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.
CHAPTER 26
We met up with Parker in a rest area on I-95, just south of Boston. It was six hours since my initial phone call to Nick. Five hours since Nick had managed to get a sneaky message through to Parker, and my boss had given his watchdogs the slip and hotfooted it down to the gym to be waiting by the phone when I called back. And four hours since I’d called again, by which time he’d arranged a substantial float and instructions for a rendezvous.
So, not only smart but bloody efficient, too.
We’d hung around at the mall for as long as we reckoned we could get away with it, then headed towards the meeting point, staying as far away from the populated areas as we could manage.
According to Parker, the story Vondie was putting out—via Collingwood, naturally—was that they’d attempted to flag us down on the road in order to escort us back to New York. At which point we’d opened fire on them in a vicious and unprovoked attack. I’m not sure quite how they explained the obvious signs of a Stinger hit and heavy side impact on the Navigator, but I’m sure the empty brass I’d left behind inside it didn’t help our cause any. Nor did leaving gunshot wounds in two of her team.
New York to Boston, if Parker kept it legal and didn’t get too badly snarled up in traffic, was a four-hour drive. We timed our own arrival at the rest area to be a couple of minutes after his ETA. The less time we had to hang around in the open in a bullet-ridden—and technically stolen—vehicle, the better.