Sometimes you just need to escape. For crooked politicians, military brass from third-world nations, and white-collar criminals looking to avoid either prison or a deadlier form of payback, there’s Exit Strategy. With just one call, Exit Strategy helps these wealthy-but-wanted types disappear completely. They can fake your death, give you a new name and face, and launder whatever ill-gotten funds you need to establish a new life on the other side of the world.
When Jordan Parrish, the brilliant founder of a medical technology start-up, made the call, he thought he had no other way out. With his marriage in shambles and his company on the brink of financial ruin, it seemed the only way to make things right. But after his exit, he began to wonder about the circumstances that led him to make that momentous decision: was someone, in fact, working against him? To find out, Jordan will have to break the cardinal rule of Exit Strategy: you can never, ever go back.
Charlton Pettus’s Exit Strategy is a cutting-edge, globe-trotting thriller about the type of shadowy organization that most of us have long suspected exists behind the scenes.
EXIT STRATEGY
A Novel
Charlton Pettus
AP
LVM
Contents
Before
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
After
Acknowledgments
BEFORE
As Jordan saw it there were only three options: nothing, the pills or the number. If he did nothing, he knew exactly how it would go. First he’d lose the company, then the house and finally his family, assuming you didn’t count them as lost already. In a few months everything he loved would be gone.
Option B, then, the pills. Dr. Rosen had written the prescriptions after they’d lost the baby. (Say her name. Elizabeth. Her name was Elizabeth.) Zoloft for Stephanie and sleepy red Seconal for Jordan. Steph had taken hers dutifully, almost mechanically, until the day she’d simply stopped. Jordan had hoarded. He rolled the little bottle appreciatively in his hand. A dense solid sound, no hollow space for capsules to tumble. That good night held no terrors, far from it, but there were issues. The generous policy on his life wouldn’t pay out in case of suicide, or as they euphemistically put it, “Intentional Self-Destruction.” The unraveling would carry on without him. Just another mess for someone else to clean up.
Which left only the number. Jordan smoothed out the piece of paper. It had been tucked in his wallet so long the creases had taken on a feathered, leathery permanence. In Dr. Rosen’s neat, even hand: “Exit Strategy” and the number. He typed the ten digits into the phone. They hovered on the screen, bland and banal. The clock said 12:34. Good omen. He pressed the green icon.
With that simple motion a cascade of chemical reactions started in his nervous system. Time seemed to slow to a near standstill; his ears buzzed and flushed. He had the distinct sensation of floating just behind and slightly above himself, tinglingly aware and alert but, at the same time, apart. Everything would be all right.
After what seemed like a very long time there was a click on the line as the connection was established and then the ring. It sounded hollow and distant like an overseas call but the ringtone was definitely American. His hands, without any conscious thought, had begun to deftly refold the paper, crimping here, creasing there. The ringtone stopped. Silence. “Hello?” Jordan said. His voice sounded odd in his ear. Then there was a quick series of electronic beeps and the line went dead.
He stared at the phone in his hand until the operator’s voice came, loud and metallic. “If you’d like to make a call...” Redials produced nothing but a busy signal. For a long time he just sat. When he finally left the office, the heavy wood door shut with a muted click. The pills were shoved deep in his pocket and a tiny origami possum lay on its side on the desk. It was cold already. Boston winters started in August and ended in July. He should have worn a sweater.
A van was blocking the alley, its exhaust billowing. The driver, a solid man with an ex-jock’s belly squeezed into a tight blue jacket, had gotten out and was complaining loudly on his phone. Jordan tried to engage the slender, vaguely foreign-looking man in the passenger seat but he just stared straight ahead. Swearing under his breath, Jordan walked around the back of the van. As he rounded the corner he caught a glimpse of blue jacket and heard a door open behind him. Then there was a brilliant flash of light that didn’t seem related in any way to the heavy impact on the back of his head. As his knees buckled he thought he felt a hand on his back, then nothing.
* * *
The van pulled out onto Dunster Street, made the left on Comm. Ave., then merged into the northbound flow on Storrow Drive. Jordan’s Prius followed several car lengths behind with the slender foreign man at the wheel. Neither vehicle ever exceeded the speed limit.
1
SCHRÖDINGER’S CAT
“But, Dr. Parrish, that is absurd. The cat can’t be alive and dead at the same time.”
Dr. Stephanie Parrish smiled. The corners of her eyes crinkled and her mouth turned up gradually as if against her will. She glanced at the speaker’s name tag.
“Of course you’re right, Mr. Edelman, but
that was Schrödinger’s point, reductio ad absurdum. We talk a great deal about the wave function of a particle, the probability of its state. It is only the act of observation that finally forces the particle, or the cat in this case, into one state or the other. Our curiosity kills the cat. You see?”
Edelman laughed loudly. He had been drinking steadily during the speeches and was now feeling every inch the magnanimous donor of the university’s shining new Edelman Library. “Not at all! More confused than ever. Try again.” As one of Harvard’s more profligate benefactors, Lawrence Edelman felt absolutely justified in monopolizing the junior professor’s time. Stephanie Parrish was, at thirty-eight, in his view, without question the most beautiful woman in the room and so, by rights, his for the evening. Long brown hair streaked with gold framed a delicate oval face with eyes that hinted at gray, green and blue without, appropriately, he supposed, committing to any.
“There you are.” Stephanie leaned back slightly to admit Alex Prenn into the conversation. “Larry, how are you?” Alex asked, clapping an arm around Edelman’s meaty shoulder. “Good turnout. I’m afraid I’m going to have to borrow Dr. Parrish for a bit.” He nodded to the podium at the front of the ballroom. “Don’t worry, I promise to bring her back.”
Edelman murmured something not quite intelligible and steadied himself against a large column.
“Thank you,” Stephanie whispered into Alex’s ear as he guided her between tables of well-heeled donors and university dignitaries interspersed with second-tier local politicians and a sprinkling of ferret-eyed Big Pharma flacks.
Prenn had a military carriage; people often assumed, incorrectly, that he was ex-army or navy. His short-cropped hair was receding slightly and gray at the temples. He gave her a gentle squeeze as they wove toward the dais. “He had his turn.”
She smiled and leaned into him.
“Ladies and gentlemen, if I could intrude on your patience one last time...” Alex paused to let the conversational walla subside. There was a clattering of dishes and a shriek of laughter cut short.
“I’d like to introduce you all to Dr. Stephanie Parrish. As most of you know, she is Jordan’s widow and a long-standing member of the physics department here at Harvard.” Warm applause. Sympathy applause. She felt their eyes on her as she stepped to the podium. The genius’s widow. They had heard the rumors. Craning to see the wreckage. She felt her face begin to set into the cool indifferent expression she wore to keep gawkers at bay, but forced a smile.
“Thank you so much. Happy holidays to you all. I promise I won’t take too much more of your time. You have been very patient and very generous. I know Jordan would have been incredibly moved.” She glanced at the blown-up photo on its flimsy easel. It was an old picture, from Genometry’s early days, probably before the kids were born. His eyes still shone with the fierce intelligence and determination she had fallen in love with.
“My husband’s work was so important, and by endowing this chair in his name, all of you have ensured that it will go on, that a new generation will have the tools to pick up the torch.” She paused and laughed. “Sorry, that was awful. I’m new at this kind of thing. I can’t imagine what kind of tools would be appropriate in torch lifting.” Ripples of laughter, generous; they were on her side.
She pushed on. “Jordan always dreamed of a world without disease, of a world where our bodies repaired themselves. Today, thanks to you, we are a step closer to realizing that dream. So, thank you.” More applause, sustained now. At the back, people were standing, nodding toward the tables in front where senior executives from Genometry and Pfizer clapped politely, basking in the acknowledgment of their largesse with as much grace as they could muster.
“Was it horrible?” Stephanie asked, sliding into her seat.
“Pitch-perfect,” Alex said. “Short and sweet. Totally natural.” He squeezed her hand.
“I should have said more...”
“No, it was right. They’ve heard plenty. You just needed to bring it all back to Jordan. It was great. Simon, back me up.”
Simon Perry sat on Stephanie’s left. He looked up from the plate where he’d been distractedly pushing quartered roast beets through a sea of baby greens dotted with bergs of purple-stained chèvre. “Oh, yes, no, absolutely. Just the right tone.” He was an angular, nervous man with a prominent Adam’s apple and short gray-bordered hair that receded steeply from the center of his forehead. His mother was Jamaican and his father Senegalese, but Simon’s upbringing had been quintessentially British. He spoke with a deliberate, considered accent, its edges dulled by decades in America but the Eton provenance still evident. He started to say something else, then shook his head as if to himself and returned to his beets.
“Thank you, Simon,” Stephanie said finally, “for being kind, if not entirely honest.”
After a moment, “He would have hated it, y’know.”
“Sorry?”
“This.” He swept his hand sloppily to include the whole room. “These people—” he pointed to the adjoining tables “—he used to call them Pfuckers, Pfools, Pfilistines and any other silly Pf thing he could come up with. Hated the lot of them. Press, too. Thought it was all crap. Where were they when it would have helped?”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Stephanie said with a tight smile. “The socializing alone would have made him completely miserable.” She thought about it for a moment, then leaned in as if she was sharing a secret.
“Let’s be honest, Simon, he never would have come. He would have found a reason to be somewhere else. Anywhere.”
2
SENSES WORKING OVERTIME
In the darkness Jordan pressed his left palm to the sole of his right foot, gently evening them up. He measured carefully. The foot was exactly one hand plus a hair under an index finger long. The lights would come on soon with their dull green buzzing. He had adapted to the cycle of light and dark even though he was pretty sure it had no correlation with night and day. When they came on he’d measure again just to be sure. Then he’d pace off the room. He was sure it was shrinking. He was careful, very precise, heel to toe, heel to toe, always patient, always certain the second toe met the heel squarely. For a long time, wall to wall had measured thirty-six of his feet plus a bit, but yesterday it had been thirty-five and a half. He’d checked and rechecked. Thirty-five and a half. There was no mistake. He’d studied the way the wall met the floor. It was perfect. No sign of how such a thing might be done. He’d used his spoon to scratch the tile right at the join. If the marks were gone, he’d know. Unless they were shrinking the whole room somehow.
He should measure the height. No, that was crazy. He wasn’t crazy.
A pride of lions, a murder of crows, a crash of rhinos, a fesnyng of ferrets, a pity, no, a piteousness of doves, a memory of elephants, an ascension of larks. He wasn’t crazy. He’d measure and check the marks, then maybe they’d let him fold for a while.
* * *
Alex was awake. He lay still and listened. Breathing, a light rustle of sheets. That’s right, there was a girl. He’d texted Vanessa after the fund-raiser, feeling celebratory and a little drunk, and she’d sent her over. Allegedly Russian, though Alex thought more likely Polish. She had a softness to her, a plushness. Alex opened an eye and slowly turned his head. She was still asleep, puffy lips parted so he could just see the tips of her two front teeth. A tousled blond mane framed her face and fanned out over the pillow. Alex smiled to himself. Exquisite as promised, young Bardot. Winter sun shone through the blinds striping the bed. From the angle he guessed noon or a bit after.
He reached for his phone on the bedside table, careful not to wake the girl. Sixty-seven new emails and a dozen texts. He flipped through. Mostly congratulations. One of the Pfizer PR minions had forwarded a post from an apparently influential investment blogger.
Our little birds tell us a deal is apparently close for drug behemot
h Pfizer (PFE) to acquire tiny Cambridge-based Genometry (GNM). Pfizer shares were off nearly three-quarters of a point in after-hours trading as speculation swirled at a heavily attended gala celebrating a newly endowed chair in memory of Genometry founder Jordan Parrish. GNM has been trading in the penny stock range on the Hong Kong Exchange after several years of disappointing trials for their proprietary protein modeling software; however, share price is up today nearly two hundred percent (!) on the rumors. If the deal goes through, GNM shareholders could find themselves awash in bargain basement shares of the world’s largest drug maker so Genometry is our #TwitPickoftheday.
He nodded, not bad. People were doing their jobs. And then there was a text from Stephanie.
Thank you for last night. And for everything. You have been a good friend. I wouldn’t have made it through without you. (I guess you can apply that to last night or the last year, ha, ha.)
Anyway, I talked to the kids—if you don’t have plans we’d love to have you join us for Christmas lunch (but of course totally understand if you can’t). Invitation—not pressure. :) Lmk.
Annnnnd, yes to Gardner outing. Wed.? Xo, S
The girl yawned, arching her back and rolling her head gently from side to side. Alex was transfixed by the way the sun caught the impossibly fine hairs on her arms and upper thighs. He leaned over and breathed in. Soap and sex and a hint of lavender, and something else, something tangy and slightly sour like buttermilk. He ran a finger lightly down her stomach, leaving a goose-bump wake.
She made a sound like a great cat purring and tugged at her right wrist, which was still tied to the bedpost with Alex’s blue-and-yellow-striped necktie. Her eyes half-open, she fixed him with a petulant stare. He smiled and moved closer. He opened the Sonos app on his phone and pulled up the song running through his head. XTC, off English Settlement. He turned up the volume and rich sound filled the bedroom and then Andy Partridge’s glottal whine.
Hey, hey, The clouds are whey.
There’s straw for the donkeys,
And the innocents can all sleep safely,
All sleep safely.
She frowned and pulled again on the tie, shaking the bed frame so it knocked against the wall.
Exit Strategy Page 1