The Law of Nines

Alex swallowed at the painful thought of her leaving his world, leaving him. “Maybe I won’t be able to figure out the gateway.”

“No hope of that,” she said with a sigh. “You’re Alexander Rahl.”

“Well, who knows. We may never have to worry about it.”

Her brow bunched together. “What do you mean?”

“If Cain has his way we’ll both die before then.”

Her smile returned. “You have a way of making me smile even when my heart is breaking.”

“Then you should at least give me another kiss.”

She did. It was a kiss that made the kisses before seem less than meaningful. It took Alex away, made him forget everything but her. It made him feel complete, as if he had never really been alive before that moment. In that moment he felt, for the first time in his life, sheer, perfect bliss.

Finally, she pulled breathlessly away. Alex didn’t think he would ever get enough of looking at her. She was the most perfectly feminine creature he had ever known. She was so beautiful it made him ache for her.

“So,” she whispered as she looked down into his eyes, “do we have time for more than a kiss?”

53.

ALEX HAD BEEN correct—a hundred-dollar tip to the service writer got him an eager promise of prompt attention. Fearing to give the man the phony license because the registration for the Jeep was under his real name, he handed over his real driver’s license instead.

“All right, Mr. Rahl,” the man behind the small podium in the drive-in entrance said, “we’ll have you fixed and back to your vacation in no time. Is there a number where I can reach you?”

“Sorry, I forgot to recharge my cell phone last night. I’ll just check back with you after a while.”

“Give us a few hours and we should have it taken care of.” He pointed with his pen. “You can wait in the lounge, if you like, and I’ll come get you when it’s finished.”

“I have some errands to take care of. I’ll check back.”

“We’ll be here. You can get out the same way—through the lounge.”

Alex thanked the man and made his way past the line of other trucks waiting to be taken in for service. Out the open overhead door the leaden sky seemed like it was descending to smother the town.

As Alex went through the lounge the word “Hamburg” coming from the TV stopped him cold in his tracks.

The morning news anchor on the TV was giving a report about a massive fire at a hotel in Hamburg, Germany. The alarm system in the hotel had reportedly malfunctioned and the firefighters had problems getting adequate water to the site. Dozens of deaths were feared.

“Fifteen minutes later, in London,” the announcer said, “another tragedy struck when a runaway truck crashed into a crowd of people outside a busy train station. Sources say that as many as eleven people were killed with a number of others seriously injured. The driver fled the scene. Police are searching for him and hope to have him in custody soon. Authorities say it is the worst such accident in recent memory.”

Alex stood frozen, his mind racing, as he watched the international news for a few minutes more, waiting to see if they would say anything else, but they went on with stories about a global summit on world economic growth that leaders from the industrialized nations were scheduled to attend in Japan in the coming days.

Alex remembered the note that Hal had found with the maps in the room back in Bangor. It had listed two cities: Hamburg and London. The times written on that note had been for that morning, and they had been fifteen minutes apart. He knew without doubt that it was not a coincidence.

He hurried up the street, suddenly feeling the urgent need to get back to Jax. He rushed into the room and found her pacing. She had an envelope in her hand.

“The phone rang. I answered it. The person said that there was a letter at the front desk for Hank Croft. So I went to the office. They wanted identification. I showed them the thing that Mike Fenton made for me that shows my image and says I’m Jenna Croft. They gave me this.”

Jax handed him the envelope. On the outside was written “Mr. Hank Croft.”

Alex tore it open. Inside was a single folded piece of paper. He recognized the precise handwriting. It was the same as the handwriting on the paper Hal Halverson had found.

Jax bit down nervously on her lower lip as she watched him reading. “Well, what is it?”

“It’s a list of cities—Springfield, Scranton, Raleigh, Tampa, Mobile, Indianapolis, Fort Worth, Grand Rapids, Denver, Bismarck, Winnipeg, Provo, Sydney, Boise, Eugene, Mexico City, Bakersfield. It says ‘Now’ at the bottom.”

Alex’s hands shook as he lowered the paper.

“Do you know what it means?” Jax asked.

“I think I do, but I hope to hell I’m wrong.”

He switched on the TV. The images of confusion and screaming people hit him like a blow.