"Kate. Oh, Kate, " Tom whispered, the words vibrating gently against the skin of her breast. "Tom? " The word was a soft plea, almost a whimper.
"Hold me, Kate. Please don't stop."
She took his face in her hands. "Tom, " she said huskily. "I… just can't."
Her emotions swirling like the snow on the interstate, Kate took most of an hour and a half to make the drive from Boston to Essex. Tom had been hurt and frustrated by her sudden change in attitude, but in the end he had done his best to understand and accept. "I only hope Jared knows how goddamn lucky he is, " he had snapped as she was dressing. Later, he had insisted on driving her back to Metro and her car, where they had shared a quasi-platonic good-bye kiss. The phone was ringing as she opened the door from the garage to her house. Roscoe, who had spent most of the past two days at a sleepover with neighbors and their golden retriever, bounded down the hall, accepted a quick greeting, and then followed her to the den. It was Jared. "Hi, " he said. "I called the house at three A. M. and no one was home. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, Jared. I spent the night at your father's. Didn't he tell you he had invited me?"
"No." There was no mistaking the curiosity in Jared's voice. "Did you get my letter?"
Kate thumbed through the pile of bills and throwaway journals she had carried in with her. Jared's letter was sandwiched between the magazines Aches and Pains and Pathologist on the Go. "I just brought it in, " she said. "If you want to wait, I'll read it right now."
"No need, Kate. I've got it memorized." Kate opened the letter and read along as he said the words. "It says I love you, I miss you, and I don't want to not live with you anymore. Jared."
Kate's heart was pounding so much she could barely respond. "I love you too, Jared. Very, very much. When are you coming home? "
"Day after tomorrow, unless you want me to hitch home now."
"Thursday's fine, honey. Just fine. I'll pick you up at the airport."
"Seven P. M. United."
"Perfect. I have a lot to tell you about. Maybe we'll take a ride in the country. There's someone you should visit."
"Who?"
"You'll see. Let me leave it at that until Thursday. Okay?"
"Okay, but…"
"I love you."
"I love you, Boots. Sometimes I don't know who the heck you are or where Jared Samuels is on your list of priorities, but I love you and I want to ride it all out with you as long as I can hang on."
"We'll do just fine, honey. Everything is going to be all right." As she hung up, Kate realized that for the first time in weeks she believed that.
Wednesday 19 December
Arlen Paqueiie, stiff and sore from lack of sleep, cruised along the tree-lined drive toward Redding Pharmaceuticals. Paralleling the icy roadway were the vestiges of the first December snow in Darlington in eleven years. His homecoming the evening before had been a fiasco, marked by several fights with the children, too much to drink before, during and after dinner, and finally, impotence and discord in bed-problems he and his wife had never encountered before. He adjusted the rearview mirror to examine his face and plucked off the half dozen tissue-paper patches on the shaving nicks caused by his unsteady hand. Even without the patches he looked like hell. It was the job, the job he couldn't quit. Bribery, payoffs, deceptions, threats, ruined lives. Suddenly he was no longer a chemist.
Suddenly he was no. longer even an administrator. He was a lieutenant, a platoon leader in Cyrus Redding's army. It was an army of specialists, held together by coercion, blackmail, and enormous amounts of money-poised to strike at anything or anyone who threatened Cyrus Redding or the corporation he had built. The guard greeted him warmly and performed a perfunctory search of the Mercedes. Paquette had once asked the man exactly what it was he was checking for. His polite, but quite disconcerting, reply was, "Anything Mr. Redding doesn't want to be there."
The executive offices, including Cyrus Redding's, were at the hub of the wagon wheel of six long, low structures that made up the manufacturing and packaging plants. Research and other laboratory facilities occupied an underground annex, joined to the main structure by tunnels, escalators, and moving walkways. Paquette parked in the space marked with his name, stopped at his office to leave his coat, and then headed directly for Redding's suite. He was ushered in immediately. "Arlen, Arlen, " Redding said warmly, "welcome home." He was in his wheelchair behind his desk and was dressed in the only outfit Paquette could remember him wearing at work, a lightweight blue-gray suit, white shirt, and string tie, fastened with a turquoise thunderbird ring. "So,"
Redding said, when they had moved to the sitting area with coffee and a sugary pastry, "you look a bit drawn. This Boston business has not been so easy, has it?"
"You told me it might not be, " Paquette said. "Do you remember when we decided to move the mailing address of the Ashburton Foundation?"
"Of course. A few months after you started working here. Six, no, seven years ago, right? " Paquette nodded. "It was an excellent suggestion and the first time I fully appreciated what a winning decision it was to hire you." Paquette smiled a weak thank you. "Well, " he said, "it was my feeling at that time that with the foundation registered as a tax-exempt philanthropic organization and located in DC, there was no way Redding Pharmaceuticals could ever be connected to it."
"And yet our tenacious friend Dr. Bennett has done so."
"Yes, although as I told you last night, I'm not certain she has put it all together."
"But she will, " the Warlock said with certainty. "She called twice yesterday trying to reach me-that is, trying to reach Dr. Thompson, the foundation director. I couldn't even call her back for fear of having her recognize my voice."
"It was a wise decision not to."
"She's got to hear from someone today."
"She will, " Redding said. He glanced at his watch. "At this moment, our persuasive legislative liaison, Charlie Wilson, is on his way to the foundation office to become Dr. James Thompson."
"Office?"
"Of course. We wouldn't want Dr. Bennett to try and locate the Ashburton Foundation only to find a desk, phone and secretary, would we?"
Paquette shook his head. The man was absolutely incredible, and efficient in a way that he found quite frightening. "By eleven o'clock this morning, the office, its staff, photographic essays describing its good works, testimonial letters, and a decade or so of documented service will be in place, along with Charlie Wilson, who is, I think you'll agree, as smooth and self-confident as they come."
"Amazing, " Paquette said. "Are you feeling a bit more relaxed about things now?"
"Yes, Mr. Redding. Yes, I am."
"Good. You'll be pleased to know that the company will be taking care of that mirror at the Ritz."
Paquette froze. He had gone to great pains to pay for the damage himself and to insure that in no way would Redding find out about what had happened. Instability under fire was hardly the sort of trait the man rewarded in his platoon leaders. "I… I'm sorry about that, sir. I really am."
Redding gestured to the coffee table before them. Sealed under thick glass was the emblem of Redding Pharmaceuticals, a sky-blue background with white hands opening to release a pure, white dove.
Below the dove was the name of the company, above it, in a rainbow arc, the motto, The Greatest Good for the Most People at the Least Cost.
"Arlen, ever since the day I took over this company, I have tried to chart a course that would lead to exactly what this motto says. In this business-in any business-there are always choices to be made, always decisions that cannot be avoided. In the thirty-five years since I first came to Darlington, I've made more gut-wrenching decisions and smashed more glasses and more mirrors in anguish than I care to count. But always, when I needed direction, when I needed advice or council, it was right in front of me." He tapped the motto with his finger.