I placed the phone on the counter.
“You’re expecting an important call,” she guessed.
“I can’t really get into it.”
“Wow, you usually spill your guts with me. Must be top secret.” She sat up, leaned closer to my ear. “This have anything to do with the bombing you saw?”
“Can I plead the fifth?”
“Only if you give me the scoop as soon as you’re comfortable doing so.”
Everyone wants the scoop. It reminded me of Tracy, though I dared not verbalize the comparison.
I needed a distraction from the stress of solving the unsolvable, so I asked Poppy how things were going with her and Cristina, who happened to be the younger business partner of Ivy.
“Cristina’s a hoot. We don’t see each other a ton, but she’s like me. She likes to just chill, have some fun every now and then. But man, her mouth…it’s kinda over the top.”
I couldn’t help but stare an extra second. Didn’t she realize she was describing herself? With my nerves still raw, I chose not to agitate her.
“That’s cool. Cristina is nice. She and Ivy do good work.”
“Beats the hell out of tending bar.” She picked up her glass and finished her drink; then she used the towel on her shoulder to wipe her mouth. Again, I stayed mute.
“So, you and Nicole, huh?” She smiled and nodded, shifting her full body in my direction. She was obviously ready to hear some juicy gossip.
My phone rattled. It was Alex. “I gotta take this.” I stepped away from the bar as Poppy said, “Hey, Fred, you want to call Barbara and tell her she’s fired?”
I made it to a booth and answered the call. “Hey, Alex. I wasn’t sure if you had decided to go dark on me.”
“Pfft. I got caught up in a little situation with Jerry, my SSA. But we’re all good now.”
“Have you been able to find anything on Riya?”
“Hold on.”
I heard muffled voices and music. Talking on the phone took a fair amount of concentration for me since I couldn’t see the other person’s lips. Add in ambient noise, and it gave me a headache.
“Just keep it down, Erin, please. I’m on an important call,” Alex shouted. “I’m back. Sorry about that, Ozzie. My sixteen-year-old daughter asked some friends over, and within minutes, I feel like I’m living in their house. Phew. Teenagers…just wait, mister.”
Lots of warnings around the perils of dealing with teens. That was a worry for another day.
“So…” I prompted her.
“I’m with you. I’m actually in the middle of an IM conversation right now with Gretchen. You remember her, right?”
Unlike Alex and her partner Nick, I’d never met Gretchen in person—I only recalled her falsetto-sounding voice when we’d spoken on a couple of nerve-wracking conference calls. Her mind worked like a computer, which was good, because that was what she did—work all things technical to get Alex and her team every snippet of data they needed.
“Yep. Glad you got a little help.”
“She’s not the only person I’ve talked to.”
“Now you have me intrigued. Speak to me.” I could feel a rush of adrenaline.
“Jerry is something else. Back when we had a series of bombings up here, we had to figure out a way to get warrants faster than normal. Usually, at the federal level, you’d have a better chance at passing a law through Congress than getting a warrant approved quickly. But after Jerry and I talked, he made it happen.”
From what I knew of Alex, she probably didn’t give him much of an option. “Thank you. Tell Jerry that I really appreciate his sense of urgency.”
“Well, it is urgent. Told him it was tied to the Austin bombing, which has already been designated as an act of terror. Did you know that?”
I didn’t. If you were personally involved in any violent crime, it’s hard not to think of it as an act of terror, regardless of who or what group was behind the violence. But I guess that label meant wheels turned faster. And that was just what I needed.
“So, where are you right now with everything? Is Gretchen sifting through some data for you?”
“Gretchen hit a home run a while ago. She got access to Riya’s passport information and studied her travels—this woman is quite the globetrotter.”
“Any place that gets your attention?”
“London stood out, and here’s why…”
The phone sounded like it had been put down a drain with the garbage disposal running. A few seconds later, she came back on. “Oh my, I’m going to need a glass of wine before this night is over. To make matters more challenging, Brad is out of town. So, no help on the home front.”
“Sorry. But you were talking about London being significant.”
“Right. Gretchen got Riya’s cell phone records. Crosschecked the numbers with her passport destinations. The same London number was called about two hundred times over a six-month period, the last one coming about eight weeks ago.”
“Don’t tell me. Buckingham Palace?”
“Good one. Actually, the person who owns this number could be viewed as a bit of a prince. His name is Noel Keane.”
“You’re joking about the prince part, right?”
“Only matching your sarcasm. Anyway, Noel, as it turns out, used to be the chief legal counsel for WD Incorporated.”
“WD. Never heard of it.”
“I hadn’t either. We did more digging. Well, I wrangled teenagers while Gretchen did more digging.”
“And what did she find?”
“WD is no longer a company. It was bought out by a bigger firm.”
“Ah, that’s why Keane used to be chief legal counsel.”
“Exactly.”
I put my hand against my other ear, attempting to drown out a table of folks to my right who were having far too much fun. “So, we talked about Riya’s two jobs in India. But are you saying that Riya was somehow involved in this company acquisition?
“We don’t think so. Gretchen had a theory, and she chased it.”
“Where?”
“Social media. It actually didn’t take a lot of work. It was really more the initial idea.”
“Which was?”
“That Riya and Noel were romantically involved.”
Life before Franklin. Riya was stunning, educated, and quite charming. Of course, there had to be someone before Franklin. “And Gretchen found proof they were a couple?”
“Not to get into all the details, but yes. They were pretty serious.”
Someone ran out of the bathroom, slipped on a wet patch on the floor, and barreled into the table at my right. He wasn’t hurt, but it made everyone laugh hysterically. I was too focused to join in.
“Wait, WD and this other company…”
“I was wondering when you’d ask. WD stands for Wonder Drug. And they were bought out by a larger pharmaceutical company based in Berlin for thirty-four billion pounds.”
“I’m not sure of the exchange rate,” I said.
“It’s a lot of fricking money.”
“So Riya herself might have had some knowledge of what goes on within the inner circle of a drug company.”
There was a pause.
“So, Ozzie, what I’m about to tell you is top secret.”
I swallowed. “Okay.”
“That means you can’t tell anyone, no matter who they are.”
“I get it, Alex. You can trust me.”
“You mean like that time you snuck out of the house here in Plymouth?”
This time, I went silent.
“Hey, Oz, I’m just razzing you. If someone had one of my kids, I would have done the same thing.”
I let out a breath. “Good.”
“I spoke to someone I know who works for MI6. Lee Dawson helped me out a while back on this case involving an Irish-American who held a serious grudge against those who’d abandoned the IRA movement.”
“Old wounds, huh?”
“Lots of new ones too. But, to this po
int, I reached out to Lee. With Jerry’s blessing, I was an open book about everything. Lee had heard about the Austin bombing, but he’d not heard about the victim. The name instantly got his attention.”
I gasped out a breath. “Riya was on the radar of MI6?” Maybe I’d completely misread her.
“Only because of her association with Noel Keane. Apparently, there had been a series of deaths that began to have a common thread—they were all related to the business dealings of large corporations. At first, it didn’t get anyone’s attention. One man died of a stroke. He was sixty-eight years old and treated his body like shit. He also happened to be a member of the EMA, basically the European version of our FDA.”
A jolt of electricity zapped the back of my neck. “And there’s more?”
“Plenty. Another woman was forced to resign her position at a prominent law firm after it was revealed by local papers that she was embezzling money from the firm.”
“Doesn’t that happen every day?”
“That part, yes. The next day, she committed suicide by overdosing on sleeping pills. She left a note saying she couldn’t deal with the pressure of knowing her life might end because of her work with a lobbying firm to knowingly use bribes and other means to push a dangerous drug through the approval phase at the EMA.”
“Holy shit. This sounds just like the Drake-FDA corruption case.”
“I didn’t forget about the Vista Labs story you had told me earlier. From what I’ve gleaned since we spoke, the FBI has no knowledge of a middleman being used to broker this drug approval between Calvin Drake and the FDA. So, these text messages that show Franklin’s notes are huge. And frankly, I don’t really give a shit about attorney-client privilege. Didn’t you say some reporter also received a copy?”
“Yep.”
“There you go. So, I’m not worried about it.”
“No clue who sent it to us?”
“Not sure right now. Maybe we can work on it. Right now, there are a lot of moving parts. By the way, did I tell you that the lawyer who committed suicide has three kids under the age of eleven?”
A sharp intake of air. “Damn, Alex.”
“And there’s more, including a scandal of a CEO at a smaller drug company. There were pictures and video of him snorting coke, hanging out with prostitutes. He’d just pulled out of negotiations with a larger pharmaceutical company.”
“Are you saying he was set up?”
“He resigned and denied having anything to do with it.”
I thought for a moment about the video of Franklin from the Four Seasons, the one piece of incriminating evidence that put him near the scene of Pamela’s murder at the right time.
“Lee told me more. Another man who’d apparently just come out as a whistleblower. He was found in his garage with two bullets in the back of his head.”
“He worked at a drug company?”
“Yep.”
“Lee gave me three, four other incidents. There is a lot of belief within the British intelligence community that most, if not all of these incidents, are tied together.”
I looked across the bar and instantly spotted Poppy’s red dreads. She was behind the bar, once again working. Her break had lasted all of five minutes. But at least she was laughing at the moment. Her personality was a tad on the extreme side. But all in all, she seemed content with life. She might think it was too simple, but at least it wasn’t filled with murders and bombings and corruption.
I ran my fingers through my hair and then rubbed my stiff neck. “Are you saying that this Noel Keane guy is also mixed up in this?”
“Lee just knows that Noel is connected to this broader investigation. What role he might be playing, MI6 either doesn’t know, or it’s above Lee’s paygrade. But he’s trying to get more information. Said he’d reach out to me if he was able to garner more information. With Jerry’s backing, we now will open our own investigation. Where it will go, we’re not sure. But he’s assembling a team dedicated to this terrorist attack at the Belmont in Austin, plus the attempt on your life. We’ll also work closely with MI6 and look for other incidents on this side of the pond that might be connected to drug companies.”
“So you think this bombing could be associated with this clandestine group?”
“From my experience, anything is possible. For now, we rule nothing out.”
“Damn.”
“We know that we have this corruption information from you on Franklin. We need to figure out our next steps on all of this. Jerry set up a meeting with me and Nick for the morning. I think someone from the US Attorney’s Office will also be in attendance.”
The scale of this entire case had just grown from something I could more or less comprehend to something so complex, so potentially vast, that it was almost impossible to fathom. While my mind was working double-time trying to figure out my next steps, it felt like a bucket of ice water had just been dropped on my head. Deep down, I could feel a small pit of fear inside of me. It wasn’t something I was accustomed to feeling. Most of that fear centered on the unknown. Who do I trust? What is true, and what is a lie? How far could I take this without risking my life or the lives of my family?
“You still there?” Alex asked.
“Just thinking.”
“Look, I’m hoping to get more information from Lee, maybe by the morning. And I have that early meeting with Jerry. Stay safe, and I’ll get back to you.”
I thanked her for being so helpful, and we ended the call. A number of ideas on where I could take this spun around my mind. For now, only one bubbled to the top. I paid my bill and slipped out of Peretti’s with a final wave to Poppy.
32
On the way to the motel where Nicole and Mackenzie were staying—I had to see them and make sure they were safe and knew how much I loved them—I ignored three phone calls. All were from Brook. On the last one, she left a voicemail, and I listened to it:
“Oz, I’ve been out of pocket all day. Noah took me house hunting. I know…crazy, right? Anyway, I just spoke to Porter, and he told me everything. Thank God you’re okay. I don’t really know how this Riya Patel person connects to Franklin—Porter wouldn’t tell me, for obvious reasons. Noah is worried. I’m worried, not as much about Franklin really…more worried about you. Just checking in to make sure you’re okay. Call me.”
The last thing I needed was pressure coming at me from another angle. Brook was a great friend, but nothing could be gained from us talking at this stage. After my conversation with Alex, I knew I couldn’t share that information with Brook…or anyone, really. By morning, maybe I’d know more on where this thing was headed.
I pulled into the parking lot of the Red Roof Inn. There weren’t a lot of cars in the lot—at least not at the moment. I parked near the front office since Nicole had told me they were staying in room 103.
A light rain began to fall as I exited the Lexus and locked it. I stopped for a second, looking around me in the front of the building and out across the dark night. Red, blue, and green lights from two fast-food restaurants glowed off the shiny rain-slicked street. A few cars drove by, including a pickup that rumbled while spewing smoke out the back. But I saw nothing out of the ordinary.
I walked past the front office, where I spotted an employee leaning on the counter playing with his phone. He had on earbuds. I turned left and spotted the first room. The numbers 142 were affixed to the red door. The architects of the Red Roof Inn had outsmarted me—I figured the rooms with the lowest numbers would be at the front of the building. Whatever. I scratched my head, which was now damp from the rain, and continued walking. The structure was U-shaped. The last door on this side of the building was numbered 120.
I rounded the corner and stopped cold—I’d almost rammed my head into a concrete staircase. Once again, the architects had left me with another surprise. Two more steps, and my eyes went straight to a late-model Ford pickup. A man had his back to me, but it appeared he was shutting his door very delicately.
I scooted under the staircase and peered at him between the steps, not moving a muscle. Sure enough, he turned as he walked onto the sidewalk and looked my way.
My heart shot into the back of my throat.
It was Marco, beard and all. Winston’s PI.
Why was he here?
He turned away from me—apparently I’d been concealed by the darkness.
I looked to the door to my left and saw number 108 on it. I then counted the doors down to where Marco lurked. I was almost certain he was in front of room 103.
Marco was wearing one of those sleeveless jackets. It was black and blended in with his beard. He padded carefully to a window, then looked back to the parking lot and stroked his long beard. Maybe he was wondering if he had the right room. Nicole had taken a cab over to the motel. I still had her Lexus.
Blood rushed to my brain as I struggled to understand why Winston would send his PI here. Was he just watching Nicole and Mackenzie? Did he have other plans? How would he know they were here to begin with? None of it made sense. I was pissed, so fucking pissed that my heart was about to pop out of my chest.
I took a step to the side of the staircase and paused. A thought—a logical one, at that—made its way to my frontal lobe. If I went after Marco, he’d probably have time to jump back in his truck and take off. Then where would I be? I’d know nothing of what he was planning.
I glanced down and found a chunk of concrete that had likely chipped off from the steps. I picked it up and moved to the parking-lot side of the staircase. Marco was back at the window. He slipped his hand inside his jacket.
I didn’t waste another second. I hurled the rock over about five other cars, and it landed with a rattling clang in the bed of Marco’s pickup. He literally jumped in the air and then whirled around, nearly tripping over himself. He regained his balance and jerked his head left and right.
Covered by the staircase, I stayed deathly still.
As he walked over to his truck, I crouched lower and quietly moved behind one of the parked cars, a two-door Toyota. Down on my chest, I looked under the car and spotted Marco’s combat boots. He was still facing his truck. Maybe he hadn’t seen the rock. Or maybe he was as dumb as a rock and hadn’t figured out that someone had thrown one in his truck.
ON Fire (An Ozzie Novak Thriller, Book 5) (Redemption Thriller Series 17) Page 17
