Third Strike

Storax.

The name couldn’t have hit me any harder if it had been plastered all over the front of the taxi that had tried to run me down.

Storax. The company that manufactured the drug Jeremy Lee had been taking before he died—with or without his knowledge. The company that had obligingly sent two of their people up to Boston allegedly to assist in his treatment. Where had they been, I wondered, when the good doctor had been administered his fatal overdose?

My father had been convinced that it was the hospital who’d been covering up some kind of clinical error, but now Collingwood had shed a whole new light on the situation. The question was, what should we do about it?

“And why exactly is one of the lesser-known government agencies interested in Storax?” It was Sean who asked the question, which was just as well—I wasn’t capable of speech. I was amazed that Sean could sound so calm in the face of the information Collingwood had just dropped, apparently unwittingly, into our laps.

Collingwood’s eyes narrowed, as if he realized he’d said more than he should, and I could see his mind backtracking, trying to work out what advantage we might gain from it. After a moment he seemed to come to the conclusion that he had nothing to lose by saying more.

“Storax Pharmaceutical contracts with the U.S. government to produce certain, ah, vaccines. Anything more than that is classified information,” Collingwood said, ducking his head again like a boxer expecting to dodge blows. “But let me just say that we keep an eye on their other activities. A very close eye. Storax is just about to be granted worldwide licenses for this new bone drug of theirs, based largely on the success of clinical trials to date. If there’s a problem and they’re covering it up, we need to know and we need to know fast.”

“If Storax holds government contracts, surely you have some authority to go in and do some kind of audit,” I said.

He gave a sad little shake of his head at my naivete. “Storax is a global corporation,” he said. “A multibillion-dollar enterprise. Heck, they probably have more people on the payroll just to lobby for them in Washington than our agency has on its entire payroll, period. We can’t fight that unless we have an ironclad case. They’ll shut us down in a heartbeat. And that brings me to your father, Miss Fox. Where is he, by the way?”

“Somewhere safe,” Parker said, jumping in before I had the chance to answer, even if I’d had the inclination to do so. “What is it you want with him?”

“If Storax is falsifying any of its research, I’m sure you can appreciate the implications for the national security of this country, Mr. Armstrong,” Collingwood said heavily. “If Richard Foxcroft has any evidence to support his claims that Dr. Lee was given that overdose as some kind of cover-up, we need to talk to him.”

“Why should we trust you?” I said flatly. “If Storax is behind what’s been going on, they’ve fought dirty so far and it’s damn near ruined him. Don’t you think he’s had enough?”

“We need to know what he knows,” Collingwood said, stubborn. “I don’t suppose I need to remind you how, ah, difficult we could make life for your father if he doesn’t cooperate?”

Parker pushed his chair back and rose, the movement sudden but smooth and controlled all at the same time. He leaned forwards slightly and planted both his fists very deliberately onto the desktop, letting his shoulders hunch so that Collingwood was left in no doubt about the width of them, normally so well disguised by careful tailoring.

“Do I need to remind you that one of your agents is guilty of kidnapping?” he asked, his voice gentle enough to make me shiver. “That she and Kaminski threatened to torture and rape a defenseless old lady? How would that look on tomorrow’s front page?”

“Almost as bad as the old lady’s highly respectable husband getting caught in a bordello with a teenage hooker,” Collingwood shot back. He gave another gusty sigh. “Look, this is getting us nowhere. I just want to recover my agent and find out what her involvement is with Storax, and what they’re hiding. Foxcroft can help.”

He returned Parker’s glare with a cool stare of his own before shifting its focus to me. The upper corners of his eyelids folded down until they almost touched his lashes, making his gaze seem deceptively sleepy. “You want a way to get your father out of the mess he’s in, and no doubt he wants to get to the bottom of this other guy’s death up in Boston. Am I right?”

Slowly, reluctantly, I nodded.

Collingwood smiled at me. “See? Same goal.”

“This is all very romantic,” Sean said, his voice dry, “but how do you intend to consummate this marriage of convenience?”

Collingwood frowned briefly at the flippancy. “We trade,” he said. “First off, you, ah, assist me in recovering my rogue agent.”

“Always assuming that we have any ideas in that direction,” Sean agreed placidly. “And in return?”

Collingwood shrugged. “I listen to Foxcroft’s side of the story, drop the word in the right ears to make sure all that, ah, trouble he got himself into over in Brooklyn goes away,” he said, “and in return he gives me his professional take on the death of this guy Lee, and any possible connections he can make between that and Storax.”

We fell silent. It was an answer. In fact, from where I was sitting, it was the only answer—or the start of it, at least. Collingwood’s fingers were twitching again as he regarded us.

“Well?” he demanded. “Do we have a deal?”

“I think that’s up to the good doctor, don’t you?” Parker murmured. He glanced at me, eyebrow slightly raised. I nodded slightly and he leaned forwards, pressing the intercom button on his phone. Bill Rendelson’s voice barked from the speaker in acknowledgment.

“Bill, ask Mr. and Mrs. Foxcroft to step into my office, would you?”

Parker let go of the intercom button and sat up to face Collingwood’s obvious consternation that one of his objectives, at least, had been within such easy reach. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

CHAPTER 15

My father listened with absolute concentration to the proposal the government man put forward, as though he had any number of choices in the matter. When Collingwood was done outlining what he had in mind, my father’s face was grave despite the fact that he was being offered deliverance, or something pretty close.

It was my mother who spoke first.

“What are the risks?” she asked, glancing around the group of us. “These dreadful people have already threatened us and only a few days ago someone tried to kill my husband—and my daughter, too,” she added, a touch belatedly for my taste. “Will agreeing to help you make them stop? Or will it only make them try harder?”

Collingwood pursed his lips, but I saw that gleam was back in his sad-looking eyes again. He’d clearly dismissed my mother from his calculations almost as soon as they’d been introduced. She was the dictionary definition of genteel, if far from the defenseless old lady Parker had described. I sometimes found it easy to forget that under that blue-rinsed exterior lay a formidable, albeit largely dormant, brain.

“Ma’am, we’ll do our best to ensure your safety. We need your husband’s testimony if we’re going to make anything of this. Besides,” he added with a reassuring smile, gesturing around Parker’s office, “these people are the best in the business. My recommendation would be for you to put yourself entirely in their hands.”

“In that case, are you also going to foot the bill for their services?” she said pleasantly.

Collingwood looked momentarily taken aback. “I will certainly put that to my superiors, ma’am,” he said, noncommittal.

She nodded and smiled, seeming placated. Collingwood waited a moment, as if to make sure she wasn’t going to come back with anything else, then began gathering up his papers. He picked up the flight manifest I’d looked at, and in doing so uncovered the blowup of Vondie Blaylock that had been hidden underneath it. The