Michael Crichton - State Of Fear

"Let's get to it," he said. "I am supposedly giving ten million dollars to NERF, and we have signed papers, is that right?"

"Right," Lowenstein said.

"But now they want to attach a rider to the agreement?"

"Right," Marty Bren said. "It's pretty standard boilerplate for them." He shuffled through his papers. "Any charity wants to have full use of the money they receive, even when it is earmarked for a particular purpose. Maybe that purpose costs more or less than predicted, or it is delayed, or mired in litigation, or set aside for some other reason. In this case, the money has been earmarked for the Vanutu lawsuit, and the relevant phrase NERF wants to add is "said moneys to be used to defray the cost of the Vanutu litigation, including fees, filing, and copying costs amp;blah blah amp;or for other legal purposes, or for such other purposes as NERF shall see fit in its capacity as an environmental organization."

Morton said, "That's the phrase they want?"

"Boilerplate, as I said," Bren said.

"It's been in my previous donation agreements?"

"I don't recall offhand."

"Because," Morton said, "it sounds to me like they want to be able to pull the plug on this lawsuit, and spend the money elsewhere."

"Oh, I doubt that," Herb said.

"Why?" Morton said. "Why else would they want this boilerplate? Look, we had a signed deal. Now they want a change. Why?"

"It's not really a change," Bren said.

"It sure as hell is, Marty."

"If you look at the original agreement," Bren said calmly, "it says that any money not spent on the lawsuit goes to NERF for other purposes."

"But that's only if there's money left after the lawsuit ends," Morton said. "They can't spend it on anything else until the suit is decided."

"I think they imagine there may be long delays here."

"Why should there be delays?" Morton turned to Evans. "Peter? What is going on over there in Culver City?"

"It looks like the suit is going forward," Evans said. "They have a large operation. There must be forty people working on that one case. I don't think they plan to give it up."

"And are there problems with the suit?"

"There are certainly challenges," Evans said. "It's complicated litigation. They face strong opposing counsel. They're working hard."

"Why am I not convinced here?" Morton said. "Six months ago Nick Drake told me this damn lawsuit was a slam dunk and a great publicity opportunity, and now they want a bail-out clause."

"Maybe we should ask Nick."

"I got a better idea. Let's audit NERF."

Murmurs in the room. "I don't think you have that right, George."

"Make it part of the agreement."

"I'm not sure you can do that."

"They want a rider. I want a rider. What's the difference?"

"I'm not sure you can audit their entire operation"

"George," Herb Lowenstein said. "You and Nick are friends of long standing. You're their Concerned Citizen of the Year. Auditing them seems a little out of character for your relationship."

"You mean it looks like I don't trust them?"

"Put bluntly, yes."

"I don't." Morton leaned on the table and looked at everyone sitting there. "You know what I think? They want to blow off the litigation and spend all the money on this conference on abrupt climate change that Nick is so excited about."

"They don't need ten million for a conference."

"I don't know what they need. He already misplaced two hundred and fifty thousand of my money. It ended up in fucking Vancouver. I don't know what he is doing anymore."

"Well, then you should withdraw your contribution."

"Ah ah," Marty Bren said. "Not so fast. I think they've already made financial commitments based on the reasonable expectation that the money was coming."

"Then give them some amount, and forget the rest."

"No," Morton said. "I'm not going to withdraw the grant. Peter Evans here says the litigation is going forward, and I believe him. Nick says that the two hundred and fifty grand was a mistake, and I believe him. I want you to ask for an audit and I want to know what happens. I will be out of town for the next three weeks."

"You will? Where?"

"I'm taking a trip."

"But we'll have to be able to reach you, George."

"I may be unreachable. Call Sarah. Or have Peter here get in touch with me."

"But George"

"That's it, guys. Talk to Nick, see what he says. We'll be in contact soon."

And he walked out of the room, with Sarah hurrying after him.

Lowenstein turned to the others. "What the hell was that all about?"

Thunder rumbled ominously. Looking out the front windows of his office, Nat Damon sighed. He had always known that that submarine lease would mean trouble. After the check bounced, he had canceled the order, hoping that that would be the end of it. But it wasn't.

For weeks and weeks he had heard nothing, but then one of the men, the lawyer in the shiny suit, had come back unexpectedly to poke a finger in his face and tell him that he had signed a nondisclosure agreement and could not discuss any aspect of the submarine lease with anybody, or risk a lawsuit. "Maybe we'll win, and maybe we'll lose," the lawyer said. "But either way, you're out of business, friend. Your house is mortgaged. You're in debt for the rest of your life. So, think it over. And keep your mouth shut."

All during this, Damon's heart was pounding. Because the fact was, Damon had already been contacted by some sort of revenue service guy. A man named Kenner, who was coming to Damon's office that very afternoon. To ask a few questions, he had said.

Damon had been afraid that this Kenner would show up while the lawyer was still in his office, but now the lawyer was driving away. His car, a nondescript Buick sedan with Ontario plates, drove through the boatyard, and was gone.

Damon started to clean up the office, getting ready to go home. He was toying with the idea of leaving before Kenner arrived. Kenner was some revenue agent. Damon had done nothing wrong. He didn't have to meet any revenue agent. And if he did, what would he do, say he couldn't answer questions?

The next thing, he'd be subpoenaed or something. Dragged into court.

Damon decided to leave. There was more thunder, and the crack of distant lightning. A big storm was moving in.

As he was closing up, he saw that the lawyer had left his cell phone on the counter. He looked out to see if the lawyer was coming back for it. Not yet, but surely he would realize he had left it, and come back. Damon decided to leave before he showed up.

Hastily, he slipped the cell phone in his pocket, turned out the lights, and locked the office. The first drops of rain were spattering the pavement as he went to his car, parked right in front. He opened the door and was climbing into the car when the cell phone rang. He hesitated, not sure what to do. The phone rang insistently.

A jagged bolt of lightning crashed down, striking the mast of one of the ships in the boatyard. In the next instant there was a burst of light by the car, a blast of furious heat that knocked him to the ground. Dazed, he tried to get up.

He was thinking that his car had exploded, but it hadn't; the car was intact, the door blackened. Then he saw that his trousers were on fire. He stared stupidly at his own legs, not moving. He heard the rumble of thunder and realized that he had been struck by lightning.

My God, he thought. I was hit by lightning. He sat up and slapped at his trousers, trying to put out the fire. It wasn't working, and his legs were beginning to feel pain. He had a fire extinguisher inside the office.

Staggering to his feet, he moved unsteadily to his office. He was unlocking the door, his fingers fumbling, when there was another explosion. He felt a sharp pain in his ears, reached up, touched blood. He looked at his bloody fingertips, fell over, and died.