“More than that. It might collapse a number of weak governments, a huge number of banks and subsidiary and dependent corporations in thirty or more countries, and crash stock markets around the world.”
“What men have created they can uncreate, certainly.”
“Well, they’ve started trying, but even the method, which was eventually computer devised, was wiped from the computer’s main memory and no single human really knows how he did it. It’s risky, but it’s brilliant and shows he was thinking of you. He bet that they’d settle all the claims and transfer everything before they could figure out and cancel his codes. And he was smart enough to realize that, with the enormity of the threat, there would be far fewer contests and obstacles in the way of probating. Many governments and much of the western economic community would far prefer you to inherit all than to risk dragging out the proceedings, perhaps for a decade, particularly in your condition.”
“It is too—enormous. Again I feel like running back to the Gaspe and hiding.”
“It’s too late for that, if it ever was time after Sir Robert’s death. No, Angie, I’m afraid that the danger to you is real but it isn’t death that you must fear. Someone, or some project, was about to be exposed by Sir Robert. They couldn’t control him, or outsmart him, so they took him out, betting that the resulting confusion and your inheritance would buy them time. They’re betting that you’ll take the money and let the experts run the business, which is a good bet. Then they’ll either get their own people in top spots to protect themselves or capitalize on your, pardon me, ignorance and naivete and get you to vote them what they need.”
“I am both of those, I admit. But if this is true, why did they use a monster?”
“Angie, why were you in such a hurry to make friends with me? To get me on your side?”
“Why, the Dark Man, of course. I was, as you say, naive and ignorant and already fearful of what had befallen me. Alone, in that room, with that—whatever it was—pushed me quickly. I am afraid, Greg, and I admit that.”
“And that’s probably the answer. Fear and boasting at one and the same time. Fear of person or persons unknown who could do this, in this way, in broad daylight—and a warning that it could happen to any of us at any moment in any one of hundreds of ways. It is a giant sign saying that we are in control, not you. We can do anything with impunity, even something as open and bizarre as this. Imagine what we can do to you.’ And it’s not just for us—you and me—but for the whole island, the whole community, perhaps the whole corporation. Its heads are human, and humans fear the unknown.”
“But this puts you in great danger, then! And you are not afraid!”
“Angie,” he sighed, “I am literally scared to death.”
5. THE SAINT AND THE SINNERS
As MacDonald had predicted, it was a closed coffin affair; a simple burial service for a very complex man. They were all there—not merely the top people at the Institute and Magellan’s company men, but also many top corporate leaders from the home office in Seattle including, very briefly and just for the ceremony, the President and Chief Operating Officer, Alan Kimmel Bonner. He was a big, rough-looking man with a huge shock of gray hair that seemed in eternal disarray and a hard, chiseled face. He looked more like the popular perception of a dockworkers’ union president or perhaps a Mafia godfather than the shrewd head of one of the world’s largest multinational corporations.
Although he didn’t lack for toadies, he spoke only briefly and gruffly to most of the people there, having a few longer and softer words only with Angelique. After the service he was whisked up to the Lodge for a brief conference with Director Byrne and then he was gone. The island regulars could not remember him ever having even visited the island before, and, from his manner and speed of departure, it seemed unlikely that he would repeat the occasion.
They laid Sir Robert to rest, as he had stipulated, in the small graveyard by the tiny village church, his grave facing not the Institute but the sea. It had surprised some that he had instructed an island burial at all, but he had a strong feeling for this place, which was created a fair bit out of his own imagination, and no really strong feelings for anywhere else. There was a family crypt just outside of Halifax, but he had never gotten along much with his father and other family members and had in any event outlived all of them except his daughter.
They had found a dark suit that almost fit MacDonald, and he walked back from the burial towards the town anxious to be rid of it. Angelique would be the titular hostess at a reception at the Lodge later and would be too busy; he decided to skip whatever he could. As he walked towards the small main street of the tiny town, constructed in an earlier era to resemble a Tudor village, he spotted Ross. The security man was just standing there, watching him.
As he approached, the security man said, “You know they’re pretty pissed off at you for endangering her like that yesterday. Byrne told Bonner he wanted the authority to fire you for it.”
MacDonald stopped and shrugged. “And am I fired?”
“You’d know by now if you were. Hell, you gave her a bigger thrill than she’s probably had in years, and charmed the shit out of her in the process. It might be in your best long-term interest to stay away from her for a while, you might know.”
“I’ll bet. I’m just like the rest of them, though, Ross. When she calls, I got to come.”
“Yeah. Sergeant MacDonald of the Yukon, off to the service of distressed damsels, out to lock up the villains and take their own whips to them. Come off it, MacDonald. Give it up. You ain’t gonna get a dime of her old man’s dough no matter what.”
Suppressing an urge to punch out the security man, Mac-Donald stared hard into the other’s eyes. “Ross—tell me, are you a total and complete incompetent who should be canned yesterday or are you a willing accessory to murder.’’
Ross’s composure was slightly shaken. “What the hell does that mean?’’
“You got the cliff sides wired, you got an electronic security scan system that even includes the beach, yet at ten in the morning the biggest man under your watchful eye gets turned into tomato juice and you don’t know why or by whom. I’ll bet you can quote every word she and I said to one another, yet you couldn’t pick up and scramble on something fifteen or twenty feet tall. Either you are more of an incompetent than you are an asshole or you helped kill him, at least by looking the other way while it was being done. There’s no third possibility.”
“You’ve seen the scan tapes. You know damned well there’s only one blip from the meadow to the beach. The tripwire cameras, which are stills, didn’t show much, either. One had some of Sir Robert’s leg, the other, the beach scan, shows nothing even though it should have shown anything on that beach at just the right moment. There’s nothing on the audio, not even birds and ocean, but nothing tests out as erased. I’m good at what I do, but somebody was better and beat the system.”
“Well, I’m good at what I do, too, Ross. I’ve got motive and opportunity. When I get method, I’m going to nail the bastards. After that you can start covering up for them, like a good little boy, but I don’t have to be concerned with that. I stand on my original comment, Ross. Either you know or your machinery was so nicely tampered with under your very nose that you should be assigned to guard copper mines in Montana. And, for your information, I wouldn’t turn down a billion, but that thought had not even entered my head. Now go find a fireplug and have a good pee, eh?” And, with that, he walked on, leaving the security man fuming and staring at his back as if trying to kill him with willpower alone.