Third Strike

CHAPTER 25

We found a big shopping mall with four main department stores at its center and a rake of smaller shops scattered in between. The best thing was that one of the big stores had underground parking as well as the sprawling acres of asphalt up top. Sean drove the pickup into a corner of the second level underground and we left it there, nose to the wall. It left the plate on view, but we reckoned the bullet holes in the front windscreen would attract much more attention. And if the cops came checking plates on every red Ford F-350 they could find, we were likely screwed anyway.

The phone call was not one I was looking forward to making, but there was nobody else I could nominate. Determined to get it over with as fast as possible, I left Sean and my parents in the truck and took the nearest elevator up into the mall itself, pausing only to check the location of the payphones.

They turned out to be in the bustling Food Court, a recessed area at the far end of the mall. Restaurants lined three sides of a central square filled with tables and chairs like a school canteen. It seemed odd to find ladies in power suits, their feet surrounded by high-class carrier bags, lunching together in such a setting.

The mingling smells of fast food—stir-fry Chinese as well as the usual pizza, burgers, pretzels, and frosted doughnuts—hit my stomach hard and, though it quavered a little, I found I was actually hungry. It seemed a long time since breakfast, despite the fact that my watch told me lunch wasn’t yet strictly overdue.

Nevertheless, my stride faltered. Whoever said an army marches on its stomach knew their human nature. And, besides, who knew when we’d get the chance to eat again? I fingered the diminished fold of dollar bills in my pocket.

Let’s see what happens in the next ten minutes before we go blowing the funds, shall we?

The phones were halfway down the painted block corridor that led to the rest rooms, so there was a constant stream of people passing by, but nobody lingered as if to catch me making my illicit call, and there were no obvious surveillance teams at work. I shook myself for this creeping paranoia. Did Collingwood really have the manpower—not to mention the clout—to cover every payphone in the area, at this notice, just in case?

Get a grip, Fox!

I reached the phones and dialed the number quickly, before I had a chance to back out. The phone seemed to ring out for a long time before anyone picked up but, when they did, it was the guy I’d been hoping for.

I listened while he went through his ritual greeting, welcoming the caller to the facility and identifying himself by name.

“Hi, Nick,” I said, trying for casual and not quite bringing it off. “You know who this is. Please—don’t hang up.”

I had no idea if Collingwood might be using some kind of recognition software to monitor phone calls made to anywhere connected to Parker or to me and Sean. If so, that would naturally include the gym a few blocks away from the office, where I’d so recently had my dramatic run-in with my personal trainer. Was it enough of a link that Parker’s company had a group membership there? One way to find out.

I’d rarely had cause to speak to Nick on the phone and I wasn’t sure if he’d recognize my voice without a name attached to it. His sharply indrawn breath told me that he did.

“I got nothing to say to you, lady,” he said, aggressive and sulky both at the same time. In the background I could hear the clank of fixed-weight machines being worked through innumerable sets of reps, the beat of music from the aerobics studio next door. “You nearly got me fired!”

“Then just listen,” I said. “This is serious, Nick. We need your help.”

“Huh!” The dismissive sound came out explosively loud in my ear. It clearly turned some heads at his end, 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.