Cliff Ryder - Out of Time

Savannah was cute and sweet and it truly was a blessing to be her mom. At the moment, the girl was a godsend. If not for her daughter, Brin would just sit around and worry all weekend.

After they finished breakfast, cleaned up the kitchen and went through the complex rituals involved in dressing Savannah for the day, Brin threw on her own clothes and they piled into the SUV. She had the usual shopping to do for the week. But first she had to stop at the pharmacy.

When Alex and Brin had first moved to the neighborhood, Woodard’s Pharmacy was the only one for ten miles. There were several more now, of course. But they continued to use Woodard’s out of loyalty and comfort. There were things in that pharmacy that you couldn’t find anywhere else, like a dollar ice cream cone and a pharmacist who kept track of all your medicines and knew when not to give you one pill with another. They also sent cards on your birthday. That kind of dedica-tion and caring just couldn’t be bought.

They were no sooner through the front door of Woodard’s than Savannah was running full-tilt toward the ice cream counter. They also had squished cheese sandwiches there, which made Savannah squeal with delight.

“Savannah, no, honey. We’ll have ice cream after I get Daddy’s medicine, okay?” The day was hot and the ice cream would taste so good, but first things first.

“Aaaawwww!” There was a tiny foot stamp to punctuate her disappointment, but no tantrum followed. Her terrible twos hadn’t been too terrible—so far. Brin took her daughter’s hand and led her to the prescription counter, where she was met by a young woman with a head full of thick red hair and the brightest green eyes Brin had ever seen. As many times as she’d been in the place, she’d never seen the girl before. For some reason the change in personnel felt like a betrayal.

“Hello, I’m Mrs. Tempest.You called earlier about my husband’s prescription?” She felt Savannah lean against her leg and knew that all was well.

“Please give me your husband’s full name and address.”

“Alex Tempest. One-thirty-four Brickle Lane.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Tempest.” The young lady sorted through the waiting prescriptions and pulled out the proper bag. She held the bag out to Brin with one hand and worked the cash register with the other. “That’ll be thirty-eight dollars, please.”

Brin swiped her debit card and keyed in her PIN number. Once the transaction had gone through, the young lady handed her the receipt with a smile. “Thank you for shopping at Woodard’s and come again.”

Brin turned and walked toward the ice cream counter, Savannah hurrying to run around her and get there first. Brin bought them each an ice cream—Brin’s in a cone, Savannah’s in a cup.

Then they sat down in their favorite booth, right next to the candy counter, and dug in.

Brin took the amber pill bottle out of the bag and squinted at the label. Klonopin. It was used to treat seizures; that much she knew. What she didn’t know was why Alex would be taking it. The doctor’s name didn’t ring a bell, either. For as long as she had known him, Alex had never had a regular physician, nor had he gone to a doctor unless he was genuinely in pain. There was just that one time, when he had had pneumonia so bad that walking across the room brought on a five-minute coughing fit.

“Savannah, baby, you sit right here for a sec, okay? Mommy has to go back and talk to the medicine lady again.”

Brin slid out of the seat and hurried back to the prescription counter. “Excuse me,” she said to the young woman behind the counter. “I was wondering if you knew anything about the doctor who prescribed this?”

The woman took the bottle and read the label.

“Just a moment, please.” She went back into the pharmacy and typed something into the computer, then returned with a piece of paper. “I’m afraid this is the only prescription we’ve ever filled for this particular doctor.”

“Well, what kind of doctor is he? I mean, is his office nearby?” Brin frowned and then bit into her lower lip.

“According to the physicians’ database, he’s a neurologist. Here. I’ve written down his address and phone number in case you need to contact him about your husband’s medication.”

Brin took the piece of paper and studied the address written on it. It was only a mile away from her lab, but she couldn’t picture the building it was in. “And you’re sure he’s a neurologist?”

“Yes, ma’am. That’s what his license says.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

Brin turned and walked slowly back to Savannah, the paper clutched in one hand and a dripping ice cream cone in the other. Savannah was coated in ice cream, and Brin took a moment to clean the girl’s face, still distracted by the medicine bag next to her on the seat. Why the hell was Alex seeing a neurologist? More importantly, why was he keeping it from her?

Whatever was going on, she was damned sure going to talk to this doctor first thing Monday morning. As soon as Alex came home, she was going to have a little chat with him, too.

Alex gritted his teeth as the small plane touched down at the airport in Beijing. Jin was a terrific pilot, but Alex’s legs ached all the way to the bone and his head had begun to throb. The flight had been uneventful and smooth, but he still longed to stretch his legs. There was simply no way to get comfortable in the small space of his seat.

Smaller aircraft landed in the back of the airport, where most of the freight lines came in. There was a customs office right there, and each plane was inspected before anyone or anything was released.

Jin unbuckled and grabbed his clipboard. He stretched for a moment, and then opened the hatch.

“We must stay on board until the customs officer has signed off on the cargo.” Jin sat down at the edge of the gangway and let his legs swing.

“What about my bag?” Alex asked.

“They won’t look. They are only interested in inspecting the cargo. Your bag is in the middle of all those boxes. They will test a few boxes from the front, a few from the rear, and then they will sign off and move on. I have an excellent reputation.”

“How long does it usually take?” Alex stood and stretched a bit, then paced from side to side, trying to walk off the pain in his legs.

“Not so long. There are only a few planes here today.”

The gangway creaked and Alex’s eyes turned toward the hatch. A heavyset Chinese man stood in the doorway, a clipboard in one hand and his hat in the other. He and Jin exchanged words and clipboards and then the customs officer began slitting open boxes.

Once he had inspected four boxes, he paused at a fifth, going so far as to remove the back from the television, checking inside for something. He nodded, satisfied, and then wrote something on his clipboard. Alex stayed casual. Jin knew to expect this and how to handle it so there should be nothing to worry about.

More words were exchanged and Jin turned to Alex and said, “He needs to see your passport.”

“Oh! Sure!” Alex whipped out his passport and presented it to the officer. Of course, his real name wasn’t on the form. For this trip, he was Donald Vance, living in South Korea on a work and edu-cation visa.

The officer stamped the passport and handed it back to Alex. “Thank you, Mr. Vance,” he said in heavily accented English.

A small truck drove up and a large man jumped out, walking purposefully toward the plane. Jin stepped toward Alex, but kept his eyes on the new arrival. “We must be very cautious now,” he hissed.

“Don’t do anything unless I tell you.”

He spoke rapidly to the customs inspector, but his voice only carried far enough for Alex to catch a couple of words. Alex eyed his bag in the middle of the larger boxes, knowing that it would take him precious time to get to it and make some use of it if the situation turned violent.