Warren Murphy - Profit Motive

She poured herself a drink from the bar and fondled the bottle of Stolichnaya for a moment before replacing it in the rack.

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Not bad, she told herself. Not bad for a woman who three years earlier had been selling houses in Florida, supporting a husband who had decided that work was the curse of the leisure class, and wondering how she was going to make the next payment on her thirty-month old Ford station wagon.

It had all started with a telephone call. The warmest, kindest voice she had ever heard was on the other end of the line, and he told her where to buy property in Florida that would soon be condemned for a new state highway. She was desperate, and she did it, and six months later she was rich. She had always assumed her caller was some state official trying to get rich on inside information and that he would come one day to collect his share of the winnings. But he never did.

She next heard from the voice when it called and told her to invest her money in the stock of a company called Polypussides, and she did. She had made $600,-000 on the land deal, and she put almost every cent into Polypussides. Even as she did it, she cursed herself as a fool because she had never had a chance to spend any of her wealth, to revel in it, to try wasting some of it. All she kept was $5,000, and she used that to get a lawyer and get rid of her husband.

Three months after buying Polypussides stock, she was elected president of the company. She had spoken to her friend on the telephone.

"What do I do as president?" she had said in panic. "I don't even know what this company does."

"This company does what I want it to do," her friend had said. "And you do the same thing and I will make you rich."

So she had and he had. She became president of all the Bleem companies and all their subsidiaries, including Puressence. And once she had asked her friend why he had chosen her to help.

"Because you and I are the same kind of folks," he had said. "I knew we could do business together."

"When am I going to meet you? I owe you so much."

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"I don't get out much," her friend said. "But maybe one day."

It had been her friend who insisted that a computer be bought for the Raleigh headquarters of Bleem International. She approved it, even though she didn't know what they needed a computer for, because she still didn't know what the company did. Every time she had to make a presidential decision, she asked for a written memo on it. And every night, her friend would call her on the telephone, and she would read him the memo, and he would tell her what to do.

She learned not to argue. Her $600,000 had mushroomed to almost $900,000,000. She might be America's first industrialist woman billionaire, she thought. As long as her friend stayed by her side.

So far, she had done nothing to displease him. Until now.

She settled down behind her desk with the drink in her hand and waited for what she knew would happen.

She had time for one large sip before the telephone rang.

"Hello."

"This is Friend," the warm voice said. "I'm disappointed in you."

iCT

"Don't explain right away. Finish your drink."

How did he know she was drinking? She gulped the rest of the Stolichnaya hurriedly.

"Why are you disappointed, Friend?" she asked. "I tried to do what you said."

"But you didn't succeed. I wanted you to get the bacteria in the Hamidi oil supply. You didn't do that. I told you to take care of those two men, to try to find their weaknesses and see to their removal. You failed at that. I asked you to try to find out who they worked for. You failed at that also."

"One of them is gone," Reva said. "The old one. I couldn't find out the weakness of the other one. And I was holding back using the bacteria to promote a fight

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between them. It was just by accident that it never got into the oil supply."

"So the one man still exists and may yet interfere with our plans. This is not good, Reva. Is this any way to treat a friend?"

"I'm still trying. I have him coming to my office later today," she said.

"Well, that is good. Maybe we can find a weakness in him. Be sure to show him the computer when he comes."

"Why?"

"Reva, we have gotten along so far very well,

haven't we?"

"Yes."

"Then why do you ask me why? It would really crush me if you didn't trust me."

"I trust you," she said quickly. "I'll bring him in to see the computer."

"Good. I'm going to make you terribly rich, Reva."

"You already have."

"A pittance. I mean really rich. And I'm not mad at you, Reva. I really like you. Just do what I say. Toodle-oo."

And the connection was broken. Reva got up to pour herself another drink. Her course of action was clear. Remo was good in bed, but her friend was good for the long haul. She would do whatever she had to do for him. And maybe she could get Remo back in bed too.

At five after five Remo arrived at the headquarters of Bleem International. The guard at the closed building escorted him to Reva's office, and when Remo opened the door, Reva ran into his arms.

"I've missed you," she said. "Why'd you leave Hamidi Arabia so quickly?"

"I had business," Remo said.

"Without saying good-bye?"

"I knew it would never be good-bye between us," Remo said. Dammit, he hated Chiun. If he couldn't fig-

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ure out a way to keep this woman off him, he would have to play royal stud to her forever.

"Want a drink?" she asked.

"No. You have one. Have a couple." Maybe he could get her drunk.

"Thank you. Maybe just one," she said.

"Have you spoken to your friend about meeting me?" Remo asked.

"Yes."

"I wish I knew his name."

"So do I," she said. "He's just my friend."

"What did he say?"

"He wants to meet you," Reva said.

"Good. Call him now and set up a date."

"I can't do that," Reva said, sipping her Stolichnaya. "I don't know how to reach him. He always reaches me." She motioned with her head for Remo to follow her as she sat on the suede sofa, but Remo walked past it to perch on the edge of her desk.

"You can't be very close if you don't know where to reach him," Remo said.

"We're very close," she said stubbornly. "He's my mentor." Reva put down her glass and spread her arms back behind the couch along the wall, a pose she knew showed off her bosom to its best advantage. Through the backs of her arms, she felt a faint vibration. The wall was vibrating. It was the computer. That was odd, she thought. The machine generally shut itself down at exactly :30 p.m. each day, and here it was almost 5:30 p.m., and the wall was vibrating. Then she remembered what Friend had said. Bring Remo in to see the computer.

"Come on, Remo," she said, standing up. "I want to show you something."

"What?" Remo asked.

"My computer."

"Naaah, I don't want to," Remo said. "Place I work for has computers too. I hate them."

"What place is that?"

"Stop pumping, Reva."

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"Come on. Friend wanted you to see this computer."

"He did?" asked Remo.

"That's what he said."

Reva led Remo into the large room next door to her office. She flipped on the light switch and let Remo follow her inside. The computer was built against the left-hand wall of the room, covering every inch of space from wall to wall, ceiling to floor. It was three feet deep. There was a faint hum in the room.

"It's still on," Remo said.

"No, it's not," Reva said. 'That's an internal thermostat. Computer connections are delicate, so it has built-in heating and cooling units. It senses the room temperature, even when it's off, and turns on heat or cold automatically. Brilliant?"

Remo shrugged. "People have been doing the same thing with their bodies for millions of years. Nobody ever called them brilliant." He was still standing in the doorway, and Reva gestured for Remo to join her in front of the machine.