Michael Crichton - Disclosure

"All right."

"Stay cool, guy. The shit's really going to hit the fan tomorrow. Lots of changes coming."

Up ahead, the ramp went down with a metallic clang. The traffic officers were directing cars off the ferry.

"Gary. You've been monitoring me?"

"Yeah. Sorry about that. They told me I had to."

"Then who's `Afriend'?"

Bosak laughed. He opened the door and got out. "I'm surprised at you, Tom. Don't you know who your friends are?"

The cars were beginning to pull out. Sanders saw brake lights on the car ahead of him flash red, and the car began to move.

"Gary" he said, turning. But Bosak was gone.

He put the car in gear and drove off the ferry.

A the top of the driveway, he stopped to pick up his mail. There was a lot of it; he hadn't checked the mailbox for two days. He drove down to the house and left the car outside the garage. He unlocked the front door and went in. The house seemed empty and cold. It had a lemony odor. Then he remembered that Consuela had probably cleaned up.

He went into the kitchen and set up the coffeemaker for the morning. The kitchen was clean and the children's toys had been picked up; Consuela had definitely been there. He looked at the answering machine.

A red numeral was blinking:14.

Sanders replayed the calls. The first was from John Levin, asking him to call, saying it was urgent. Then Sally, asking if the kids could arrange a play date. But then the rest were all hang-ups. And as he listened, they all seemed to sound exactly the same the thin hissing background static of an overseas call and then the abrupt click of disconnection. Again and again.

Someone was trying to call him.

One of the later calls was apparently placed by an operator, because a woman's lilting voice said, "I'm sorry, there is no answer. Do you wish to leave a message?" And then a man's voice replied, "No." And then disconnection.

Sanders played it back, listening to that "No."

He thought it sounded familiar. Foreign, but still familiar.

“No.”

He listened several times but could not identify the speaker.

"No."

One time, he thought the man sounded hesitant. Or was it hurried? He couldn't tell.

"Do you wish to leave a message?"

“No."

Finally he gave up, rewound the machine, and went upstairs to his office. He'd had no faxes. His computer screen was blank. No further help from "Afriend" tonight.

He read through the paper that Bosak had given him in the car. It was a single sheet, a memo addressed to Garvin, containing a report summary on a Cupertino employee whose name was blanked out. There was also a xerox of a check made out to NE Professional Services signed by Garvin.

It was after one when Sanders went into the bathroom and took a shower. He turned the water up hot, held his face close to the nozzle, and felt the stinging spray on his skin. With the sound of the shower roaring in his ears, he almost missed hearing the telephone ringing. He grabbed a towel and ran into the bedroom.

"Hello?"

He heard the static hiss of an overseas connection. A man's voice said, "Mr. Sanders, please."

"This is Mr. Sanders speaking."

"Mr. Sanders, sir," the voice said, "I do not know if you will remember me. This is Mohammed Jafar."

The morning was clear. Sanders took an early ferry to work and got to his office at eight. He passed the downstairs receptionist and saw a sign that said "Main Conference Room in Use." For a horrified moment he thought that he had again mistaken the time for his meeting, and hurried to look in. But it was Garvin, addressing the Conley-White executives. Garvin was speaking calmly, and the executives were nodding as they listened. Then as he watched, Garvin finished and introduced Stephanie Kaplan, who immediately launched into a financial review with slides. Garvin left the conference room, and immediately his expression turned grim as he walked down the hallway toward the espresso bar at the end of the corridor, ignoring Sanders.

Sanders was about to head upstairs when he heard Phil Blackburn say, "I really feel I have a right to protest the way this matter has been handled."

"Well, you don't," Garvin said angrily. "You don't have any rights at all."

Sanders moved forward, toward the espresso bar. From his position across the hallway, he was able to see into the bar. Blackburn and Garvin were talking by the coffee machines.

"But this is extremely unfair," Blackburn said.

"Fuck unfair," Garvin said. "She named you as the source, you stupid asshole."

"But Bob, you told me-"

"I told you what?" Garvin said, eyes narrowing.

"You told me to handle it. To put pressure on Sanders."

"That's right, Phil. And you told me that you were going to take care of it.'

But you knew I talked to-"

"I knew you had done something," Garvin said. "But I didn't know what. Now she's named you as a source."

Blackburn hung his head. "I just think it's extremely unfair."

"Really? But what do you expect me to do? You're the fucking lawyer, Phil. You're the one always sweating about how things look. You tell me. What do I do?"

Blackburn was silent for a moment. Finally he said, "I'll get John Robinson to represent me. He can work out the settlement agreement."

"Okay, fine." Garvin nodded. "That's fine."

"But I just want to say to you, on a personal level, Bob, that I feel my treatment in this matter has been very unfair."

"Goddamn it, Phil, don't talk to me about your feelings. Your feelings are for sale. Now listen with both ears: Don't go upstairs. Don't clean out your desk. Go right to the airport. I want you on a plane in the next half hour. I want you fucking out of here, right now. Is that clear?"

"I just think you should acknowledge my contribution to the company."

"I am, you asshole," Garvin said. "Now get the fuck out of here, before I lose my temper."

Sanders turned and hurried upstairs. It was hard for him to keep from cheering. Blackburn was fired! He wondered if he should tell anybody; perhaps Cindy, he thought.

But when he got to the fourth floor, the hallways were buzzing; everyone was out of their offices, talking in the corridors. Obviously, rumors of the firing had already leaked. Sanders was not surprised that staffers were in hallways. Even though Blackburn was disliked, his firing would cause widespread uneasiness. Such a sudden change, involving a person so close to Garvin, conveyed to everyone a sense of peril. Everything was at risk.

Outside his office, Cindy said, "Tom, can you believe it? They say Garvin is going to fire Phil."

"You're kidding," Sanders said.

Cindy nodded. "Nobody knows why, but apparently it had something to do with a news crew last night. Garvin's been downstairs explaining it to the Conley-White people."

Behind him, somebody shouted, "It's on the e-mail!" The hallway was instantly deserted; everyone vanished into their offices. Sanders stepped behind his desk and clicked the e-mail icon. But it was slow coming up, probably because every employee in the building was clicking at exactly the same time.

Fernandez came in and said, "Is it true about Blackburn?" "I guess so," Sanders said. "It's just coming over the e-mail now."

FROM: ROBERT GARVIN, PRESIDENT AND CEO

TO: ALL THE DIGICOM FAMILY

IT IS WITH GREAT SADNESS AND A DEEP SENSE OF PERSONAL LOSS THAT I TODAY ANNOUNCE THE RESIGNATION OF OUR VALUED AND TRUSTED CHIEF CORPORATE COUNSEL, PHILIP A. BLACKBURN. PHIL HAS BEEN AN OUTSTANDING OFFICER OF THIS COMPANY FOR NEARLY FIFTEEN YEARS, A WONDERFUL HUMAN BEING, AND A CLOSE PERSONAL FRIEND AND ADVISOR AS WELL. I KNOW THAT LIKE ME, MANY OF YOU WILL MISS HIS WISE COUNSEL AND GOOD HUMOR PROFOUNDLY IN THE DAYS AND WEEKS TO COME. AND I AM SURE THAT YOU WILL ALL JOIN ME IN WISHING HIM THE BEST OF GOOD FORTUNE IN HIS NEW ENDEAVORS. A HEARTY THANK YOU, PHIL. AND GOOD LUCK.