Joanna's eyes swept the windowless room whose floor had been raised eight inches to conceal the wiring. There were four large vertically oriented electronic units and a small bookcase filled with manuals. More importantly, there was a server console with a keyboard, a mouse, and a monitor displaying an active screen saver. Golden sting rays and blue-gray sharks endlessly swam to and fro. A single empty ergonomic chair sat in front of the console.
"Very impressive,' Joanna said.
"I wouldn't know," Helen admitted. "Have you seen enough?"
Joanna nodded. "Will I have access to this room with my card?" she asked.
Helen regarded her as if she'd said something inordinately stupid. "Of course not! Clearance for spaces such as this is reserved to department heads only. Why would you want to come in here anyway?"
Joanna shrugged. "Only if I were having a problem I couldn't rectify from my workstation keyboard."
"For that kind of a problem, you'll have to see Randy Porter, if you can find him. I have to admit, he's fairly elusive if he's not in his cubicle." Helen closed to the door, and it locked with a resounding click.
"On to see our fearless leader," Helen said. She retraced her steps back to the main corridor and set out again. Acting as if the slight detour to see the server room had caused them to be late, she nipped her pace. Joanna and Deborah had to hurry to keep up. Deborah's heels striking against the terrazzo floor made loud cracking noises like automatic-rifle fire. The vaulted ceiling magnified the sounds by producing multiple echoes.
"What do you think?" Deborah whispered between breaths.
"If we don't luck out and get the access we need to our files, then I'll have to get into that room for about ten or fifteen minutes."
"Which means we'll need a blue card that will open the door. Apparently ours won't. How are we going to manage that?"
"We'll have to be creative," Joanna said.
"I'm sorry to have to hurry you like this," Helen called back to "e women from where she was holding open a heavy fire door leading from the building's south wing into the central tower. "Dr. Saunders can be hard to corner. If he leaves his office before we arrive, we could have trouble finding him, and if you don't get to see him, you will not be starting work tomorrow."
Joanna and Deborah passed through the fire door which Helen let close behind her. The women found themselves in a dramatically different environment. Instead of terrazzo the floor was oak, and instead of tile, plaster, or exposed brick, the walls were paneled mahogany. There was even a threadbare oriental runner extending down the long hallway.
"Come on!" Helen urged. She led the women down the corridor and through a doorway into an outer office. A secretary sat at a desk behind which were two doors: one closed, the other ajar. There were several couches and a coffee table.
"Don't tell me we missed Dr. Saunders?" Helen inquired of the secretary.
"He's still here," the woman said as she gestured over her shoulder at the closed door. "But he's engaged at the moment."
Helen's face registered understanding. She knew full well whose office was behind the closed door. Lowering her voice, she said: "I was shocked to learn Dr. Wingate was here."
"You and everyone else," the secretary whispered with a nod. "No one expected it. He arrived this morning unannounced. There's been a bit of fireworks as you well can imagine."
It was Helen's turn to nod. Then she shrugged. "It will be interesting to see what happens."
"That's the truth," the secretary said. "At any rate I'm sure Dr. Saunders will be out shortly. Perhaps you and your applicants would like to make yourselves comfortable." She smiled graciously at Joanna and Deborah.
Almost simultaneous with the group taking seats, the closed office door opened and banged against its stop. Paul Saunders's short frame filled the doorway, but his attention was directed back into Spencer's office. His face was flushed and his hands were balled into tight fists.
"I can't sit in here the entire day and argue about all this," Paul spat. "I've got patients to see and work to do even if you don't."
Spencer's form materialized behind Paul and crowded him out of the doorway, forcing him to take a step back into the anteroom. Spencer was almost a foot taller and his tanned skin made Paul look paler than usual. His eyes blazed with an intensity equivalent with Paul's. "I'll excuse that kind of impertinence as a product of the heat of the moment," he snapped.
"That's very big of you considering it's true."
"I have a fiduciary responsibility to this clinic and its stockholders," Spencer hissed. "And I want you to understand that I intend to carry out that duty. The Wingate is primarily a clinical organization, and we've been that way from day one. Our research is to support our clinical efforts and not vice versa."
"That's a Luddite attitude if I've ever heard one," Paul shot back. "Research is an investment in the future: short-term sacrifice for long-term benefit. We're positioned to be at the cutting edge of stem-cell research which has the potential of being the basis of twenty-first-century medicine, but we have to be willing to forfeit some profit and take some risks in the short run."
"We'll revisit this discussion when you have more time," Spencer stated flatly. "See me after your last patient!" Abruptly he stepped back into his office, grabbed the edge of his door, and slammed it shut with a resounding bang.
Paul took another step backward as if blown by wind from the slamming door. Furious at being dismissed when it had been his intent to walk out, he spun around. He took a single step toward his office when his eyes caught sight of the unexpected audience. Like the turret on a battleship, his head pivoted in a staccato fashion as his gun-barrel eyes took in each individual in turn. They stopped on Deborah. His expression softened.
"Ms. Masterson has some recruits for you to interview," the secretary announced.
"So I see," Paul said. His tightly fisted hands relaxed, and he gestured toward his open door as his eyes took in Deborah's high-heeled shoes, short skirt, and plunging neckline. "Come in, come in!" he said. "Gladys, did you offer our guests something to drink?"
"It didn't occur to me," Gladys admitted. She furrowed her brow.
"We'll have to rectify that," Paul said. "How about some coffee or a soft drink?"
"Not for me, thank you," Deborah said, struggling to get to her feet. It was an effort in the high heels since the couch was inordinately deep. Paul responded by bounding around Gladys's desk to offer a hand, but Deborah made it upright without assistance. She pulled her miniskirt down, which had the effect of lowering her already low neckline.
Paul glanced at Joanna.
"Nothing for me either," Joanna said. She felt like the poor relation when Paul immediately switched his attention back to Deborah and then made a point of graciously guiding her into his office. Joanna and Helen followed.
Paul added a third chair to the two facing his desk and gestured for everyone to sit. He went around behind his desk and sat himself. Helen proceeded to introduce the two women with their aliases and mentioned their respective Harvard undergraduate degrees along with which departments they hoped to work for.
"Excellent," Paul said with a broad smile, revealing his small, square, widely spaced front teeth, which were in concert with his wide, squat nose. "Bloody excellent, as they say in Merry Old England." He laughed. Without taking his eyes off Deborah he added: "It appears, Miss Masterson, you've found us several more fine prospective employees. You're to be congratulated."
"So we should continue with the employment process?" Helen questioned.
"Certainly. By all means."
"They have expressed an interest in starting as early as tomorrow," Helen said.
"That's even better," Paul said. "Their zeal should be rewarded since we're in dire need of help, particularly in the lab. You'll be very welcome, Miss Marks!"