Nicholas Van Straten hadn’t made it, but the entire board of Meditech were under federal investigation and looking at the business end of twenty years in prison, corporate buccaneering now seen by the great American public for what it had been all along, high seas robbery.
There had been worldwide outrage at the use of the detainees. Middle Eastern countries in particular had had a field day, although Russia remained strangely silent. China didn’t chip in either, figuring, with typical neo- communist efficiency, that here, finally, was a productive use for dissidents. Congress and the President spun it as proof positive of the greater need for federal regulation over private enterprise, and no one on Wall Street dared contradict them, for fear that lights would be shone into other areas.
‘I gotta go say hello to a few people. You wait for me,’ Lock said, excusing himself.
‘I’ve waited this long, haven’t I?’ Carrie said, brushing away a stray strand of blonde hair from her face.
Lock approached Frisk and put out his hand. Frisk looked like he wasn’t sure whether to thank Lock or strangle him, so they kept it brief.
Don Stokes was being led back to a Department of Corrections truck when Lock caught up with him.
Lock glanced back at the grave. ‘I’m sorry about your sister.’
‘She stayed true to her beliefs.’
Lock didn’t have anything in reply that wouldn’t spark an argument. He was done with people. And their beliefs.
‘How you dealing with prison?’ he asked.
‘It ain’t as bad as you painted it.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘It’s worse.’
Lock was watching Don being put back in the DOC van when Carrie joined him at the bottom of the hill.
‘So what now?’ she asked him.
He turned to look at her. ‘You tell me.’
Her apartment still felt like a home. When Carrie went into the kitchen and closed the door behind her he scanned the potographs in the living room. Paul hadn’t made a reappearance. It was about the only thing that had truly preyed on his mind when he was in isolation.
Carrie called through from the kitchen. ‘There’s someone else here who’s missed you.’
‘You missed me?’ Lock asked, unable to keep the smile from his face.
‘Maybe just a little.’
He stepped through into the kitchen. Angel greeted him at the door, her tail a blur. Lock scratched behind her ear. She thumped one of her back legs against the floor by way of appreciation.
‘What you been feeding her? She’s put on weight,’ he said, stepping back and taking a better look.
Carrie laughed. ‘She’s pregnant.’
Lock studied the dog. ‘Guess you’re not so much of an angel after all.’
‘I spoke to Richard Hulme. Asked him if Josh might want the pick of the litter.’
‘What’d he say?’
‘He said he’d love one. They’re moving out to Washington, and he’s going back to work for the CDC.’
‘It’ll never work. Richard’s got way too developed a sense of morality to work for the government.’
‘I think it’ll be good for him. And Josh. There are too many bad memories in that apartment of theirs.’
‘Some pretty good memories in this one,’ Lock said, looking around.
‘What you thinking about, cowboy?’
‘Ah, nothing, forget it.’
She handed him a steaming mug of coffee.
‘Thanks.’
‘I’ve been doing some thinking too,’ Carrie said.
He could feel his heart jump back into his throat. ‘Oh yeah?’
‘I was thinking that maybe you’d like to stay here for a while. Look after the new arrivals when they get here.’
‘You’re asking me to provide close protection to a bunch of mutts?’
‘So, what do you say?’
Lock wrapped his arms around her waist, and frowned. ‘Guess it might keep me out of trouble.’
My thanks to:
Luigi Bonomi, for leading the kick-ass security advance party at LBA. Luigi is to agenting what Tiger Woods is to golf.
Steely-eyed dealer of death, Selina Walker, and the rest of the counter-attack team at Transworld, for their hard work, passion and commitment.
Rienk Tychon for beating everyone else to the punch, and Holger Kappel for showing such great taste.
Through the entire process, I have been surrounded by a personal escort section worthy of an unpopular head of state. Special thanks must go to Gregg Hurwitz for being such an inspiration, Andy Carmichael for instructing me in the black arts of the grey man, and all our family and friends on both sides of the Atlantic.
During the writing, Diesel headed my canine support unit, ably assisted by Angel (the world’s least appropriately named Labrador), Dfor, Magic and Silver.
Finally, to my two-woman residential security team, Marta and Caitlin. I love you both so much.
