might have been just an unwelcome pest, trying to hit on Dr Chow when she wanted nothing to do with him. In that case, Phillips – andperhaps Dr Chow too – had a motive for wanting Garcia out of the way.
Jake waited until he heard the electric whine of the golf cart, then watched Phillips head towards the gym block. He followed at a quick walk.
The gym was all glass on one side, retractable in good weather. It was half open now, and Jake could see Oz and a few of the others side by side on the rowing machines. The fixed and free weights were at the back of the building, along with a full-size boxing ring. Phillips stopped the cart beside the building and carried in an armful of Olympic Edge bottles, passing them out to the athletes.
Jake entered the gym and got on to a cross-trainer. He was close enough to hear when Phillips’s phone rang. In the reflection of the window glass, he saw the marketing man break away from the boxing ring, and lift the phone to his ear.
Jake couldn’t hear much of what followed, because Phillips was speaking with his voice low, and Oz and his guys were shouting to each other as they raced on the rowers.
‘I got you,’ Phillips was saying. ‘I’m handling it as best I can. I know we don’t need any more bad publicity. What can I say? Garcia was a drunk.’
Phillips hung up as he walked out of the door. Jake climbedoff the cross-trainer and caught up with him at the cart. Oz was watching him suspiciously from the rowing machine. Probably wondering why he’d only done two minutes on the cross-trainer.
‘Mr Phillips, can I have a word?’ Jake asked.
Philips turned round, and found his smile in a split second. ‘Hey, Jake Bastin, isn’t it? Call me Ed. What can I do for you?’
‘It’s about the grants you were talking about,’ Jake said. ‘I’m interested in becoming a brand ambassador.’
Phillips raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m sure you are, young man,’ he said, ‘and I’m sure LGE would be interested in being associated with someone of your –’
name
, Jake thought – ‘calibre,’ Philips continued, ‘but there are official channels to go through.’
Jake realised he’d given the wrong idea. ‘You’ve misunderstood,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean I wanted special treatment. I just wondered if you’d give me more details.’
Philips smiled wider, and took Jake’s arm, turning him away from the gym.
‘Actually, I think it’s you who’ve misunderstood.’ Phillips gave him a sly look. ‘You see, marketing isn’t about crossing the finish line first. Some people . . . well, they deserve special treatment. It all depends on what they’re prepared to give in return. You follow me?’
Jake wasn’t sure he did, but from the glint in Phillips’s eyes and his lowered voice, Jake guessed he was being asked to give Phillips some sort of kickback.
‘You’re talking about something to sweeten the deal?’ Jake whispered. ‘Something in it for you?’
Phillips winked. ‘Your words, not mine. I guess you know how it works, what with your dad being in the game too.’
Jake nodded. Hell, this guy was as slippery as an eel.
‘I get it.’ Jake reached for a bottle of the yellow Olympic Edge – Solar. ‘Where can we talk about it further?’
Phillips climbed into the driver’s seat of the cart. Jake caught the flash of a name on the bottom of his shoe, something Italian. ‘Don’t worry,’ Phillips said. ‘I’ll come to you.’
‘Hey, wait . . .’ Jake started.
But Phillips was already driving away. Jake watched him go, frustration building.
So his suspicions were right. Phillips
was
as dodgy as he looked. But he was clever too. He hadn’t promised anything, hadn’t implicated himself. If he was effectively selling grants to the athletes – and that meant hundreds and thousands, if not millions of dollars – then that might explain why people were dying. Otto had been a handsome guy, full of potential. Definitely in line for the big time.
Jake waited until he heard the electric whine of the golf cart, then watched Phillips head towards the gym block. He followed at a quick walk.
The gym was all glass on one side, retractable in good weather. It was half open now, and Jake could see Oz and a few of the others side by side on the rowing machines. The fixed and free weights were at the back of the building, along with a full-size boxing ring. Phillips stopped the cart beside the building and carried in an armful of Olympic Edge bottles, passing them out to the athletes.
Jake entered the gym and got on to a cross-trainer. He was close enough to hear when Phillips’s phone rang. In the reflection of the window glass, he saw the marketing man break away from the boxing ring, and lift the phone to his ear.
Jake couldn’t hear much of what followed, because Phillips was speaking with his voice low, and Oz and his guys were shouting to each other as they raced on the rowers.
‘I got you,’ Phillips was saying. ‘I’m handling it as best I can. I know we don’t need any more bad publicity. What can I say? Garcia was a drunk.’
Phillips hung up as he walked out of the door. Jake climbedoff the cross-trainer and caught up with him at the cart. Oz was watching him suspiciously from the rowing machine. Probably wondering why he’d only done two minutes on the cross-trainer.
‘Mr Phillips, can I have a word?’ Jake asked.
Philips turned round, and found his smile in a split second. ‘Hey, Jake Bastin, isn’t it? Call me Ed. What can I do for you?’
‘It’s about the grants you were talking about,’ Jake said. ‘I’m interested in becoming a brand ambassador.’
Phillips raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m sure you are, young man,’ he said, ‘and I’m sure LGE would be interested in being associated with someone of your –’
name
, Jake thought – ‘calibre,’ Philips continued, ‘but there are official channels to go through.’
Jake realised he’d given the wrong idea. ‘You’ve misunderstood,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean I wanted special treatment. I just wondered if you’d give me more details.’
Philips smiled wider, and took Jake’s arm, turning him away from the gym.
‘Actually, I think it’s you who’ve misunderstood.’ Phillips gave him a sly look. ‘You see, marketing isn’t about crossing the finish line first. Some people . . . well, they deserve special treatment. It all depends on what they’re prepared to give in return. You follow me?’
Jake wasn’t sure he did, but from the glint in Phillips’s eyes and his lowered voice, Jake guessed he was being asked to give Phillips some sort of kickback.
‘You’re talking about something to sweeten the deal?’ Jake whispered. ‘Something in it for you?’
Phillips winked. ‘Your words, not mine. I guess you know how it works, what with your dad being in the game too.’
Jake nodded. Hell, this guy was as slippery as an eel.
‘I get it.’ Jake reached for a bottle of the yellow Olympic Edge – Solar. ‘Where can we talk about it further?’
Phillips climbed into the driver’s seat of the cart. Jake caught the flash of a name on the bottom of his shoe, something Italian. ‘Don’t worry,’ Phillips said. ‘I’ll come to you.’
‘Hey, wait . . .’ Jake started.
But Phillips was already driving away. Jake watched him go, frustration building.
So his suspicions were right. Phillips
was
as dodgy as he looked. But he was clever too. He hadn’t promised anything, hadn’t implicated himself. If he was effectively selling grants to the athletes – and that meant hundreds and thousands, if not millions of dollars – then that might explain why people were dying. Otto had been a handsome guy, full of potential. Definitely in line for the big time.
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