The Traveler's Companion by Christopher John Chater Read Free Book Online Page B

of her.”
    “Took care of her?” Gibbons asked ominously.
    The man chuckled and said, “I mean I took her home.”
    Angela stood up gracefully, put her shoulders back to accentuate her breasts, and took the cup of coffee to the man standing in the doorway. She made sure to make eye contact and offer a warm smile. “Hello. We haven’t been properly introduced. My name’s Angela Iverson.”
    The man accepted the cup greedily and said, “You are striking!”
    Angela smiled coquettishly and said, “Please come in.” She lightly took him by the arm and escorted him to a chair at the conference table.
    “Who are you?” Gibbons asked. “And how the hell did you get in here?”
    “That’s kind of a long story,” the young man said. He squinted to look at Gibbons’s badge and then read it aloud: “Director Mark Gibbons.” He fell into a chair with a weary sigh. “I’m beat.”
    “And what is your name?” Iverson asked.
    “My name is C.C. Go,” he said, brushing off some imaginary lint from the arm of his coat.
    “C.C. Go is it? Got I.D.?” Gibbons asked.
    As the young man reached into his back pocket, Iverson asked him, “You said you lost your date here. Who were you referring to?”
    The intruder looked at Iverson’s badge. “Your name is Iverson, too? Like hers.”
    “Angela is my daughter,” Iverson said.
    “I didn’t realize the CIA was a family business,” C.C. Go said, smiling, amused by the idea. He handed a passport to Gibbons.
    Gibbons looked it over, sighed, and then asked, “Where is Melissa Fleming, Mister Go?” He closed the passport and set it on the table in front of him.
    “She’s at home resting,” Go said.
    “Resting? You realize she was in a coma when we found her?” Iverson asked.
    “She’s fine now,” Go said. “Can I have my passport back, please?”
    Reluctantly, Gibbons slid it over to him. He would’ve liked to check its authenticity.
    “Is she okay?” Angela asked. “We should probably have her looked at by a doctor.”
    “Yes, Mister Go. Why did you take her away? How did you take her away?” Gibbons asked.
    “I took her because she might not have ever come out of the coma under your care. No offense. Right now she’s in her apartment in Paris. When I left her, she said she was going to take a shower and then go to bed,” Go said.
    “You left her alone?” Angela asked.
    “She’s fine. Might have a hangover tomorrow, but otherwise she’s completely healthy,” Go said.
    “Paris, France?” Gibbons asked.
    “That’s right. I have the address if you want it,” Go said.
    “In a minute,” Gibbons said. “First I’d like you to explain how you got her to France and then came back here in just a few hours.”
    “I did it in less than a few hours—significantly less—but explaining how I did that would involve a very lengthy conversation,” Go said. “I think showing you would be easier than telling you. I’m not so keen on the science anyway.”
    A bolt of shock went through Iverson’s body. “The science?”
    “Show us what?” Gibbons asked.
    “You got the book, right?” Go asked. “What’d you think? Too ethereal? It’s hitting stores tomorrow morning, so any critiques would be greatly appreciated, albeit a little late.”
    “The book will be in stores tomorrow morning?” Iverson asked.
    C.C. Go looked at his watch. “It’s almost midnight. So, yes, in about nine hours my book will be on the shelves.”
    “You published that thing?” Gibbons asked.
    “At great personal expense I had the book printed, and I’ve decided to give it away for free.”
    “Free?” Gibbons asked.
    “Are you building a church?” Angela asked.
    Go chuckled. “No. Nothing like that.”
    “We’re not exactly sure what to make of the book, Mister Go. Is it self-help? A philosophical treatise? Is it fiction or nonfiction?” Iverson asked.
    “Fiction, nonfiction. Such distinctions aren’t made in the imagination, man. My book deals with the