David Ellis - In the Company of Liars

“That’s our murder weapon,” he says, an accusatory tone to his voice.

“I don’t know if it is or it isn’t, Roger, but it’s not in the pictures you sent me.”

“It’s not in our inventory at all.” Ogren is leafing through some papers. “It wasn’t anywhere in the house. She must have taken it with her.”

“Could be.”

“Was his name on it?” Ogren asks.

“Don’t know. Don’t remember. Why?”

“Because if the award didn’t say ‘Sam Dillon’ on it, we might not have noticed it in our search. When we flipped her house. We could have gone right past it.”

“You think Pagone has it at her home?” McCoy asks.

“Don’t know, but I’m not taking any chances.”

“You’re going to search her house again.”

“Damn straight.”

“Roger?” McCoy says, her voice turned up a notch. “Not a word about our bug, right?”

Roger Ogren sighs with disgust. “I’m not going to mess with your device,” he promises. “Hell, don’t takemy word for it-you’ll be able to listen in the whole time we’re there.”

McCoy laughs.

“Thanks, Agent McCoy. You’ve been a real princess.”

“It’s Jane, Roger.” She hangs up the phone and looks at her partner.

Owen Harrick is watching her. “Remind me never to cross you, Jane,” he says.

They wanted him to go to America. Not Washington, D.C., or New York, the obvious spots, but to a large city in the Midwest. It was Ram Haroon who had suggested this city. One of the biggest in the Midwest, two solid universities in town with international-economics programs, good highway access to other cities, if that was where the mission took him.

The mission. They were vague, as Haroon would expect. If put under interrogation, he would not be able to say anything concrete. He did not know how long he would be in the States, though he suspected that the matter would be completed within two years, the time it would take him to complete his degree.

His first year in the States was uneventful. He enjoyed his classes. Liked most of the people he met. Met a couple of women, one of whom was American. It was not until November, last year, that he was approached.

“There will be an American,” they told him. They showed him a picture, told Ram the man would go by the name of “Larry Evans.” They gave Ram no background on Evans. He was working with a scientist at a company called Flanagan-Maxx Pharmaceuticals with its principal headquarters just outside the city. He was working on obtaining a formula for a drug. When the assignment was completed, Larry Evans would hand Ram a piece of paper and maybe a couple of samples of the product. They told Ram nothing more.

But Larry Evans told Ram much more, because he assumed Ram already knew. The drug, Ram learned, would appear to be baby aspirin but would, in fact, contain a deadly ingredient that would ultimately kill-ultimately, not immediately, and that was the point. If children all over Western Europe began falling simultaneously, there would be an outcry. This drug, Larry promised, would kill slowly over months, attacking children’s immune systems, while other children were taking it as well.

The drug could be made rather quickly. Anyone could make a poison. What would take time, Evans explained, was masking the product so that the chemical could not be detected by regulatory agencies.

Ram listened to Evans, noted the lack of any emotional reaction as he described the devastation that these drugs would cause. He was clearly not Islamic, and Ram didn’t know if Evans was anti-Western at all. This was not about idealism. This was about twenty-five million dollars.

For some reason, Evans wanted to explain the details to Ram. From the outset, he wanted Ram’s approval. “This guy, he’s one of their top scientists. He’s got a problem, though. More than one. He likes cocaine and he likes to gamble. He was into a bookie for over fifteen thousand dollars. Now he’s into me for it. I bought the book. I bought this doctor’s debt. Now he owes me. And I’m cutting him in on the prize money, too.”

“You’re sure he can be trusted?” Ram asked.

“I’m sure. He needs me. I’m supplying him cocaine. I give it to him, in moderation. He’ll never get caught, because I won’t let him. And the pharmaceutical company-he’s a top scientist. They have no idea. This guy is testing this stuff, developing this formula, without anyone’s knowledge.”

“And this is not a matter of conscience for this scientist?”

“He doesn’t think we’re killing anyone,” Evans said, laughing. “He thinks this is for preventive research. It’s illegal, yeah, he knows that. He thinks I’m working for a foreign government. But he doesn’t think I’m selling it to you.” Larry tapped Ram’s arm. “I’m telling him what he wants to hear,” he said. “He’s so caught up in drugs and trying to keep his head above water, he’ll believe what I tell him.”

“I am not entirely satisfied,” Ram said.

“Look-this guy’s life got turned upside down. His wife left him, he got in a bad way with drugs. I’m telling him to develop something for me that won’t be used to kill anyone-it will be used to save lives-and he’ll get a couple million dollars in a foreign bank account when it’s over. He can retire, move somewhere, start a new life. This guy’s not going anywhere. And you know what he really wants? He wants me to bring him more free cocaine. Every day.”

Ram shook his head.

“You thinkIwant to get caught?” Larry Evans asked. “If I get the first inkling that this guy is turning, I’ll be out of the country before you are. Believe me.”

Class dismissed. The twelve students in his seminar on international human rights rise almost simultaneously. Two of them go to chat with the professor, which Ram Haroon has done as well from time to time, in line with his instructions to be in the middle of the pack in everything he does.

Ram walks out of the classroom and heads upstairs to the school’s library. He walks over to a set of carrels reserved for audio recordings. Most of the lectures are recorded now, and many research materials-especially many from foreign sources-are on audio only. Ram walks past the carrels and fakes a cough. He sees Larry Evans, sitting in one of the carrels with headphones on. Ram walks to a water fountain and takes a quick drink, then turns around and walks to the carrel where Larry Evans sat only moments ago.

Evans is gone. Ram pulls the chair out and finds a scribbled note taped under the seat.

Everything looks good. It seems clear that Dillon knew nothing about this. There was something else going on at the company, something not even remotely close to this. It was related to the company bribing state lawmakers to get a prescription-drug bill passed. No one will ever connect it to us. The good doctor has been assured. He is back at work. We are back in business.

I will still keep an eye out. I’ll let you know, but the bottom line is, don’t worry. If she knows something, I’ll find out.

Ram Haroon looks around. There have been unexpected, unwelcome developments. A man named Dillon is dead, a man who might have known.How he could have known about this is anyone’s guess. It’s hard to believe, and Ram does not believe, in his heart, that Sam Dillon knew anything. Which means that Allison Pagone does not, either. But he must be clear with Evans. He will have to insist, at some point, on his terms, that Allison Pagone be eliminated. He must insist that no chances be taken. No more mistakes can be made.

Allison has shopped at a different Countryside Grocery Store before, where she and Mat used to live, but this is her first time setting foot in one for years. She likes the anonymity, from the outset, not knowing the butcher and deli clerks, not having to look at the expressions on their faces when she approaches.