Danielle Steel - Ransom

Peter rode the bus to San Mateo wearing the only clothes he now owned. He looked neat and clean, and had gotten himself a decent haircut. But all he had to wear were the jeans and denim shirt and running shoes they'd given him in prison. He didn't even own a jacket, and he couldn't afford to buy a suit for the interview. As he reached the address on foot, he felt overwhelmed with trepidation.

And in his office, Phillip Addison was sitting at his desk, reading through a thick file. It had been in a locked drawer in his desk for over a year, and was a life's dream for him. He had been thinking about it for nearly three years now. It was the only project he wanted Peter's help with. And whether or not he was willing to do it was of no interest to Phillip. Whether he was capable of pulling it off was the only question. This was the one thing he was not willing to risk, or do badly. It had to be done with the precision of the Bolshoi Ballet, or the surgical instruments he made, with the infinite pinpoint perfection of a laser. There was no room here for slippage. Peter was perfect for it, he thought. It was why Addison had called him back. He had thought of it the moment he got the message. And when his secretary told him Peter was there, he put the file back in the locked drawer, and stood up to greet Peter.

What Peter saw when he entered the room was a tall, impeccably groomed man in his late fifties. He was wearing a custom-made English suit, a handsome tie, and a shirt that had been made for him in Paris. Even his shoes were shined to perfection when he came around the desk to shake Peter's hand, seeming not to notice the garb Peter wore, which he wouldn't have deigned to wash his car with, and Peter knew it. Phillip Addison was so smooth, he was like a greased marble egg sliding across the floor. You could never get a grip on him, or get the goods on him. No one ever had. He was above suspicion. And it made Peter feel uneasy to find him so friendly. His mild threats about the money Peter owed when he called seemed to have been forgotten.

They chatted inanely for a while, and Phillip indulged him by asking what he had in mind. Peter told him the areas that were of interest. Marketing, finance, new investments, new divisions, new business, anything entrepreneurial that Addison thought would be suited to him. And then he sighed and looked at Phillip. It was time to be honest.

“Look, I need the work. If I don't get a job, I'm going to be out on the street with a shopping cart and a tin cup, and maybe only the tin cup and no cart. I'll do whatever you need me to, within reason. I don't want to go back to prison. Short of that, I'd like to work for you. In your legitimate business obviously. The other stuff is just too risky for me. I can't do it. And I don't want to.”

“You've gotten very noble in the last four years. You didn't have quite as many compunctions five years ago, when I met you.”

“I was stupid and a lot younger, and pretty crazy. Fifty-one months in Pelican Bay gets your feet on the floor, and your head out of your ass. It was a good wake-up call, if you can call it that. I'm not going back there. Next time, they'll have to kill me.” He meant it.

“You were lucky they didn't kill you last time,” Addison said openly. “You pissed off a lot of people when you left. What about your debt to me?” Addison asked, not so much because he wanted it, but he wanted to remind Peter that he owed him. It was a fortuitous beginning. For Addison, if not for Peter.

“I told you, I'd be happy to work for it, and have you take it out of my paycheck over time. It's the best I can do for now. I have nothing else to give you.” Addison knew it was the truth. They both did, and Peter was being honest with him. As honest as you could be with a man like Addison. Honesty wasn't something he valued. For him, choirboys were useless. But even Phillip knew you couldn't get blood from a stone. Peter had no money to give him. All he had were brains and motivation, and for now that was enough.

“I could still have you killed, you know,” Addison said quietly. “Some of our mutual friends in Mexico would be happy to do it. More particularly there's one in Colombia who wanted to have you taken out in prison. I asked him not to. I always liked you, Morgan,” Addison said as though discussing his golf game with him. He played golf regularly with heads of industries and heads of state alike. He had important political connections. He was a fraud of such a lofty degree that Peter knew he would be helpless to go after him, if anything ever went wrong. He was a powerful man, an evil force, with absolutely no integrity or morals. None whatsoever. And Peter knew it. He was outclassed in every possible way. If Peter went to work for him, he would be a pawn in one of Addison's chess games. But if he didn't, sooner or later, out of sheer desperation, he could wind up back in Pelican Bay, working for the warden.

“If that's true, about the guy from Colombia, then thank you,” Peter said politely. He didn't want to lie to him, and in response to Addison saying he had always liked him, Peter didn't respond. He never had liked Addison. He knew too much to like him. Addison looked good, but was rotten. He had a very social wife, and four very lovely children. To the few who knew him well, and knew the many masks he wore, they compared Phillip Addison to Satan. To the rest of the world, he seemed successful and respectable. Peter knew better.

“I figured you'd be more useful to me alive one day,” Addison said thoughtfully, as though he had something in mind for him, which he did. “And that time may have come. It seemed like a waste having you die in prison. I have an idea for you. I was thinking about it after we talked today. It's sort of a precision issue of sorts. A highly technical, carefully organized, synchronized combined effort between experts.” He made it sound like open heart surgery, and Peter couldn't figure out what kind of project it was, from what he was saying.

“In what field?” Peter asked, relieved to be talking about work finally, and not threats to have him killed, or the money he owed him. They were getting down to business.

“I'm not prepared to explain it to you yet. I will. But I want to do some more research. Actually, you're going to do the research. I want to think about the execution of the project. That's my job. But first, I want to know that you're in. I want to hire you as the project coordinator. I don't think you have the technical knowledge to do the job. Neither do I. But I want you to line up the experts who will do it for us. And together, we'll share in the profits. I want to cut you in on this deal, not just hire you as an employee. If you do this right, you'll have earned it.” Peter was intrigued as he listened. It sounded interesting and challenging, and profitable. It was just what he needed to get on his feet and make a few investments of his own again, maybe start his own company. He had a keen sense for investments, and had learned a lot before he got off on the wrong track. This was the chance he needed to start over. It was too good to hope for. Maybe his luck was turning. Addison was finally doing something decent for him, and Peter was grateful.

“Is it a long-term research project, to be developed over several years?” There was job security in that, although it might tie him to Addison for longer than he wanted. But it would also give him plenty of time to get on his feet, which was something. He might even get visitation rights with his girls again, which Peter still dreamed of, when he allowed himself to. He hadn't seen his daughters in five years, and his heart ached when he thought of it. He had screwed everything up so badly in the past, even his relationship with his children, while they were still babies. He hoped one day to get to know them. And with financial stability again, he could approach Janet more reasonably, even if she had remarried.