Ken Follett - the Third Twin (1996)

“I’m a business student. Isn’t there a statute of limitations on that? Anything that happened twenty-three years ago—”

“There is a statute of limitations, but it runs from the time of discovery of the fraud. Which in this case was last week.”

In the background, a Hispanic voice shouted: “Hey, Hank, you got about a hundred customers waiting!”

Hank said into the phone: “You’re beginning to sound a little more convincing.”

“Does that mean you’ll come?”

“Hell, no. It means I’ll think about it after I get off work tonight. Now I have to serve drinks.”

“You can reach me at the hotel,” Steve said, but he was too late: Hank had hung up.

Jeannie and Lisa were staring at him.

He shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said frustratedly. “I don’t know if I convinced him or not.”

Lisa said: “We’ll just have to wait and see if he shows up.”

“What does Wayne Stattner do for a living?”

“He owns nightclubs. He probably already has ten million dollars.”

“Then we’ll have to pique his curiosity. Do you have a number?”

“Yes.”

Steve called it, and got an answering machine. “Hi, Wayne, my name is Steve Logan and you may notice that my voice sounds exactly like yours. That’s because, believe it or not, we are identical. I’m six feet two, a hundred and ninety pounds, and I look exactly like you except for hair color. Some other things we probably have in common: I’m allergic to macadamia nuts, I have no nails on my little toes, and when I’m thinking I scratch the back of my left hand with the fingers of my right. Now here’s the kicker: We’re not twins. There are several of us. One committed a crime at Jones Falls University last Sunday—that’s why you got a visit from the Baltimore police yesterday. And we’re meeting tomorrow at the Stouffer Hotel in Baltimore at noon. This is weird, Wayne, but I swear to you it’s all true. Call me or Dr. Jean Ferrami at the hotel, or just show up. It will be interesting.” He hung up and looked at Jeannie. “What do you think?”

She shrugged. “He’s a man who can afford to follow his whims. He may be intrigued. And a nightclub owner probably doesn’t have anything pressing to do on a Monday morning. On the other hand, I wouldn’t take a plane on the strength of a phone message like that.”

The phone rang and Steve picked it up automatically. “Hello?”

“Can I speak to Steve?” The voice was unfamiliar.

“This is Steve.”

“This is Uncle Preston. I’m putting your dad on.”

Steve did not have an uncle Preston. He frowned, mystified. A moment later another voice came on the line. “Is anyone with you, is she listening?”

Suddenly Steve understood. Mystification gave way to shock. He could not think what to do. “Hold on a moment,” he said. He covered the mouthpiece with his hand. “I think this is Berrington Jones!” he said to Jeannie. “And he thinks I’m Harvey. What the hell do I do?”

Jeannie spread her hands in a gesture of bewilderment. “Improvise,” she said.

“Gee, thanks.” Steve put the phone to his ear. “Uh, yeah, this is Steve,” he said.

“What’s going on? You’ve been there hours!”

“I guess so.…”

“Have you found out what Jeannie’s planning to do?”

“Uh … yes, I have.”

“Then get back here and tell us!”

“Okay.”

“You’re not trapped in any way, are you?”

“No.”

“I suppose you’ve been fucking her.”

“You could say that.”

“Get your goddamn pants on and come home! We’re all in bad trouble!”

“Okay.”

“Now, when you hang up, you’re going to say it was someone who works for your parents’ lawyer, calling to say you’re needed in D.C. as soon as possible. That’s your cover story, and it gives you a reason to hurry. Okay?”

“Okay. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

Berrington hung up and Steve did likewise.

Steve’s shoulders slumped with relief. “I think I fooled him.”

Jeannie said: “What did he say?”

“It was very interesting. It seems Harvey was sent here to find out what your intentions are. They’re worried about what you might do with the knowledge you have.”

“They? Who?”

“Berrington and someone called Uncle Preston.”

“Preston Barck, president of Genetico. So why did they call?”

“Impatience. Berrington got fed up with waiting. I guess he and his cronies are waiting to find out so they can figure out how to respond. He told me to pretend I have to go to Washington to see the lawyer, then get back to his house as fast as I can.”

Jeannie looked worried. “This is very bad. When Harvey doesn’t show up, Berrington will know something’s wrong. The Genetico people will be forewarned. There’s no telling what they might do: move the press conference to another location, step up security so we can’t get in, even cancel the event altogether and sign the papers in a lawyer’s office.”

Steve frowned, staring at the floor. He had an idea, but he hesitated to propose it. Finally he said: “Then Harvey must go home.”

Jeannie shook her head. “He’s been lying there on the floor listening to us. He’ll tell them everything.”

“Not if I go in his place.”

Jeannie and Lisa stared at him, aghast.

He had not worked it out; he was thinking aloud. “I’ll go to Berrington’s home and pretend to be Harvey. I’ll reassure them.”

“Steve, it’s so hazardous. You don’t know anything about their life. You wouldn’t even know where the bathroom was.”

“If Harvey could fool you, I guess I could fool Berrington.” Steve tried to sound more confident than he felt.

“Harvey didn’t fool me. I found him out.”

“He fooled you for a while.”

“Less than an hour. You’d have to stay there longer.”

“Not much. Harvey normally returns to Philadelphia on Sunday evening, we know that. I’ll be back here by midnight.”

“But Berrington is Harvey’s father. It’s impossible.”

He knew she was right. “Do you have a better idea?”

Jeannie thought for a long moment, then she said: “No.”

59

STEVE PUT ON HARVEY’S BLUE CORDUROY PANTS AND LIGHT blue sweater and drove Harvey’s Datsun to Roland Park. It was dark by the time he reached Berrington’s house. He parked behind a silver Lincoln Town Car and sat for a moment, summoning his courage.

He had to get this right. If he was found out, Jeannie was finished. But he had nothing to go on, no information to work with. He would have to be alert to every hint, sensitive to expectations, relaxed about errors. He wished he were an actor.

What mood is Harvey in? he asked himself. He’s been summoned rather peremptorily by his father. He might have been enjoying himself with Jeannie. I think he’s in a bad mood.

He sighed. He could not postpone the dread moment any longer. He got out of the car and went to the front door.

There were several keys on Harvey’s key ring. He peered at the lock on Berrington’s front door. He thought he could make out the word “Yale.” He looked for a Yale key. Before he could find one, Berrington opened the door. “What are you standing there for?” he said irritably. “Get in here.”

Steve stepped inside.

“Go in the den,” Berrington said.

Where the fuck is the den? Steve fought down a wave of panic. The house was a standard suburban ranch-style split-level built in the seventies. To his left, through an arch, he could see a living room with formal furniture and no one in it. Straight ahead was a passage with several doors off it which, he guessed, led to bedrooms. On his right were two closed doors. One of them was probably the den—but which?