Free The Egyptian by Layton Green Page B

bodyguard moved to follow. Whatever had happened, however it had gone down, this was not good. He’d have to lay low until this blew over, and be more careful with his business partners. No, not good at all.
    Jax ducked into the press of people, lost himself in the crowd, and exited on Lexington. He was positive neither of the men had followed him, and he took a circuitous route to his hotel. Time to grab his things and get the hell out of New York.
    He ducked into his room, threw his bag together, and stepped into the hallway. Four Arab men greeted him with raised handguns. Before he could utter his first bribe, one of them hit him on the temple with the butt of a gun.

– 13 –
     
    V eronica sat on her couch with her legs crossed in the lotus position. She closed her laptop and turned her full attention to her cup of coffee. The breeze from the bedroom window entered the living room and feathered her at the end of its journey. She sank into her chenille bathrobe.
    She hovered over her coffee for a long time before reaching for her cell and punching in Monique’s number. Veronica handed in finished copy to Monique, and Monique suggested most of her assignments. In most circles she would be called her boss, although Veronica preferred to think of her as her liaison.
    Monique grew up in the Bronx, and possessed a joint degree in law and public health from Columbia. She’d been a field researcher with the W.H.O., an attorney for the UN, and now worked in the upper echelons of the IBMO. Combine a childhood in the Bronx with intimate knowledge of the international legal system with first-hand experience in some of the world’s poorest hot zones and, to Veronica’s mind, out should pop a woman with a personal ethos somewhere between jaded and nihilistic. Perhaps that was so, but Monique didn’t show it.
    Monique answered on the first ring, and Veronica got her mental image. A middle-aged black woman, annoyingly svelte and put together, foundation concealing lack of sleep, wearing a fabulous pair of shoes, checking her email and filling out reports and eating a bagel and skimming the news and doing five other things while she tried to talk to Veronica. Brilliant and scatter-brained. Veronica loved her, but often wanted to strangle her.
    Monique rushed her words, as always. “Coming in today? Want to snag lunch?”
    “I might. Have you got a sec?”
    “One, darling. Lots going on. Nice piece on BioGorden, by the way.”
    “Thanks. I know we’ve discussed a few options for my next piece—how set are you on any of them?”
    “You tell me. Which one should I be set on? Oh wait just a minute, let me just… there… sent. If I had to choose right now I like the one about security at the CDC.”
    “I might have something else. Something new. I wanted to gauge your interest.”
    “I am… Friday is not going to work for that… I don’t think Thursday will either… my interest in what?”
    “Monique, drop what you’re doing and listen to me. Please. It’s kind of an odd story, but I ran into a guy, some sort of investigator, who might be going after Somax. I’m not sure what for, but I think it could be big. I’m positive no one else knows about this. I met him purely by accident at the BioGorden protest.”
    Veronica could see Monique frowning into the phone. “We’re not the Enquirer, Vere. We’re not even Sixty Minutes.”
    “Somax does real science and you know it. Controversial, unethical, maybe criminal, but real. They go places others won’t.”
    “And?”
    “I admit it’s a bit of a hunch. But I’ll bet the house it involves the good stuff. This guy was peppering East about it.”
    Veronica knew Monique liked the aging angle. Biomedical engineering was going to be
the
science of the twenty-first century. Nothing had more implications, for disease and sustainable longevity and worldwide health in general, than aging research.
    Monique’s tone changed, became more involved. “What do you have? I