Free 15 Seconds by Andrew Gross Page A

recalled that she was staying at a different hotel from mine. The Hyatt.
    Hopefully she’d already made it to town and checked in.
    I took Mike’s phone and punched in the number I had for her. I knew it was kind of a long shot, but that’s what we were playing now. It took a few seconds for her to answer, probably not recognizing the caller ID—Mike’s—but sure enough, after I heard her voice, a little tentatively perhaps, I felt better.
    â€œThis is Jennifer Keegan.”
    â€œJennifer—it’s Henry Steadman. Please don’t hang up. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but something crazy has happened.”
    â€œI did hear!” Jennifer replied. She sounded surprised, but not upset that I was calling. “We’ve all heard, Dr. Steadman! What’s happened? They’re saying such incredible things . . .”
    â€œJennifer, I’ll explain . . . Just trust me—it’s not at all what you might think. I just need to be somewhere safe, for an hour or two, until I can negotiate something and get this whole crazy thing resolved. That’s all. Can I trust you, Jennifer? I know I have no business asking this, it’s just that . . . It’s just that, to be honest, I just don’t have anywhere else to turn.”
    â€œYou want to come here ?” she asked, clearly surprised.
    â€œJust for an hour or two, that’s all! I have someone working on turning me over. I won’t put you in any harm. I promise. What do you say? ”

Chapter Eleven
    â€œY es,” she replied, without hesitation. “I knew this all had to be something crazy. I’m at the—”
    â€œI know where you are—” I cut her off. “And you have no idea what this means to me, Jennifer. You can’t. You’re a godsend. I’ll be there in half an hour.”
    It took about twenty minutes to get there, and just to be safe, I entered the hotel grounds at the adjacent golf course, and left Mike’s Jag on the second level of the two-story garage.
    I walked the short distance over to the main lobby, telling myself I had no reason to be concerned, that no one was looking for me here. That I looked like any golfer, in my khakis, my golf cap, and shades. That Mike’s stolen car wasn’t on any news reports yet.
    I stepped into the glass-roofed, atrium lobby. It was packed with people from maybe a dozen trade-show groups and conventions. There was some kind of arena football game in town and a throng of boosters wearing black-and-aqua Shark caps and logo sweatshirts was gathered near the entrance, probably heading to some kind of rally.
    Everything seemed benign, nothing to worry about. Not that I was exactly trained to spot undercover police if they were there. I scanned the lobby . . . lots of noise, people moving everywhere . . . and spotted the elevators. Jennifer told me to go to room 2107.
    I put down my cap and was about to head across the floor when I saw him.
    My chest tightened.
    Not someone in uniform, but in a plain, navy-blue windbreaker, leaning against the wall near the restrooms while scanning the crowd.
    He might well have just been hotel security, if it wasn’t for the terrifying realization that I had seen him once before.
    From the back of Martinez’s police car.
    He was one of the policemen who was milling around when Martinez stopped me.
    Every nerve in my body slammed to a stop.
    I turned my back to him. I didn’t know what to do, except that I had to get out of there now. In truth, I was petrified to even take a step. The guy clearly hadn’t seen me yet. He just stood there as if he was waiting to meet a friend. I eased my way toward the football boosters.
    Why was he here now?
    Then the answer became clear: Jennifer had turned me in. It was a trap! They were waiting for me. Who could even blame her? The only reason I wasn’t spread-eagled on the floor with a gun to my