«Perfectly safe,» his erstwhile friend assured him.
«We’re talking a long time here,» Jason said. «I may stay frozen for years and years. A century or more.»
«The insurance industry has been around for centuries, Jace. We’re the most stable institution in Western civilization.»
Just then the phone screen nickered and went gray. Jason thought that they had been cut off. But before he could do anything about it, a young oriental gentleman’s face came on the screen, smiling at him.
«I am the new CEO of Amalgamated Life,» he said, in perfectly good American English. «How may I help you?»
«What happened to—»
«Amalgamated has been acquired by Lucky Sun Corporation, a division of Bali Entertainment and Gambling, Limited. We are diversifying into the insurance business. Our new corporate headquarters will be in Las Vegas, Nevada. Now then, how can I be of assistance to you?»
Jason screamed and cut the connection.
Who can I trust? he asked himself, over and over again, as his chauffeur drove him to his palatial home, far out in the countryside. How can I stash my money away where none of the lawyers or tax people can steal it away from me?
He thought of Snow White sleeping peacefully while the seven dwarfs faithfully watched over her. I don’t have seven dwarfs, Jason thought, almost in tears. I don’t have anybody. No one at all.
The assassination attempt nearly solved his problem for him.
He was alone in his big rambling house, except for the servants. As he often did, Jason stood out on the glassed-in back porch, overlooking the beautifully wooded ravine that gave him a clear view of the sunset. Industrial pollution from the distant city made the sky blaze with brilliant reds and oranges. Jason swirled a badly needed whisky in a heavy crystal glass, trying to overcome his feelings of dread as he watched the sun go down.
He knew that there would be precious few sunsets left for him to see. Okay, so I won’t really be dead, he told himself. I’ll just be frozen for a while. Like going to sleep. I’ll wake up later.
Oh yeah? a voice in his head challenged. Who’s going to wake you up? What makes you think they’ll take care of your frozen body for years, for centuries? What’s to stop them from pulling the plug on you? Or selling your body to some medical research lab? Or maybe for meat!
Jason shuddered. He turned abruptly and headed for the door to the house just as a bullet smashed the curving glass where he had been standing an instant earlier.
Pellets of glass showered him. Jason dropped his glass and staggered through the door into the library.
«A sniper?» he yelped out loud. «Out here?»
No, he thought, with a shake of his head. Snipers do their sniping in the inner city or on college campuses or interstate highways. Not out among the homes of the rich and powerful. He called for his butler.
No answer.
He yelled for any one of his servants.
No reply.
He dashed to the phone on the sherry table by the wing chairs tastefully arranged around the fireplace. The phone was dead. He banged on it, but it remained dead. The fireplace burst into cheery flames, startling him so badly that he nearly fell over the sherry table.
Glancing at his wristwatch, Jason saw that it was precisely seven-thirty. The house’s computer was still working, he realized. It turned on the gas-fed fireplace on time. But the phones are out and the servants aren’t answering me. And there’s a sniper lurking out in the ravine, taking shots at me.
The door to the library opened slowly. Jason’s heart crawled up his throat.
«Wixon, it’s you!»
Jason’s butler was carrying a silver tray in his gloved hands. «Yes sir,» he replied in his usual self effacing whisper.
«Why didn’t you answer me when I called for you? Somebody took a shot at me and—»
«Yes sir, I know. I had to go out to the ravine and deal with the man.»
«Deal with him?»
«Yes sir,» whispered the butler. «He was a professional assassin, hired by your third wife.»
«By Jessica?»
«I believe your former wife wanted you killed before your new will is finalized,» said the butler.
«Ohhh.» Jason sagged into the wing chair. All the strength seemed to evaporate from him.
«I thought you might like a whisky, sir.» The butler bent over him and proffered the silver tray. The crystal of the glass caught the firelight like glittering diamonds. Ice cubes tinkled in the glass reassuringly.
«No thanks,» said Jason. «I fixed one for myself when I came in.»
«Wouldn’t you like another, sir?»
«You know I never have more than one.» Jason looked up at the butler’s face. Wixon had always looked like a wax dummy, his face expressionless. But at the moment, with the firelight playing across his features, he seemed—intent.
«Shouldn’t we phone the police?» Jason asked. «I mean, the man tried to kill me.»
«That’s all taken care of, sir.» Wixon edged the tray closer to Jason. «Your drink, sir.»
«I don’t want another drink, dammit!»
The butler looked disappointed. «I merely thought, with all the excitement…»
Jason dismissed the butler, who left the drink on the table beside him. Alone in the library, Jason stared into the flames of the gas-fed fireplace. The crystal glass glittered and winked at him alluringly. Maybe another drink is what I need, Jason told himself. It’s been a hard day.
He brought the glass to his lips, then stopped. Wixon knows I never have more than one drink. Why would he …?
Poison! Jason threw the glass into the fireplace, leaped up from the chair and dashed for the garage. They’re all out to get me! Five wives, five children, ten sets of lawyers, bankers, the IRS—I’m a hunted man!
Once down in the dimly lit garage he hesitated only for a moment. They might have rigged a bomb in the Ferrari, he told himself. So, instead, he took the gardener’s pickup truck.
As he crunched down the long gravel driveway to the main road, all the library windows blew out in a spectacular gas-fed explosion.
By the time he reached his brother’s rectory, it was almost midnight. But Jason felt strangely calm, at peace with himself and the untrustworthy world that he would soon be departing.
Jason pounded on the rectory door until Michael’s housekeeper, clutching a house robe to her skinny frame, reluctantly let him in.
«The monsignor sound asleep,» she insisted, with an angry frown.
«Wake him,» Jason insisted even more firmly.
She brought him to the study and told him to wait there. The fireplace was cold and dark. The only light in the room came from the green-shaded lamp on Michael’s desk. Jason paced back and forth, too wired to sit still.
As soon as Michael padded into the study, in his bedroom slippers and bathrobe, rubbing sleep from his eyes, Jason started to pour out his soul.
«Give your entire estate to the Church?» Michael sank into one of the leather armchairs.
«Yes!» Jason pulled the other chair close to his brother, and leaned forward eagerly. «With certain provisions, of course.»
«Provisions.»
Jason ticked off on his fingers, «First, I want the Church to oversee the maintenance of my frozen body. I want the Church to guarantee that nobody’s going to pull the plug on me.»
Michael nodded warily.
«Second, I want the Church to monitor medical research and decide when I should be revived. And by whom.»
Nodding again, Michael said, «Go on.»
«That’s it.»
«Those are the only conditions?»
Jason said. «Yes.»
Stirring slightly in his chair, Michael asked, «And what does the Church get out of this?»
«Half my estate.»
«Half?» Michael’s eyebrows rose.
«I think that’s fair, don’t you? Half of my estate to the Church, the other half waiting for me when I’m revived.»