Martin spent a restless night in the apartment trying to think of way to get Maria’s ID so he could contact her.
He thought of going back to Security, but he needed to have an outside source. That’s when he thought of his old professor from last term, Jorge Rivera, who now served as an Assistant to Roberto de Garcia in Nuevo York. Jorge worked there in the Communications Network. His primary job was to do instant surveys on the populace by monitoring various broadcasts to get public reaction to the news. Jorge had known Roberto de Garcia for over twenty years. They both started in the Democratic Party in the Puerto Rican wards of Nuevo York when it was New York. It was with great reluctance that Jorge left his position with the University in Pittsburgh. He began as a professor with the University and became Head of the Social Studies Department in the new University System until last year, when he was asked by his old friend, now President de Garcia, to join him in Nuevo York.
Martin had become close to Jorge his first year at the University because of his scholastic aptitude. Jorge asked him to help in a tutoring program for Caribbean students. They became close. Martin knew Jorge would help his star pupil locate Maria because he would realize the threat the defection of Kurt Sloan might mean to the Republic and to his friend, the President. Since he was on the President’s staff he could surely locate a student on an Atlantica scholarship in France. Martin went into the Info Network for Jorge’s number in Nuevo York.
It took a minute, but he was soon looking at Jorge. “Martin, que pasa? How the hell are you?” Jorge asked. “Do you know what time it is?” he bellowed.
“I do know. It’s the middle of the night, my friend, but I would not have called you unless it was an emergency and this is an emergency, believe me, senor,” Martin said.
“Ok, ok. What’s on your mind?”
Martin didn’t go right into his reason for calling as he wanted to relax Jorge because he could tell he was upset at being called at this hour. For the next few minutes Martin talked old times with his professor. They had a commonality of a love for baseball, which was the only sport that Martin had had any success with as a teenager in Jamaica. Jorge’s middle name was Roberto, which came from Roberto Clemente, a national hero in Puerto Rico and ironically, in Pittsburgh. He had been a great black Latino baseball player of the late 20th Century.
They talked and finally, Jorge stopped Martin and bluntly said, “My friend, what do you want?”
Martin explained the situation and how potentially dangerous the defection of Sloan with data concerning the security of the Aquifer System may be to Alleghenia and to the Atlantica. Jorge was silent for a few seconds and then said, “I need her full name and last address.” Martin gave it to him.
“Hold On. Turn to messages, Martin. Your ID address, also,” he added. Martin did so and waited.
After a few minutes, Jorge came back on his unit. “OK, go ahead, amigo.” Martin pushed his unit and a message and picture ID stared back at him of a beautiful woman with a Toulouse France address listed. It was Maria Hernandez. The record showed a Pittsburgh address, the one he had just visited, a Nuevo York address, and the current one in Toulouse. Also included was her call number. He thanked Jorge and promised to get back to him if he needed more help. Jorge had encouraged him and stated plainly that he would help Martin get to Paris himself. “You were my best and brightest,” he said.
He immediately dialed the call number, knowing it was seven hours later in France.
“Your name again? I can’t hear you very well and the picture is shaky.”
“Martin McDonald. I lived in Kurt Sloan’s house in Pittsburgh. Are you Maria Lopez-Hernandez?” he spoke as loud and as clear as possible into the hand held unit. He could discern her face, as it appeared to roll on the screen. There was interference and based on the ID picture and his memory of her, he couldn’t tell for sure if it was her. The woman in the screen looked like the Maria he had seen, but the picture was shaky. Suddenly, the picture cleared and he knew it was her.“Yes, I remember Kurt mentioning you. What do you want?” she said anxiously.
“We met at the house in Greenfield,” Martin said.
Maria lay propped on her elbow looking at the small screen of the man she remembered from Kurt’s house.
They had passed each other in the hallway and Kurt had commented how he never saw this guy and really didn’t like him. She clearly remembered their brief encounter. Afterwards Kurt said that McDonald was a super patriot and someone he really did not trust. Another time they met again on the front porch and she remembered the piercing, hostile eyes that looked first at Kurt and then at her. The man had given her a chilled look that she could still see in her mind as she responded to him. “Is he all right? He’s not hurt or anything?”
“Not that I know of, but I’m calling you to find out if you’ve talked to him lately. It’s very important. He seems to have left Pittsburgh for some reason, and very quickly. As you know I lived in his house and I’m concerned”
“I don’t know why Kurt is of any concern of yours. You two weren’t friends. Besides, he doesn’t even know I’m here. Which makes me wonder, how did you get my ID?” she said angrily.
Martin had a quick comeback as he said, “The Administration needs very much to talk with Sloan. They gave me your number since I’m working on his situation”.
“I assumed as much. So, I am surprised by what you’ve said. If true, it’s a great surprise to me. I never thought Kurt would leave Pittsburgh. He really loved the city. It was almost an obsession, the history of it. He must’ve been really upset by something to decide to leave, if he left. But he is a courageous person, McDonald. More of a survivor type than one might think. If he did leave he will get where he is going, you can bet on that.”
“Oh, he left. I’m sure of that. Do you know where he may have gone?”
“If he did leave, which I doubt, he would probably go to Scotland where his mother and father were buried years ago and I think he has a sister in Scotland.”
“I appreciate your information, but my real concern is why he left. Do you know why?” he asked bluntly.
“How would I know why if I have no idea where he is? Is that all? I have classes in an hour,” she replied, anger returning to her voice.
“So you don’t know if he’s left and you don’t know how he would be leaving. Is that correct?”
“That is correct and I’m cutting out of this call. But let me tell you, Mr. Patriot, I do know that history is his passion because he was chronicling the history of the demise of the U.S. and the creation of Atlantica. That’s who he is. He’s not a very complicated person. You’re on the wrong track, McDonald,” she said.
“Well you don’t seem too concerned about Sloan. His leaving is odd, especially as an employee of the
government, but the troubling part of this whole episode is that I believe he has taken valuable information about our Aquifer. That’s treason, lady. If you are aware of anything he is doing, you are complicit. Do you understand? France or no France, you would at a minimum lose your scholarship.
Did you hear that?”
The picture faded slightly and Martin could see a stunned looked on the beautiful face. She didn’t respond immediately, but then said, “As I have told you, I know nothing about his leaving and certainly know absolutely nothing about any information you claim he took. I take that, McDonald, as a threat to me, and I will report this to the Embassy authorities. You have no right to accuse me the way you just did,” she said. Quickly she added,
“What is going on with you McDonald? Why do you want to hurt him? This is a good man, Anglo or no Anglo.
Is that it, McDonald? He’s an Anglo? If he did leave, I’m sure he decided he wanted to leave because his country is gone, for God’s sake. We’ve taken his country, his life away from him. If he did go, let him go, McDonald. Let Kurt Sloan have his life. I have a class. I have to go,” she said and cut out the transmission from her end.
Martin looked at the white dot left from the vanished picture on the screen. He could tell she was telling the truth. Martin felt certain that Sloan was headed to Scotland and using the old trail, no doubt heading for Columbia. As Martin sat on his bed with light beginning to show through the window, he realized that if Sloan was using the trail to get to Columbia, he would need something of value to give the authorities to gain flight passage. Martin knew how tough Columbia’s security was on transit visas, especially for a citizen and employee of Atlantica. He’ll have to have something special. “It has to have something to do with that data search he was doing on the Aquifer. That has to be it,” he shouted and grabbed his pocket phone, punching in Security Headquarters. “I’ll get there as soon as it opens.”