“It’s going to be a long, bumpy road,” he said. He gestured around at the barrack. “I mean, let’s face it: This isn’t a bad life. These sims have it pretty good, don’t you think?”
“Maybe, but they’re a lucky minority. You can’t imagine what I’ve seen. As a matter of fact…”
She stopped herself. Did she dare? Yes. Why not? Mr. Patrick Sullivan needed something to rile him up, stiffen his spine.
“Tell you what,” she said. “I’ll call you in the next day or two and bring you along as I wind up an investigation I’ve been pursuing for weeks. You game?”
He shrugged. “Sure. I’ll just need—”
Anj whimpered. Her eyes remained closed in sleep.
“Misses her mother, I’ll bet,” Romy said.
Sullivan stared down at the young sim. “Afraid I can’t help her there.”
“Want me to take her?”
He raised a hand and gingerly, gently, began stroking her stiff, stringy hair. “No. That’s all right.”
Romy realized she was catching a glimpse of a facet of Patrick Sullivan that he hid from the world, perhaps even from himself.
“You prefer Patrick to Pat?” she said.
He glanced up with a surprised expression, then grimaced. “Pat sounds like an androgynous serving of butter, and Patty makes me sound like I should be holding up the bar at the Dublin House Pub. Just Patrick.”
“All right, Patrick,” she said. She hesitated, then figured, what the hell. “And you might as well call me Romy.”
5
SUSSEX COUNTY, NJ
OCTOBER 25
“Sullivan quit the firm rather than drop the sims!” Mercer Sinclair said.
He pushed his chair back from his desk and began to pace his office. His personal news service had picked up Sullivan’s announcement that he was going into solo practice, and informed him via his computer first thing this morning. Immediately he’d called Voss and Portero. Somehow his brother had got wind and showed up as well. Not that Ellis would contribute anything. Not that Mercer cared. He was too baffled, too pissed to care.
“I can’t believe it!” he went on. “Is the man crazy? Has he suddenly become a crusader? What’s gotten into him?”
Abel Voss cleared his throat. “An infusion of cash, it appears.”
“Really? How much?”
“Quarter mil was deposited to his sim defense fund two days ago.”
Mercer was stunned. “A quarter—how do you know?”
Voss glanced at the security chief. “Mr. Portero’s people have been monitoring the fund.”
Portero’s people…Mercer knew Voss didn’t mean the SimGen security department Portero headed.Portero’s people —SIRG. No one referred to them by name. They were elsewhere, far off the SimGen campus, and Mercer wasn’t the least bit surprised that SIRG had devoted a small part of its vast resources to keeping an eye on Patrick Sullivan’s activities.
He shivered ever so slightly at the thought of being the object of that cold scrutiny.
“Who’d give that kind of money to a small-town ambulance chaser?”
“That boy’s no rube. He was ready and waitin with an injunction when Beacon Ridge tried to trade some of its sims to another club. And he had another ready in record time when we issued that recall on them. He’s anticipated us at every turn. He may be an opportunist, but he’s a smart one.”
“Fine. He got lucky. But where did the money come from?”
“A cashier’s check,” Voss said. “That’s all I know.”
“Perfect,” Mercer said, cracking his knuckles in frustration. “So we can’t trace it.”
“Yes, we can,” Portero said, speaking for the first time. “And we did.”
Mercer stared at the security chief, standing there in his dark suit with his hands tucked behind his back, straight as a board, like some parade ground tin soldier waiting to be inspected.
“Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”
Mercer thought he sensed an instant of hesitation in Portero but couldn’t be sure. He doubted this man had an uncertain cell in his body…and yet, he’d seen something flash across his face.
“We are looking into an unexpected aspect of the situation.”
“Which is?”
“The purchaser of the cashier’s check was a Ms. Romy Cadman. You may remember the name: She led the OPRR inspection team.”
Mercer stiffened. “OPRR? You don’t think—?”
Voss shook his head. “OPRR’s budget just barely covers its expenses. Even if it had the surplus it wouldn’t jeopardize its funding by getting involved in something like this.”
“Is she independently wealthy?” Mercer said, feeling his unease growing by the second. “Where’d she get that kind of money?”
“She lives modestly on a modest income,” Portero said flatly. “She purchased the check with cash. That is all we know—so far.”
A quarter of a million in cash. And probably more where that came from. Someone out there wanted Sullivan to succeed.
Again that sense of malevolent convergence through which he could almost hear the gears of some giant piece of machinery starting to turn…an engine of destruction. But whose engine? Whose destruction?
“I don’t like this,” Mercer said.
“Neither do my people,” Portero said. “We’re going to handle matters from here.”
“Meaning what?” Ellis said.
Mercer glanced at his brother. Their eyes met. On this they could agree; neither of them was comfortable with the way Portero’s people handled problems.
“Meaning this situation is spinning out of control. Your attempt to stop Sullivan failed. Now it’s our turn.”
“Now wait a minute,” Voss said, both chins jiggling as he hauled his bulk out of the chair. “Wait just one damn minute. Don’t you folks say another word until I’m on the right side of that door. I don’t need to hear this.”
He hustled across the gray carpet and let himself out.
As soon as the door closed Ellis turned to Portero. “You’re not planning to—”
“No plans have been finalized, but direct action will be taken.”
“No!” Ellis said, rising. “I’m not going to sit by while you and your people pull more of your dirty tricks.”
“You have no choice, I’m afraid,” Portero said without changing his inflection. “The matter is out of your hands. Sullivan has proven smarter and more stubborn than anyone anticipated. Even though the chance that his suit will set a precedent is remote, the mere possibility that he might succeed is unacceptable. My people have decided to stop him now, before he uses the courtroom to plant himself in the national consciousness.”
“My God!” Ellis moaned, shutting his eyes. “Why did we ever become involved with you?”
Portero didn’t answer. No answer was needed. But here again, for the second time in as many minutes—a rare occurrence, to be sure—Mercer could agree with his brother. He wished at times like these that they’d found another way to finance their start-up back in the seventies. But he knew that when he settled down later and was able to regain his perspective, this feeling would pass, and once again he’d appreciate how SimGen never could have achieved its current dominance without SIRG’s help.
Portero said, “We also intend to learn the source of the Cadman woman’s money.”
“How will you do that?”
“Not your concern.” And again a flash of something in Portero’s ebony eyes, almost like regret this time. “But we will know.”
6
WESTCHESTER COUNTY
OCTOBER 26
“Mr. Sullivan?”
Patrick looked up from the box he’d just folded closed. He was nearly finished packing up the books in his office. Strangely enough, he wasn’t the least bit sad about leaving Payes & Hecht. And from the cool reception he’d received in the hallways, he gathered the feeling was mutual.