Chapter Fifty-Six
SIX MILES UPRIVER from Walker’s forward operating base, Walt Kimbel and Carloyn Boyle prepped Derek Matheson on the particulars of his upcoming speaking engagement at the BioFrontiers Summit in Dallas.
With the heat on operations in New Orleans, Kimbel would stay behind on damage control while Matheson and his EVP of marketing handled the event in Texas.
“Remember,” Carolyn said, “this is a victory lap. Everyone in that room wants to be you.”
“There will be jealous parties,” Kimbel interjected, “but that just means your success and that of Genyra Pharmaceuticals has eclipsed all competitors. Enjoy it. This is your time.”
Kimbel’s phone buzzed and he glanced at the caller ID.
Matheson noticed that it was his burner phone.
“Excuse me,” Kimbel said. “I need to take this.”
He moved into the next room while Matheson and Carolyn continued to go over the attendee list. When he returned, his face was lacking the color of moments earlier.
“Carolyn, I need to talk with the boss. Give us a moment?”
“I think we are about wrapped up,” Matheson said. “We can go over any additional details on the flight. Thank you, Carolyn.”
“Thank you, sir. See you tomorrow.”
As she gathered her things, Matheson couldn’t help but wonder what was under her black pantsuit. She was always so dammed professional. Maybe this trip to Dallas without Kimbel in tow would be the time.
Stay away from the help, especially your executive team.
Kimbel sat and tapped his phone against his knee, waiting until he was certain that Carolyn was gone.
“What is it?” Matheson asked.
“That news I gave you about our mystery killer not being a problem any longer seems to have been premature.”
“Damn it, Walt! You told me the problem had been eliminated.”
Matheson stood and walked to the window, his back to his chief commercial officer.
“I know, sir. That is what I was told.”
“Incompetent assholes! The body. I specifically asked about the body.” He turned back around.
“I know.”
“Well, now fucking what?”
“It’s, uh, worse than him just being alive.”
“Of course it is.”
“He may have killed another cop.”
“Jesus.”
“And…”
“And what?”
“And, it’s possible he stole the officer’s weapons, a rifle and pistol.”
“So, not only is he still alive, but he killed another cop connected to us and has that cop’s guns? Are we on his radar?”
“That’s unlikely but unknown.”
“I want you to brief Harris on all this, on the additional threat, part I mean.”
“I will, sir.”
“Now what?”
“Vargas is sending a team.”
“Well, that’s something.”
“And we now have a name: Chris Walker.”
“Who the fuck is Chris Walker?”
“They said he’s a former SEAL.”
“Like a Navy SEAL?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Fucking terrific. Professional killers. I’ve seen the movies.”
“There’s more. He also worked for the CIA.”
“What?” Matheson exploded.
“I know, sir, but they assure me he will be taken care of.”
“They already assured us of that. Why don’t they just put out an APB on this Walker guy and have every cop in the state looking for him?”
“I try to protect you from most of this, sir. There are some things you don’t need to know.”
“You just told me that some SEAL assassin CIA psycho with an arsenal who’s killed three cops is coming after me. I need to know!”
“I didn’t say that, sir. He probably doesn’t know who you are.”
“Probably, Christ! Listen to yourself.”
“Let me put it this way: our contacts in NOPD don’t want this guy talking. It’s only a matter of time.”
“Time is running out, as is my patience, to say nothing of Vargas. Jesus, Walt, they don’t call him Cuchillo as a term of endearment.”
“Vargas needs us and he needs his network of bought-and-paid-for law enforcement.”
“Chris Walker. Jesus. I’m tempted to start drinking again.”
“They’ll find him, sir, either the cops or Vargas’s crew. Let me put it this way: I wouldn’t want to be Chris Walker right now.”
“For all our sakes, let’s pray they find him before he finds us.”