Third Strike

too, because he suddenly lowered his voice to a savage whisper. “Why should I lift a goddamn finger to help you, Charlie? You damn near broke my freakin’ arm, lady!” And, less angry, more plaintive: “Made me look like a fool.”

I shut my eyes a moment. Acting in anger never worked out well for me. I should have learned that by now.

Two thickset men in jeans and work shirts were approaching along the narrow corridor, walking slightly spread out, not speaking, their gaze seemingly directed right at me. I shifted my weight slightly, just in case, but they kept on moving past, disappearing into the men’s room doorway.

“I’m sorry, Nick,” I said carefully, brain racing ahead. What did I know about Nick? What had Parker said about him? Vain. Ambitious. A wanna-be. I was suddenly aware of how hard I’d been gripping the phone. I forced my hand to relax a little. “But this is a matter of life and death. We need a guy we can trust. A guy who’s coolheaded and tough, and the first person we thought of was you. But, if you’re still too sore because I hurt your pride, I understand. Shame, though. Parker would have been so grateful, but—”

“Hey, wait up,” he said, fast and anxious now. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it. If Mr. Armstrong’s in trouble, I’m your guy!”

“No, I’m sorry, Nick—this was a mistake,” I said, glad he couldn’t see me smiling. “Look, it could be dangerous. I would hate to—”

“Tell me!” He almost squawked it out, then dropped his voice again, conspiratorial. “I can do it, Charlie. Just give me the chance to prove it to Mr. Armstrong, okay?”

“Okay,” I said, aiming for reluctant admiration. “I need you to call Parker at his office and get him down to the gym as soon as you can. How you do it is up to you, but you’ve got to be casual, so anybody listening in doesn’t suspect you’re acting as an agent for us.”

I used the word agent deliberately, knowing it would go straight to his ego like a tequila slammer to an empty stomach. I fed more coins into the phone and waited.

“Sure, no problem,” he said, excited as a kid. “Er, what do I tell him?”

I held back a sigh. “I don’t know, Nick,” I said, reining in my impatience. It was a reasonable question. “Tell him you need to go over the results of the last fitness assessment you did for him—but whatever you do, for God’s sake don’t mention me by name. Or Sean. We’ve got some very bad people after us.”

Some very official people. But I didn’t tell him that.

“Tell Parker you think he’d want to know if he was going to put operatives into the field who might get themselves into trouble because they weren’t fit. How’s that? I’m sure you’ll think of a way to dress it up so it sounds just right.” I checked my watch. “I’ll call back every hour until you get him there.”

“Should I take your number, then he can call you?’ Nick asked.

“No, it’s not safe.”

He bridled at that. “I ain’t afraid of a little trouble.”

“I didn’t think for a moment that you would be, Nick,” I said, keeping my voice as straight as my face. To be afraid, first you have to fully appreciate the dangers involved. “But nobody can hold out under interrogation forever. The less you know, the safer everybody is—you included. Standard operating procedure.”

“Okay, okay. I get that,” he said, more subdued. There was a pause like he was writing something down. “Supposing Mr. Armstrong, he doesn’t go for it?”

“He will,” I said, projecting more confidence than I felt. I waited for a woman to wheel a puce-faced, wailing toddler in a buggy past me and out into the Food Court. “Parker’s a smart guy.”

And I hoped to hell that I was right.

CHAPTER 26

We met up with Parker in a rest area on I-95, just south of Boston. It was six hours since my initial phone call to Nick. Five hours since Nick had managed to get a sneaky message through to Parker, and my boss had given his watchdogs the slip and hotfooted it down to the gym to be waiting by the phone when I called back. And four hours since I’d called again, by which time he’d arranged a substantial float and instructions for a rendezvous.

So, not only smart but bloody efficient, too.

We’d hung around at the mall for as long as we reckoned we could get away with it, then headed towards the meeting point, staying as far away from the populated areas as we could manage.

According to Parker, the story Vondie was putting out—via Collingwood, naturally—was that they’d attempted to flag us down on the road in order to escort us back to New York. At which point we’d opened fire on them in a vicious and unprovoked attack. I’m not sure quite how they explained the obvious signs of a Stinger hit and heavy side impact on the Navigator, but I’m sure the empty brass I’d left behind inside it didn’t help our cause any. Nor did leaving gunshot wounds in two of her team.

New York to Boston, if Parker kept it legal and didn’t get too badly snarled up in traffic, was a four-hour drive. We timed our own arrival at the rest area to be a couple of minutes after his ETA. The less time we had to hang around in the open in a bullet-ridden—and technically stolen—vehicle, the better.

I’d told Parker what we were driving and we’d parked up out of the way to wait. Eventually, we spotted him behind the wheel of a nondescript silver five-year-old Toyota Camry. He did a slow circuit of the car park, showing himself to us, before pulling up. Sean restarted the engine and maneuvered the pickup in alongside him.

Parker had dressed down in jeans and a Tommy Hilfiger stripe shirt, worn with the collar open so it looked natural to have the tails out. As he walked round the back of the car to join us, a Honda Integra on big chrome wheels pulled in about a hundred meters away. Part of me half-expected someone like the young Canadian, Joe McGregor, to be driving the second car. Instead, it was Nick who climbed out and gave us a sketchy, self-conscious wave.

Sean merely raised an eyebrow at Parker’s unusual choice of traveling companion. Parker gave him a look that said clearly, don’t ask.

My mother got out of the pickup with her arms out, ready to embrace her savior. Parker ignored her. He was wearing sunglasses, but I could tell that his eyes were everywhere.

“Get your gear into the trunk of the Camry,” he said. “Do it now.”

Chastened, my parents began transferring luggage. Despite the size of my mother’s suitcase, it didn’t take long. Sean’s and my squashy bags fitted in round the others, tight but snug.

When we were loaded, Parker installed my parents in the rear seat, got back into the Camry again and sedately drove it over to join the Integra. Sean and I gave the pickup a quick once-over, wiped down the obvious touch points, locked it up and walked away from it, towards the Camry. We walked away quickly, I noticed, without looking back—as though the Ford were going to start whining like an abandoned dog.

By the time we’d rejoined him, Parker was back out from behind the wheel and standing by the driver’s window. He stood, I noticed, casually relaxed with his hip turned side on to the car, not obviously using it for cover but using it just the same. He handed over the keys, jerked his head towards the interior.

“There’s five grand in cash in the glove compartment,” he said. “A couple of boxes of ammo, and two clean pay-as-you-go cell phones. But don’t use them unless you have to—that goes as much for the hollow-points as it does for the Motorolas.”

“Parker, we’re not exactly virgins at this,” I said mildly.

He smiled just a little, shrugged. “Better to tell you and risk offense, than not tell you and risk blowing the whole thing to hell and back.”

“Speaking of which—what’s he doing here?” Sean asked quietly, nodding in the direction of Nick, who was hurrying to join us.

“He got me the car,” Parker admitted. “Belongs to his sister. She’s out of town for another month—Europe. Besides, the Camry’s the most common car on the road. You couldn’t blend in better if you tried.”

“My sister’s a real motorhead,” Nick said, enthusiastic. “It’s got the V-six under the hood, in case you need to make a run for the border.” He suddenly realized what he’d said and his face fell comically. “Uh, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t.”

I didn’t like to point out that running from someone with Collingwood’s resources was one car chase destined