooted its little tune. Ending the spectacle was a deep foghorn sound.

"I feel like I've witnessed a piece of history," I remarked.

"Well...I hate to burst your warm-and-fuzzy bubble, but it was actually built in 1977."

I laughed.

We walked on, Paul pointing out old buildings and their place in Gastown's history. We stopped for dinner at Finch's; it was a small French café that reminded me of the small neighborhood cafes in Paris. The café was shaped like a wedge on a Y corner, and we sat near a window. Paul had a baguette filled with Brie, prosciutto, roasted walnuts, and tomato. I also had a baguette, but mine was filled with Brie, avocado, red onion, cucumber, lettuce, and tomato. We sat and talked as we ate. Finally, we walked back to the Pan Pacific. When we got to the hotel elevators, I turned to him.

"Thanks for dinner, and for being my tour guide. I had a really nice time."

"It was my pleasure," he offered sincerely.

"Do you think we can keep our meeting here a secret between us? I really don't want to be the target of office gossip, especially since I'm a new employee at AlterHydro."

"No problem. I can understand that. But just so you know, Ann, I'm pretty good at keeping secrets..."

The elevator opened, interrupting Paul, and people streamed out. I thought I recognized an Asian man who passed by me as he got off the elevator. I turned to get a better look at him and could only see his back. I felt that I knew him, but I couldn't recall from where.

Paul got into the elevator, and I followed him, distracted.

"So I'll see you on Monday," he offered formally.

"Yeah."

We stood in silence.

The elevator opened on his floor, and he got out.

He suddenly turned and held the elevator door, looking at me saying, "Thanks for going with me, Ann."

"You're welcome...I had fun. Bye," I warmly offered with a little wave of my hand.

He reluctantly removed his hand from the door, and it closed.

I rode up to my floor. I had two hours before the GOG job, enough time to soak in the tub.

Chapter 7

BRITISH COLUMBIA, CANADA

The Year 2012

After my bath, I ran the iron over my clothes again and redressed. I left myself twenty minutes to walk to the Gaslight Brasserie, having spotted it during my walk with Paul. I made my way down Cordova and onto Water Street, past the steam clock, then two more blocks, and turned right onto Carrall Street. It was only a block down from there.

It was a lively place this Saturday; it looked full from the outside. I headed toward the back, guessing that's where the room was.

I asked a passing waiter, "Can you tell me where the private room is?"

"Right back there. See the guy at the door?" he nodded with his head.

It looked like a door to the bathroom. As I walked closer, I could see that it was marked,
Private
. There was a mean-looking man standing outside. A GOG bodyguard, maybe; he looked French.

"Hi," I offered, feeling him out.

"You're expected?" he asked, serious.

"Yes."

"And?" he asked.

"Newton," I confirmed the passcode.

He offered a forced smile of recognition, then opened the door.

Here goes nothing
.

I entered a small room with a single, round wooden table surrounded by chairs. The walls were brick. There were no windows. I could see the pingers. Pingers were electronic devices that measured manmade energy, like bugs, cell phones, wires, recording devices, cameras, or anything that transmitted or received a signal. Two of them sat opposite one another against the walls to the left and right of the entrance, drawing an invisible line between them that couldn't be seen. They created an electronic barrier that everyone would have to pass through before reaching the table.

GOG meetings like this were always conducted sans any electronics; it was for everyone's safety. I carried a purse with my room key and the two Tasers, but left everything else in my hotel room. Along the front entrance wall, there was a temporary magnetic privacy shield erected, preventing any peekers from penetrating the meeting. The shields reminded me of the science fair displays I created as a kid in school.

The lighting in the room was very dim. Three people sat at the table, two men and a woman. Nearest me sat the woman. She looked to be in her fifties, with short, curly, gray hair, a round face with a ruddy complexion, and a bit on the chunky side. Wearing a suit, she looked like an intense, intelligent woman.

She doesn't look GOG
. Caution tingled my observations.

They all looked my way. Both men stood as I entered. One was very tall, and one was very short, about five feet. Shorty must have been the candidate; he looked a little eager when he saw me. The tall man was about 6'9", in his mid-fifties, and was the spitting image of Tom Chambers, the famous Hall of Fame basketball player.

He had blond hair that was graying a little. He, too, wore a suit. I forced my mind to order as the Tom Chambers look-alike approached me, bearing a bright smile, his hand outstretched. I crossed the barrier, then shook his hand.

"Welcome," he offered.

"My pleasure," I responded.

In GOG meetings like these, there were no introductions, no names, only a mission. The formal greetings we exchanged were standard, like the best of secret societies.

"Would you like to take a seat?" he offered, smiling at me.

"Thank you," I replied, and sat.

With my eyes adjusting to the light, I could now see Shorty better. He looked to be in his sixties and had very bushy eyebrows, beady eyes, and very little hair. He put out his hand for me to shake. I shook it.

The serious woman nodded at me, and I returned her nod. No hand was offered.

"Now that we're all here, would you mind explaining why you're interested in the organization?" the Tom Chambers clone asked Shorty.

Shorty looked back at him, then looked from me to the other woman. He took a slow, deep breath.