“You know what it comes down to, Brynn. You already said. Worst-case scenario? You had the means to try to save Violet and didn’t.” He touched the pocket of her coat that contained the vial. “As long as you’re in possession of the game ball, you’re winning.”
She looked at him for a few seconds longer, then said in a rushed voice, “If I could get on a flight to Knoxville tonight, I could be on the Griffins’ doorstep first thing in the morning.”
“Amidst media.”
“But the Griffins would welcome me with open arms. I’m sure of that. I could lay it all out to them. They may say no to the GX-42, but at least they’ll have been given a choice. If they agree, we’ll devise a way for me to do the infusion.”
“If they say no?”
“I’ll bring it back to Richard Hunt.”
“By eight p.m.?”
“I bet they would cancel their flight crew’s weekend off.”
He checked his watch. “With the mess the airlines are in, there probably won’t be a flight tonight.”
“I’ll rent a car.”
“Are you up to making that drive?”
“How long will it take?”
“However long, you were up all night last night and only got a short nap today.”
“One way or another, I’m going.” She leaned forward and said to the driver, “Take us to the airport, please.”
The driver grimaced into the rearview mirror. “Traffic on both interstates is going nowhere fast. If you’re trying to make a flight—”
“Do your best,” Rye said.
The driver shot him a resentful look. “This thing doesn’t have wings, you know.”
Rye huffed a laugh. “Yeah, I know. But I’ve got a twenty in my pocket that can be yours on top of the fare, plus the expected fifteen percent, if you stopping bitching and drive. But don’t take the exit to the main terminals. Take the one just before it.”
Brynn said, “Back way?”
“Back alley.”
“What’s there?”
“Lots of porn.”
Chapter 22
8:58 p.m.
Delores ended the call with a decisive tap on her phone screen. “They missed them by minutes.”
Nate, still seated at the desk where she had assigned him a place, ran his hand over the top of his head. Richard gripped the rolled armrests of the easy chair in which he sat, an evident attempt to keep himself from flying into a rage.
Only by an act of will did Delores keep her voice steady as she recounted for them everything Goliad had told her. “According to him, they must have used an emergency exit. It’s the only way they could have gotten out of the building unseen. He doesn’t know if they left the premises on foot, or if they have transportation now, but either way, they disappeared. He’s spent the past twenty minutes cruising through the complex in search of them.”
“Did you give Goliad her home address?”
“He’s on his way there now. But she would be a fool to go home, and she’s no fool, which has become all too obvious.” She turned to Nate. “How could you have let her out of your sight before checking the box to be certain that the vial was in there?”
“She didn’t sneak the drug while I was with her,” he exclaimed. “Blame your two watchdogs. They were with her for hours. You should be castigating them, not me.”
Delores hugged her elbows, running her hands over her upper arms in agitation. To a large extent, Nate was right, but she’d be damned before admitting it. Besides, who was he to correct her? He was getting way above himself.
“Well,” she said, “we can be glad we made that preemptive strike. The girl is hundreds of miles away, surrounded by media and medical personnel. Dr. O’Neal can’t get to her. But we must get to Dr. O’Neal.” She checked her wristwatch. “Need I remind anyone that we now have less than twenty-four hours to start the infusion?”
She went to Richard’s chair, bent over the back of it, and hugged him from behind. “We’ve been under shorter deadlines, darling.” She kissed the top of his head, then turned to Nate. “What was the pharmacologist’s last stand on sneaking another vial?”
“He’s unbending. The offer of more money didn’t faze him. And, he, uh, raised another sticking point.” He left the desk, went to the bar, and helped himself to three fingers of their best scotch.
Delores said, “Well?”
Nate shifted his gaze to Richard, who sat contained, but rather like a volcano building up pressure before an eruption. Delores recognized the signs. Nate did not. He faced Richard squarely.
“During our last conversation, the pharmacologist used the word ‘transparency.’ More than once.”
“In what context?” Richard asked.
“The upcoming Senate committee hearing. I believe it’s scheduled for week after next?” He sipped his drink, cleared his throat. “The opioid crisis has created a rush—many fear a dangerous rush—to put treatment drugs on the market. This has placed the commissioner of the FDA and the heads of several pharmaceutical companies in the hot seat to defend their haste. You’re sitting on that committee, Richard, as an outspoken critic of the accelerated testing, and as a banner carrier for enforcing stricter regulations.”
“You’re telling me things I already know, Nate,” he said. “And the crisis I’m most concerned about tonight is the one taking place in this sitting room.” To emphasize the last four words, he made stabbing motions toward the floor with his index finger.
“I understand, of course,” Nate said. “But, you’ve been advocating a ‘clamp-down’ on the sponsors of experimental drugs, especially those covered by the Orphan Drug Act. You’re quoted as saying it’s not ‘cost effective’ to spend millions on developing a drug when relatively few patients will benefit from it. As you know, GX-42 falls into that category.”
He paused to let all that sink in, although Delores had gotten his point, and so had Richard.
Nate swirled the scotch in his glass. “This has created a moral dilemma for the pharmacologist. He’s conflicted over providing it to you, when you’re on a soapbox demanding budget cuts that would curtail its testing. To paraphrase him, it’s like you want to squeak in under the wire before limitations, heatedly endorsed by you, are implemented.”
Richard’s fingers turned white with tension around the armrest. “To a man of integrity, as, according to you, this scientist is, I can see where that might create a moral dilemma.”
“Well, then—”
“But you have no integrity, Nate.” He leveled his fiercest glare on him. “How dare you take the high ground. Do not speak to me about moral dilemmas, or transparency. In short, do not fuck with me again.”
Those reverberating words were punctuated by a buzzer, signaling someone at the estate entrance gate. “Media, no doubt,” Delores said. “Trying to follow up today’s story about that girl. The housekeeper will take care of it.”
She picked up her gold lighter and fiddled with it, turning it end on end as she began to pace. “For the time being, let’s assume that the pharmacologist is a lost cause. Where would Brynn O’Neal have gone, Nate?”
“I—”
“Excuse me, Senator, Mrs. Hunt.” The housekeeper was standing in the open doorway. “A Deputy Don Rawlins is at the gate. He says it’s important that he see you.”
Nate covered his face with both hands. “Don’t these clowns ever give up?”
Delores spun around to confront him, demanding, “What could they want with us?”
“I have no idea,” Nate said. “When they saw me out of the parking garage, they were eating humble pie for wasting my time.”
Turning to the housekeeper, Delores said, “Tell them that we’ve retired—”
Richard cut her off. “Let them in.” The housekeeper withdrew to carry out the order. Richard said to Nate and Delores, “Information is power. Let’s see what they have to say. Maybe they’ve uncovered something useful to us about Dr. O’Neal or the pilot.”
Nate downed his scotch. Delores checked her hair and lipstick in the wall mirror and was standing in her “senator’s wife pose”—feet in fourth position, hands clasped at her waist—when the housekeeper led the two officers into the sitting room.