happened? The front page of the second section featured a picture of Jennifer Pearce’s Mazda RX-8, wrapped around a large hickory and smashed almost beyond recognition. The caption under the picture read, “Where is she?”
The article, two columns in length, raised more questions than it answered. It reported that the car belonging to the Ph.D. graduate pharmaceutical researcher had been found in the Shenandoah Mountains early Monday morning by hikers walking a seldom-used trail. The car was suspended above the path in the tree, but how long it had been there was unknown, as the trail was a demanding one and only seasoned hikers attempted it. Forensics experts from the state police had searched the car but had found nothing. No traces of blood. No traces of the woman. Nothing. It was a mystery.
And the media loves a mystery, especially when the person involved was a doctorate-level researcher in the pharmaceutical industry. A picture of Jennifer Pearce accompanied the article. One paragraph was dedicated to a brief history of her working life, including her current status at Veritas. And there was no chance that the reporters were going to miss the connection. Monday morning, a Veritas researcher’s car shows up at the bottom of a cliff and the next day the company announces it has a drug to combat the virus. This was the last thing he needed right now. Goddamn Evan Ziegler all to hell. Why didn’t he just kill her and dump her body? Now he had to deal with the aftermath.
Andrews checked his watch. Almost one o’clock. The news conference and the flight back from D.C. had taken the entire morning. He glanced down at the pile of correspondence and mail piled on the corner of his desk. He shuffled through it until he reached the fax from Barry Flath at the Food and Drug Administration. NDA approval came through quickly when you had J.D. Rothery at the Department of Homeland Security in your corner. He read through the document, a hint of a smile on his face. The paper was standard twenty-pound bond, but that one sheet was worth over two billion dollars to the company. He set it on his desk and stared at it for a minute or two before diving into the stack of mail. Even being the CEO had its mundane tasks.
The manager at the Fairfield Inn ripped out one article, then set the newspaper on the concierge desk and took the elevator to the fourth floor. He knocked lightly on the hotel room door and waited. A few moments later, the door opened and Jennifer Pearce looked out.
“Can I help you?” she asked. She recognized him as the hotel manager.
“I’m Donald Sarka, with the hotel. Could I speak with you, Dr. Pearce?” he asked.
The sound of the man using her name stunned her for a few seconds, then she backed off from the door and let him in. The door closed behind him. He handed her the article he had torn from the newspaper. “Have you read the paper today?” he asked her.
She stared at her picture. It was a good one, the same picture the paper had run for the announcement that she was moving to Veritas. There was no denying it was she. “Well, I guess you know the answer to that question,” she said, reading the headline.
“I don’t want to pry, Dr. Pearce, but I’ve already stretched one of our rules by allowing you and your friend to pay for your room in cash, without a credit card authorization. And now this. I like my job, Dr. Pearce, and I don’t want to get fired for knowingly harboring someone the police are looking for. I think it would be fair if you told me what was going on.”
Jennifer motioned to the small couch against the wall. The manager sat on the cushions, and Jennifer swung one of the chairs from the table and sat facing him. “It’s kind of a long story, and I’d rather give you the short version, if that’s okay.”
“Short version would be fine, Dr. Pearce.”
“Veritas Pharmaceutical is a dangerous place to work, Mr. Sarka. Two employees, one who was on my team, are dead. And I suspect both those people were killed. Right now, because of some knowledge that I have, I’m concerned for my own safety.”
The look on Donald Sarka’s face was almost amusing. He went a strange off-white color and almost choked when he tried to talk. “I’m used to teenagers running up and down the halls, Dr. Pearce, not companies killing their employees. This is a little out of my league.”
“We’ll move immediately,” she said. “You’re not the only person who will have seen us here. The police will be stopping by at some point, I’m sure.”
The sound of a card being inserted in the slot caused both Jennifer and Sarka to look at the door. It opened and Gordon Buchanan entered. He focused on the hotel manager as he moved toward them. Then he held up a copy of the newspaper and asked, “Is this why you’re here?”
Sarka nodded. “I wanted to know what was going on,” he said. “Dr. Pearce has given me a quick explanation.”
Jennifer added, “I told Mr. Sarka we would be leaving right away.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” Gordon said. “It’ll just take a few minutes for us to pack.”
Sarka rose from the couch. “I’ll work out your bill and bring the leftover cash back up to the room,” he said. “It shouldn’t take me more than five minutes.”
“That would be appreciated,” Jennifer said. “And thanks for asking us what was going on rather than just calling the police.”
“Not a problem,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” He let himself out, the door closing quietly behind him.
Gordon dug into the bag he was carrying. He pulled out a blond wig. “It’s real hair, for whatever that’s worth. I picked it up at the mall after I saw the article in the paper.”
“I’ve always wanted to be a blonde,” she said, pulling the wig over her real hair. “What do you think?”
He surveyed the new look and shook his head. “Not as good as the original, but still pretty darn nice.”
She walked over to the mirror and adjusted it so none of her natural hair showed. “Where do we go from here?” she asked.
“Not sure. We’ll see if you look different enough with the wig and sunglasses for us to go out in public. A lot of people around Richmond will have seen your picture. If no one recognizes you, we can have dinner before we head for White Oak.”
“You’re sure you’re up to checking out the technology park?” she asked. “It could get dangerous.”
He came up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist, breathing lightly on the back of her neck. Her body relaxed into his and they were quiet for a minute. “You know, ever since we met, just being near you has been dangerous,” he said.
“I think it may be the other way around,” she said.
“Well, whichever way it is, I’m sure tonight will be no different.”
61
“She’s in Richmond, at the Fairfield Inn, just off I-64,” the man said. “We had two sightings and a confirmation. It’s definitely her. I just flew in from Washington and I’m on my way over there right now. That guy from Montana, Gordon Buchanan, is with her.”
Bruce Andrews couldn’t help the urge to smile. “Be careful,” he said. “You’re a public figure right now. We don’t need any more press on this.”
“I’ve got two guys with me, Johnny and Ivan. I’ll stay in the backseat, out of sight.”
“Let me know when you’re finished.”
“No problem.” The man snapped the cell phone shut and replaced it in the leather holder on his hip. He glanced at his watch. Four-fifteen. Traffic was just beginning to pick up for the afternoon rush hour. The sun was intense today and the sidewalks in Shockoe Bottom were crowded, a few pedestrians taking their time crossing the road against the DON’T WALK sign. He wanted to jump from the car and kick their asses out of the crosswalk. Picking up Ivan had meant a trip through the crowded streets close to Main Street Station and Shockoe Slip, but he felt the extra time was worth it. He only had two men in Richmond he trusted, and right now he couldn’t be seen abducting Jennifer Pearce from a local hotel. Especially since the police were looking for her, or her body. Way too many questions if he was seen. Even just being in Richmond was risky.
The driver, Johnny Altwater, finally broke free of the traffic snarls and entered the on-ramp for I-64. Rush hour had yet to jam the freeway, and although traffic was heavy it was moving at the speed limit. They took the
