Chapter 5 #3
The moment their door clicked shut behind them, Chloe dug into her jacket pocket, her heart still hammering from their escape. She needed to review the video she’d recorded of Dr. Radi?’s confrontation, make sure she’d captured everything clearly.
Her hands trembled as she searched her pockets.
No phone.
“Skeet.”
He had gone to the window overlooking Bangkok.
“My phone is gone.”
He turned, frowned. “What?”
“My phone. It’s not here.” She pulled everything from her pockets onto the coffee table, but she already knew it was pointless.
Wallet, credentials, lip balm, everything else—but no phone.
“All my photos from the villages. The recordings of Dr. Tobias before he died. The video I just took of Dr. Radi?. Everything.”
She sank onto the sofa.
Months of investigation.
Gone.
The only solid evidence they had of . . . well, whatever was going on—vanished.
“The woman in the garage,” Skeet said grimly, moving to sit beside her on the sofa. “She must have lifted it during the escape.”
“But she saved us.” Chloe’s voice sounded hollow even to her own ears.
“Did she? Or did she just make sure we couldn’t prove what we saw?”
She stared at him, then at the scattered contents of her pockets, trying to process the magnitude of what they’d lost.
“We still have what we overheard,” she said. “Dr. Radi?’s phone call. His reaction when he learned that children are dying.”
“Our word against that of some so-called respected pharmaceutical researcher. And a scared man who’s being coerced into cooperation.”
“Then we go to the resort. Get proof.”
Skeet was quiet for a long moment, studying her. Silence stretched between them, filled with the hum of air-conditioning and the distant sounds of Bangkok traffic.
“We’re walking into a trap,” he said finally.
“I know.”
“Volkov might know we’re onto him. His people might be watching for us.”
“I know that too.”
“And we have no backup. No evidence. No proof of anything except what we think we heard in a parking garage.”
Chloe met his gaze.
He hung a hand behind his neck. “I’m trying to make sure you understand what we’re getting into.”
“Children are dying, Skeet. Dr. Radi? is being forced to continue research that’s killing innocent people. And now Volkov—if that is even his real name—knows that two journalists are asking questions.” She leaned forward, hands clenched in her lap. “We’re the only ones who can stop this.”
He nodded slowly. Something in his expression shifted—acceptance, maybe, or resignation. “Then I guess we’re going to Phuket.”
Jake was going to kill him.
Part of Skeet—the logical, tactical part—wanted to shove Chloe onto the next plane to Minnesota. Get her away from Bangkok, away from Volkov, away from whatever this was before it swallowed them both.
And away from the fact that he’d failed to protect her.
In fact, he’d nearly gotten her killed with his brilliant idea to follow Radi?. And now they had no evidence. He blew out a breath. This was such a bad idea—
Wait.
He pulled out his phone, scrolled through photos. “I got a shot of Volkov talking to Dr. Radi? in the hallway.”
She turned, and shoot but he liked the way her eyes lit up. “Let me see.” She came over and stood beside him as he showed her the shot.
It showed Volkov’s profile and Radi?’s face. But the second shot had caught Volkov staring out into the lobby.
Bingo.
“Can you identify him from this?”
“I can’t. But I know someone who can.” He scrolled through contacts, found Hamilton’s number.
Two rings and Hamilton’s voice came through crisp and alert despite the late hour in Minnesota. “Skeet. Please tell me you’re not calling because Chloe’s gotten herself kidnapped.”
She glanced at him, her eyes wide. He held up a hand. So, clearly she could hear Ham.
“Not yet. But we’ve got a problem.” Skeet put the phone on speaker. “We were nearly, um . . . well, we had a little kerfuffle in the hotel parking garage.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah, but we need facial recognition on a subject. Guy goes by the name of Leonid Volkov. We’re not sure if that’s legit. But he’s posing as a pharmaceutical researcher, so if that’s true, he probably has academic credentials and international connections.”
“What kind of international connections are we talking?”
“The kind that involves weaponizing traditional medicine and—” Chloe started.
Skeet held up a hand, gave a look that said, ix-nay on the urder-may.
Right. Good way to shut this whole thing down.
Silence. Then, “Hey, Chloe.”
“Ham.” Her mouth pinched. “You didn’t have to send Skeet.”
Silence as Skeet’s mouth opened, agape. What?
Then she smiled. “But thanks.”
. Okay then.
“Skeet. Send me what you’ve got. I’ll put Coco on it,” Ham said.
“Coco?” Chloe asked.
“She’s a white hat hacker we have access to. She’ll have your ID within the hour.”
Skeet uploaded the photo, set the phone aside. Chloe had moved to the window, staring out at Bangkok’s skyline as if she could find answers in the neon-lit sprawl.
“You okay?”
“Define okay.” She turned back toward him. “I’ve lost all my evidence, we’re being hunted by people who seem to be experimenting on children, and the only lead we have is a man who may or may not be an international pharmaceutical terrorist.”
“When you put it like that . . .”
“It sounds insane. I know.” She walked over to the sofa and sat down. “What can we do? Let Volkov disappear with his research? Let more children die while we file reports and hope someone in authority takes us seriously?”
He had an answer. How about keep her safe? Get her out of Thailand, back to her family in Minnesota, somewhere Volkov’s people couldn’t reach her. Let Jones, Inc., handle the dangerous work while she went back to writing articles from the safety of America.
Except that wasn’t who she was. And if he tried to force her into that box, he’d lose her trust completely.
And then he’d be back at the beginning, chasing her down, maybe even throwing her over his shoulder to get her to safety. And wouldn’t that make for a happy ending.
Which he was starting to consider. Because yes, despite the last hour of adrenaline, being with her had ignited something inside, a feeling he couldn’t quite name.
A feeling he needed to pay attention to because he couldn’t have a repeat of his terrible history in Myanmar. Where his emotions had overridden tactical judgment and gotten people killed.
So yeah, he needed to keep his head. And keep her close.
And ignore whatever might be stirring inside him.
He sat down beside her, close enough that he could feel warmth radiating from her skin. “So we go to the resort.”
“We go to the resort.”
His phone buzzed. Text from unknown number:
Unknown number
This is Coco. Your guy has a name. Call me.
Skeet dialed, put it on speaker.
“Well, I finally meet the famous Skeet Blackwood,” a female voice said. “Hamilton’s told me about you. Former SEAL, current Jones, Inc., operative with a tendency to get in over his head.”
“Nice to meet you too, Coco.”
“And you must have Chloe Silver with you. The reporter who’s been poking at things that bite back.”
Chloe leaned closer to the phone. “You identified him? That was fast.”
“Wasn’t hard. He’s using his real name. Dr. Leonid Volkov, fifty-eight, Russian national currently affiliated with the University of Moscow.
World-renowned expert in ethnobotanical medicine, specifically the pharmaceutical applications of traditional plant compounds.
Papers published in every major journal, speaks at conferences worldwide, consulted for WHO, UNICEF, and about a dozen pharmaceutical companies. ”
“Sounds like a humanitarian,” Chloe said.
“On paper, sure. But here’s where it gets interesting.
About a year ago, he started accepting private funding for research into ‘enhanced nutritional interventions for displaced populations.’ Funding that comes from a shell company that traces back to a holding company that eventually disappears into the kind of financial black hole that usually involves arms dealers or . . . the Russian mob.”
Skeet’s chest tightened. “How much funding?”
“Fifty million dollars. Way more than anyone needs for legitimate nutritional research, and way less than you’d expect for a proper bioweapons program. Perfect amount for something in between.”
“Like field testing,” Chloe said quietly.
“Exactly. And here’s the kicker—this weekend he’s scheduled to speak at something called the Medical Innovation Retreat at the Keemala Resort in southern Phuket.
Very exclusive, very private, very expensive.
The kind of place where you can have sensitive conversations without worrying about eavesdroppers. ”
Skeet grabbed a pen, started writing. “How many attendees?”
“Twelve confirmed guests, plus Dr. Volkov. All pharmaceutical executives, research scientists, or venture capitalists with interests in emerging medical technologies. And here’s something that’ll make your day—one of the confirmed attendees was supposed to be Dr. Marko Radi?.”
“Supposed to be?”
“As of two hours ago, his registration was cancelled. Officially due to ‘unexpected illness.’”
Chloe’s face went pale. “They killed him.”
“I can’t confirm that from here, but if I were a betting woman .
. .” Coco’s voice trailed off. “My guess is that someone wanted to make sure he wouldn’t be talking to the wrong people at that resort.
Speaking of which, there’s something else you should know.
Ham told me about your fun and games, and I pulled security footage from the garage.
I found that woman who helped you escape.
Dark hair, approximately thirty years old, professional-photographer equipment. ”
“Yeah,” Skeet said.
“She’s an operative who goes by the alias ‘Lynx’ in certain circles.”
“Certain circles?”
“The kind where people pay very well for information, documents, and other valuable items. She works for a highly secretive organization called the Black Swans.”