Russell Andrews - Aphrodite

"What do you want to talk about?"

Justin hesitated, then said, "Growth Industries."

The old man's tone got even sharper. More suspicious. "You work for them? What happened to that Ed Marion?"

"I don't work for them. I'm trying to get some information about them."

"What kind of information?"

"Just about anything you can tell me, sir." There was no response from Granger. As the silence lengthened, Justin thought the old man had hung up. "Mr. Granger? Are you still there?"

"I'm tired," the man said. "I'm very tired."

"I can call you back another time, if you'd like."

"I don't mean I'm tired right this minute. I mean I'm tired. Tired of everything. Tired of life."

"I'd like to come see you, if I can."

"See me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Nobody's been to see me in years."

"What about Ed Marion?"

"Oh yes. He comes. But he doesn't count. He just asks his questions and gives me the shots."

"Shots?"

"I'm tired of those damn shots. I'm tired of everything."

"Can I come see you, Mr. Granger?"

"To ask me questions?"

"Yes, sir."

"You won't believe my answers, you know."

"Well," Justin told him, "I'd like to give it a try. How about tomorrow?"

"Today, tomorrow, the day after, the day after that one, doesn't make any difference to me. If there's one thing I've got," Lewis Granger said, "it's time." There was a very definite chain of command

After Byron Fromm had passed his bad news along to Bert Stiles, Stiles made his own call, passed the same news along, and got reamed. The man who did the reaming was named Alfred Newberg. Newberg was paid over a million dollars a year to deal with bad news-to receive it and to pass it along to his employer. As expert a job as he did dressing down Bert Stiles, it was nothing compared to the verbal lashing he took over the phone. He did not defend himself, nor did he offer any excuses. There were none to offer. He was paid his handsome salary-as well as given enormous loans at almost no interest and provided with regular use of a private jet, an extremely comfortable and luxurious Challenger-to take such abuse and then go out and solve whatever problem had arisen. So when the spew of obscenities began dying down and he heard the words "This is a very, very delicate situation, you do understand that?" he knew the tirade was over and it was time for him to do his job.

"Yes, sir. I know exactly how delicate this is."

"It's a Chinese puzzle we're involved in."

"Yes, sir."

"Do you know what a Chinese puzzle is, Newberg?"

"Yes, I do, sir. Boxes within boxes."

"Exactly. And do you know what happens when one box is removed?"

"The puzzle doesn't fit together the same way."

"It's worse than that. Much, much worse than that. The puzzle, the thing itself, is altered. It's not the same object. It becomes something different, something else entirely."

"Yes, sir."

"In other words, it's destroyed."

"I understand that, Mr. Kransten," Newberg said. "I understand what's at stake."

"We are so close," Newberg heard his boss say. "We are so goddamn close. After all these years…"

"Yes, sir, I know."

"I don't want to see it destroyed. I won't let it be destroyed."

"It won't be."

"Well, it might be if this goddamn policeman-what's his name?"

"Westwood."

"Well, whoever the hell he is, he can't be allowed to come any closer. For God's sake, what the hell is he trying to do?"

"He's looking into what happened with Bill Miller."

"Who?"

"Bill Miller, sir. The actor."

"Right, right, right. What does he have to do with the policeman?"

"There was the incident with the woman. The reporter who wrote the obituary."

"Oh, for chrissake, it's ridiculous. Make him go away. Get rid of him."

"I will."

"Get rid of him now, before he pulls one of our little boxes away."

"Consider him gone, Mr. Kransten."

There was a long silence and Newberg thought, perhaps, that the line was dead. But he heard the faintest wisp of breathing and then he heard Kransten say, "You like using that plane, don't you, Al?"

"I like it very much. And you don't have to worry, sir. I like it too much to risk screwing this up. I just received a call from the manager of Leger. That's the one in upstate New York, outside of Albany. He said that Lewis Granger received a call from his granddaughter."

"Granger?"

"That's right."

"Does he have a granddaughter?"

"No. I'm certain it was the little girl who's with the policeman. Her mother was the one who witnessed the… scene…in East End Harbor."

"Careless. It's all been very careless."

"Yes, sir. But I'm sure Westwood's going to see Granger. So we know where he'll be very soon."

"How'd he track Granger down?"

"Possibly through Helen Roag."

"Goddammit."

"Although it's more probable it's got nothing to do with her. He might have gotten on to Ed Marion."

"Really?"

"Marion's the link. Between the woman in East End Harbor and now this."

"Where'd you take it last week, Al?"

"Excuse me?" Newberg asked, momentarily thrown.

"The plane. The Challenger. Didn't you use it last week?"

"I did. Mexico. A resort south of Puerto Vallarta called Las Alamandas."

"Nice down there?"

"Very."

"Lot of nice places in the world, Al. A lot of nice places. I hope you get to see many more of them."

"So do I. Believe me, so do I, Mr. Kransten. So don't give the policeman a second thought. Or the witness. I promise you: They're as good as gone."

Ed Marion was confused and annoyed by the phone call from the manager of the Weston Mall. He was certain there was some mistake. Why the hell would anyone break into Growth Industries? And, if he did, what the hell was he going to steal? A bunch of used answering machines? A cheap fake-leather swivel chair? It didn't make sense. There was nothing of value; there was no meaningful paperwork. There wasn't even any indication of what the company did. But none of that mattered now because someone had been inside and he actually had to go there and check things out. He hated going into that office, stopped by only once a month, perfunctorily. He didn't really need to do it, but he felt as if he should. He needed to reassure himself that things were untouched and safe.

Only now things weren't untouched. And now things might not be safe.

The best he could hope for was that this was the work of some incompetent burglar. The worst he could expect was…

Ed Marion didn't want to think about the worst. He knew that when it came to the realities of the game he was playing, he was in way over his head. The people he worked for were scary and they were nasty. They frightened him. They paid awfully well, though. And as long as they left him alone to do his work, he could live with what he was doing for them. His extracurricular duties were reasonably unobtrusive and not all that time-consuming. They were also extraordinarily valuable from a professional perspective. But he knew that if they ever decided he was a liability, if, God forbid, he ever fucked up, well-that was what he didn't want to focus on. He didn't like thinking about his wife being a widow or his kids going through the rest of their lives without a father.

He drove his nine-month-old Lexus out of the driveway of his two-story white colonial, turned left on his quiet suburban street, and headed past a series of manicured lawns and freshly painted houses, toward the mall. Marion paid no attention to the blue-gray Buick that started up and chugged along behind him. He was so lost in thought that when he stopped at the first stop sign he came to he didn't even notice the man who was standing on the corner. He didn't see the man step toward his car and tap on the passenger-side window. The man was holding a map and looked confused, so Ed Marion instinctively touched the button to his left, the one that automatically rolled down the passenger window. Ed was still so lost in thought it took him a full three seconds to register that instead of the map, the pedestrian had shoved a gun through the open window. The gun was pointing straight at him, Marion realized, and the man, perfectly calm-there was even the hint of a reassuring smile on his face-was saying, "It's time we had a little talk, Ed." Justin had Ed Marion pull the Lexus over to the side of a quiet street, about three blocks from the man's house. Deena pulled the Regal up behind them and cut the motor; she and Kendall stayed in that car, as Justin had instructed.