Robin Cook - Vector

As they’d talked, Laurie had been tempted to bring up the issue of the nature of his work in the context of the discussion of hers, but decided against it. In the face of his sincere apology, she didn’t want to seem unappreciative or insensitive. She’d decided to wait for a more opportune time.

And then there’d been the other surprise. Paul had told her that he’d managed to change the Budapest trip until the following weekend in hopes that her schedule would permit her to go. He’d even said she had all week to decide.

The dessert arrived, and it was a piece of vertical chocolate art. At its core was a moist, dark, flourless chocolate cake that Laurie could not resist. After a taste she smacked her lips with delight.

Paul had ordered a brandy. When it arrived, he swirled it, smelled it, and then took a taste. Satisfied, he leaned back and smiled. He was the picture of contentment.

“There’s something I want to ask you, Paul,” Laurie said, sensing there could not be a better time to bring up the work issue. “I know when I asked you this question this morning, it seemed confrontational. I didn’t mean it to be, and I certainly don’t mean it to be now, but I’d like to know what kind of business you are in.”

Paul stopped swirling his brandy and regarded Laurie with his coal-black eyes. “Why do you want to know?” he asked with a calm, even voice.

“As your future wife, I’d think you’d want me to know,” Laurie said with some surprise. She didn’t expect his response to be a question. “If you didn’t know what I did, I’d certainly want to tell you.”

“My response this morning was to ask if it mattered,” Paul said. “Does it?”

“It could,” Laurie said. “Take my job. My own mother has this distorted idea that it’s ghoulish. You could have felt the same way.”

“Well, I certainly don’t.”

“I’m glad,” Laurie said. “But you get my point. I don’t think my mother would have married my father if he’d been a medical examiner, at least I don’t think so.”

“Are you trying to tell me that if my business is something you don’t approve of, you won’t marry me?”

“Paul, this is not an argument,” Laurie said. “Now you are scaring me by making this discussion into something it needn’t be. Please tell me what your business is.”

“I’m in the defense business,” Paul said with an edge to his voice.

“Okay, that’s a start,” Laurie said. She looked down into the swirled surface of her cappuccino. “Can you be a little more specific?”

“What is this, an inquisition?” Paul demanded.

“No, Paul, as I said, this is a discussion.”

“And such an entertaining discussion!” Paul said sarcastically.

“Why are you being so defensive? This doesn’t sound like you.”

“I’m being defensive because too many people have the same prosaic response about the arms business.”

“And you think I’m going to have the same response?”

“It’s possible.”

“What is it you sell?”

“I sell arms. Isn’t that enough? Can’t we talk about something else?”

“You mean like cannons, bombs, or guns.”

“A little of all of them,” Paul said. “Whatever is in demand.”

“What about Bulgarian AK-47 assault rifles?” Laurie asked.

“Sure,” Paul said, surprised at such a specific question. “It’s one of my preferred products. It’s a reliable, inexpensive, well-made weapon. Much better than the Chinese version.”

Laurie closed her eyes. She could see a montage of images of Brad Cassidy’s body and his grieving parents. She remembered how she’d felt when Shirley Cassidy said that her son was selling Bulgarian AK-47s to other skinheads. To think that Paul could be involved in such things was hard to comprehend, especially recalling the mayhem from guns she’d witnessed over the years in her professional position as a medical examiner.

Laurie took a deep breath. She was conscious her emotions were getting the best of her, and in such circumstances she knew she had a tendency toward tears. She didn’t want to cry. Whenever she did, it irritated her to no end because it invariably precluded further discussion. She opened her eyes and looked at Paul. She read his expression as defensively arrogant.

“Do you ever think of the consequences of the guns you sell?” Laurie asked. She wanted to keep the conversation going.

“Of course,” Paul said flippantly. “They provide people with the ability to defend themselves in a dangerous world.”

“What about when the guns end up in the hands of violent, right-wing fringe groups?” Laurie asked. “Like skinheads?”

“They have a right to defend themselves just like anyone else.”

“The problem is, with such bigoted hate groups, the guns tend to get used and they kill people.”

“Guns don’t kill people,” Paul said cavalierly. “People kill people.”

“Now you’re sounding like a National Rifle Association spokesperson,” Laurie said.

“The NRA has some very good points,” Paul said. “Like the fact that the Constitution itself very specifically gives us the right to bear arms. When the government intervenes like it did with the Omnibus Crime Bill, it’s acting blatantly unconstitutionally.”

Laurie stared at her potential fiancé-to-be and shook her head. She couldn’t believe they could be so far apart on such an important issue when they were so compatible in so many other ways.

Paul tossed his napkin onto the table. “I’m frankly disappointed that your response to my business has turned out to be exactly the hackneyed one I was worried about. Now you know why I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“I’m disappointed myself,” Laurie said. “I don’t like to think of you selling guns, particularly those Bulgarian assault rifles, wherever it is you sell them. I mean, you don’t sell them in this country anymore, do you?”

“It’s against the law, thanks to the unconstitutional Omnibus Crime Bill,” Paul said.

“That’s not what I asked,” Laurie said. “I know they are banned. I asked you if you sold them.”

Laurie stared at Paul. For a few moments he didn’t respond. His only movement was the rise and fall of his chest with his respiration. Their eyes were locked in a kind of duel.

“Aren’t you going to answer?” Laurie demanded incredulously.

“It’s such a stupid question,” Paul said haughtily, “I don’t think it deserves an answer.”

“But I’d like one,” Laurie said defiantly.

Paul took a drink from his brandy snifter, held the liquor in his mouth for a moment, then swallowed. “No, I don’t sell Bulgarian AK-47s in the United States. Are you satisfied?”

Laurie took a sip from her cappuccino. She didn’t answer herself while she mulled over the conversation. She wasn’t satisfied at all. In fact she was angry about the way Paul had responded to her reasonable questions. The good side was that the anger chased away her tendency toward tears. Enflaming her further, Paul was regarding her with an irritating superciliousness.

“Frankly I’m not pleased about any of this,” Laurie said. “What prompted me to ask about the nature of your work was that I had been told you were in the arms business.”

“By whom?” Paul demanded.

“I don’t think that’s relevant,” Laurie said. “But from the same source, I was told that you were convicted of cocaine possession. Is there anything you’d like to say about that?”

Paul’s eyes blazed in the reflected glow from the candle on the table. “This truly is an inquisition,” he snapped.

“You can call it what you like,” Laurie said. “From my perspective, it’s clearing the air. These are issues which I should have heard from you, not someone else.”