F Wilson - Sims

Mercer was stunned. “A quarter—how do you know?”

Voss glanced at the security chief. “Mr. Portero’s people have been monitoring the fund.”

Portero’s people…Mercer knew Voss didn’t mean the SimGen security department Portero headed.Portero’s people —SIRG. No one referred to them by name. They were elsewhere, far off the SimGen campus, and Mercer wasn’t the least bit surprised that SIRG had devoted a small part of its vast resources to keeping an eye on Patrick Sullivan’s activities.

He shivered ever so slightly at the thought of being the object of that cold scrutiny.

“Who’d give that kind of money to a small-town ambulance chaser?”

“That boy’s no rube. He was ready and waitin with an injunction when Beacon Ridge tried to trade some of its sims to another club. And he had another ready in record time when we issued that recall on them. He’s anticipated us at every turn. He may be an opportunist, but he’s a smart one.”

“Fine. He got lucky. But where did the money come from?”

“A cashier’s check,” Voss said. “That’s all I know.”

“Perfect,” Mercer said, cracking his knuckles in frustration. “So we can’t trace it.”

“Yes, we can,” Portero said, speaking for the first time. “And we did.”

Mercer stared at the security chief, standing there in his dark suit with his hands tucked behind his back, straight as a board, like some parade ground tin soldier waiting to be inspected.

“Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

Mercer thought he sensed an instant of hesitation in Portero but couldn’t be sure. He doubted this man had an uncertain cell in his body…and yet, he’d seen something flash across his face.

“We are looking into an unexpected aspect of the situation.”

“Which is?”

“The purchaser of the cashier’s check was a Ms. Romy Cadman. You may remember the name: She led the OPRR inspection team.”

Mercer stiffened. “OPRR? You don’t think—?”

Voss shook his head. “OPRR’s budget just barely covers its expenses. Even if it had the surplus it wouldn’t jeopardize its funding by getting involved in something like this.”

“Is she independently wealthy?” Mercer said, feeling his unease growing by the second. “Where’d she get that kind of money?”

“She lives modestly on a modest income,” Portero said flatly. “She purchased the check with cash. That is all we know—so far.”

A quarter of a million in cash. And probably more where that came from. Someone out there wanted Sullivan to succeed.

Again that sense of malevolent convergence through which he could almost hear the gears of some giant piece of machinery starting to turn…an engine of destruction. But whose engine? Whose destruction?

“I don’t like this,” Mercer said.

“Neither do my people,” Portero said. “We’re going to handle matters from here.”

“Meaning what?” Ellis said.

Mercer glanced at his brother. Their eyes met. On this they could agree; neither of them was comfortable with the way Portero’s people handled problems.

“Meaning this situation is spinning out of control. Your attempt to stop Sullivan failed. Now it’s our turn.”

“Now wait a minute,” Voss said, both chins jiggling as he hauled his bulk out of the chair. “Wait just one damn minute. Don’t you folks say another word until I’m on the right side of that door. I don’t need to hear this.”

He hustled across the gray carpet and let himself out.

As soon as the door closed Ellis turned to Portero. “You’re not planning to—”

“No plans have been finalized, but direct action will be taken.”

“No!” Ellis said, rising. “I’m not going to sit by while you and your people pull more of your dirty tricks.”

“You have no choice, I’m afraid,” Portero said without changing his inflection. “The matter is out of your hands. Sullivan has proven smarter and more stubborn than anyone anticipated. Even though the chance that his suit will set a precedent is remote, the mere possibility that he might succeed is unacceptable. My people have decided to stop him now, before he uses the courtroom to plant himself in the national consciousness.”

“My God!” Ellis moaned, shutting his eyes. “Why did we ever become involved with you?”

Portero didn’t answer. No answer was needed. But here again, for the second time in as many minutes—a rare occurrence, to be sure—Mercer could agree with his brother. He wished at times like these that they’d found another way to finance their start-up back in the seventies. But he knew that when he settled down later and was able to regain his perspective, this feeling would pass, and once again he’d appreciate how SimGen never could have achieved its current dominance without SIRG’s help.

Portero said, “We also intend to learn the source of the Cadman woman’s money.”

“How will you do that?”

“Not your concern.” And again a flash of something in Portero’s ebony eyes, almost like regret this time. “But we will know.”

6

WESTCHESTER COUNTY

OCTOBER 26

“Mr. Sullivan?”

Patrick looked up from the box he’d just folded closed. He was nearly finished packing up the books in his office. Strangely enough, he wasn’t the least bit sad about leaving Payes & Hecht. And from the cool reception he’d received in the hallways, he gathered the feeling was mutual.

Only Maggie seemed genuinely sorry to see him go. She was out now, scrounging up more boxes for him, so there’d been no one to intercept his visitor.

He saw a thin, aging woman in a faded blue flowered dress and a rumpled red cardigan sweater. She wore a yellow scarf around her head, babushka style, and clutched a battered black handbag before her with both her bony hands. Her pale hazel eyes peered at him and she nodded vigorously.

“Yes, you’re him,” she said. “I recognize you from the TV.”

“Yes, ma’am?” he said. “Can I help you, Ms….?”

“Fredericks.Miss Alice Fredericks.” She offered a smile that might have been girlish had she possessed more teeth. “I wish to retain your services, Mr. Sullivan.”

The poor woman didn’t look like she had enough for her next meal. Not that it mattered. He was no longer with the firm.

“I’m afraid I—”

“I want you to sue SimGen for me. I can tell you’re a brave man. You’re taking on the company on behalf of those poor dear sims, so I figure you’re just the man, in fact theonly man with the guts to tackle them for me.”

This was interesting.

“That’s very gratifying. On what grounds would you wish me to tackle them, may I ask?”

Her face screwed up, accentuating her wrinkles, and she looked as if she was about to cry. “They took my baby!” she wailed.

Baby? Patrick stared at her. A warning bell clanged in his brain. SimGen might have some skeletons in its corporate closets, but he doubted stealing babies was one of them. And this woman was long, long past the baby-bearing years.

“When did this happen?”

She sobbed. “Years and years ago! I…I’m not sure how many. Things get fuzzy…”

“Why have you waited so long to go after them?”

“I’ve been to every lawyer in New York City and no one will take the case. They’re all afraid!”

“I find that hard to believe, Miss Fredericks. There are literally thousands of lawyers in the city who would get in line to sue SimGen.”

“Sure…until they hear about the space aliens.”

Oh, Christ. No need for a warning bell anymore. There it was, right out on the table: a big, multicolored bull’s-eye withLooney Tunes scrawled across it.

Patrick didn’t want to ask but had to. “Aliens?”