The Firm

boss's wife. Mitch was in a meeting, she explained. He's always in a damned meeting, Abby replied. Get him out! They rushed to his office, where Abby closed the door and waited.

Mitch was observing another one of Avery's chaotic departures. Secretaries bumped into each other and packed briefcases while Avery yelled into the phone. Mitch sat on the sofa with a legal pad and watched. His partner was scheduled for two days on Grand Cayman. April 15 loomed on the calendar like a date with a firing squad, and the banks down there had certain records that had become critical. It was all work, Avery insisted. He talked about the trip for five days, dreading it, cursing it, but finding it completely unavoidable. He would take the Lear, and it was now waiting, said a secretary.

Probably waiting with a load of cash,thought Mitch.

Avery slammed the phone down and grabbed his coat.

Nina walked through the door and glared at Mitch. 'Mr. McDeere, your wife is here. She says it's an emergency.'

The chaos became silent. He looked blankly at Avery. The secretaries froze. 'What is it?' he asked, standing.

'She's in your office,' Nina said.

'Mitch, I've gotta go,' Avery said. 'I'll call you tomorrow. I hope things are okay.'

'Sure.' He followed Nina down the hall, saying nothing, to his office. Abby sat on his desk. He closed and locked the door. He watched her carefully.

'Mitch, I have to go home.'

'Why? What's happened?'

'My father just called at school. They found a tumor in one of Mother's lungs. They're operating tomorrow.'

He breathed deeply. 'I'm so sorry.' He did not touch her. She was not crying.

'I must go. I've taken a leave of absence at school.'

'For how long?' It was a nervous question.

She looked past him, to the Ego Wall. 'I don't know, Mitch. We need some time apart. I'm tired of a lot of things right now, and I need time. I think it will be good for both of us.'

'Let's talk about it.'

'You're too busy to talk, Mitch. I've been trying to talk for six months, but you can't hear me.'

'How long will you be gone, Abby?'

'I don't know. I guess it depends on Mother. No, it depends on a lot of things.'

'You're scaring me, Abby.'

'I'll be back, I promise. I don't know when. Maybe a week. Maybe a month. I need to sort out some things.'

'A month?'

'I don't know, Mitch. I just need some time. And I need to be with Mother.'

'I hope she's okay. I mean that.'

'I know. I'm going home to pack a few things, and I'll leave in an hour or so.'

'All right. Be careful.'

'I love you, Mitch.'

He nodded and watched as she opened the door. There was no embrace.

* * *

On the fifth floor, a technician rewound the tape and pushed the emergency button direct to DeVasher's office. He appeared instantly and slapped the headphones over his extra-large cranium. He listened for a moment. 'Rewind,' he demanded. He was quiet for another moment.

'When did this happen?' he asked.

The technician looked at a panel of digital numbers. 'Two minutes fourteen seconds ago. In his office, second floor.'

'Damn, damn. She's leaving him, ain't she? No talk of separation or divorce before this?'

'No. You would've known about it. They've argued about his workaholic routine, and he hates her parents. But nothing like this.'

'Yeah, yeah. Check with Marcus and see if he's heard anything before. Check the tapes, in case we've missed something. Damn, damn, damn!'

* * *

Abby started for Kentucky, but did not make it. An hour west of Nashville, she left Interstate 40, and turned north on Highway 13. She had noticed nothing behind her. She drove eighty at times, then fifty. Nothing. At the small town of Clarksville, near the Kentucky line, she abruptly turned east on Highway 12. An hour later she entered Nashville through a county highway, and the red Peugeot was lost in city traffic.

She parked it in the long-term section at. Nashville Airportand caught a shuttle to the terminal. In a rest room on the first floor she changed into khaki walking shorts, Bass loafers and a navy knit pullover. It was a cool outfit, a little out of season, but she was headed for warmer weather. She pulled her shoulder-length hair into a ponytail and forced it under her collar. She changed sunglasses and stuffed the dress, heels and panty hose into a canvas gym bag.

Almost five hours after she left Memphis, she walked to the Delta boarding gate and presented her ticket. She asked for a window seat.

No Delta flight in the free world can bypass Atlanta, but fortunately she was not forced to change planes. She waited by her window and watched darkness fall on the busy airport. She was nervous, but tried not to think about it. She drank a glass of wine and read a Newsweek.

Two hours later she landed in Miami and left the plane. She walked rapidly through the airport, catching stares but ignoring them. They're just the usual everyday stares of admiration and lust, she told herself. Nothing more.

At the one and only Cayman Airways boarding gate, she produced her round-trip ticket and the required birth certificate and driver's license. Wonderful people, these Caymanians, but they won't allow you in their country unless you've already purchased a ticket to get out.Please come and spend your money, then leave. Please.

She sat in a corner of the crowded room and tried to read. A young father with a pretty wife and two babies kept staring at her legs, but no one else noticed her. The flight to Grand Cayman would leave in thirty minutes.

* * *

After a rough start, Avery gained momentum and spent seven hours at the Royal Bank of Montreal, Georgetown, Grand Cayman branch. When he left at 5 P.M., the complimentary conference room was filled with computer printouts and account summaries. He would finish tomorrow. He needed McDeere, but circumstances had worked to seriously curtail his travel plans. Avery was now exhausted and thirsty. And things were hot on the beach.

At Rumheads, he picked up a beer at the bar and worked his well-tanned body through the crowd to the patio, where he looked for a table. As he strode confidently past the domino game, Tammy Greenwood Hemphill, of Greenwood Services, nervously but nonchalantly entered the crowd and sat on a stool at the bar. She watched him. Her tan was store-bought, machine-inflicted, with some areas browner than others. But on the whole, it was an enviable tan for late March. The hair was now colored, not bleached, to a soft sandy blond, and the makeup likewise had been tempered. The bikini was state of the art, bright fluorescent orange that demanded attention. The large breasts hung wonderfully and stretched the strings and