Run into Trouble

any chance the CEO of Giganticorp, Mr. Messinger?”
    “Call me Casey. And yes, Oliver, I am.”
    “Call me Drake.”
    They both laughed. Drake immediately liked him. Not just his manner, but he was the first Giganticorp employee Drake had met who might actually be a runner.
    “I understand you postponed the start of the race just for me.”
    “Yes, but it’s not a problem. We’ll start tomorrow morning at Border Field State Park and still be here in time to cross the Coronado Bridge in conjunction with its grand opening tomorrow afternoon.”
    “I take it there’ll be publicity.”
    “Lots of press and brouhaha. Yup.”
    Drake had to phrase this carefully. “I have a concern. The accident…may not have been an accident.”
    “I get your drift. You’re under my protection. As long as you’re part of Running California, you have nothing to fear.”
    Big words. Confident words, but, somehow, Drake almost believed them.
    “I’m not really going to be in shape to run tomorrow.”
    “That’s all right. The first day is ceremonial. Everybody will run together in a group and be given the same time. It doesn’t matter how fast you go.”
    Drake hadn’t gathered that from the information about the race. He guessed that the Golden Rule came into play here—he who owns the gold makes the rules.
    “May I ask you one more question?”
    “Anything.”
    “Why are you doing this? Not just the race, itself, but the million dollar prize. I’m sure you could have offered much less—”
    “We think big at Giganticorp. This will be great publicity for the company and for the state of California. And for the runners. I know that in the past you’ve avoided the spotlight, but you might get to like it.”
    Drake wondered. “I almost forgot. Who’s my partner?”
    “Wait here.”
    Casey gave Drake an enigmatic smile and left the room.
    ***
    “You look terrible.”
    Drake stumbled backward from the doorway. His headache suddenly doubled in intensity. He would recognize that face and musical English accent anywhere, even though the words were far from musical. It was Melody. Or her ghost.
    “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
    “Come…come in.”
    She was approximately the last person in the world he had expected to see, this apparition that walked lightly into the room, almost without leaving footprints, and closed the door behind her.
    “If it’s any consolation, I’m glad you weren’t killed today.”
    She still looked the same, her slim body hidden inside a warm-up suit, belying not only her curves but the strength within, both physical and mental. The sandy hair caught in a ponytail, ready for a run; the pert nose framed by a sprinkling of freckles on the small face.
    “Do I have to carry this conversation all by myself?”
    “Sorry.” Drake sat down hard on the bed. His legs would no longer support him. “I…I didn’t expect to see you here.”
    “Don’t feel like the Lone Ranger, as you yanks would say. They didn’t tell me about you, either, until they were forced to by the accident. All the other runners had partners, except me. When they finally divulged the secret, I almost walked out, just the way you did six years ago. For some reason that I can’t attribute, I waited around to see whether you were alive or dead. I must say, you look more dead than alive.”
    “I’ll recover.” At least from the collision. “I guess I owe you an apology.”
    “You owe me a lifetime of apologies. Let’s see. You leave me with no message and no explanation. I’m frantic, thinking that you’re dead, or at the very least a prisoner in a Soviet Gulag camp. Finally, after months of searching and talking to everybody I can think of, a sympathetic bloke at your embassy does some checking and lets me know that you’re all right but doesn’t know where you are. I wait for word—and wait. For six years I’ve waited. In vain.”
    “I had no choice.” Drake felt miserable. “I was ordered to secrecy.”
    “Yeah, I remember bloody government secrets. Your government and mine. Don’t let the right hand know what the left hand is doing. But I take it you’ve been out for several years. Why did you quit?”
    “It got to the point where I had a hard time telling the good guys from the bad guys.”
    “I know the feeling. Would it have hurt you to drop me a line?”
    “I didn’t think you wanted to hear from me. And I didn’t know where you were.”
    “Poor excuses for excuses. You could