Russell Andrews - Aphrodite

"Nor is he to know," Don Mooney said. "Ever."

"I think you're being naive," Mayberry said.

"No question," Arnold agreed. "It's our understanding that the last three presidents have not only known about our agreement, they've wholeheartedly supported it."

"Well, things have changed," Mooney said. "You have not exactly stuck to the terms of the agreement."

"We have," Mayberry said. "We all have. For years. Except Kransten."

"That's a big fucking exception," Fred Hoagland said. "And it changes everything."

"He's out of our control," Arnold said. "We can't possibly oversee his work. Even if we could figure out some kind of arrangement here in the U.S., which would be impossible considering the level of competition, his research facilities are scattered all over the world. There's no way we can keep track of what he's doing. That should be your job."

"It is our job." It was the first time Rollins's boss, Chris Dahlberg, had spoken. "And we had things under control. Until recently."

"What happened?" This came from Mayberry.

"I think we all know what happened," Chase Welles said. "And I think we all know how it was resolved."

"Well, if it's been resolved, what's the problem?" Arnold said.

The director of the FBI tipped his chair backward. "There are quite a few problems. There have been some new…wild cards, shall we say. But they are being taken care of, largely thanks to Assistant Director Rollins."

The secretary of Health and Human Services began tapping the table with his finger. "We need assurances from the two of you," he said to Mayberry and Arnold, "that what happened with Kransten won't happen with you and your companies."

"I'm not defending Kransten. You know I think the man's-how should I put this? Oh, screw it, Doug Kransten's a goddamn lunatic. Wild card doesn't begin to describe him. But you guys fucked up here, not us. You have my assurance that we'll play by the rules. But you've got to control your side."

"That's why I'm in this meeting," Welles said. "Our side's been controlled."

"Well, as long as that's the case," Arnold said, "you can obviously count on me, too."

"You know, we do read the news," Mayberry said. "We're not idiots. You've got a few things that don't seem to be so under control."

"Such as?" That was from Welles.

"Let's start with Kransten. If he's got what we all think he's got- even if he's reasonably close-and he makes it public…do you have any idea what's going to happen?"

"Yes." It was Brewster Ford's first word. The financial adviser and wizard followed it up with "We know exactly what's going to happen. It's been my job for all these years to make sure the select few involved in the decision-making process truly understand the danger."

"And nothing's changed from your perspective?"

"Yes. Many things have changed. And they all make the situation more precarious than ever."

"And this administration shares that perspective?"

"I would say they are more supportive than any previous administration."

The pharmaceutical executives nodded, satisfied. "What else?" Fred Hoagland said.

"What else seems out of control?"

"Manwaring. He won't go away."

"He will."

"I'm not so sure," Mayberry said. "He's a bulldog. And he's a fanatic."

"And he's got no credibility. He's no threat."

"How about the cop? Is he a threat?"

Arnold nodded. "Yeah. What are you going to do about this cop? He seems totally out of control."

Hoagland looked down at the notepad he had in front of him, then swiveled to face Chris Dahlberg. "I think they have a point. This Westwood could be a serious problem."

Director Dahlberg leaned over, gave Len Rollins a hearty pat on the back. "I told you," he said. "This is AD Rollins's specialty. He's our wild card." Justin Westwood watched his mother come down the long spiral staircase into the foyer. He marveled at the fact that even at her age Lizbeth never seemed to walk down; it was as if she glided several inches off the floor. Her movements were fluid and graceful and serene. More than that, her steps were rich. His mother moved, Justin realized, as if she owned the ground in front of her. It didn't matter which ground she was walking on. She seemed to own it all.

She put her arm through his and led him into the den. His father was in the chaise longue, reading a financial report. He wore reading glasses, an added accoutrement since Justin had seen him last.

"They're both asleep upstairs," Lizbeth said. "I put Deena in the Blue Room. She conked out even before Kendall."

"Thanks."

"That little girl is something."

"Yeah. She's pretty special."

"She reminds me of Lili."

Justin felt something catch in his throat, nodded.

"I've never gotten to tell you," Lizbeth said slowly, "how much we miss both of them."

"Thank you, Mother. I miss them too." He looked over at his father, who nodded at him. Justin took the motion for what it was: a wordless acknowledgment and a silent, long overdue moment of shared grief. "I'd like to leave Kendall here with you for a few days. Maybe longer than that."

"Are you leaving?" Lizbeth asked.

"I have to. For one thing, it's not safe for me here. Or for you if I'm here. It's a natural place for them to start looking, and it won't take them long to figure that out. I've got to find out what's going on before they find me, and I won't be able to do what I have to do if I'm lugging around an eight-year-old girl."

"What about her mother?"

"She'll come with me." When Lizbeth raised an eyebrow, Justin said, "It's the only play that makes sense. Someone is after Deena. The little girl will be safer if she's not around. I figure you can hire a couple of bodyguards while she's here. I already asked Billy for recommendations. Two good men, that should be enough security-no one's going to consider Kendall a real danger. But if Deena stays here too, I don't think you can pay for enough security. You'll all be vulnerable."

"And you'll be able to protect her?" Jonathan asked.

"Nothing is going to happen to this one."

"Justin," his father said. "You do understand that nothing you do now is going to change what happened in the past."

"Yes, Dad." He felt his body go rigid. "I do know that Alicia's dead, if that's what you're saying."

"No. I'm just trying to make sure that you're doing what you're doing for the right reason. That it's the best thing to do, not some form of atonement."

He forced out a long breath. And forced himself to admit that his father's question was justified. "It is," he said. "It's the best thing to do."

"Good. Then of course the little girl can stay here. And we'll do whatever's necessary to make sure she's safe." Jonathan sat back, tossed the slick pamphlet he was reading across the room. It landed on his son's lap. "A little bedtime reading material."

"What is it?"

Jonathan shook his head and sighed. "Do you really not know who Doug Kransten is?" When Justin shook his head, his father said, "With your business acumen, not to mention your medical background, it's a crime. The potential that you had-"

"Dad…"

Jonathan closed his eyes for a moment, cleared his throat as if the action would also wipe clean his thoughts. When he spoke again, his voice was gentler and his tone less aggressive. "Douglas Kransten has been mentioned as being in contention for the Nobel Prize over the past few years. For his work in genetic engineering."

"Kransten's a scientist? I got the impression from Roger that-"

"The impression you got from Roger was correct. Good Lord, Kransten's not a scientist. He's KranMar's founder and major stockholder. It's the second or third largest pharmaceutical company in the world. Mallone knew the implications the moment you mentioned his name. Did you see his eyes light up? When he comes back with the information you asked for, I guarantee you he'll have tied in all your various research companies to KranMar and Doug Kransten."