The Protector

11

While Jamie idled the car, Cavanaugh pressed numbers on a pay phone at the side of a shopping mall's parking lot. The setting sun cast his shadow.

On the other end, the phone rang three times.

"Hello?" Rutherford's deep voice said.

"This is the Peking Duck restaurant. I'm calling to confirm that someone at your phone number just ordered a hundred and twenty-six dollars' worth of takeout," Cavanaugh said.

"The MSG you put in that stuff gives me a headache." Rutherford sounded as if he had one.

"Makes me feel bloated," Cavanaugh said. The exchange was the all-clear signal they'd agreed upon.

"There's absolutely no indication that Prescott or his lab had anything to do with addiction research for the Drug Enforcement Administration. That's not even something they normally get into. It's National Institutes of Health stuff."

Traffic noises in the parking lot forced Cavanaugh to press the phone harder against his ear. "You think NIH is where I should go next?"

"No. Go to the source."

"If you're talking about Prescott's lab, I spent the day at George Washington University's library. I couldn't find anything about the lab in print or on the Internet."

"I did. There wasn't any indication of what it does, but it's at-"

A pickup truck with a noisy muffler went by. "What? I didn't hear the next part."

"I said the lab's at a place called Bailey's Ridge in Virginia."

"Where's that?"

Rutherford gave him directions, then added, "Sorry I couldn't have helped more."

"You helped plenty. Thanks. I'll send over that Chinese food."

"Don't bother. I wasn't kidding about MSG and headaches."

"I'll call you tomorrow. By then, I'll have more questions."

"Fine with me."

"Same number. Same time." Cavanaugh hung up the phone, wiped his prints from the receiver, and got into the Taurus.

"Learn anything?" Jamie asked.

"Yeah, somebody had a gun to his head. Get us out of here before a bunch of cars rush toward this pay phone, looking for us."