"I… I don't understand."
"Of course you understand, John." He paused. "I know who you are. That is the gist of what I am calling to say. I know about Wilhelm Becker, and even more importantly, I know about Estronate Two-fifty."
Becker glanced over at his manuscript, stacked neatly atop the printer of his word processor, and forced himself to calm down. There was little he could think of that Redding could do to hurt him at this stage of the game. Still, Cyrus Redding was Cyrus Redding, and no amount of caution was too much. Stay calm but don't underestimate.
"Your resourcefulness is quite impressive, " he said. "John, tell me truly, it was Estronate Two-fifty that caused the problems at the Omnicenter, wasn't it?"
"It was."
"The hemorrhaging is an undesirable side effect?"
Becker was about to explain that the problem had been overcome and that his hormone was, to all intents, perfected. He stopped himself at the last moment. "Yes, " he said. "A most unfortunate bug that I have not been able to get out of the system."
"You should have told me, John, " Redding said. "You should have trusted me."
"What do you want?"
"John, come now. It is bad enough you didn't respect me enough to take me into your confidence. It is bad enough your uncondoned experiments have put my entire company in jeopardy. Do not try to demean my intelligence. I want to extend our partnership to include that remarkable hormone of yours. After all, it was tested at a facility that I fund."
"Work is not complete. There are problems. Serious problems."
"Then we shall overcome them. You know the potential of this Estronate of yours as well as I do. I am prepared to make you an onthe-spot offer of, say, half a million dollars now and a similar amount when your work is completed to the satisfaction of my biochemists. And of course, there would be a percentage of all sales."
Sales. Becker realized that his worst possible scenario was being enacted. Redding understood not only the chemical nature of Estronate, but also its limitless value to certain governments. How?
How in hell's name had the man learned so much so quickly? "I… I was planning eventually on submitting my work for publication, " he offered.
Redding laughed. "That would be bad business, John. Very bad business.
The value of our product would surely plummet if its existence and unique properties became general knowledge. Suppose you oversee the scientific end and let me deal with the proprietary."
"If I refuse, " Becker said, "will you kill me?"
Again Redding laughed. "Perhaps. Perhaps I will. However, there are those, I am sure, who would pay dearly for information on the physician whom the Ravensbruck prisoners called the Serpent."
For a time there was silence. "How did you learn of all this?" Becker asked finally.
"Why don't we save explanations, Dr. Becker, for a time after our w business arrangement has been consummated."
"I need time to think."
"Take it. Take as much as you need up to, say, twenty-four hours."
"The intrinsic problems of the hormone may be insurmountable."
"A chance I will take. You owe me this. For the troubles you have the caused at our testing facility, you owe me. In fact, there is something else you owe me as well."
"Oh?"
"I wish to know the individual at the Omnicenter who has been helping you with your work."
Becker started to protest that there was no such person, but decided against testing the man's patience. In less than twelve hours a messenger would deliver the Estronate paper and slides to The New England Journal of Medicine, making the hormone, in essence, public domain. He had already decided that exposure of his true identity and the risk of spending what little was left of his life in prison was a small price to pay for immortality. "Forty-eight hours, " he said.
Redding hesitated. "Very well, then, " he said finally. "Forty-eight hours it will be. You have the number. I shall expect to hear from you within two days. The Estronate work and the name of your associate.
Good-bye." He hung up. "Good-bye, " Becker said to the dial tone. As he drew the receiver from his ear, he heard a faint but definite click. The sound sent fear stabbing beneath his breastbone. Someone, almost certainly William, was on the downstairs extension. How long? How long had he been there?
In the cluttered semidarkness of his study, Willi Becker strained his compromised hearing. For a time, there was only silence. Perhaps, he thought, there hadn't been a click at all. Then he heard the unmistakable tread of footsteps on the stairs. "William? " Again there was silence. "William?"
"Yes, Father, it is." Zimmermann appeared suddenly in the doorway and stood, arms folded, looking placidly across at him. "You… ah… you surprised me. How long have you been in the house?"
"Long enough." Zimmermann strode to the bookcase and poured himself a drink. He was, as usual, immaculately dressed. Light from the gooseneck reading lamp sparked off the heavy diamond ring on the small finger of his left hand and highlighted the sheen on his black Italian-cut loafers. "You were listening in on my conversation, weren't you?"
"Oh, perhaps." Zimmermann snapped a wooden swizzle stick in two and used one edge to clean beneath his nails. "Listening was a rude thing to do."
"Me, rude? Why, Father…"
"Well, if you heard, you heard. It really makes no difference."
"Oh?"
"Just how long were you listening in?"
Zimmermann didn't answer. Instead, he walked to the printer, picked up the Estronate manuscript, and turned it from one side to the other, appraisingly. "A half million dollars and then some. It would seem there is some truth about good things coming in small packages."
"Give me that." Becker was too weak, too depleted by the drugs, even to rise. Zimmermann ignored him. "Wilhelm W. Becker, MD, Phd, " he read.
"So that's who my father is."
"Please, William."
"How good it is to learn that the man John Ferguson, who so ignored and abused my mother all those years, was not my father. The Serpent of Ravensbruck. That's my real father."
"I never abused her. I did what I had to do."
"Father, please. She knew that you could have come home much more often and didn't. She knew about your women, your countless women. She knew that neither of us would ever mean anything to you compared to your precious research."
Becker stared at his son with wide, bloodshot eyes. "You hate me, don't you? " There was incredulity in his voice. "Not really. The truth is, I don't feel much for you one way or the other."
"But I was behind you all the way. My money sent you through school.
Your position at the Omnicenter, how do you think that came about? Do you think Harold French just happened to drown accidentally at the moment you were experienced enough to take over for him?
It was me! " Becker's hoarse, muddy voice had become barely audible. "If you care so little about me, William, then why have you helped me in my work all these years? Why?"
Zimmermann gazed blandly at his father. "Because of your connections, of course. Your friend Redding triples what the hospital pays me. You suggested my name, and he arranged for me to get my professorship. I know he did."
"He got you the position on my say-so, and he can have it taken from you the same way."
"Can he, now." Zimmermann held up the Estronate manuscript. "You lied to him. You told him there were still flaws in the work.
Why?
Are you thinking that once he finds out you have sent this off for publication, he will just walk away and leave us alone? Do you think he vvon't find out who I am? What I have been helping you do behind his back? Do you? " He was screaming. "Well, I tell you right here and now, Father, this is mine. I have paid for it over the years with countless humiliations. Cyrus Redding will have his Estronate, and I shall have my proper legacy."