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Iwas stunned it hadn’t occurred to me that Paxon wasn’t who he pretended to be. I’d worked with the CIA a number of times. Why hadn’t it dawned on me until now that that’s what he was?
He’d shown up nine months ago, within a few days of Tommy moving into the building, not that I’d noticed at the time. There was something about that coincidence I was missing. What, though?
Lynx had confirmed that Tommy’s disappearance had something to do with my work with Dr. Benjamin in regard to China. Again, what?
The Chinese had been my main focus since joining the IPP. I was offered the position because of my research into the risks associated with our dependence on their exports—particularly generic prescription drugs.
While some considered my viewpoints alarmist, given the growing trade war and animosity between our two countries, I believed the United States’ utter dependence on China for basic medicines posed a significant national security threat. The subject of my doctoral dissertation was how China’s drug manufacturing dominance gave it a “nuclear” option in the ongoing trade war. Millions of Americans could die without access to lifesaving medications if China decided to weaponize its drug-making.
Considering MIT was aggressive in hiring me away from Stanford, I initially felt vindicated in the face of my naysayers. Any sense of victory I felt was soon replaced by dread when I realized that my theories were only the tip of the iceberg when it came to the threat China posed not just to the United States, but to the world.
I’d been with IPP a little over a year when, six months ago, Dr. Benjamin contacted me directly, asking for a meeting. I’d had to clear it with the head of the program, but given the request had also come to him by way of England’s prime minister, he was quick to approve it.
If I thought I’d stumbled on a significant Chinese threat, what I learned from Dr. Benjamin had made my blood run cold. So much so, that there were times I wanted to walk away from my job and find a teaching position in some small college town off the world’s radar.
I couldn’t, though. The reason I’d begun researching China’s role in the U.S. pharmaceuticals in the first place was personal. At the time, my main concern related to their import of illicit fentanyl and the painkiller’s analogues.
Fentanyl was one hundred times stronger than morphine. It was given to relieve severe pain, like after surgery. The addictive nature of the drug resulted in it being responsible for over fifty thousand deaths this year alone in the U.S. Three years ago, while I was at the conference in London, my older brother became one of those statistics.
He’d gotten hooked on it after he had knee surgery following a football injury. The autopsy my parents had asked be performed, indicated that the amount of the drug found in his body had depressed his respiratory system to the point of failure, leading to his fatal overdose.
I was wrecked by his death. More so because I’d been out of the country at the time. Shortly after leaving Lynx’s bed and returning to my room, I received the call from my parents, informing me of what happened, and had made arrangements to fly home immediately.
Even if Lynx had tried to find me, I was already gone.
The days and weeks that followed were among the worst of my life. For me, losing a sibling had been devastating; for my parents, it had been their worst nightmare realized.
The truth was, my night with Lynx helped me through it. Whenever things became too much for me to handle and I had to check out for a few minutes, I let my mind wander to memories of the hot Englishman I met in a bar, followed by a wild night of sex. It was the craziest thing I’d ever done, and somehow, I thought if he’d known, my brother would have given me an enthusiastic pat on the back for doing something so far out of my comfort zone.
In the same way it helped my parents and me navigate his addiction, counseling got us through my brother’s death. It hadn’t been easy then, and it still wasn’t. I felt his loss on a daily basis. Things happened that I’d want to share with him, or I’d see something that reminded me of him—there were countless ways he came to mind. Each time, it felt like a knife in my heart.
I hearda knock at the door and walked over to open it, expecting to see Lynx. Instead, it was Paxon.
“Can I come in?”
“Of course,” I said, stepping aside and then looking beyond him.
“He’s not with me. I asked for a few minutes on my own.”
I nodded. “Can I get you anything?”
“No. I’m here to apologize.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for. You’re doing your job.”
Tonight was the first I’d seen him wear anything besides a long-sleeve dress shirt, and was stunned to see that both of his arms were covered with tattoos. His body, like Lynx’s, was muscular, something I also hadn’t noticed as much when he wore business attire.
“Sometimes, the hardest part of being undercover is getting to know the people you work with, and then feeling regret that the role you play in their lives isn’t real.”
“I understand,” I murmured. “What happens now?”
“Nothing changes, except that you know who I really am, and that makes it harder on you. On the other hand, both Lynx and I are going to ask you to help us, and that we can be upfront about it, makes it easier for all three of us.”
“Is anyone else in the office aware of who you really are?”
“Only Dr. Baker.”
That made sense. As the head of the International Policy Program, it would’ve been necessary for Dr. Baker to approve the CIA and MI6 working undercover within our walls.
